#swhs fanfic

[lilac-gold]

Crackfic extract ig

“Hello, sister,” The abomination greeted in a gratingly happy voice. “Please do not leave yet.”

“Leave me alone, peasant!” Sweetheart shouted, shoving the ghastly, abominable, foul, appalling, eregriously vile Perfectheart over the edge of their fleshy platform.

She fell into the river without displacing a single strand of hair, looking abysmally perfect even as she splashed into a vat of hydrochloric acid and who knows what else, a placid smile on her face. The acid had no effect on her perfect skin. Eurgh. Perfectheart was a disgrace. Sweetheart hated her even more than she hated non-alcoholic beverages.

“Alright, sister, it is clear you are stressed. I will permit you a day’s break to catch your bearings,” Perfectheart rose easily back onto the platform, looking like a disgusting angel. Sweetheart recoiled, repulsed. “You will be free to roam around Headspace–”

Sweetheart, not listening in the slightest, pushed Perfidyheart off the edge again, dashing for the doors. She scanned the keycard and left, exiting Humphrey’s mouth with a brief, gleeful ‘OHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!’ of triumph. She dusted off her dress, smirking proudly, and set off. There was so much to do now that she had ingeniously escaped that ridiculous whale and those foolish scientists. Pah.

“I will pick you up in six hours,” Perfectheart said suddenly from beside her, and Sweetheart screamed, forgetting in her haste to appropriately insult her inside of her head. “Have fun!”

And the putrid little cockroach… Left. Vacated. Vanished. Retreated, back into Humphrey. Without Sweetheart.

“Hah!” Sweetheart stuck out her chin. “Sweetheart wins again!”

She truly was the most superior being in Headspace.

Trying out writing a crackfic and Sweetheart makes perfect material for it, this is more fun than I thought it would be hehehe

[madoheart]

I wanna try and make a sweetheart angst fic,, i need suggestions

I may never post it thoug

me myself personally I'm not too knowledgeable on fanfic stuffs, I've read like 1 or 2 in my time on the internet, but if you want any problems that Sweetheart may have I can most likely provide

To clear things up that WOULDN'T be a problem, I'd say body positivity. Sweetheart is 100% in love with her looks I'd say that's painfully obvious from her merch alone.

Mentally though she's absolutely fucked, Considering that the only parental figures she has is her Donut grandma, and even then her grandma comments about how she doesn't visit much, Sweetheart probably has a very loose connection with her. Her castle and shows and everything she does to garner attention to herself I think is a result of her suffering from neglect as a kid so she's trying to make up for that. It'd also make sense with her lack of social skills and 0 actual friends as well as the fact that she holes herself up in her castle, literally NO ONE taught her how to interact with people and how to live in the real world. I don't think she's entirely oblivious to these problems, just shutting them out with her golden ego and blinding herself with her "perfect" life. Lot's of issues with how she refuses to see how fucked she is, but I think she still absolutely knows it. In my big fucking post about Sweetheart I brought up how I thought her battle is torment for her cuz she's slowly coming to the term with the fact that her world really isn't perfect, and I don't think it's a new feeling just one that's been amplified during her battle, she knows deep down her current situation is terrible but it's not like she can do anything about it. Accepting it will make her feel worse and it's not like she has any friends she can go to, who the fuck is she gonna get help from? a sprout mole?

Post Humphrey Sweetheart is absolutely 100% way fucking worse. Any redeeming qualities her castle had is now gone and she's at probably the worst spot she's been yet. Any denial about how terrible her life was has been thrown out because she is at the undeniably worst spot of her life. She now has to deal with the fact that she took her castle life for granted, unaware of how worse things could get, but going back to it would mean going back to the lonely fantasy she had before, so while it's a saving grace compared to her maid job it definitely won't fix her problems. To make things worse Perfectheart is also thrown into the mix. Perfectheart is quite literally a perfect Sweetheart, a mockery of Sweetheart, everything Sweetheart wants to be is right in front of her watching over as she toils away at her maid duties, stuck in the spot her selfishness and greed brought her to. I think I've brought up before what I think of Perfectheart and Sweethearts dynamic for any potential Sweetheart character arc. Perfectheart can see Sweethearts troubled, she acts as her overseer to keep her in line so she pays off her debt, but also tries to nudge Sweetheart in the right path so she doesn't stay as the lonely brat she is. I like to think Perfectheart is TRYING to be SWHs friend, doing things and giving her things to make her feel more comfortable in her current situation. And on the other end, Sweetheart absolutely HATES Perfectheart, not for anything she did, just their existence mocks her. While Perfectheart just thinks Sweetheart being so dismissive of her is because Perfectheart didn't end up as her perfect suitor, Sweetheart wants nothing to do with what is basically everything she couldn't be. I'm sure at some point they'll get along and Sweetheart will open up, but when Sweetheart DOES open up it is going to be EXTREMELY messy.

tl;dr, Pre Humphrey Sweetheart suffers from neglect and denying her imperfections. Post Humphrey Sweetheart has accepted her imperfections, hates herself more than she ever could, and the one person trying to be her friend hurts to look at.

Anyways that's all I have to say about Sweethearts problems, I hope at least some of this is good fuel for your angst

[thedistantstorm]

A Shipwright Worth Her Salt Chapter 14

Progression in fits and starts: Zavala is mentally exhausted, Shaxx makes a deal, Saladin arrives, and Amanda causes trouble.

-/

“The swelling is getting worse,” Shaxx says, when Zavala all but tiptoes back into the room. His voice is grave behind his helm, but he keeps his volume soft.

There is a mask on her face providing oxygen now, and an intravenous line propelling a large bag of solution into her arm. She shifts fitfully then falls limp, a sleep pattern that is not altered by medication. Zavala approaches the side of the bed and adjusts the plush blanket over her good leg. Her face is pinched and uneasy, and her fingers are twitching. She's likely in pain. She'll wake soon, he thinks.

“They are afraid to medicate her,” Shaxx answers his unspoken question. “Concerned that she will require intubation if they do.” He crosses armored arms. “The IV and oxygen mask were enough of a battle. She is a stubborn one,” He muses. “I was rather pleased to see she hadn't lost that as well.”

Zavala hums. He does not pull over a chair, instead resting on the edge of her bed. She moans under the clear mask, both legs shifting. When her eyes start to water, he gives the Crucible Handler a look. Shaxx excuses himself without pause, squeezing the other Titan's shoulder in a gesture that spoke volumes coming from someone like himself. Comfort was not typically a measure he willingly provided.

Her eyes are dark and stormy when they open a short while later. It takes a minute to focus, and when she does, she sees the figure sitting intently at the end of her bed. Zavala blinks, and it looks almost like lightning to her, in the darkness of her room. She pushes herself up, and blinks back.

“Nightmare?” His baritone is a balm for her thundering heart.

She nods. Tugs at the oxygen mask.

“Don't pull.”

Sighs. She scooches over so that there’s room next to her near the head of the bed and blinks a few more times at him. She isn’t going to ask, he realizes, when she apparently gives up a moment later and huffs before lying down.

“Would you like me to sit with you?”

She turns her head away. She’s a stubborn thing, but he can see the pink of her cheeks even with the mask intruding and how dark it is. Her breathing is still heavy. He flips his palm face up and Aashimah seems to know exactly what he needs, transmatting his armor away.

“Amanda.”

She opens her eyes and looks over at him. Hands go to her throat before she moves to pull her good leg up to her chin again. He recognizes the defensive position for what it is. His lips pull in a concerned sort of smile that isn’t one at all, really.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

Head shake. Pause. She darts her eyes at him and looks back toward the wall, as if he absolutely has not caught her doing so. Ridiculous child. He stands and she immediately freezes.

“I will not leave,” He says, when her wide-eyed gaze finds him standing by the window. “I promise.”

The puff of oxygen being fed to her through the mask is the only sound in the room. When he looks back, her hands are tracing the line along the column of her throat. She looks pointedly at him, then away.

He sighs. “Does it hurt?”

She shrugs.

“Yes, then.” He answers for her.

She swallows and winces.

“Your throat hurts more than the wound.”

Nod.

The force of breath leaving his lungs on this sigh is larger than the others. “You know they cannot give you anything for it.”

Nod.

He returns to her side, one hand on her head. “I do not know what you were thinking,” He says quietly. “I cannot pretend to. I can only beg you not to do it again.” She can hear the reserved tone in his voice, knows that he is upset. “When you have... recovered from your injuries, it is all I can hope that you will speak to someone about this.”

She pulls the oxygen mask off her face and the hardness of her eyes stops him from scolding her for a quick second. She inhales with a rasp, deep as she can to try and force the words out.

“I never wanted to be anyone’s burden.”

His eyes flash wide. “You are not!” He almost yells, reigning it in at the last second.

She looks down. “Doesn’t feel that way,” She replies like someone is choking her, before pushing the mask back on her face and rolling over and away from him.

He sits down on the side of the bed, his back to hers. “I suppose it might not,” He finally concedes. “This is an adjustment for both of us, you know.” He can tell that she sighs because her shoulder moves in a deep motion, out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t comment on it, instead saying, “I am taking some time away from my duties.”

She rolls back over so quickly he would be surprised if she isn’t dizzy. She throws the mask off this time and lets it hit the ground behind her. “You can’t!” Her fists pound on his back.

“Calm down,” Zavala replies calmly, watching the flicker of the alarm above the bed come on. “I can, and I have.” He stands and turns so that he’s fully facing her. “Stop that,” He says in a tone that brokers no argument. “Look at me.” He takes her chin in his hands, and she flinches hard and pulls back, nearly falling off the bed. The movement startles him, too. “Amanda-”

“Go away.”

“Listen to me. You come-”

“GO,” The strain of trying to yell at him is enough that he can see her wide, terrified eyes tearing, small hands clutching at her throat like it would help. “Away!”

“-First.”

She breathes heavily, drawing herself into the smallest ball she can become when he gives her space but refuses to leave. Her eyes dart around as each breath becomes a strained rasp. He does not approach, his eyes are on the numbers on the monitors. The amount of oxygen she’s getting is dropping rapidly.

“Amanda, I need you to put the mask back on,” He tells her, picking it up from the floor. “It’s important.”

She shakes her head.

“I don’t want them to put that tube down your throat again.”

Bright eyes stare back at her but she does not move. He’s scared, she can see it in the swirl of lights under his skin. “Please put it back on.”

She extends a hand and he hands it to her. She puts it on with trembling fingertips. Tears leak from the corners of her eyes and she looks at him looking at the monitor.  She blinks away the tears clouding her vision, and tries to get her breathing under control. He blinks back at her in the dark after a time, pulling a chair up to the edge of her bed, close enough that if she wants, he can hold her hand. He lays his palm face down gently beside her. An invitation that she may, if she wishes. He was not joking when he said he would not go anywhere.

She looks away, still shaking hard, but wiggles her hand under his, curling her palm up and squeezing tight.

-/

The next week is spent like this, in fits and starts. One day she does well, the next she is despondent. Some days she wakes up seeing things he cannot, fighting shadows that exist in her mind. She has not been taking care of herself, and her leg is red and infected underneath heavy wraps. They give her medication, but it only makes her ill.

By the time Lord Saladin arrives for Iron Banner, he's grateful for the reprieve. And he's furious with himself because of it.

The Iron Lord is his usual self, stoic, confident, and calculating. He braces arms with Zavala - their usual greeting - and immediately can see that something has his student off-kilter.

“You are well?” Saladin asks, gruff in his delivery.

“Yes. And you?” There is a small chime of the Commander's handheld, and his fingers twitch by habit to reach for it before he remembers his manners in present company.

“Fine,” The elder Titan hedges. There are several more chimes, and the Commander finally reaches for the thing tucked under his other arm and turns it off without looking away. “Is everything else alright? You seem… strained.”

Zavala sighs. Saladin can see the stress. It's more obvious in the curl of the Awoken man's shoulders. “Nothing that cannot be seen to,” He finally says.

Looking around, Lord Saladin determines that the Tower is capable of completing setup for him and steps around his junior. “Come. My journey has been long. You look like you could use some ale and I require a meal.”

When Zavala does not argue, not even a little, Saladin frowns.

-/

Shaxx is not surprised by the grit of the girl. She is angry, seething, and full of rage. She woke this morning to find Zavala gone, with only the word of a nurse to corroborate his story, no note to speak of.

She has not spoken to anyone, refused to eat, and instead shot what he assumes is message after message to the Commander(based on frantic typing), before slamming the tablet down on the stand beside her bed and pouting like a child half her age.

She's been stone still for almost an hour now. It is almost palpable, the rage that swirls around her in the air. She is focused, he'll give her that.

“He is spending some time with his mentor, Lord Saladin,” Shaxx finally relents, some time later. “He did not abandon you, Little Mechanic.”

That gains him a look. A moment later, she clears her throat and asks, “Isn't he your mentor, too?” She sounds much better, more like she has a cold than anything else. The welt around her neck is hidden and healing well.

A scoff. “Once. But he and I have our differences in opinion.”

“Zavala said-” She looks at him fearfully when his posture tenses, like he's about to yell.

He corrects it immediately, and redirects. “When are you going to get your legs out from under you? Certainly you can get a prosthetic by now. Do you prefer being helpless?” Behind his helmet, he winces. He did not mean to sound so rude, this was a human child, after all.

She shakes her head, but does not seem slighted by his tone. “'m leg's still infected. I wanna walk, y’know.”

“You ought to start acting like it,” Shaxx cautions. “Zavala is blinded enough by his emotions to let you milk this for all that it is worth. What happens in here,” He taps the side of his head missing one horn, “Is a different animal, and that is alright. You'll figure it out.” She sits up and swings her legs off the bed, looking at her crutches and back. “But you must rise every day and fight.” He grips his fist. “Regardless of it.”

Amanda nods, and for a second, he sees the little girl he remembers. “Will you help me walk? When they let me try?” Her eyes are cool and clear, and she whispers quietly. “I don't wanna be coddled. You won’t pity me. I know you won't do that.”

He laughs, and it makes her smile. “Prove to me you want it, and I most certainly will.”

She doesn't move from the side of the bed, swinging her good leg quietly. Eventually, she looks up at him and says, “D'ya think they'll get food?” Her stomach rumbles. “I want somethin’ good.”

Shaxx summons his Ghost, who does a quaint sweep before disappearing into motes of light. “I happen to know they are at a benull little tavern that serves excellent beef stew.”

Amanda reaches for her tablet. “Lord Saladin, right? He’s got a handheld? Zavala's is off.”

The Crucible Handler sees her play from a mile away, the spark in her eyes fractionally brighter. “You won't find him in our system,” He says with a chuckle. “I can-”

“I can do it.” Her tongue peeks out through her teeth as her hand dances across the touchpad.

“Perhaps next time I come visit, I'll bring you some of my broken tech. Zavala will not like you hacking Saladin’s equipment.”

“I'm not hacking Saladin's.” She smirks. “I'm hacking his.”

-/

A quiet tone sounds while they are waiting for the waitress to order. Saladin, expecting it to be Shiro or one of his own, reaches for his device and opens it. His eyes narrow.

“What is it?”

Saladin shakes his head, types a reply, and sets the device down.

Another tone. Same response, different message sent back.

The third message makes Saladin's eyes widen. He looks up at Zavala. Back at the screen. He sets the handheld face up, returns to the other set of messages, and types another reply.

“Did you know someone hacked your handheld?” Saladin asks, when the waitress walks over and attempts to gather their order.

Zavala orders, keeping his voice down when he turns back to reply. “Impossible.”

“That is what I would have said, however they know where we are, and what we are doing.”

The Awoken Titan pulls out his handheld, powers it on. There are fifteen missed messages, all from one sender. There are also messages currently being sent back and forth, between himself and his mentor. Ones he has not had anything to do with. He is afraid to see what trouble she has caused, the fractal aura of his face almost pulsing while he feels his ears grow hot in embarrassment.

