#three-eyes

He watched her naked face with a smile, all her scarring long-since memorized. The black paracausal tears, which continuously dripped from her eyes, flowed freely onto the soft cotton pillowcase under her head. She was on her side, facing him, curled inward slightly, her hands relaxed, her knees slightly bent. She wore soft loose pants and an oversized shirt. One of his shirts. One of the ones he'd loaned to her so many times on the Derelict. He was delighted to find it had been recreated here, in the vast cathedral of her soul, willed into existence from familiarity and comfort.

He wore similarly soft comfortable clothing to sleep in, imagined into existence by her, an experiment to see if this would help to alleviate the insomnia. It did not, but he loved the clothing just the same because it came from her. The soft grey-green flannel she had spun for him from her mind was extremely comfortable. It provided just enough warmth to not need the blankets they both slept on top of. He insisted on keeping his own socks, though, despite her offer to make him new ones without holes worn through in several places where his feet had rubbed against his boots over the years. He was used to the holes. It would be weird to have socks without them.

And yet, despite the comfort of the bed and the clothes and the near-perfect temperature of the air and the soft lighting which gave him enough illumination to see her as well as anyone sneaking up on them... despite her capitulation to his insistence that the bed be pushed up against a wall so he could sleep with his back to it... despite him being very much exhausted, the Drifter was still awake. And yet, he was completely fine with it. It gave him this quiet gentle time to watch Eris Morn sleep, a thing he could happily do forever if he was being honest. The gentle rise and fall of her chest from her breathing, her tiny movements, the way her short dark hair was all askew with little tendrils that framed her face so damn cute.

Eris Morn was many things. Cute was generally not one of them. Except for him. With him she was willing to let him see her that way. And she was so fucking cute. Outside of her armour she was so much smaller. This was in spite of the fact that she was objectively still taller than him.

It was just that the sheer presence of Eris Morn was always so forceful and intimidating. He'd seen it so many times. Guardians going to see her on the Moon, all bravado and swagger, instantly cowed when she turned to look at them. There was something so very serious and deeply impressive about Eris Morn. When she looked at you, even when she had kept her eyes and scars covered, the intensity of her gaze was awe-inspiring, the seriousness of her demeanor, the way she spoke, so morbid and urgent, was enough to make even the most flippant and cavalier Guardian stand up straighter and pay attention.

But here, asleep, relaxed, she was like a kitten, conforming to the shape of the bed, the shape of him. So fucking cute. So fucking beautiful. And her third eye. He kept coming back to it. The one mystery he'd never asked her about, despite wondering from the very first time she'd let him see beneath the veil. Her third eye had a very delicate, very human eyelid.

Hive did not have eyelids. The triple green glow was always such a dead giveaway for Hive. (Except the Thralls, which had no eyes at all and navigated almost entirely by sound and smell.) But all other Hive? No eyelids. And here she was, having taken a Hive Acolyte's eyes, her face covered in scars from where she had dug the hole herself, her middle eye askew, not quite centered, tilted to the side, a consequence of self-surgery while blind in the dark. They were very much Hive eyes, implanted into her human face. But their glow was obscured by her beautiful human eyelids. All three of them.

She'd used magic to embed the eyes so she could use them. And her perpetual black tears were a result of that. They smelled of petrichor and vinegar. Not unpleasant, and not the reek of the Hive, yet very distinctive. The smell of Darkness. The Drifter had been very familiar with it long before she came to him on the Derelict all those years ago, demanding answers. But now? Now it was the scent of her. And it had gone from something he could instantly identify, to something he deeply and intrinsically loved.

The eyelid though, on her third eye. It made sense for her to have eyelids on the bottom two. The holes had already been made so she just pulled out the nonworking orbs and shoved in the new ones. But the hole up top, made with a knife... Inches from his face, he watched it, every aspect memorized. Her eyes all twitched together when she dreamed, all three of them. He could see them under the thin skin of her eyelids, the lashes shuddering with each movement.

She must have grown the eyelids for the third eye herself. Willed them into existence. A humanizing of the alien body part she took and absorbed into her own. And it was absolutely humanizing. The eyelids changed the shape. He could tell instantly if he was facing Hive or her, just by the shape, the way her top eye was at an angle, the way her eyelids would narrow or blink. Hive didn't blink. Eris blinked. Eris had human eyelids, all three of them, and human eyelashes - dark and somewhat thin, but very distinctly there. He loved her eyelashes. They were so pretty. Everything about her was pretty, even her scars.

Sure, the Drifter would freely admit now, to himself and to her, that he was ass over teakettle in love with her, but everything about Eris Morn was genuinely pretty. Even without being in love with her he felt that. Or maybe it was him being so damn drunk on love he couldn't think of any part of her that wasn't. He'd tried. He couldn't think of a time when he ever felt otherwise. Her scars weren't ugly. You'd think they would be, and yes they were quite gnarly but they were just scars, and scars were, by themselves, pretty cool. And these were even cooler. She'd put them there herself. Well... the ones in her face anyway.