He sighs and summons his Ghost. “Tell her to stop.”

Aashimah spins, looking down at the messages and then up at him. “But, Zavala, it's a good thing. She hasn't-”

“It's inappropriate.”

A twitch of cones sends the Ghost fluttering off to the side. “It's her. It's more like her than we've seen in,” She seems to think it over, “A long time. Let her down with a warning this time or tell her yourself.” She phases away.

Before Zavala can reply, Lord Saladin pipes up, “Shaxx just sent me a message that reads, 'If the Commander does not bring the girl back stew and some of that lovely crusty bread they serve, I will take it as yet another personal offense. Do see to it that he agrees.’” Saladin looks at Zavala. “That's more cordial than he has been in years.” Then, he turns to the waitress, giving his order before adding, “I'll also have an order of the stew, to go.”

Zavala sighs, nursing his beer. “It isn't what you think.”

“Truly, I do not know what to think. Perhaps it is best if you start at the beginning.”

“Have you ever heard of the scrapper who had a workshop in an old house, near the wall?”

“Perhaps in passing.”

It's enough to start with. The Commander takes a sip of his ale. “Her name is Amanda Holliday. She is,” He pauses, “Special.” His lips pull to the sides. “But, she is sick. I have… taken some time away to keep an eye on her.”

Saladin frowns. “That so?”

Zavala nods. He wasn't particularly expecting a positive response. “A temporary arrangement while she acclimates to her life here.”

“Here being…”

“The Tower.”

“A wolf cub,” Saladin likens it to, stroking his chin. “I didn’t see you as the type.”

“Neither did I.” He shrugs.

“Any regrets?”

“None.”

“Of course.” The Iron Lord chuckles. “Didn’t suspect you would. How is she sick?”

Gaze darkening, Zavala replies, “You’ll see. I assume you’ll like to meet her.”

“Obviously. Tonight, barring any issues starting Iron Banner, should you be agreeable.”

“My schedule is surprisingly open,” The Commander concedes. “I’m sure she’ll itching to thank you for the stew.”

[vibecenter13]

New fanfic!! It includes my steamworld heist OC, Krona! This takes place right after the red Queen fight! :)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33297355/chapters/82682491

[allergic-to-buttercups]

hi. im new. you can call me buttercup i guess. 27, they/them, bi/pan -romantic and -sexual. finally admitting that i have this kink. interested in talking w/ ppl about it since im so new to this community.

looking to meet and follow and interact with snz kink blogs. hoping to write, trade or request some fic as well. especially love nsfw snzfic (fanfic or original) and always open to recommendations.

these are a few of my favorite things: nsfw snezarios/fics, inducing, buildups, stuck snz, hold back, talking, swh, denying you have to snez, feathers, flower allergies, weird/unusual allergies, characters with the kink (so yeah im super basic)

anyway, hi?

[aphrodaisyacs]

!!! I finished the epilogue of swh and damn it feels good to finally have a finished fanfic

Will upload soon :)

[hockeydyke]

Some answers to questions you didn't even know you had about the SWH Fic

What’s the SWH Fic? It’s my omgcp fanfic about Samwell Women’s Hockey, titled “Put that weight on me” !!! 

So is it just SMH but girls? Not exactly! A lot of the characters and plot points parallel omgcp, but there are plenty of unique details, too. 

Parallels??? Oh, yeah. A lot of parallels. Almost too many, but ultimately a good amount. Jordan and Celeste are definitely made to mirror Bitty and Jack, but they’re not exactly the same. Also, don’t go looking for exact matches for the rest of the SWH team, because there really aren’t exact mirrors (well. other than maybe one character, but you’ll figure out who that is soon enough). 

Okay. Will frustration about the underrepresentation of women's sports be a theme in this fic? Yes. Yes, it will be, because I am definitely not passing up on an opportunity to show people how cool woho is. Don’t worry, though-- there’s other plot, too, if real hockey itself isn’t your thing.

Will there be wlw characters? Pal. Read my URL and ask me again. Yes, of course there will be wlw characters.

How many chapters will there be? Right now, if everything stays on track, there will be 15! 

How often will you publish chapters? Each new chapter will be posted within one week of the last. Thus, since the first chapter was posted today, Sunday August 6th, the next chapter will be posted between now and next Sunday night!

[thedistantstorm]

A Shipwright Worth Her Salt Chapter 10

One step forward, two steps back.

Or: The one where everyone has words and our precious baby can’t handle it and the author cannot stay away from the angst for very long.

“Alright kiddo, get dressed. We've got places to go, and things to do.” Cayde calls from the doorway as he barges into what has become Amanda's unofficial room instead of med-bay alpha.  

Owlish eyes blink back at him, peering up over a tablet. “Hello to you, too,” She calls to him. “I'm already dressed,” She gestures to the flannel and utility pants she's wearing, the right leg pinned and rolled to not flop around her thigh where her leg ended. Clothes Cayde had procured from her previous place of living on her behalf. The rest of it, she'd deal with later.

Andal sidles in behind him. “Hungry? We're springing you out of here.”

She looks mildly bewildered. “Springing me out?”

Cayde laughs. “Yup! The Commander is on Strike Duty and we're not. So we were thinking of taking you for Spicy Ramen - we know a place - and then maybe down to the racetrack?”

She throws her tablet to the side. “Absolutely. Hand me them crutches and let's get outta here. Marcus is racing tonight and I can probably get a good look at his sparrow beforehand… if that's alright with yous.” She shrugs at her rambling in an endearing way, the freckles on her nose scrunching up in the motion.

Andal hands her the crutches and she props them under each armpit. They're not comfortable - she had them bring her armor components to rig them to be tolerable, but they do. They make it into the hallway before one of the more familiar nurses sees them.

“Where do you three think you're going?”

Cayde and Andal pause, but Amanda smiles sweetly. “I'm supposed to go for lots of walks,” She says. “These guys are going to walk me to some stall in the Bazaar for dinner. Is that okay?”

The nurse looks skeptical, especially with both Hunters looking so angelic behind her.

“Just dinner, huh?”

They nod. Definitely no off the books sparrow racing, or taking the Commander's charge down to the City without telling him.

“Well, alright. Not like you're a prisoner. Just be careful.” She looks to the two men. “If she feels tired, make sure you come right back. She's still not 100%, no matter what she says.”

The Hunters both mock salute, and, realizing the other has as well, erupt into laughter. Amanda shakes her head. “I think I'm babysittin’ you two instead of the other way around. Let's move, boys.”

She's been up to the main drag of the Tower in the last few days, mostly with Zavala, who makes a point to walk with her in the evenings if he has a shift during the day, or in the mornings if he works overnight. He keeps to low traffic times of day, and will not entertain business when she's around, unless it's a critical situation. Only once has he had to send her back to her room with someone else - and that person - a lanky female Titan with battered armor - was instructed to walk her to Sloane so the Deputy Commander could take her the rest of the way.

When the fresh air hits her face, she sighs happily. It's cooler today. She liked it better when it wasn't so warm out, even if she got colder quickly. Now, with the added effort it takes to walk, she can tolerate it even better. Cayde flanks her on the left and Andal takes her right as they traverse a considerably busy part of the Tower's marketplace. The Guardians look at her kind of funny, but no one comments. She assumes plenty of people have seen her by now or maybe they just don't care.

The Hunter duo acts like her personal entourage and helps clear a path for her if someone stops walking or gets too close while she's trying to gimp around them. By the time they make it to the Ramen shop, she's gone from ‘I could eat’ to 'one spicy ramen with extra noodles and pork gyoza please.’

A plethora of Hunters approach the three of them and it turns into a story-telling contest. Of course, Cayde and Andal are the masters of their craft, and as a result of the inevitable betting, their meals are free. The shop owner sneaks her a refill on her drink, bobbing around several cackling Guardians, with a wink and a smile. She's content to sit back and let things happen. Most of the Hunters are good about personal space. She's still a little touchy, but Cayde reads her easily enough, putting a hand over hers on her good leg when she starts tapping it anxiously.

“Ready to go to the track, fighter pilot?”

She nods to Cayde. Too many people are starting to crowd around them - it's just the dinner rush, but it's loud and makes her head buzz a little.

She looks down at her tablet, checking a new message. She chirps, “Marcus said I could take his Sparrow for a spi-” She pauses, and the rest of the world seems to fade out. She can't actually take it anywhere. She doesn't have a foot to shift with. She tucks her hands in her lap and looks down. She'd felt so normal, she'd forgot. Idiot, she rebukes herself, while somewhere else inside her she thinks invalid, cripple.

“You know,” Andal says, eyes shimmering with concern amid the usual mischief, “We could do the other thing…” He waggles his eyebrows, and Cayde chuckles. He's obviously noticed her mood change, too.

“Andal, I don't think Zavala will take it well if we go off planet.” Not that he'd appreciate them taking her to a seedy part of the last safe City to see a(n illegal) race, either.

Amanda nods, still looking down. “Probably not.”

Andal slings his arm around Amanda and grips Cayde's shoulder, pulling them in. He whispers, “What if we don't go off planet?”

Amanda's smile brightens immensely, and Cayde knew there was no way they'd be able to tell her no. He also knew there was a pretty decent chance Zavala would absolutely murder them for this later, but that was status quo.

“We can't be gone long,” Cayde says back, looking down at the girl between them, “But we can probably do some 'aerial surveillance’ of Trostland, if you know what I mean.”

-/

When they return to the last hangar docking bay on the far side of the Tower, there are two figures waiting for them. One looks generally exasperated, reclining in a rolling chair that obviously belonged to a service technician in a manner belonging to a queen regent.

The two Hunters are whooping, laughing, praising the blonde girl who who brought down the nondescript ship as natural as breathing while they descend from the cockpit to the concrete.

Their laughter cuts short as the slightest clunks of armor tip them off to the fact that they have company. Both fall silent and look back to the ship with a bit of a wince when an unruly mop of blonde lowers herself back in.

“Someone might want to start talking,” Ikora Rey calls, her ghost illuminating the area around her. She becomes visible, examining a beautiful dagger that's normally concealed in her boot. “He's been pacing for about an hour now.”

Andal sighs. “And why, pray tell, are you here, Ikora?”

“I,” She emphasizes, “Am the one who prevented him from-”

Zavala growls. “Ikora.”

She scoffs, scandalized. “What? I'm on your side.” She crosses her arms.

Cayde strolls leisurely into the fray. “Give me a break. We were totally safe. Told them we were going and everything.”

“To dinner,” Zavala says angrily. “Not off the damn planet for some joyride!” In the cockpit, Amanda curls up in the seat. She isn't a fan of his angry voice, or the little tremors it incites in her hands. “You know better!”

“Calm down, we didn’t even go to orbit. Just flew around the EDZ.” Cayde’s hands are up in a surrendering position, but the tone of his voice is lax. He doesn’t want to make a big deal of this. “Can we talk about this? Maybe, I dunno, without yelling?”

“This,” The Titan says, voice raised, “Is not even CLOSE to yelling.”

Andal steps between the two before it does actually come to yelling. “Let it go, both of you. There were… reasons why we didn’t stay in the City.”

“And those were?”

“We couldn’t go to the racetrack,” Cayde says. Andal hisses his hame.

From the other side of them, Ikora supplies, “That… doesn’t sound like any better of an idea.”

Amanda bites her lip squeezes her arms around her good leg and ignores the bad feeling starting in her leg. The pain helps her focus a little better on something besides the obvious cues to a panic attack that could not have worse timing while they fight over her actions below. She closes her eyes and hopes they stop soon so she can just go back to her room. She never should have gone out with them. And she can’t get out of the ship on her own, because she can’t walk, and she’ll absolutely fall if she tries to use the crutches to get out of the ship herself. It makes her burn with shame and her stomach churn. She’s so freaking useless. She shouldn’t even be here.

They continue their ‘debate’ below, on the concrete floor. “So, instead of going down to a shady racetrack to place bets, you decided on a continental exploration.” Zavala’s tone is still highly irritated, but not yelling. It’s the quieter angry. The more potentially explosive one. “She almost died, or did you two forget that part? Were you going to let her get on one of them with one leg, too?”

There’s a sigh. “Zavala,” Andal says quietly. “That’s enough.” Hotheadedness is only going to hurt this situation.

“It’s not. You two imbeciles are-”

Andal nudges Cayde. “Sorry,” The human says for them both, with a sharp look at the Exo. “We’re sorry.”

“You’re absolutely just saying that,” Ikora grouses, half mediator, half instigating. She’s literally datamining the conversation. “Why?”

Cayde rolls his optics in a rather deadpan fashion. “Because this is fucking stupid. She was able to do whatever she wanted before this.”

“And look where it got her.” The Warlock’s eyes are calculating, focused on the Exo as she speaks. “Not exactly a place someone wants to be.”

“Well, whose fault is that?” Cayde fires back immediately and immediately winces as he looks at the Commander’s darkening expression. It’s like someone has doused cold water on him. Any trace of previous malice is erased. “I - shit. I didn’t mean that,” He immediately says.

The Awoken man’s skin pulses in his frustration with white-blue aural patterns that shift. “I have admitted my part in all this. You two are not helping, considering how many jobs you’ve done with her - a child, at that.” He’s practically spitting as finishes speaking. “How good that must have been for her, all things considering, and the things that you know-”

“Watch it.” Cayde pushes back Andal and steps into Zavala’s face. “You want to talk about that, you don’t do it here. Amanda-”

“Ah yes,” Ikora interrupts helpfully, still reclining on the chair she’s been on. “Where is she, by the way?”

The three men look at each other, immediately guilt-stricken.

“Amanda?” Andal calls, tentatively.

Silence.

Cayde sighs and hops up onto the wing of the ship, peering down into the open cabin. “Fuck. Kid, we’re just blowing off steam. Didn’t mean to forget about you up here.”

“Get me out of this ship,” She says, quietly. Too quietly for the rest of them to hear her.

“We’re not mad at you,” He replies as he complies with her request, easily lifting her with one arm and grabbing her crutches with the other from behind the seats. “It’s been a stressful time.”

“Yeah,” She agrees, and keeps her fists clenched to prevent them from seeing them shake. “I get it.” Her tone is flat. When he sets her on the ground and hands them to her, she wastes no time in heading back in the direction from which they’d come to get to the hangar. Immediately all three men jump to follow her.

Ikora shakes her head, mumbling something about men as fools as Amanda ignores all three of their attempts to tell her that they’re sorry, instead telling all of them to leave her alone. “I will walk her back,” The mocha-skinned Warlock volunteers as the three are all telling Amanda that she can’t go back alone, the only thing they all clearly agree on. “It’s clear you three have some things to work out amongst yourselves.”

The second the two females are alone in the elevator, Ikora sneaks a glance at the girl. She’s very clearly trying to keep herself together. It’s a brave face. She sighs. Children are absolutely not her strong point, almost-mostly adult children or otherwise.

“They mean well,” She finally says. “They care very much for you.”

She nods, but doesn’t reply.

“Men, unfortunately, do not always understand the subtleties of sensitive situations. Cayde and Andal probably shouldn’t have taken you out so soon,” She concedes. “However, if you had seen Zavala when he came into the briefing room after discovering that you were gone, you’d have thought we were at war. He was terrified. Not as terrified as he was that first night - the night they brought you in, my Hidden tell me. I’ve never seen the Commander cry. Don’t think I’d like to,” She admits. “They said he bawled like a baby when the doctors told him they weren’t sure you could be saved. I’m surprised he even lets you out of his sight, if that’s the case.”

Her hands tremble, the grip on her crutches tightening despite their shaking. “I didn’t mean to make him worry.” Whether she’s apologizing for her first bit of time spent at the Tower or the day’s actions, she isn’t specific. “Jus’ want ta feel normal,” She admits.

Ikora’s chuckle is warm. “I get the feeling your normal and everyone else’s is a bit different. Even before this.”

“Comin’ from a Guardian,” She says softly, “I feel like that’s a moot point.”

“”Touché.” Ikora looks down at her at the same time she looks up. The Warlock realizes that she’s never actually introduced herself. “You may already know-”

“Ikora Rey,” She says, with a little nod up to the woman. “Heard plenty aboutcha. Good things,” Amanda continues. “And not to play the knife game with you.”

“Cayde?”

She smiles, a tiny quirk of lips. “Andal.” She can’t maintain it long, and resumes her lip-bit expression that’s holding tears at bay.

“Smart man.”

“Sometimes,” She says, forlornly.

Ikora frowns. She really has no idea what else to say.

-/

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” He says to her. “I mean, I know I owe you a favor and all, but are you really sure?”

She clenches her fists. “Yeah. It’s for the best.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. She’s paying him, so he really can’t refuse. “Well, Didi’s transmatted what you had here to my garage, and we’ll pick it up there after we hit your place. You really don’t want to stay? Seems like you got it pretty good here.”

“I,” She takes a deep breath. “I’m only a problem here, the longer I stay.” She says quietly. “I don’t want to cause more trouble.”

She looks away from the looming Traveler out the window, and back at the uneasy Hunter. He’s lingering by the door. “Well, let’s go then. There’s no one nearby, if you’re looking to prevent any goodbyes.” She nods.

She puts the envelope on the nightstand and lets him hold the door for her. Doesn’t look back. She can’t let them stop their lives to take care of her, and she can’t stand them fighting about her. She’s absolutely not worth it. She ain’t worth much these days, really.

Forward momentum. Wherever the Hell it takes her.

[thedistantstorm]

A Shipwright Worth Her Salt Chapter 01

“I know you’re there.”

A scuffle. A small, shadowed figure comes out from around the damaged concrete pillar of his shelter.

“Uhh, I think your radio is broken.”

He drops the gun he’s got pointed at her head to a less threatening position, holstering it on his belt. His ghost brushes the edge of his consciousness, alerting him that she’s alone. No identity in any database in the fledgling city. Likely a newer refugee. She doesn’t seem too startled by the gun pointed at her, instead staring at the fizzling exposed wires of his radio scanner.

Warily, she crouches low and approaches. “Are you a guardian working on the wall? To keep the bad guys out?”

He nods. “And you are?”

“Someone who can fix that,” she says, little hands already trying to pull the radio out of his.

“This is official Vanguard equipment.”

“It’s still ‘ficially broken,” She drawls. “You got any food?”

He chuckles. She’s not the first to come around asking for food. “If you’re hungry, I will feed you.” He lifts the radio up above her head. “But this is not a toy for little girls.” At her sulking pout, one corner of his mouth curves upward. “Broken or not.”

He’s heating up two rations of stew over a small thermal cookfire when he hears the triple thuwip-thuwip-thuwip of Fallen gunfire. The girl bites her lip when it trembles, and he immediately turns off the burner, the orange glow fading into black. The only thing she can see are his eyes, glowing electric blue in the dark.

“Take cover in the corner furthest from the windows and do not attempt to move from this building. Be silent. I will return shortly.” He shoulders a much larger gun than the one at his belt, and she blinks up at him owlishly. “Everything will be fine,” he promises, as an afterthought, already at the doorway. “Do not worry.”  

She spends the majority of the night listening to the sounds of gunfire, creeping out of her hiding spot only once, to procure the broken radio lying forgotten on the floor beside the burner. The most recent shots fired were far away, and she hopes that the guardian will stop their enemies and come back soon. Her stomach is hurting and she doesn’t want to eat the man’s food without him.

She traces the sigil on the radio in the dark, feeling the straight lines that contrast with the round, badge-like shape of the logo itself.  Without really thinking about it, she’s taken to fixing the radio, deft fingers untangling and righting the frayed wires. She reaches for her belt and pulls out a small soldering tool the size of a pen, relinking them immediately thereafter. Carefully checking the volume to prevent from giving away her location to any lurking enemies, she flicks it on. The static is a balm for her nerves, the voices across the air sounding cool and collected like the soldier she was attempting to get a meal from.

She drifts off to sleep against her will just before dawn, a combination of hunger and exhaustion. The radio drones on in static, the soldiers carrying on in their communications.

A low, waspish sound jolts her awake less than half an hour later, her aching body curling in on itself. She chances a look, her eyes downcast and she feels like her body has been doused in icy water.

There’s four of them.

They’re in the room with her.

She forces her body to go slack, but it wasn’t quick enough to avoid the enemies’ notice. Their chatter became louder and more hostile sounding, until a wraithlike bellow from the leader (she assumed, her eyes were scrunched closed in an obviously failing attempt to play possum) silences them.

Her fingers find purchase on the radio’s knobs and she thinks up a prayer to the Traveler, to her Ma and Pa, to anyone or anything that is feeling particularly inclined to help her.

Save me, she pleads. Please, please, help me get out of this.

She knows that if she attempts to make radio contact that they’ll shoot her before she can utter two words. It’s been a few moments though, and none of them have shot her yet so maybe she can use how little of a threat she is to her advantage. At least to attempt to escape. And she doesn’t hear anyone else around, so she’s pretty sure that guardian she met earlier was either pulled far away from her location or that he’s reported back to whatever guardians report to (he said somethin’ about a Vanguard?) and forgotten her entirely. Something in her gut sours at that. The quiet, strong man she encountered earlier today doesn’t seem like the forgetting type. He seems straight-laced and honor-bound. She wants to still like him on the other side of this mess.

Slowly, silently, she opens her right eye a crack and assesses the situation. If it weren’t so dire, she’d give them an earful, as the strange-looking aliens are slurping at what was supposed to have been her dinner and chattering loudly about it. Her eyes darken at the realization that they’re either convinced that she’s dead, or maybe they have some compassion in their veins (assuming they’re built the same) and won’t murder a little girl like her in cold blood. She scoots slowly to the base of what used to be a stairwell to the upstairs but now goes to open sky. They still haven’t noticed her movements.

She continues her micro-movements until he’s very nearly out of sight, her green eyes still half lidded, in case they look at her. Once she makes it the two feet over to the stairs, she knows she has to stand if she’s ever going to get out of her invaded shelter. The radio static will fade and the stairs will creak until she slips out the window she came in. It’s a dangerous plan.

The little girl inhales deeply through her nose and exhales silently.

Amanda Holliday is used to danger. These walls they’re building are supposed to keep people safe from stuff like this, but she was born in the wilds where there were no walls and even fewer shelters. She feels the smirk on her face and knows her Ma’d be proud. She ain’t gonna let these fallen get her. She’s gonna get outta here.

Without giving herself time to think, she springs up, one hand clutching the radio. She bolts up the stairs and has one leg out the window frame when an icy cold clawed hand grabs at her other leg, slashing through her grimy, frayed pants and lacerating her calf. She grits her teeth and kicks hard, all the while twisting the radio knobs until a loud blaring sound is emitted. She pushes the radio in the direction of what she assumes is her assailant’s ear and he recoils, giving her just enough time to flop out of the window and fall, landing in the bushes below.

The air leaves her lungs all at once, but she forces herself not to panic and breathe. She’s got to move and quick, because now she knows they’ll hurt her, based on the gashes on her legs. She gasps a breath of cold, damp air and pushes herself up into shaky legs before moving away quickly as they’d allow.

It’s almost morning, and she can see the edges of light at the horizon, a faded orangish purple color that at least gives her the ability to see where she’s going. There’s thick brush at the end of one of the war-torn streets and she realizes that she’s probably better off in the bramble than any of these dilapidated buildings.

She makes a wide loop around a block and screeches to a halt. They’ve fanned out to try and catch her, and she’s all but run directly into the Fallen Captain and the barrel of their rifle. Two of their Dregs fan out on either side, and she’s sure the other two are somewhere in the vicinity.

Her eyes widen and she turns back in the other direction, heart pounding and chest heaving with both panic and exertion. The others aren’t behind her, so she pushes her right foot hard against the crumbling blacktop in an attempt to build up speed.

Something she can’t see trips her about ten meters away from the Captain and she hits the ground, skids a bit further, crying out. He laughs in his strange synthesizer-esque tongue, the sound of his armored boots clacking against the pavement almost as loud as her heartbeat in her ears as he approaches her.

She pushes her scuffed palms under herself and tries to get up, but there is an invisible force that assaults her side with a pain that burns unlike any other kick she’s ever felt, and it nudges her none too gently into her back. Her jacket is smoldering from the contact, and as she looks up, electric pulses and the stench of ether burn her eyes and lungs as the other two Fallen appear out of thin air. Stealth Vandals, she remembers them being called. They crow at her menacingly and she feels her lip tremble against her will. The Captain still approaches, taking their time.

“I don’t got nothin’ y'all would want!” She screams, fists clenched tightly against the ground. “No weapons, no glimmer, no food!”

The Captain pauses, and she thinks maybe they understand her language, but it chatters to its subordinates and they step back as their leader raises the rifle at their prey.

“Don’t kill me! I’m just a li’tle girl! I can’t do nothin’ to ya!” Her eyes scrunch shut and she sobs.

The reply from her enemy sounds like Fallen-speak for ‘Not yet, but someday you could,’ and the rifle’s aim at her chest does not waver. Tears cascade down her face in hot, angry rivulets, but she opens her eyes to face her fate like she knew her Ma and Pa would tell her to, if they hadn’t met a similar fate.

She feels like life has become slow motion as the Fallen squeezes the trigger: two things happen at once.

A shot is fired and a large figure jumps to the ground from a building behind the Captain, fist first.

The ground beneath her lights up blue and wisps of warm current seem to buzz under her aching fists in a way that’s practically soothing. The Fallen scream in agony, the Captain’s subordinates vaporizing from the ground up. The Captain misses their shot, barely grazing the side of her torso with a painful but non-lethal blow.

Amanda’s face lights up in awe at sight of the guardian from earlier. His armor barely looks scuffed, and his face is contorted in rage as the Captain turns toward him, their gun looking to make contact with the new enemy. The guardian’s fist glows blue and he leaps forward, punching the ground twice at the feet of the last Fallen enemy, and it screams again, firing shots that bounce off of his armor like pebbles. Emptying their clip, the enemy brandishes a dagger and moves to advanced, despite looking rather worse for wear.

Zavala bellows, “Your kind made a mistake the second you entered this place. This is not, and will not ever be your domain.” He steps forward and easily disarms the Fallen team’s leader, landing the killing blow with the Captain’s own knife. They screech as they perish, but Amanda does not look concerned. She’s too busy pushing herself to her feet and running toward him.

“Are you unha-” Her little hands are touching his and the amount of concern in her eyes practically steals his breath from his lungs. She turns his palms over in his hands and looks up at him after a moment of intense inspection.

“How are your hands still in one piece?” She looks skeptical, but very, very relieved. “If I had done that mine’d be broke,” She continues in a smaller voice.

He can’t help but give her a little smile. “I am guardian. I have.. abilities that regular humans do not.”

“Oh,” she accepts, and the Awoken can’t help but feel a bit relieved that he does not have to go into a fuller explanation. “How’d you find me?”

“There was a report of a scout radio tuned to the emergency relay frequency that happened to be assigned to myself. They have location tracking equipment in them. I take it you fixed the radio when I was called away?”

She nods. “Got lucky that that’s what I tuned it to. Just wanted to spook ‘em,” She admits bashfully. “Needed to get outta that house with ‘em crawling all over in’it.”

Speaking of, the titan looks in all directions before speaking again. “We will need to get moving. There shouldn’t be many more, but I am required to report in, and you cannot stay out here if the enemy has a way to get in.” He turns her around and guides her in the direction of the civilian camp, where he will inevitably drop her off. She reluctantly follows. “What were you doing out this far,” he asks after a moment or two of watching her dirty shoes scuff the pavement.

“Scrappin.’”

“For?”

“Turn in good stuff, ‘n they feed ya,” she says with a shrug. “Shank shells, ammo, metals, wiring, stuff that ya can use to fix other stuff.”

“Your parents don’t worry?” He immediately senses that he’s asked the wrong question, because she doesn’t respond for a long while, and there’s a nagging feeling in the back of his brain he can’t shake.

She finally spoke, and it was in a whisper he strained to hear. “Ma died a coupl’a years back. Pa died few months ago, ‘fore we got here.” She looks up at the understanding look on his face. “Been scrappin’ since before all that though, this ain’t anything out of the ordinary, ‘cept it’s easier to hide out there when they come after ya,” she gestures toward the fledgling wall and the wilderness outside it.

He quirked an eyebrow at that. The little girl had a very near miss with death, and she seemed to process the more frightening situations she was exposed to with little pomp and circumstance. It was an impressive thing, in his eyes, though also terribly sad. “You are one brave little girl -” He pauses and looks down at her. She never did tell him her name.

“Amanda,” She replies. “Amanda Holliday.”

He stops to turn toward her, kneeling so that she comes up to the middle of his chest instead of his thigh. “Zavala,” He says in kind, extending a hand.

Her gaze is drawn to the swirling light under his skin, but she reaches out without hesitation, her palm fully engulfed in his larger one as they shake hands. “Thank you for saving me, Zavala,” She whispers bashfully.

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Holliday. Thank you for fixing my radio.”

They trudge along for a while more before the titan reaches into a pouch at his waist and pulls out the scuffed but functional radio. He hands it to her and she beams, examining her earlier handiwork. The radio has definitely seen better days, but she figures he knew that. She hands it back to him. “Y’know, those Fallen guys were scary, but you ‘n that glowing fist trick are way more terrifying. ‘M glad you’re on our side.”

[thedistantstorm]

A Shipwright Worth Her Salt Chapter 08

In which: Everyone has to deal with their choices.

“Do I even want to know why you're here? Where is Zavala?” Ikora can't help the sharpness of her tone.

Cayde sidles up next to her and laughs. “Listen, there was a slight hiccup in a mission, Zavala came to clean up, and now we're here to help you out while he ties up some loose ends in the field. Nothing crazy.”

Ikora arches an eyebrow. “You do know I have an entire network of operatives who can find out just about anything about anyone, yes?” Her voice is low and predatory, and Andal puts a firm hand on the other Hunter's shoulder. They're friends, but Ikora is married to her work and has been since long before she became the Warlock Vanguard officially.

“Don't worry about Zavala, Ikora. Cayde has been kind enough to take on my tasks, and I will manage Zavala's.” The hand on Cayde's shoulder becomes crippling when he looks back at Andal with that ‘I didn't sign up for this’ look of his.

Ikora sits back in her chair at the Vanguard table, looking for all the world a queen. “So, what makes you two so generous all of a sudden?” Andal thinks that the picture would look more complete if she had a glass of wine in her hands. She looks away from them with a certain smugness about her. “Certainly it doesn't have anything to do with the little girl in med-bay alpha.” Looking back at dual-guilt stricken faces, she sighs, gesturing that it's time to get everything out in the open. “I'll have the details now.”

The Hunters fold. Nothing gets past Ikora.

She motions for them to sit and sends a message on her tablet. Sloane appears immediately afterward, like she's been waiting in the wings this whole time. “Ma'am?”

“Sit. These two were just about to explain why you've been doing all of Zavala's work for the last two days. I figured you would want to listen in.”

Cayde fidgets and Andal scoffs. “I'll not have this made known through the Tower, Ikora. The man is entitled to due privacy, just like you are. Traveler knows I look the other way enough for you. I realize you are his second, Sloane, but-”

“Anything you say will be kept private,” Sloane says, sitting rigidly in a seat beside Ikora. “The Commander was not himself when he left. I'm… concerned.”