She had other scars. Her skin over her whole body had more scars than not, same as him. More than him. But he'd long past the point of thinking scars unsightly. He was glad of his. Scars were memory: the body keeping track of what had happened to it. Scars were as much a story as anything written in a book. And letting someone else know the full story your own body was telling? There was something sacred about that. Deeply personal. He could never think Eris Morn's scars were ugly, or anyone else's for that matter. To know someone's scars was to know their past, and to be allowed to know someone's past was trust. That was beautiful no matter how you slice it.

Heh. Slice.

He tried to think of something else about Eris that was ugly. Her nose was on the bigger side but no way that was not cute as fuck. She had an objectively cute nose. All round. And when she did that snooty dismissive sniff, where she curled her lip a little. He'd be a liar if he said that didn't do something for him. He remembered Europa, stuck in the cold with her, and how he'd watch over the top of his rebreather, peaking just under the hem of his hood, timing what he was saying just right so she'd turn and do that little sniff where her nostrils flared and her mouth contorted, her face lit by the campfire just so. He was so grateful she couldn't see his shit-eating grin any time she did it. She'd have stopped and that would have felt like someone taking away the sun. There was a time when he lived for that little nostril flare, the dismissive "Tsch." Hell, he still did.

And her lips. Damn. Woman had no right to have lips like that. If there was a devil, one that wasn't him, since the Drifter had, himself, been accused of being the devil more times than he could count, and he was damn good at math... But if there was a devil, sent out to tempt humanity, distract 'em and lead 'em astray, then the devil absolutely would have made Eris Morn's lips. There were so many parts of Eris that were drop dead gorgeous (and 'drop dead' was literal - Eris Morn could kill hostiles faster than anyone he knew and her aim was as good as his, which was sayin' somethin') but her lips were absolutely the most amazing part of her.

Before he'd ever kissed them he'd obsessed over Eris' lips for years. It got to the point where he had to consciously force himself not to stare at her mouth, which was really hard, because her mouth was so expressive. Part of it may have been that she kept her eyes covered for so much of the time he'd known her. But those lips. When she made that little snarl he was entranced. When she did that little smirk of hers, where just the corner of her mouth quirked into a smile, he was done for. He had no psychological defense against Eris Morn's cute and evil little smirk. As soon as he first saw it, that was it for him. Something deep inside of him shifted. He didn't even know it at the time but he was hers from there on in because of it. One little twitch in the corner of those lips and he'd follow her anywhere. And he did.

And now... now when she smiled... a full-on genuinely happy smile? It was like seeing the sun for the first time after being underground for hundreds of years. It felt like living. It felt like home. He lived for that smile. He wanted nothing more than to make her smile like that all the damn time forever.

The Drifter fought with himself, thinking about Eris smiling as Eris herself slept with her mouth in a comfortable relaxed frown. He wanted to kiss her right fucking now. He loved her lips so much. He'd wanted to kiss her for so damn long. And then finally, finally when they did kiss, those fantastic sensual lips did not disappoint. He loved kissing her so much. He wanted to kiss her now but also did not want to wake her, not yet. She was always so tired. Let her sleep, he told himself. Ya can kiss her later. Later is a thing now, he reminded himself. End of the world came and went and they all survived. And she lets him kiss her all the time now. And it's fucking great.

The Drifter's grin threatened to split his face wide open. You old piece of shit, how'd you get so lucky? he asked himself. You get to sleep with Eris Morn. You get to kiss Eris Morn. You get to make mad crazy love to Eris Fucking Morn. And not just sex. Actual fucking love. The real deal. Where every touch and tremor was another way of saying I love you. Over and over. Fuck heaven. He never wanted to not be where he was right now. And she was so. Fucking. Pretty.

Maybe it was love that made him think that. Maybe someone not in love with Eris Morn wouldn't be overwhelmed with affection at that soft frown, her face peacefully at rest, with the little wisps of hair framing her face. Damn. He used to get so excited seeing a stray strand of hair showing when they were off together for extended periods of time, chasing after whatever the hell fool bullshit she was chasing after and he was following her to help with. When she'd get up from a bedroll, or she was breathless and intense from combat and didn't care... Seeing a tiny bit of Eris' hair felt like getting a peek at her underwear. It made him giddy and felt forbidden. Intimate. She kept it so carefully hidden. He had no idea why she did. Her hair was so fucking cute.

Actually, maybe that was why. Eris did not do cute. If people saw how cute her hair was they'd probably be going "awww" at her like she was a wet snarling kitten instead of pissing themselves in fear. That was probably it. Hiding the cute. She still did now, even though ever since her resurrection she'd ditched the eye bandages and was just going around bare-faced and beautiful. Showing all three eyes without hiding them or her scars. He loved that. It wasn't that she was ashamed of it before, he knew that. She'd just covered up to make other people more comfortable. Now she gave no fucks. And damn did he love her even more because of it. But she still kept her hair hidden.