Would wonders never cease, two Titans with the warm and fuzzies in as many days. Andal and Cayde exchanged looks. Things kept getting weirder and weirder around here.

Ikora nods. “We cannot help unless you tell us what is going on.” The predatory gaze wanes, and she takes on a more motherly demeanor. “Start at the beginning.”

Andal grins. “Been hearing that a lot lately.”

-/

It's late when Sloane dips into the room. Aashimah is hovering quietly between Guardian and child. The girl is hooked up to several monitors and has a machine breathing for her.

If she did not know the man in the chair, his back to her, she'd assume it to be the girl's parent.

“Ahem.” She cleared her throat quietly. “Sir?”

He jolted, obviously woken by the address. His Ghost turned her optic toward Sloane, irritation plainly visible.

“I have been trying to get him to sleep for hours now, Deputy Commander,” She snarls as Zavala puts a hand atop her shell.

“It’s alright,” He cautions her, blinking back the sleepiness from his eyes. “Sloane. What are you doing here?”

She toes at a scuff on the floor, clearly not sure what to say.

“Better yet, how did you know where to find me?” The whoosh-click of a ventilator is the only sound in the room. It almost sounds like hydraulics if she doesn’t look at the body in the bed.

“Ikora pressed on Andal and Cayde.” His eyes narrowed at the confession. “They didn’t give specifics, but Ikora put it all together.”

“So you saw fit to come down here to investigate yourself.”

“Actually,” She bristled at the accusation in his tone, “I came to see if you needed anything.” After a pause, she added, “Sir.”

After a momentary staring contest, he motioned for the other Titan to sit. “Sit-rep?” He asked, after she dropped a folding chair beside his own and lowered herself into it.

“Everything is fine. Nothing new, unless you count the increased number of Fallen in the Outskirts.”

Despite lowering her voice, a pair of hands come up toward the tube going into the girl's mouth while Sloane gives her account of recent events. Zavala moved quickly, hands taking hers gently.

“Don't touch,” He soothes, as green eyes open and track his luminescent ones in the low light. There’s a soft gurgle, the ding of a machine, and what seems like a silent conversation. He puts a palm on her forehead. “Easy now. They’ll take it out soon enough. Rest.” Her eyes close for a moment, and then open again. She’s no longer fighting the ventilator to breathe, though her eyes water from being awake with it down her throat. She blinks and looks to the newcomer in the room and then back, the question in her eyes.

“Sloane,” Zavala’s ghost chimes, her voice almost melodic in the silence. “She's a friend, Little One.” Optic settling upon the off-duty Guardian, she continues. “Come over and say hello.”

Sloane stands rigid, surprised to be addressed by the Commander’s normally silent partner in such a conversational manner after irritating her. She approaches the other side of the girl’s bed so that she’s in decent view. Zavala withdraws the hand from her forehead and Amanda blinks over at Slone with curious, tired eyes.

“I know we’ve worked together before,” She hums in her alto voice, “But it’s nice to meet you in person. The name’s Sloane.”

Zavala looks over at his second in command with a scrutinizing glance. The girl raises her right hand toward the Deputy Commander. Sloane smiles and grabs it with her own. The girl’s handshake is firm. When they release each others’ hands, she puts hers back to her side and allows her eyes to drift closed again, accepting of the newcomer.

Both Titans return to their seats as she falls back asleep - evidenced by the decrease in heart rate and blood pressure on the monitor above her bed.

“Cayde mentioned an ambush,” She ventures, quieter than before. “But he said it was a building collapse that injured her. Is her prognosis-”

Zavala sighs at that. “She’s going to live,” He says softly. “But she is rarely alert for more than a few moments at a time, or wakes confused and combative, hallucinating. The physician says that it is a part of the infection, from the field amputation. Most injuries like this have the propensity to be fatal, but they believe she received treatment in time.”

She looks over at the girl, noticing the wide, large bandage that distinguishes her right leg ending significantly short of the other. “They didn’t say anything about that.”

He gives her a sharp glance, and she puts her hands up. “I suppose not. Cayde and Andal,” He breathes, taking a moment to compose himself. He supposes he should speak on the subject, as it will likely be common knowledge soon. “Were attempting to rescue her from a Pike Gang. She was attempting to raid their vehicles. A ruddy salvage mission with pisspoor intel.”

“Alone?”

He allows himself an irritated grunt of affirmation. Composing himself, he says, “We assume it was one of the Servitors that collapsed the building she was in. Her leg was… crushed. Andal and Cayde did what they could to allow us to extract her. The cost...”

She puts a hand on his shoulder. “If I may, Sir,” She says, sure to meet his eyes. “You don’t need two legs to fly.”

He shakes his head. “I suppose not. But none of this would have happened if I-”

The dinging resumes, drowning out the sound of a gag. Both of them look up. The blonde’s sitting up straight in bed, shaking her head despite the tubes connected to her. She’s trying to tell him no, it’s not his fault, and her general inability to communicate - and the fact that she’s choking herself trying to do so - is only getting her more worked up.

“Should I go get someone?” Sloane asks tentatively.

“No. Leave us,” He says, turning back to the girl. “She’ll calm.”

She nods, and sees herself out. Immediately, the girl flops back against the pillows and holds both hands out to him, seeking to comfort him. She only relaxes when he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, and she’s turned on her side, bad leg kicked out behind her so that it rests on a pillow, the rest of her curled around him, and her hands holding his atop his knee.

He can’t understand it. If he had made a different choice that day, had tried to take on both his obligation to the city as well as the one he refused to acknowledge he had to her…

None of this would have happened.

-/

Amanda has her good leg pulled up so that her chin rests on her kneecap, her stump kicked out in front of her. She's trying to lift it, but her muscles throb and burn with the cramping pain of a limb that's no longer there. She grunts and feels her body shake before she overtaxes herself and flops back against the couple pillows behind her back, limply.

She absolutely should not be moving this much, but she’s so tired of being stuck in this stupid bed. It hurts beyond measure when she finally scoots back down under the covers, pulling them up to her armpits and reaching for the tablet left for her on the side table.

“You know,” Comes a smooth tenor voice from the doorway, “It might not hurt so much if you actually took the meds they gave you.” Cayde sashays into the room and plunks down next to the bed in a folding chair that he turns around and straddles. “How ya doing, kid?”

She scoffs. “Up until this happened, y'all treated me like an adult. What gives?”

“You're kidding, right?” He gestures to her leg. “You nearly died. That first night - ah, okay. Not going there.” Awkward head scratch. “You discuss this with Zavala at all? You seemed pretty okay with him treating you like a kid.”

She flushes hotly at that. “I was outta my mi-”

“Is it because I'm an Exo? Just because I'm silicone and metal doesn't mean I don't have feelings, Amanda,” He mock pouts.

That earns him a giggle. “I know you gotta heart in that shiny body a'yours, Cayde. And I haven't seen Zavala since…”

Cayde shrugs. “...Since you were having fever dreams and had to be heavily medicated?” She looks away, embarrassed. “Aw, c'mon. Don't be upset, he'd never hold it against you. Besides, I think he liked that he was the only person you'd let comfort you. Made him feel special, not that I appreciated it very much. I thought I was your favorite.”

“Cayde-6, you are not making me feel better.” Her cheeks are rosy - more embarrassment related than from her lingering fever - and she refuses to look at him, still.

“Deal with it, kiddo. You know who'll be back sometime tomorrow and you know he's going to come check on you - heaven forbid we acknowledge personal matters on the comms, Vanguard matters only, yadda yadda, I'm sure he's beside himself. Anywho... it's kinda good that he won't be back ‘til then. Gives us some time to...” She sneaks a glance at him. He's got that look on his face, and his hands make a vague gesture. His ‘mano-a-mano’ discussion face.

“What is it?” She shifts uncomfortably to get her stump in a less painful position, but ends up lifting her leg with her hands to move it where she wants. Everything is sore from falling several stories, and most of her backside has bloomed into shades of black, blue, and a curious greenish-purple.

Cayde gets up and shuts the door to her room.

She blinks. Must be serious.

“What do you remember about all this?”

Amanda frowns, crosses her arms. “About this?” She gestures down at her leg. Cayde nods, but stays silent. Patient.

Too patient.

“I r’member you guys findin’ me, but it's all a little foggy. I say somethin’ stupid to get you in trouble?”

“No! No. Not really. I mean, you didn't. It's more of something Z - er, we told him to do, and you kind of - I mean, you didn't really handle it well, and-”

“Just spit it out, Cayde.”

The words come out in a hurry. “We didn't know how else to keep you from moving, and I totally didn't you'd relive that or I never would have had him hold you down like that and I'm just, I'm sorry. I never even thought about it, I just wanted the most efficient way to...” He rambles.

Her fists twist in the blankets. “By reliving ‘that,’” She air quotes, “You mean-”

“Yeah.” Cayde bows his head.

Breathing gets heavier. She grounds out, “I don't remember it.”

“It's probably for the best. I can, y'know, handle it for you and we can just-”

She's furious and ashamed, and it's rolling off of her in waves when she interrupts. “Who held me down, who did I think was… was-” Her voice cracks and she can't force the rest of it out.

“Amanda, I'm-”

“Just fuckin’ tell me! If it was you we wouldn't be-”

“Zavala. It was Zavala, okay? I've been avoiding him like the plague since, er, all this, but he wants answers and I don't know what you want me to tell him!” His voice escalates as he keeps rambling and she keeps drawing further in on herself as he does. “He's going to come back here and sooner or later I'm going to have to-”

“Get out.”

“What? Amanda, don't be-”

She's shrieking now, inconsolable. “Get OUT!”

“Kid, please, I'm sorry.” He reaches his hand out and she flinches hard. “I never meant for-”

“I, know,” The words come, forced. She's staring at the wall, body pitched away from him. “Leave me alone. I can't,” She pants through panic, “be ‘round anybody right now.”

He dips out without a word, but she hears the slamming and banging out in the hall. He's upset, too. It isn't his fault she couldn't control herself. She pulls her good knee up to her chest and tries to stop breathing weirdly.

When Sloane enters her room later, Amanda's got her breathing mostly under control, though she hasn't moved from her spot mostly crowded against the head of the bed.

“Is there a reason Cayde-6 is sitting on the floor outside your room looking like a kicked puppy?”

The blonde startles, meeting dark eyes. “He's,” She breathes, forces herself to speak calmly, “still outside?”

The Deputy Commander nods.

“Cayde?” Amanda says louder. “It's been a really long time.”

Shuffling and two treads of warn boots later, Cayde lingers in the doorway. “Is it okay if I come in?”

Sloane looks temporarily mortified. “Was it okay that I came in?”

Amanda pats the expanse of empty bed by her stump for Cayde to come and sit. He complies, moving slowly. Sloane watches intently, analyzing as her question goes unanswered. It isn't a refusal, and the girl had acknowledged her when she came in so Sloane stays where she is.

“I'm not mad at you,” She drawls quietly, green eyes focused on her hands folded in her lap now that she's set her good leg straight. “I just can't believe that I did that.”

“Did what?” Cayde shakes his head at Sloane, but Amanda puts her hand on his gloved one and squeezes.

“Just a panic attack,” She says slowly. Convincing enough. “Guess this whole leg business was a bit more traumatic than I thought.”

Her hand is shaky, but Cayde flips his palm over and rubs his thumb over her knuckles. It's not Sloane's business why this actually came on. No one speaks for a bit, and her hand gets heavier as she starts to fall asleep even though though she's trying to fight it. “You should try to rest. Those always tire you out,” The scout intones at a volume just above a whisper. He doesn't look at her, just keeps smoothing his thumb over pale skin. Sloane's deep eyes smolder as she regards them both.

“'M sore,” She whispers back. “Can't get comfortable.”

Sloane rises. “I'll get someone to give you something.” Amanda nods.

“She's been reporting to Zavala,” Cayde says softly. “I hacked her tablet.” Amanda giggles - it pulls on pseudo-heartstrings in his mechanical chest, how young she sounds(how young she is). “It's all super rigid Titan-speak, but he's been checking in at least twice a day.”

She hums. “He'll be back in the morning, yeah?”

“Yeah, should be. Want me to stick around until then? With the,” Vague gesture, “y'know. You might, uh, not sleep great, even with meds.”

She pulls their joined hands toward her with surprising force for a young girl. “You're a good friend,” She says, embracing him with lanky arms. “I don't deserve you.”

The Exo's vocal process clicks - going off and back online. It's the only indication that her words have made him emotional. He doesn't move to hug her back, even if he wants to. It's a bad day. He won't make it worse. “You deserve so much more than this, kid.”

When the Titan returns with an orderly and pain medication, the girl finally sleeps. Sloane and Cayde do not. Never friends and rarely colleagues, the Deputy Commander shakes her head at the thought of her commanding officer throwing down with the most rambunctious of Hunters.

Cyan optics flicker. “What?” His voice is a low rumble. Between them, Amanda shifts but does not wake.

“This girl has more than half the Vanguard - and you - eating out of the palm of her hand. She's a cute kid and a decent pilot, but it's not adding up.”

Cayde chuckles. “She's special. Makes Golden Age tech sing. You break it, she's got it working in seconds.” He releases her hand when it twitches in his grasp. “And that heart a’hers is so big, even when this world's done nothing but try to break it.”

“People - humanity face adversity, Cayde. Plenty of the refugees face similar things.”

“They do,” he agrees.

Sloane holds her hand out in a gesture that says his point makes no sense.

“So, why her?” He taps his metal chin thoughtfully as he asks himself the question. “I dunno. Maybe it ain't supposed to make sense. She's just some girl, right? And we're just dead people reincarnated to fight - to protect her and everybody else. She's a metaphor for what we're fighting for. One who's been dealt a shit hand but makes the best of it.” He puts a hand on the back of his head and stretches his synthetic spine with a groan. “Anyway, you'll probably like whatever Zavala's answer is better. I'm sure it's more eloquent.”

Another waving gesture. She hummed thoughtfully after a time, “Yours was eloquent enough. I'll take your word for it.”

-/

[thedistantstorm]

A Shipwright Worth Her Salt Chapter 02

He leaves the large hunk of bread and container to go with it wrapped in a piece of cloth and hidden in a nook she had pointed out to him as he passes through to head out beyond the walls for a patrol. He’ll check it when he gets back, and as it’s been the last few times, the little crevice will be void of all food, the container washed and clean with only a crumb or two on the cloth he’s wrapped it in.

It’s barely enough for a little girl to get by on, and he doesn’t make it there for long stretches at a time, but he hopes that she’s thriving, since he hasn’t seen her in person since leaving her at the refugee camp months ago.

It’s weeks later that he happens upon it again, and with a bit more time to spare. He can’t help but quirk an eyebrow at the large piece of a Fallen pike that’s hidden beneath a large, tattered tarp inside the bombed out shelter when he makes his way inside. He lifts the faded cover away and stares down at it. It’s a larger chunk of engine block, and there’s some discarded circuitry on the ground around it. Part of the ether tank is under it, and he realizes she’s probably made some type of skid to get it into this makeshift shelter of hers. Most civilians didn’t enjoy living in the skeletal ruins of what once was, but she seemed to thrive away from prying eyes.

She’s a tinkerer, he learned. There’s little things scattered about the crumbling countertops of what he assumes was a garage or kitchenette. Discarded and reclaimed tools, bits of wire and metal, screws and bolts everywhere. He investigates the one cupboard that has a door hanging lopsidedly from it and discovers she’s created a bunk from the cupboard. She’s small, and the cupboard is likely too small, but he assumes she’s making due, since there’s not much of a roof left on the building to begin with.

There’s a sketchbook under a dirty blanket, and he flips it open to see detailed drawings of all sorts of machinery. The bits of the pike have been broken down, with annotated explanations in steady scrawl across the edges of the pages, as well as a rudimentary sparrow, the typical convoy truck that pulls wagons of refugees, and even some older vehicles he’s only seen the husks of in his journey through the EDZ.

On the third to last page is a diagram of the scout radio she repaired for him in their first meeting. To say he’s impressed with her observations is an understatement. When he sets down the book where he found it, he hears a cough behind her.

“Do ya always go through my stuff when ya come by?”

A brief flit of embarrassment crosses his face before his stoic, business-like demeanor reigns it in. He makes a non-committal hum and she huffs, blowing stringy blond hair out of her face before plopping on the ground in front of him and slinging her pack off. She yanks it open, and pulls out a bagged bundle before dumping everything else onto the ground with a loud clatter. A lot of it is fallen tech, but some of it are pieces of guardian weaponry, badly damaged, as well as a radio that looks even worse than the one that sits in on the shelf above the bunk in his barracks. Saladin had insisted he be outfitted with a better comm as his influence grew over the newer guardians.

“Ya need anything fixed up?” She asks after some time spent organizing her finds, lighting a small, dented lantern to cast light on them. Her head lifts and she meets his eyes when he doesn’t answer her.

He blinks at her, shaking his head without sound and his ghost pops out of thin air between them, whirling and chittering as she spins around the girl who looks up in surprise. “Hi there,” Amanda says shyly. The ghost bobs in front of her, shell spinning as if to indicate that her focus was narrowing.

“You again,” The reply comes, in a strangely maternal voice. The ghost advances quickly, and Amanda recoils at the intrusion to her personal space. “Find anything good out there?” She asks in her own version of a backpedal, the cyan light of her center flickering as she speaks.

“Uhh, well today I found some weapons and ammo,” She replies softly. “Most of the shank shells are from a few days ago. Was hopin’ to trade ‘em for glimmer or a toolset, but there’s lots of them being turned in, so I’ll haveta wait until the market is better since I don’t happen on a lot of ‘em.”

His ghost chatters in her electric way, computing something before responding. “Shank shells are something they’re asking for at the outpost.” She scans the girl’s haul, her lens illuminating the equipment on the ground as she rattles in tones that tell her guardian she’s making an analysis. “Probably could get a couple hundred glimmer for this, and the remains of the pike could be used to fix up your sparrow that you accidentally wrecked on our last patrol when you didn’t listen to me about flying directly into the Captain holding the scorch cannon.” Zavala rolled his eyes halfway, stopping abruptly when he notices the girl’s hopeful expression.

“I could do that!” The blonde chimes excitedly.

“No,” He says to his ghost. “Do not start this. There’s no telling when I’ll be called out, and I cannot act as an intermediary for every orphan in the city getting a raw deal at the Exchange.” The scowl on Amanda’s face was pointedly ignored.

“Yes, but every mechanic in the city has weeks of work to do before they’ll be able to get to your sparrow. It’s practically totalled anyway. May as well let her have at it, and worst case you’ll still have at least two weeks to wait for one of the city mechs to work on it.”

“You two done bickering about it?” The girl’s put away all her findings and sits back down, pulling the wrapped parcel onto her lap. “If he don’t want me to help ‘em, that’s fine, um -”

“I’m a ghost. Zavala’s ghost,” The little light says gently. “We’re partners.”

“That’s good,” Amanda says. “Havin’ someone is important.” The guardian and ghost share a pained look over her head, but the comment had no bite in it. She pulls out a crust of bread, and something that looks like a type of soup or broth. There’s not enough to share, but she offers it to him despite the rumbling he can hear from her belly. He shakes his head and she shrugs, before taking slow, concentrated bites.

He looks at his ghost, and she flickers at him pointedly, watching her try not to rush through the meal despite obvious hunger. He knows what that look and the narrowing of her optics means. Give her something to do. We have the glimmer to pay her for an odd job, that look says. It doesn’t have to be the sparrow, it can be anything. Zavala’s gaze remained stoic and firm, a reminder that it was one thing to leave a little food here and there, but he could not fight her battles for her. The world was cruel, though it felt like an arcbolt grenade to the chest to picture just want that could mean for her. Just the realization startles him. He cares for humanity, all of it. He’s a protector of all. But this is something different.

It could be his undoing. He tries not to focus on it further.

“What’s it like on a sparrow,” she asks when she’s half way done with her meal. She packs it back up, likely to have later to take the edge off. Zavala watches her expression change to interest as she regards him. His chest tightens at her hopeful, guarded excitement. “It’s gotta be like flyin’, right?”

“It is more like riding on one of those wagons people come into the city on than flying a ship,” He says slowly. “Except quite a bit faster.”

“You’ve flown a SHIP?!” Her voice is raised and incredulous.

He chuckles at her amazement, he can’t help himself. “Yes. Guardians have to travel across the globe and even to other planets for missions. I have my own.”

“That’s neat! What’re the specs on it? I watch them sometimes, when they take off from the base,” she says. “That way I’ll know if I see yours!”

His ghost, eager to please, projects an image of it directly in front of her, and she all but scampers into her cupboard sleeping area to grab her pad and pencil. She sketches it quickly as his ghost rattles off specifications that he doesn’t care to understand.

“You are interested in flying?” Zavala asks her, propping his chin up with his hand.

She nods, holding up her sketchpad and comparing it to the projection from his ghost before flipping it closed and tucking it on the ground next to her. “Always wanted to fly. See the stars, the other planets the Traveler’s touched.” She leans back and looks up at the night sky through a large chunk of missing roof. “Reckon I made it to the City, and that’s a pretty big feat,” she murmurs. “I’m good at takin’ things apart and makin’ ‘em right again, so I figure I could learn how to build my own someday. Then, head out and see just what’s goin’ on in the solar system.”

His ghost hums her approval. “That sounds like a good dream,” She says. Zavala nods.

“Not a dream,” The girl says defensively. “It’s a goal. Might take a while considerin’ I’m livin’ meal to meal right now, but I’ll get there someday. You’ll see.”

They stay in relative silence after that, listening to the sounds of crickets and rare peacefulness, until Zavala’s ghost relays a message from another titan, his voice booming and at least five times louder than any other person Amanda’s ever heard. Zavala ducks out of the girl’s shelter, laying a hand on her head as he passes, hesitating slightly - not that she noticed - but following through.

It’s the first time since well before her Pa’s died that she can remember someone touching her with fondness. Pa’d been very scattered and lost at the end, moving about life in a haze. She puts both hands on her head, commiting the warm feeling to memory. She still doesn’t feel safe here, but she sleeps more soundly than she has in months.

-/

Three days later, Amanda hears what sounds like a knock on the brick wall on the far side of her shelter. It’s rather early, and other than the blue-skinned guardian, she doesn’t get visitors. She feels panic wash over her just as she hears someone call out. “HELLO?!”

She recognizes that voice. It’s the one Zavala’s ghost relayed to him when he came to visit. Her shoulders relax marginally.

“Hiya,” She calls back, rounding a wall that separated what she’s guessing was a sitting area from the kitchen. Her gaze is calculating. The man has armor, a helmet with horns and no eye-holes, unlike Zavala who doesn’t wear a helmet - or at least not that she’s seen. He looks kind of important. And also strange, since she can’t see his eyes.

He can obviously see her, because he flicks his wrist and speaks to his ghost, who materializes just above his palm. “ZAVALA, YOU’VE SENT ME TO A LITTLE GIRL. HOW IS A LITTLE GIRL GOING TO REPAIR MY COMMUNICATOR?” His voice doesn’t sound angry, she supposes, just impatient and LOUD.

“Zavala sent you?” Amanda’s head cocks to the side at the sight of the ghost’s lens turning orange.

“Trust me, Shaxx. You will not be disappointed.” She blushes at the undertones of confidence in his voice, relayed by the ghost through a bit of static.

The large man, Shaxx, she committed to memory, sighed. “ALRIGHT, BUT IF THIS GOES WRONG, I’M HOLDING YOU RESPONSIBLE.” The ghost disappeared from sight in a shower of white sparks, and Amanda watched as he removed the armor over his right forearm. She could see the loose wires, and cracked plating. The chip in it was probably bad, too.

He holds it out to her, and his hands rest on his hips. She turns and heads into her main space, the shoddy little kitchenette, and sets it on the counter, before looking through a pile of miscellaneous radio parts she’s got stashed in a broken drawer. A rusty screwdriver, a couple sturdier wires, some salvaged plating, and one chip lifted out of a busted helmet comm later, she sat down and got to work.

“YOU REALLY DO KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING,” He said, watching her tongue peek between her teeth as she snaps the metal cover off with a bit of leverage.

“Sure do,” She says with a smile, pulling out her soldering tool to bind the chip to its casing just enough to prevent it from coming loose. “I’ll be done in just another couple’a minutes,” she says, and within five minutes, she’s handing him back the gauntlet. “Made it a bit more sturdy. You look like someone who likes to punch things.”

Shaxx chuckles. “I LIKE YOU, GIRL.” He holds his wrist up to his lips, speaking his authorization code loudly.

“Go ahead,” comes the familiar voice of her guardian friend.

“THE GIRL KNOWS WHAT SHE’S DOING, ZAVALA. SHE MADE IT STURDIER BECAUSE SHE RECOGNIZED THAT I AM A WARRIOR WHO ISN’T AFRAID TO GET HIS HANDS DIRTY.”

Amanda laughs, “Somethin’ like that.”

“SHE’S GOT SPUNK. I CAN SEE WHY YOU LIKE HER.”

She can hear the chuckle of Zavala as Shaxx cuts the comm link and wonders if he heard her. Shaxx reaches into a pouch on his belt. “WHAT’S MY BILL?”

“I - uh,” She pauses. Bill? She got to owe Zavala at least ten or fifteen favors by now. How many times has he left her something to eat? “There’s no charge,” she says quietly. “I owe your friend, the guardian, er, Zavala. A lot.” She wipes her hands off on a towel.

“NONSENSE. YOU MAY OWE ZAVALA, BUT YOU DON’T OWE ME ANYTHING.” He pulls out a larger chunk of glimmer than she’s seen. “OUR TECHS WOULDN’T DO THIS FOR LESS THAN 750 GLIMMER, AND THEY’D TAKE FAR LONGER, INCOMPETENT BUFFOONS, THE LOT OF THEM.” He puts 500 glimmer in her hand, closes her fist around it. “I’LL ASSUME YOU CHARGE LESS, SINCE YOU USE SALVAGED PARTS.” She looks up at him and guesses he’s got to be smiling under that helmet of his.

He straps on his gauntlet and nods. “MIND IF I COME BACK, SHOULD I NEED ANY MORE REPAIRS, LITTLE MECHANIC?”

She shakes her head. “Feel free,” she says with a shy smile.

When Zavala came by two weeks later, she’d had enough food to share, and he let her, eager to hear about the handful of guardians he’d sent her way. What surprised him more so, was that Shaxx had also done the same thing. It was rewarding, seeing the spark in her eyes. It reminded him of eager guardians, looking forward to their first missions. She’d found a purpose.

[thedistantstorm]

A Shipwright Worth Her Salt Chapter 04

She does her best not to think of him anymore, high above her in the Tower. All it does is make her chest burn and her eyes sting. It’s a cruel world. She’s lost everyone else she’s cared for, why would he be any different? He isn’t. She’ll adapt, she always does.

It’s what she tells herself, but she still dreams of the stoic mask covering the Speaker’s face when he says that following the dedication of the watch atop the wall, civilians will be barred from entering. And worse, she dreams of his face, stoic and unfeeling, when she screams and cries and tries to pull from his grasp: because he brought her up there, he showed her the hangar and the ships, he spent time with her, he told her all that he wanted for her, he told her he - no, she thinks, don’t even think about what he said. He did it on purpose. Because he knew. He knew it would be the last time.

“My place is in the Tower. My duty is to protect the Traveler, and the remnants of humanity. I cannot bend the rules in the way I might have in the past. The Vanguard looks to me to lead them. I cannot - this cannot continue.”

It’s stupid, really, she thinks, when she wakes with tears leaking from her eyes and a hollow ache in her chest. What did she expect? It wasn’t like he was indebted to her. If anything, it was the other way around. It was hard though, to see him come through the City on occasion, a fireteam at his back, looking for all the world like the Commander he’d become and nothing like the kind man who’d bring her food, who would regale her with tales of heroism, who sent work her way when he knew scrap prices were down.

Eventually, though, the tears stop coming, and the hole he’s left in her heart is plugged by work. There’s a lot of it. Less guardians meant more smugglers, more crime. Up in their tower, the guardians watched the horizon, but lost touch with what was happening in the City beneath their feet, and Amanda Holliday grew up fast.

-/

“Sir, I have intel from Ikora.”

He nods. “Proceed.”

“There is a crime syndicate responsible for the theft of our shipment from Hakke. One of her Hidden got eyes on an aircraft running directly from the manufacturer to their base. Apparently they sign off using stolen codes. The reason Hakke had no idea why we were missing the weapons is because their logs say we picked them up.”

Bright eyes met hers and he nodded. “We have the location of their base?”

“Yes. Hakke has been instructed not to interfere with the pickup, only to notify us on a secure line the next time someone picks our shipment. I have a fireteam on standby to intercept and obtain the shipment.”

“I see. And do we know what this crime syndicate is all about?”

“Unconfirmed, but there are a few possibilities. The Hidden have eyes on the operation, they’re greedy. It’s likely they’re selling our weaponry to guardians with a steep markup, or keeping them to incite their own wars. Either way,” She pauses long enough to look at the blurry images on the screen in front of them, “Andal says one of his Hunters has a contact that can get us in the warehouse they use as their base of operations. I’ll get a recovery team together to go in, and a containment team to stop the rest. Care to run tactical?”

“Indeed.” His posture says more than anything that he’s pleased. “Excellent work, Sloane. I’ll leave the rest to you. Let me know when I am required to participate.”

She salutes, eyes glimmering brightly. “You got it, Commander.”

-/

She never had time to look back from the smoldering rubble that had been her makeshift home in the Last City. There was something about that, she supposed. Forward momentum. Guilds had become common amongst the citizens, and not even they were immune to the decay of crime and corruption. She’d been in her shop when they appeared that day, close to sunset, though it had been cold and raining too hard to tell.

Two of them held her down while the rest of them went through her paltry belongings, taking anything they felt was of worth, breaking the rest. They dragged her out just as the smell of smoke started making her eyes water, and just before one of the mostly empty cans of fuel exploded, likely taking with it most of the first story.

She remembered only bits and pieces of the rest, whether that was a blessing or a curse, she wasn’t sure. The names they called her faded into white noise after a while, though the burning pain of their blows and otherwise stayed with her long after. She’d kept her eyes scrunched closed, let her mind wander, and prayed for it to end, clawing and screaming until they’d pinned her to the ground from the neck down, tears stung her eyes, and breath left her lungs.

When it was over, they’d thrown her into an alley in a shameful state, threatening to repeat the process if she attempted to take work from them again. She’d laid there all night, and for the first time in her life, she wanted it all to end. There was nothing left. When she woke up the next morning and it hadn’t, she sighed, scraped herself up off the wet ground and started again.

Two months later, she took on a job from a bigger group on the other side of the city, having started selling salvaged scrap to them for far more than the pitiful rates the mech guild that dominated where she’d been living before. The area was a bit more damaged, the cracks in the wall bigger, but she’d learned how sneak around. No one was coming to save her, and she lived each day knowing the next day was the only gift she’d get. Safety was a luxury she just couldn’t afford.

The job was to recover supplies from a guild they were feuding with. She’d gone in with a sidearm she had no plans to use unless a gun was pointed at her first, and a sparrow that she repaired hastily after realizing the clutch stuck.