Only person that sees it is me, he thought to himself, forcing his hand to stay politely still. Not brushing his fingers along her hair no matter how much he wanted to. Probably Ikora had seen Eris' hair too. Anyone she'd been close with in the past too. Although, Drifter knew from experience you totally could fuck someone and never see their hair. But probably not Eris. Eris didn't let most people touch her at all. Except me, he thought to himself once more, and once more forced himself to not reach for her. Like him, she was a light sleeper. Came with the territory of having survived what the two of them had, independently of each other, survived.

But Eris was, very much like him, a survivor through and through. And she was alive now. This was what he loved most, what he most watched for, to just see her breathing. To just have that constant reassurance that she was, in fact, still alive. Because sometimes he'd panic. Even now, in the safety of her Throne World, lit by candles, watching her chest rise and fall, her tiny movements as she slept, the little shifts of her alien eyeballs under her human eyelids (all three of them) there was that creeping gnawing haunting fear.

He had a better handle on it now. It'd been a few weeks. The fear was still there though. And seeing her breathing, keeping vigil over her as she slept, it helped. He used to wake her often at first, not able to wait enough moments to watch for her breathing, not able to trust even when he saw it that he wasn't imagining it... The memory so vivid, of seeing her before and thinking she looked like she was sleeping... Of willing her chest to move with his mind so fiercely that he almost saw her breathe, only to feel how limp and slack her whole body was. And the hole.

The hole in her torso, big enough for him to fit his whole arm through. Skewered like an olive with a toothpick. Like an Eris Morn shishkebab. Hive eyes. Go pop in your mouth. Eris Morn. Go pop in the Dreadnaught. Poof. Gone. Everything. Gone. The Drifter felt his throat closing.

No. No. It's alright. He's got her. She's here. She's alive. She's breathing. She's not still. She hasn't been run through with a spike that will forever haunt his nightmares, waking and asleep. She's alive, he told himself. The point of the spike hasn't spit her against the ground and then twisted. Like one of them spike things you use to juice an orange, to gut the pulp out as you twist. Like gutting a fish. The Drifter felt his stomach churning. She's all right. He's got her. She hasn't been dragged across stones, her head bouncing, her arms flopping at odd unnatural angles. She hasn't been dragged off the edge of the platform into the pit.

No. She's ok. He's not holding her rocking back and forth as she just doesn't move. Not breathing. Saying "Moonlight" over and over as he's sobbing. No. She's ok. She's not still. She's not. She's not. She's here. The Drifter felt the air leave his lungs. He felt the chill. The certainty. The despair. Gone. No. No she's not. Gone. No more Moonlight. Can't look at the Moon. He felt it again. His heart collapsing. Crumpling inward. Like it was being sucked through a straw. No. No more Moonlight. No. Gone. Can't...

The Drifter's vision flooded with bright green, so unbearably bright in the dim candlelight.

Her hand was on his cheek. Her fingertips were wet. She smeared his tears and her frown deepened. He felt the cool of the damp from his own tears contrasting in the air against his skin. The gentle touch of her hand. Her moving, alive hand.

The Drifter felt his breath catch as his eyes refocused and he could see Eris' face again. Her eyes, all three of them, their eyelids, all three of them, narrowed, scanning him up and down carefully. Looking for injuries, most likely. They did that often with each other. Came with the territory.

He smiled warmly and sucked in a deep breath, returning to now. Returning to alive Eris Morn who loved him and was touching him now. Awake now. He turned his head and kissed her hand, her wrist. He leaned forward, gently pressing his lips to hers, reverent, relieved, grateful Her hand slid behind his head and tugged him closer, prolonging the kiss.

Moments later she released him but slid her hand across his waist to his back, applying slight pressure. He obediently scootched closer to her, closing the small distance between them, sliding his own arm along her waist, feeling the curve of her hip in his palm.

"Your breathing changed and you were tense," Eris said, her voice quiet but close. "I felt your fear. Another nightmare?"

"Somethin' like that." He kissed her again, contrite this time. "Didn't mean to wake ya."

"I have no issues being awoken to soothe you," she said, wiping away more of his tears.

He didn't need to tell her what he'd been thinking. She knew.

"The memory will fade in time," she said, "but for now it is still fresh and painful."

He nodded and squeezed her hip. She felt so good. Her skin was cool against his hand and he felt her lean into his touch everywhere they were in physical contact, like a cat luxuriating in something warm. In him. Her whole body slid closer to him, fitting herself to him.

"And what are you feeling now?" she asked.

He smiled at her, brushing her nose with his, staring into her three eyes with his two, his vision still slightly blurry from tears.

"You're so beautiful," was all he could think to say. It was true. That was the only thought still in his head so he said it. He said it in a hoarse whisper with all the reverence due to a god from her most devoted worshipper. Her lover. The one who would follow her anywhere and everywhere for as long as she wanted.

Eris smiled one of those exquisite, joyful smiles that he lived for. And for the Drifter, everything else melted away. And this time he did not still his hand. He did not refrain from touching her, and he kissed those amazing lips he adored. Lips he'd dreamed of kissing for so long. Lips he was allowed to kiss now.

He kissed her over and over and over again.

I've made a playlist for all the songs that will be added to this series as I go. Playlist on Spotify Playlist on Youtube