“It’s a suicide mission,” The old barmaid had said to her, when she first looked at the posting tacked to the counter of a dingy bar. “You’re a bit young to throw it all away.”

She shrugged, throwing her head back and looking up at the ceiling before looking back at her. She was a kind looking woman, with dark eyes and white hair. “Either I take this mission and make enough money to get a room ‘fore this winter freezes me to death, or I don’t, and I die of hunger or hypothermia, whichever’s quicker.”

The old woman sighed. She had seen plenty of others go down this same road of desperation. She poured teen a glass of ale, served her a meal she couldn’t afford, and let her sit there for a while before radioing in her acceptance. When the girl admitted she couldn’t pay, the woman shrugged.

“You can pay me if you make it back. If not, I won’t lose sleep over providing you with your last supper.”

-/

Five years, countless missions, and one repaid meal later, Amanda Holliday had established herself under the pseudonym of Aviatrix. She knows enough about the politics to stay out of it. None of it matters, so long as she’s got enough money for a drink when she gets to where she’s going, and a roof over head when she comes back to the Last City in between.

She knows it won’t last forever, because nothing in her life ever does, but she’s got several small stockpiles of glimmer spread around and an old sparrow hidden away. This time, starting over won’t be hard, if it comes to that. She knows a thing or two about any ship she can get her hands on and can run circles around most sparrow racers, guardian or otherwise. She tinkers for fun and for personal benefit. Her friends are misfits and outcasts, who might stab her in the back, but she’ll turn on them if she has to, too. She's the only one who'll put herself first. So they’re even.

It’s not the most ideal situation, but it’s leagues above anything else she’s had since, well, let's not think about that. She even has the luxury of being somewhat selective about her work. She receives plenty of messages daily on her tablet, has her finger on the pulse of the city.

ACEOFHEARTS>>I’m looking for a pilot. You know anybody? ;)

She knows the sender. His crew ran all sorts jobs in their free time and she just so happened to know she was the best pilot he'd met, and she'd more than established herself as his first call when the good loot was at stake. That, and he was a guardian. So he’d get her out of trouble if push came to shove.

AVIATRIX<<Details.

She leans back and takes a sip of her beer, pushing her tablet back onto the clip of her cargo pants. His messages mean he’s already found her. A cloaked figure takes a seat on the stool next to her.

“Armory ship from the Tower to the Trostland. Drop two teams in. They transmat some goods back to base, secure the area and any baddies while you provide some air support.” His voice is a molten synthesizer, and he leans forward, holding a rocks glass of green liquid. “Bring it all back safe and sound and obviously you’ll get some loot and a buttload of glimmer.”

“You gonna smuggle me into the tower, pal?” She leans against his cloak as she speaks low. He smells of pine and campfire, with an undertone of gunpowder. “I don't exactly work for the Vanguard, y’know.”

“Nah. I’ll bring the ship to you.”

“That it then?”

“Just about. You’ll get me to keep you company, I’ll be going ‘bang bang’ while you’re going ‘pew pew,’” He makes finger guns and mimics the button pushing of a ship’s laser charges to correspond with his sound effects. “Andal practically left me in control of this whole thing. It’ll be great, you’ll see.”

She shakes her head at his antics. He’s ridiculous, but she likes him well enough. “You know my terms.”

He nods. “Oh yeah, I know I know I know,” He gushes, knocking elbows with her in a way that’s strangely friendly. “Sparrow at the rally point and no unnecessary questions. Anything goes wrong and I owe you a favor.” He looks at her, optics growing sceptical. “But seriously, nothing’s going to go wrong. This is, like, SO EASY of a mission. And when have I ever steered you wrong?”

An eyebrow arched. She gives him a cool glance. “When was the last time I listened to your picks for a race?”

“Oh come on! That was months ago and I paid for your dinner after you lost your glimmer. Let it go already.”

-/

As with most things with Cayde-6, Andal is expecting there to be yelling. And there is yelling. Honestly, he can't blame Zavala, no matter how cleverly worded Cayde had been to conceal this - in Cayde's words - minor detail. Just as Andal himself had concealed who would be running tactical. Minor details all around, then.

There was a civilian piloting a trooper class Vanguard ship. Zavala was having kittens. It wasn’t a destroyer(or the basic armory ship Cayde had initially requisitioned), but it was still not a ship that the general public was supposed to have access to. Ever. The civilian said very little - actually he hadn't heard her over the comms at all, and if Cayde hadn't slipped up and spoke to her precisely seventeen minutes into the flight, he could've prevented the whole thing because other than the stellar flying, it was like no one was there with him.

“Look - c'mon, Big Blue - Commander Big Blue - erm Zavala, it's not that big of a deal.” Cayde’s voice crackles with static. “Aviatrix here has done like a bazillion flights.”

To his left, Zavala was pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing through his rage. Andal did his best to keep from invoking that rage by laughing at his friend's antics. Sometimes it was just funny.

“And how many of those have been for the Vanguard?”

Silence.

“I. See.” His words are tight lipped and highly agitated. Andal winces. Cayde’s dead in the water.

Sloane, diligent worker that she is, has already looked up the name and is handing over her tablet to her superior, muting the comms. “No intel on the actual identity - that name’s just what she goes by, but she is a competent flyer. Several of our weapon suppliers have used her to deliver sensitive cargo. It could be worse.”

Zavala flicks his eyes down at the tablet, and freezes. The face is unmistakable. Older, harder, but it’s obvious enough and explains the silence. Andal can just barely read the change in the Vanguard Leader’s body language. He looks subtly uneasy, but composes himself quickly.

Zavala’s eyes meet Sloane’s and she doesn’t flinch away from the intensity. Titans, Andal thinks with a shake of the head - always trying to prove they won’t back down.

“This is your mission, Sloane. You think they can do it, I’ll trust you.”

She nods and presses the button again to allow the field teams to hear them. “Anything goes wrong and I’ll hold you personally responsible, Cayde.”

“That makes the two of you, if the glaring I’m getting over here is any indication.”

-/

Aside from the regular tongue-lashing song and dance he’s going to get from Zavala, Cayde thinks the mission couldn’t have gone smoother. He knew he picked the right pilot for the job, regardless of non-guardian status. Besides, she agreed to the deed, so no big deal. Wasn’t like he held his gun to her head and told her to fly.

She sets the ship down like she’s cutting into butter with a hot knife. It’s smooth and gentle, nothing at all like the lurching mayhem that happens when he tries to put one of these things back on the ground. He pats her back in celebration as she flips off the controls. She’s ready to get out of here, and he can tell. Her eyes dart all over and she’s almost twitchy.

“I know this didn’t quite go the way you were expecting -”

“Does it ever?”

He continues talking over her. “- totally do something like this again if you’re -”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Well, why don’t you think about it over a drink with me?” He jogs behind her as she exits the the vessel with an agile jump to ground level. “I could take you back to the tower and show -”

“Amanda.”

“ - hangar after. Wait, what?” The Vanguard Commander’s presence gives him pause. “What did you say? Why are you here? Actually, doesn’t matter. The mission was a success!” Cayde went to give a playful one-two punch to the commander’s arm, but immediately sensed the change in the atmosphere when maelstrom green eyes met arc blue ones. Andal swore he had good instincts, even if no one else readily acknowledged them. Or Cayde-6 in general, most of the time.

Her posture is rigid for a moment, but she forces herself to relax, shifting her eyes to look at the exo. “I’ma have to pass, Cayde. Not a big fan of knights and their castles.”

“I’m not a knight, I’m a Hunter!” Said hunter throws his hands in the air in exasperation, muttering, “Titans are way more like knights than I am -”

“I know,” she interrupts slinging the bag with her payment over a narrow shoulder. “See y’around, Cayde.” The barest nod is all the acknowledgement she gives Andal, and that’s plenty for him.

“And it’s not like I even like-” As she hops onto the back of her sparrow and it roars to life, Cayde sighs dramatically, throwing his hands out in an exaggerated shrug. “Why do I feel like that she wasn’t actually talking to me? Anybody?”

No one answers. Not that he’s expecting them to, because he’s still carrying on.

Ever vigilant, Andal watches the situation unfold from afar, withholding his judgement. He’s going to have to yell at Cayde a little, that much he’s sure of. But for right now, the clench and unclench of fists - an old tell of Zavala’s - is a bit more important.

[thedistantstorm]

A Shipwright Worth Her Salt Chapter 09

In which: Zavala reevaluates his priorities. Amanda is asked a question.

Feels, incoming!

Cayde is grateful that the Deputy Commander gets called away at some point in the middle of the night. Amanda wakes screaming and sobbing, the result of strange dreams brought on by narcotics and the previous evening’s events. They’d both been expecting it, and it was certainly mild on the scale of hiccups in her recovery, but it was still emotionally draining.

He convinces a rather polite medic to assist her in cleaning up even though there’s only a skeleton crew on overnight, and excuses himself when the woman offers to take her for an actual bath instead of whatever sponge bathing they’d done while she’d been critically ill.

She’d been only mildly shaky when he left, and he promised to stay nearby just in case. Of course, what he hadn’t planned on was for the Commander to appear not much after that, looking tired but not dead on his feet.

“What are you doing?” Zavala intones quietly, as he makes eye contact. “It is an absurd hour of the night for you to be lingering.”

Cayde shrugs, though it just looks like his cloak moves up and down since it wraps around his shoulders in what he calls a perpetual hug. “Guard detail, I guess.”

“I don’t believe Andal and I determined that to be a necessity.” His eyes narrow. Cayde tears his gaze away. “Things are alright?”

“Yeah. More or less. She’s just getting cleaned up. Finally well enough to have a real bath, they said.” He looks the other direction, toward an open window with full view of the dark sky and stars. The Hunter sighs after a decent expanse of silence. “Your next question is going to be ‘why it’s happening at this hour,’ so here’s your answer: she woke up a few hours ago, and couldn’t fall back asleep. Didn’t like the feeling of narcotics.”

Zavala allows Aashimah to transmat the majority of his armor away. “I can’t imagine she would,” He replies. “She is well?”

“Well enough, yeah.” Cayde shrugs yet again, twiddling a knife between armor plated hands. “She’s tired of being stuck in that bed all day, been getting pissy about it with anyone who will listen. It’s a good thing.” He straightens. “You bash every Fallen in the EDZ with your fists of havoc?”

Zavala hums. “Enough of them, yes.”

“Make you feel any better?” Cayde finally blinks two bright optics in the Awoken’s direction.

The way the Titan’s jaw is set gives him away before he speaks. “Not in the slightest. It does nothing to fix this.”

“Suppose not. Probably good to let some of that frustration out though.”

The silence between them stretches out for a few moments. Zavala shifts his weight and moves to stand across from the Exo instead of in the middle of the hallway. In rare undisciplined form, he allows his back to rest against the wall in a sort of pseudo-slouch.

“You sleep at all since this whole thing went down?”

“Do you often check on your superiors?”

Cayde laughs. “Andal wouldn’t know how to tie his boots without me sometimes. But, no. I just know that taking care of her,” He jerks a thumb at the wall behind him, “Is gonna be a busy job for a bit. You okay with signing up for that? I don’t know if she can stand to lose you again. I dunno much about whatever happened between you two, but she’s pretty, uh, attached, if you catch my drift.”

The Commander sighs. “I would have been here to check on her hours ago. We tied the loose ends up in the early evening. The Speaker requested to speak with me.”

“That religious old coot,” The Hunter comments. “Wha’d he want?”

“An invaluable counsel,” Zavala corrects. “He wished to evaluate my sense of duty.”

Cayde turns on his heel and paces. “Of all people? You? Because of one little girl? That’s ridiculous.”

Zavala sighs. “He remembered her.”

“What?” The pacing stops abruptly mid-turn. “From where?”

“A celebration. Commemorating this-” He gestures to the Tower as a whole. “I had brought her up here, to show her the hangar, let her watch the ships. She had always wanted to fly.” Cayde nodded but did not speak. “The Speaker,” He clenches his fits, unclenches, and looks away. “He announced that following the commemoration celebration, the Tower would not be accessible to non-Guardians with the exceptions of staff. Guardians would mostly stay in the dormitories and housing built within the walls. It was a move designed to keep our perimeter protected and to free up housing for our growing population. Guardians would only patrol within the City. And the Vanguard Commander would oversee it all from above. I wouldn’t be able to see her, as I had in the past. I was barely able to with my responsibilities, as it were, by that point.”

“And?”

“I had known about it for months.”

“You didn’t tell her.” Cayde nodded more to himself than to the other Guardian. “She put it together when he said-”

“It gutted her. She ran off in the middle of his speech.” He closes his eyes. “I was standing up there with him when he made the announcement, as was expected of me. I had never wanted someone to stop talking more in my entire existence.” He pauses, thinking about his words. “When I found her, I tried to talk to her, but-”

“Your duty ultimately won out.” Cayde’s optics matched similarly glowing irises. “Knights and their castles,” He said softly.

“What?”

“Something she said. To you, I think, after that mission I, uh, commissioned her for.” Cayde lets the glare roll off him at that. “Anyway, the Speaker remembered her, from that day…”

“...Yes. I told her that my duty was to the Traveler. There was no feasible way to protect the needs of humanity and also be available to her. Or, that is what I thought.” He looks at Cayde. “I told the Speaker that my sense of duty has never wavered. It has not. It will not ever. I was tempted to bring up Saint to him, but,” He shrugs, “I will not give away my hand just yet.”

Cayde smirks. “Good plan.”

“Whatever I am able to give, I will,” He says softly, as blue optics blink back. “If she will forgive-”

Cayde slaps a hand on the Titan’s hulking shoulder. “I’ll stop you there. I believe you,” He says back in a low tone. “We’re having a moment - and it’s great, really, it’s got me all warm ‘n fuzzy in the circuitry - but I don’t think I’m the one you need to have this moment with. Tell her. Try and keep her here, if you can.” Cayde scrubs a hand over his metal forehead, tracing the outline of his horn. “She’s got wounds that aren’t physical. We, uh, both know that.”

Awoken eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

“I tried talking to her about…” He gestures vaguely to the Titan. “... That, er, business with us… uh, holding her down,” He finally grits out. “She panicked. Told Sloane - who I’m sure told you, you're not that sneaky - it was related to her leg being cut off.” He shakes his head. “She can accept that. There’s plenty of options, she’s down but not out. Her body will heal. But this,” He taps a temple gently, “Trust me, this takes way more time and effort. The ticks fade and you can hide ‘em well enough, but the memories remain. Some of that stuff you can live with, but it doesn’t all just - Poof! - go away.” Cayde makes an explosion gesture with his hands. “I know it bothered you, too. You gotta talk to her about it. She’s mortified about it, but you gotta tell her it’s okay. She needs to know you don’t, y’know-”

“You know?” Zavala’s eyebrows furrow.

“Love her any less.” Cayde grunts. His posture is straight. Serious. “That you don’t think she’s broken.” He shifts his weight from right to left.

Zavala perks at his words, too. He takes them to heart, even if the 'L’ word is a bit too much to consider at this moment. Finally, he whispers, “How could I? To survive against such odds-”

“Tell her that,” Cayde nods. “Fuck, if it were me I’d have a bullet in my head and hope that Sundance could put me back together with all my parts shiny and new.”

“I would hope that my ghost could heal me without such dramatics,” Zavala replies, “But I agree.” Zavala gives the Hunter a once over when silence falls again. “Cayde?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.” The Commander crosses his arms and resumes his stance against the wall. “If you and Andal had not been there, I do not know what I would have done.”

The Exo smiles. “Just another day on the job, Commander. But I will remember to bring this up next several times I piss you off. Should get me out of some trouble.”

Bright eyes regard him with something Cayde will absolutely describe as tears of gratitude in a wild exaggeration to Ikora and Andal later. “Do not push your luck.”

-/

“Alright,” The nurse says to her, “I’ll go out and see if Cayde is still there for you. Everything else alright?”

The girl nods. “Thank you,” She says shyly. “I ‘preciate it.”

The woman smiles. “You are very welcome. I’ll come back to check on you later.” She turns in the direction of the door and takes a step into the hallway. “O-oh! You are not the person I was expecting to see,” Surprise is evident. “Excuse me.” She steps out of the doorway and into the hall, pulling the door closed behind her. “She said you weren’t going to be back until later this morning.”

Zavala nods. “I managed to finish things earlier. I was surprised to hear she’s awake.”

The nurse chatters. “Yes. She’s really turned around in the last few days, certainly since you were here last. Go on in. She’ll be excited to see you.” She leaves him, standing a step away from the door.

Aashimah appears beside him when he stares at the closed door for more than ten seconds. “If you don’t go in there on your own, I will transmat you through the door, Guardian.”

He blinks at her. “You will not.” She begins to spin her cones like she’s preparing to do so. He sputters. “I’m going,” He says to her, and she evaporates into a small shower of sparks as he wraps his hand around the handle and pushes as it turns.

“What took you so long, Cay-” Her words get caught in a small ‘eep’ in her throat as she lays eyes on the Vanguard Commander who is definitely not Cayde.

“Hello, Amanda.”

He doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath until her expression changes from one of surprise to a wide, bashful smile and he’s able to exhale. “Hey, yourself.” She still looks sickly, with rosy cheeks and too pale skin, but she looks so much better than she had when he’d been forced to leave to clean up the Dead Zone. He moves closer to her without giving it much thought.

The weight of what’s happened to her, of how poorly things could have truly gone settle upon him, heavy and unbearable. His brain seems to snag on repetitions of ‘she’s just a girl,’ and he can’t bear to look away from her, so small and frail but so vibrantly alive. She would be okay. No tubes or cables attached to her, existing of her own volition. She would truly be okay.

“I-” His voice cracks and there are actual tears in his eyes this time as equal parts guilt and relief consume him. “I’m so sorry.”

She shakes her head.  “Please,” She says, “Don’t apologize. I never should have gone out there. Y’all saved my life,” She adds the last bit in a whisper. “I’ll be fine.”

He reaches for her, slowly. “I know you will be,” He wraps his arms around her shoulders, and her eyes widen before she relaxes into his embrace, clutching the forearm that’s wrapped around her front. “I was so worried I was going to lose you.”

She pulls back from him when he says that, and looks up into luminescent aqua eyes. Her own tidal green ones dart back and forth in wide-eyed evaluation. Her lower lip trembles as her own eyes well with tears, and she scoots to the side of the bed that he’s standing beside. She throws her arms around his neck as he leans down. “I thought I’d never get to see you again,” She whispers into his chest. They stay that way for the longest time, through her quiet sobs that turn into heart-wrenching ones that make her entire body shake, and subside into little tremors and hiccuping.

“No more,” He says, when they finally part. She gasps, as he takes both of her hands. “Never again, Amanda.” His eyes are fiercely blue, especially since they’re mildly bloodshot. “There was something you were trying to tell me,” He says softly. “When we were trying to get you out. Do you remember?”

She looks up at him, surprise and concern evident. He immediately saw exactly what Cayde had mentioned earlier. Panic lapped at the edges of her consciousness, and she pulled her hands out of his, wrapping them around her tiny frame as he pulled a chair close and sat beside her.

“I was in shock,” She whispers. “I was seeing things that weren’t happening. I-I know I th-thought y-you were-”

“Don’t trouble yourself with that right now,” He says in as low of a tone as he can. She shudders, but does not flinch when he puts his hand on her cheek and turns her head to face him. “We’ll talk about that another time. It’ll be alright.” He releases her cheek and leans back. “You were trying to tell me something,” He redirects, looking away from her. “And I would like to give it to you, if you’ll allow it.”

Her brow furrows, and she looks at him. “What was I askin’ for?” She asks, after a moment’s consideration. “I only r’member you carryin’ me,” She adds, quietly. “Felt nice. Safe.”

His smile is small and sad. “Once,” He reaches out, and she lowers her left hand into his right, “I told you that my duty was to the Traveler and to protecting humanity.” She blinks. The tears are back. She ignores them, and he catches one when it falls treacherously down her cheek with a large, calloused finger. “Do you remember?”

She nods.

“You nearly died multiple times that first night. I watched them... attempt,” His voice catches, roughly, “To save your life. The entire time, I thought: if I hadn’t made that decision, if I had tried to balance my duties to all this,” He motions to the Tower around them, “And my duty-”

“It’s not your fault, you don't owe me nothin,” She interrupts. “I feel like I’ve told ya that.”

He chuckles, “You have. However, listen to me,” He implores. “Please.”

She nods, and squeezes the hand that’s held by his.

“I was… afraid,” He admits. “That if I made the choice to balance both my duties as Vanguard Commander and the one I couldn’t admit, that I would fail. I thought that if I continued to deny that I had any ties to you my feelings would fade and I would forget.”

She looks down at their entwined hands, afraid to see whatever emotions his eyes betrayed. Afraid for what the truth might be.

“I should have known better,” He says with a knowing chuckle. “You have been ingrained upon my heart since the day you fixed that horrendous radio.” A little sob gets trapped in her throat and she looks up at him with widening eyes. He squeezes her hand. “For the last week, all I have been thinking about is what I would say to you, if you would forgive me for my folly-” She inhales to speak and he shakes his head. “But, most of all,” He’s sure to meet her gaze as he speaks in a hallowed whisper, “Would you let me make it up to you? Would you let this foolish man do what he should have from the very beginning?”

Her eyes, glassy with unshed tears, shine with the question he intends to answer.

“Will you stay with me?”

Her mouth opens in a little ‘o’ and she closes her eyes. “But, the rules-”

“Rules be damned,” He barks gruffly. “Do you wish to stay here, in the Tower?”

She nods. “Yes. Please,” She breathes. “I want to stay with you.”

She launches herself at him, bad leg all but forgotten about as she nearly topples off the bed and into his chest. He adjusts quickly, catching the pajama clad girl in strong arms and cradling her against him, mindful of her bad leg.

He smiles down onto the top of her head, looking rather relieved. She clings to him tightly as he rumbles, “I had rather hoped you still would.”

[thedistantstorm]

A Shipwright Worth Her Salt Chapter 12

In which: Sloane is a woman on a mission, Zavala is beside himself, and Amanda comes clean. (ft. Enoch Bast and Marcus Ren)

(References to suicide and self-harm. If those topics bother you, please proceed with caution or click away from this post.)

-/

“Listen to me, and listen carefully,” Sloane is saying, her eyes dark and hard, her arm wrapped around his neck in a rather constricting headlock. She would not actually harm him, but she would definitely stand there with him in that position until he begged her to end his suffering. “You are going to tell me everything you know. Now.”

Marcus holds up both hands in an apologetic way, casting a glance at Enoch, who looks incredibly guilty. Sloane had just threatened to deploy him to Mars for the next two centuries if he didn’t lead her to Marcus. He had no choice but to force his Hunter friend to fold.

“She paid me to pick her up. I’ve worked with her before. She’s paid me for birds, done work on some of mine. Didi and I like her well enough but it’s not like we’re super close.”Sloane released him and he worked out the tightness in his neck as he returned to his usual height.

“Well, it’s in the Vanguard’s best interests that we return her to the Tower. Perhaps you should have checked before you picked her up from our exclusive hospital? What if she had been a suspect to a crime?”

“Flygirl is only dangerous if she’s racing you. There’s not a malicious bone in her body.”

“‘Flygirl,’” Sloane quotes, testing out the nickname, “Is recovering from a serious injury. Or did you miss it-”

“Nope, didn’t miss it.” He motions to his right leg with a slashing motion. “Kind of obvious.”

“You have a way to get in touch with her? Or any idea where she is?”

He sighed. “She’ll never work with me again, if I contact her for you.”

Sloane shook her head. “I’m sure she’ll forgive you. I, however, will not. The Commander is rather serious about her safe return.”

“The Commander?” Enoch looks at Marcus, surprise on his face. “Like Commander Zavala, the Commander? Dude, what did you get us caught up into?”

“Dude, yourself, Bast.” Marcus rolls his eyes. “I asked her why she had his radio and she didn’t tell me. It’s not about the radio, is it?”

“The radio?” Sloane pauses. She turns her palm up and her Ghost immediately appears. “Contact the Commander. Ask him about the radio.” A shiver, one flash into light, and some sparks later, her Ghost reappears.

“His Ghost thinks we might be able to hack it remotely. Will send you coordinates.”

Sloane nods, and regards the unlikely duo. “If they can hack this radio, you’ll both be lucky.”

“She said she wasn’t in trouble,” Marcus says defensively. “I just gave her a rover. Nothing crazy.”

The female Titan nods, and picks up a mostly broken data-pad on his workbench. “She’s not really in trouble. I think.”

“You think.” The male Titan looks perplexed.

Sloane sighs. It’s obvious this isn’t her usual cup of tea. “It’s a difficult situation. Need to know information, Bast.” The lightest warg of sound from her Ghost comes with an updated target in her HUD. Target is South by Southeast. “Looks like cyber team was successful.”

As Sloane turns to leave, Didi chimes, “You know, you could come around once and a while for fun! I know you like a good Sparrow as much as the rest of us!” The Deputy Commander raises a fist in acknowledgement as she leaves, and Didi scoffs. “She’s always got her knickers in a bunch. Thank goodness I’ve got you as my Guardian, Marcus. I think I’d die of boredom as her partner.”

Both male Guardians laugh, before looking at each other. They’d dodged a bullet there. Things were never dull around this damn City. It made patrols a welcome break, once in a while.

-/

Sloane does not make a sound as she enters the building. She follows her Ghost’s intel via their neural link. Third story, last room on the right. The rover was parked a block over, and there’s the obvious scratch marks from crutches on the floor in front of the door. She knocks tentatively. She knows this whole thing needs to be handled with caution - which is why she’s the one doing it, not the Commander. Even if he means well. He’s an absolute wreck. This requires a lighter touch.

There’s a thump, and the clink of crutches, before the door opens a crack. The girl gasps, and Sloane bites her lip. She doesn’t look well - like she hasn’t slept since she left the Tower. There’s a haunted look in her eyes and they are very bloodshot.

“Can I come in?”

Her left hand twitches on the crutch she’s holding onto. She tries to peer around the larger woman. “Who’s with you?” Her throat sounds incredibly scratchy, like she has a cold.

“My Ghost. No one else.”

“Does Zavala know you’re here?”

She shrugs. “At this second, no. He has me looking for you, so I’ll have to report back to him at some point. Can I come in?”

Amanda shrugs, saying hoarsely, “You’ll let yourself in if I don’t, right?”

Sloane sighs and replies, “No, but I’ll probably end up standing here until Zavala does.”

“C’mon then.” She undoes the chain and pushes the door open.

The room is small, obviously meant for only one inhabitant. Sloane makes sure to move away from the doorway instead of backing up to it like she’d prefer. Amanda limps back to the half made bed, and flops onto the side of it. She’s bundled up in clothes like she’s feverish. She’s obviously not taking good care of herself.

“I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

Amanda nods, not looking at her. “To take me back. But I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to mess anything up for the rest of them.”

“You won’t.”

“They’re all fighting bout me.”

“They fight no matter what.” Sloane doesn’t buy it. Truly. They fight over literally anything, without anyone’s help.

“The Speaker‘s concerned about me being there ‘fecting Zavala’s sense of duty,” Amanda finally admits, after several minutes of silence. The wheeze in her voice is mildly distressing. “Heard Cayde and Andal talking about it.”

“Idiots,” Sloane rolls her shoulders back, kneeling in front of the teen on the edge of the bed so that they are at eye level with each other. “Look. The Speaker is concerned because Zavala chose you. You’re a brat, if you ask me. But you’re his brat. Zavala is beside himself right now, worried about you. Fuck the Speaker. There were plenty before him, and there’ll be plenty after him. You don’t need his personal approval. Kapeesh?”

The girl looks at her with big green eyes. “That’s what you think?”

Sloane puffs her chest, levels Amanda with a serious gaze. “That’s what I know.”

The ensuing staring contest is severe, despite the younger blinking several times. “I trust you,” Amanda says with a rasp. “Titans don’t lie.”

“To a fault,” She agrees. “I piss a lot of people off that way.”

She nods. “They just can’t handle the truth.” She winces and reaches for her stump, rubbing it gingerly.

“You okay to ride back with me to the Tower? I’m gonna get pinged any second now, and you should really get checked out.” She blows a puff of air into her bangs as she stands. “If we go before he contacts me, I don’t necessarily have to tell him. Means he might not be waiting at the gates and you can talk in private without the whole tower knowing your business?”

Amanda nods gratefully. “Please Just need a second for the cramp to pass,” She grits, rubbing it harder. A little later, she’s shoving Sloane outside so she can change into the only remaining clean clothes she has.

The Guardian lifts her gently when they go downstairs. She flushes in embarrassment. “Sorry I’m so useless,” She murmurs, before Sloane sets her down at the bottom.

“You’re not useless. Stop beating yourself up. It’s stupid.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” Amanda says with a wince when she bumps her bad leg with one of the crutches. “Says the Titan with two legs.”

“You still have two, one is just shorter than the other.” Sloane isn’t feeling the self-pity. “You lived. Plenty of Guardians wouldn’t. They’d chicken out and let their Ghosts take away the pain. You don’t get that luxury. It makes you tougher than the rest of us. Takes balls to keep on keeping on. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

She helps Amanda onto the Sparrow first, before hopping on in front of the girl, who wraps lanky arms around her waist and leans into the back of her chest armor. She should have a helmet, the Titan thinks. Sloane removes the piece that transmats onto her head automatically, twisting back to face the girl. “Here.”

Amanda looks at her. “It’s okay.”

“Put it on.” The Titan’s tone brokers no argument, and Amanda caves. The helmet is a little bit too big, but it does the trick and smells like citrus shampoo. She leans back against the Titan, who starts the bird and lets it squeal before they jet away. Once she gets to cruising speed, Sloane takes one hand off the handlebars and squeezes it over Amanda's interlocked ones.

It’s with this action that Amanda decides she likes Sloane well enough. She’s passionate and serious and doesn’t take any shit. And, she's not terrible at driving like Andal is, or a speed demon like Cayde who has no finesse. She really needs details on how Zavala is on one of these things.

They take the long way up the Tower. Sloane walks with her quietly, not upset that the girl’s pace gets slower as they get closer to their destination. “You feeling okay?”

She nods, stifling a cough. “I’m alright.”

They continue down the hallway until they reach an area that requires a code. Sloane enters her own, and the doors whoosh open in a rush of air. “I’m going to take you to the Commander’s office first. He can choose what to do with you. Unless you think you need to be checked out immediately.”

Her tongue peeks out from her lips as she thinks. “Nah,” She decides. “I should probably get the hard part over with, huh?”

“I don’t think it will be as hard as you think,” Sloane says sincerely. “But I do want to tell you something.”

Amanda stops, and looks over at the Deputy Commander keeping to her left. “Yeah?”

“If,” She sighs. She can rally troops, but pep talks on these sorts of things aren’t really her forte. “If you feel like you’re going to do this again, or… whatever, just talk to someone. If I’m free, I’m all ears. Don’t run. You’re not a coward.”

She nods. “I’ll try.”

“Good girl.” Sloane pats her back once, then clears her throat. “The Commander’s office is the next door on the right. Ready?”

The blonde shakes her head. “Not really, but I guess I gotta do this.”

The Titan can tell. “I’ll get the door.”

Sloane knocks once, and hears the gruff affirmation that they may enter. Amanda looks up at her and nods. Sloane nods back and opens the door.

“Sloane. I didn’t think-”

Amanda crutches with Sloane into the large office. She’s trembling again, but she’s not looking back or shrinking away. She’s made of tougher stuff, the Deputy Commander thinks fondly enough, realizing that she’s falling for the girl, the same as the rest of them.

“I’ll take it from here,” Amanda says with a quiet rasp to the woman beside her. “If that’s okay with you?”

The Deputy Commander nods. “I’ll leave you to it. Remember what I said.”

“Will do.”

Sloane regards her superior with a cool nod. His eyes are on the girl, shock, relief, grief evident. “Commander.” It’s like he doesn’t see her, and that’s fine. She has a feeling this one’s going to be too touchy-feely for her, anyways, and lets herself out without waiting for a response.

“Where have you been?” He asks, when they’re alone. His voice is shaking.

Amanda’s eyes water. “A boarding house in the South-Central ward,” She says quietly, sure to keep her eyes up. Once they drop to the floor, she isn’t sure she’ll be able to raise them back up to face him again.

“Why?”

She looks at him. His eyes are unbearably bright, more than usual, and she realizes that there’s a reason for it. There’s tears in his eyes. She’s the reason for them. ‘You’re a brat,’ Sloane’s words echo in her head. ‘But you’re his brat.’ The confirmation makes something twist in her belly.

“I didn’t wanna mess anything up, for you or anybody else,” She admits. “But by tryin’ not to I just made everythin’ worse, didn’t I?” Her voice gets squeaky and pinched toward the when her throat constricts and she fights the urge to cry.

“Foolish child.” He shakes his head, and his eyes are less glossy when he does. “Come here.”

She treks over to him, and he guides her to the couch tucked off in the corner. It’s got a cozy crochet blanket on it that’s orange and blue, and she sighs as she’s able to take a load off her sore arms and leg. Her other leg is aching dully, but it’s been the constant and she ignores it. He sits down beside her, his body turned to face her.

“You look horrible,” She quips, looking at him up close. “You’re not sleeping.”

He shakes his head, murmuring something like, “Unbelievable,” before he says, “Neither are you. And you've fallen ill.” She doesn’t deny it. He tucks a stray lock behind her ear and looks down at her.

“Are you mad at me?” She asks quietly, looking away.

The Commander sighs. “No, Amanda. I am not angry. I am afraid.”

She cocks her head at him. “You? Of what?”

“That you will do this again and I will not be able to find you. That something will happen to you. That I am not making you feel safe enough.”

She reaches for one of his hands. “No. It’s not your fault. I’m stupid. I didn’t know what to do, and I didn’t want to cause more trouble. I just thought if I got outta’ dodge it would make things easier.”

“I thought you truly didn’t want to stay here.”

“I want it more than anything,” She shyly admits. “But I’m not a Guardian. I don’t deserve-”

“You deserve more than I can give you,” He says fiercely. “You deserved to have my protection against those scoundrels-” He closes his eyes and closes his other hand over hers, so that both of his shelter her littler one. This isn’t the time for that. Her gaze is heavy on him. “You deserve to be protected and cherished.” He sighs. “Allow me to do so. Please.”

She swallows. “But, I’m all messed up,” She says in a whimper. “I can’t handle-”

“We will get through it,” He promises. “Together.”

She nods, and curls up against the back of the couch, pulling her good leg up and her cheek to her knee. She sits silently for a long while, processing something. Then, “Can I tell you something?” She worries her lip. “It’s... something I did. Somethin’ bad.”

His heart beats in a frantic staccato in his chest, but he nods. “Anything.”

She nods, tilting her head to stare straight ahead. “I, uh, tried-” She takes a deep breath, clears her scratchy throat. She pulls her hand out of his and unwinds the familiar red scarf around her neck, handing it to him. The line is purple-red, the intentions behind it clear.

“How?” His voice quivers again, and he keeps his eyes trained on her face and not on the mottled bruising that rises above and below the laceration line. Her eyes are bloodshot for more reasons than lack of sleep, and it’s like someone’s dropped the floor from underneath him.

“Shower,” She works up the nerve to explain. “The rod was rusty and broke. I think I lost consciousness. I kinda... woke up on the floor.”

He pulls her to him, and it isn’t until she feels twin saltwater drops on her cheeks that she realizes that he is crying. That’s not accurate though, because she can feel the sobs like small earthquakes in his chest, shuddering through her tiny frame.

“Don’t cry,” She tells him, swiping at his cheeks with cold fingertips. “It’s okay, I’m fine. ’m here. Throat doesn’t even hurt ‘nymore.” That’s a lie, told to try to make him feel better. “I realized I was an idiot,” She continues. “Y’all went through all that trouble to save me, and here I was throwing away all your effort. I won’t do it again.”

He only cries harder at that, and she looks up at him, his eyes are scrunched so tightly closed she wasn’t sure he’d be able to open them again. He does though, making no effort to quell his tears or wipe them away. “Look at me, Amanda.”

She does, his tone rendering it impossible not to comply, though it is incomparable to the depths of his luminescent eyes brimming with tears.

“My sweet, precious child,” He swallows hard, trying to find the right words, trying not to shout or frighten her with the force of his emotions. “I do not care about the effort it took to extract you from that wretched garage. I care about you.” His nose is nearly touching her own, he’s so close to her, but he maintains eye contact. He has to tell her. She has to know. “I love you. Your life is so unbelievably precious. Please believe me. I beg of you.”

“You-” She pauses, stunned. “You love me?”

He nods, and his chin quivers from the effort not to crumple into sobs again. “So very much,” He whispers, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

His tenderness is her undoing.

Strong arms wrap around her as she sobs pitifully, air coming out in gasps between hiccups and coughs - it sounds wretched. The Commander does not hide his own emotions, they’ve surpassed that point now.. His own grief is more easily manageable thanks to his age and experience, but he will not deny his heartbreak. Eventually her sobs die down, and become soft, little rasps. Her hands come to the front of her throat, where the bruising is the worst, and the laceration is the deepest. He shudders.

“What do you need?” He asks her quietly.

She shakes her head. “This,” she answers, dropping her hands and holding onto him tighter. Her throat is really starting to hurt, but she isn’t willing to move right now.

“I’m proud of you,” He tells her, when her grasp eases around his middle. She blinks up at him in confusion. “For telling me,” He elaborates. She looks away. “No, look at me, please,” He says quieter. “I know this is difficult. We... need to talk about these things. We need to continue to do so. And why you feel this way. It’s important. You’re important.”

She nods, and looks down. He puts a hand on her head, and it makes her straighten. “You did this once,” She says quietly, putting both hands atop his on her head. She closes her eyes. “Before. You probably don’t remember-”

“I do,” He intones warmly. “Shaxx had called me away. I believe you were trying to convince me to let you fix my sparrow?”

“It was the first time someone touched me that wasn’t scary since my Ma ‘n Pa,” She whispers to him, her scrunched shut in memory. “I was so scared and alone, in the City,” She said. It seemed to apply both then and now. “But you always made me feel safe. I knew I-” She shakes her head and opens her eyes, casting a glance up at him. “I didn’t wanna scare ya off, some little girl all clingy-like,” She coughs. “But I do,” She says with a nod, refocusing on his face. “I love you, too. So ya know. I’m sorry.”

“I am, too.” She relaxes against his chest and he allows it, smoothing her hair gently for a few moments. He hears the high-pitched rasp in her breathing now that it’s silent and sighs. “You’re going to have to go back to the med-bay for a bit,” He says softly.

She nods into his chest. “I know.”

“I will be limiting some of your interactions,” He says, just as quiet. “You’ll have a guard posted at your door if I am not there.”

“What?” She looks up at him in astonishment. “That’s insane. I don’t need-”

“Amanda.” His eyes are serious. “You’ve just told me something very important, that you did, unsupervised, after being able to run out of the Tower in the middle of the night. I am certain, had Marcus known exactly what you were going to do, he would not have come to get you for all of the glimmer in the system.” She flushed hotly. “You aren’t going to be locked in that room all day and night. You have my word. You will, however, have someone with you at all times. Without exception. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, okay,” She replies meekly, then yawns.

He pulls the blanket down off the back of the couch, and pulls it over her. “You can breathe alright?” He designs to confirm, to which she takes a deep breath in and out before nodding into him again. He hears the raspy wheeze again and tries not to think about why for a few heartbeats. “We can wait a few moments. I’ll handle some things before I take you over.”

He re-positions so that her head is on his thigh, and she’s curled up on two-thirds of the couch. He puts his palm on her head, and she relaxes immediately. She’s asleep less than a minute later.

Aashimah flashes into corporeal existence silently, her eye flickering in an emotional way. “Oh Guardian,” She says to him, “We’ll get her through this.” She flutters to his cheek and nuzzles him in her way. He leans into it, a rarity. “You did really well with her. I can’t imagine-” She floats over the girl, her neck still visible. “This kid,” She twitches. “We’ve got our work cut out for us. She’s worth it.”

He pulls the crochet blanket up to her chin. “Definitely.” He changes tracks. “Send for Ikora. Tell her to be discreet.”

“On it,” She bobs in midair and disappears in motes of light. He scrubs a hand over his face, erasing any evidence of his previous breakdown. No going back on this, old man, he thought to himself. And despite feeling unbelievably out of his depth, and knowing how hard this was going to be, he knew he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

[thedistantstorm]

A Shipwright Worth Her Salt Chapter 05

In which: Zavala and Andal have a conversation, Amanda realizes something she wanted to forget, Sloane is confused, and our two favorite hunters attempt a daring rescue. Angst incoming!

He sits back in the Consensus meeting, nodding and interjecting appropriately. His personality is startlingly good for what he does. It’s baffling though, how he could be so well suited for this glorified desk job and yet come from the wilds - constantly feel the pull in his blood to go . He really needs to get out for a bit. And soon.

In an effort to redirect his wanderlusty thoughts, the Hunter Vanguard decides to pull up the database through which all other devices running on the Tower’s network are connected. He’s curious. Zavala has been exceptionally tight-lipped, and Cayde is throwing a fit about the girl . Aviatrix. Blondie. Flygirl. There’s like fifteen other names that Andal’s heard in some variation, and they only get more cringey as the list goes on. Zavala knows her. She knows him. No one told Cayde. And that pisses him off(Andal only hears about it every time he sees him).

He pretends that he’s looking up metrics for some supply run - he needs to make a note to have Cayde skim some of the supplies off that Dead Orbit route. Those fools will be on Earth still, long after they put him in the ground for good. Instead, he pulls up a list of the Commander’s most recent searches. Here are a good three pages worth of results, and as expected, they are all intelligent inquiries - looking up Cayde’s search history is always a blast, and he makes sure to do it most times they go out drinking at the more bawdy establishments in the galaxy.

When he resorts the results by most recent, he’s not surprised to find certain ones mixed in. Amanda Holiday. Amanda Holliday arrest record, Amanda Holliday known associates, Holliday workshop, Holliday records. He wonders if the Commander is surprised by the results of the second, because there are several several arrests on file. Two of which Andal has personally bailed her from.

He really wonders if that part’s in there. Not that he’s concerned enough about it to look.

It’s not the whole story. Andal’s only ever worked with her in passing - she’s a sneaky little addition to their crew, when the need arises. And Cayde, Cayde never stops talking about their hasty escape from the Cabal on Phobos, or how she fixed a sparrow with a belt and a pair of earrings after he got them shot at over in Old Chicago. She’s impressed him. He knows things, though. His network isn’t nearly as deep as Ikora’s, or half as widespread. That doesn’t change that he knows things about the slip of a girl that the database does not, and Zavala very obviously wants all the information he can get without relying on Ikora or her Hidden. Andal logs in his personal encryption codes, and locks any searches including Amanda Holliday or similar variants to require two-thirds Vanguard approval. And of course, an encrypted notification on his handheld for when the Vanguard Commander attempts to use his authority to go around it.

Game, set, match.

-/

“Andal.”

The Commander approaches him from a few meters away, and the call girl practically shoving her breasts around his arm sighs and picks up her drink, making a show of a wink and a kiss before she walks away with a swagger. She’s cute, but he’s had better. And besides, he likes a challenge. When his gaze swings back across the room, she’s already found a much greener target. Poor warlock doesn’t know what he’s getting into.

Andal holds up a half empty glass and motions for the bartender to bring another for the off-duty Titan, still in his armor. Said Titan sits down on the empty stool beside him. The chatter of the Tower bar is a moderate drone, especially with the races happening tonight.

“Zavala. To what do I owe the pleasure? You don’t fancy Sparrow Racing, and it’s the Grand Prix.” He makes a grandois gesture to the nearly packed bar. “You betting on anyone in particular?”

Andal knows Zavala doesn’t bet. Zavala knows Andal knows it, too. Andal rubs his mustache and grins at the irritated look that comes his way. Zavala is almost grateful when the mug of ale is set in front of him, lifting it to his lips without a word.

“Well, if you ask me,” No one did, but Andal knows where he’s going with this, “I put all my glim on Marcus Ren. Holliday designed his sparrow - calls it Hastilude - and that thing could probably make the jump to orbit if you needed to.”

The large hands wrapped around the medium sized mug tighten before he can think better of it. Andal has practically gift-wrapped Zavala’s way into the conversation he wants to have. “Sparrow racing is still an unsanctioned activity,” The Commander grits out. Good, good. He’s evaluating. If something is too convenient, it’s likely a trap.

And this is absolutely a trap.

The Hunter Vanguard shrugs and takes a pull of his ale. “So is attempting to skirt around firewalls for search results requiring two-thirds Vanguard approval.” He leans back and stretches like the cat who caught the canary. “I tipped you off about Cayde looking at your recipe for Action Snacks and went so far as to refuse to allow him to look it up with my credentials. Yet, here you have been, trying to break the rule you made up.”

The swirling lights move more rapidly under the Awoken’s skin. He’s embarrassed.

And he’s caught .

“What business do you have with Amanda Holliday?” Andal asks quietly. Around them, no one reacts. The could just as easily be discussing the weather.

“What is it to you?” The Commander counters.

The Hunter leans into another swig and sets the mug back down with a quiet thump. “It’s not. I'll admit my curiosity, I suppose. However, I happen to know more than the database, and could be persuaded to impart my knowledge.”

“And what will it cost me?” Traveler take him, Zavala thought dealing with his fellow Guardians was sometimes more dangerous than engaging their enemies.

Andal shrugs again. “Time. I need to get beyond the walls for a bit. Breathe some fresh air and sink my blade into the enemy.”

“Two weeks.”

“A month.”

“That’s too long for the Hunters to go without a Vanguard.”

“The Hunters barely need a Vanguard, you boss them around more than I... and it’s not like I’ll be totally in the wind. Think of it as me doing some fieldwork. I’d check in like any other Hunter.”

“So, not at all. And you’re going to come back after this ‘ field work ?’” Zavala didn’t look impressed.

“Yes,” He hisses in reply, looking wounded. “Scout’s honor.” The conflicted look the Commander gives his beer tells Andal he’s got his mark. “So about the girl… where should I start? Actually, you tell me what you know and we can compare notes.”

Zavala glowers. He’s already been outmaneuvered once tonight, and he has yet to finish his drink. “Not happening, Hunter. Start with how you know her.”

"Through a contact, in the city. Took up a job no one had any business takin’, and did it better than half my usual crew. Solo.”

“Sounds about right,” His colleague agreed with a nod, and Andal caught the proud puff of the chest Titans had whenever you praised one of their own. He catalogued it.

“Shy little thing. Worked hard, kept to herself, was discreet. Perfect for freelance work. They loved her.”

“Sone of ‘em started noticing that Cayde took a shine to her. Had her in peals of laughter - I hadn’t - nobody realized how young she was. Thirteen years old, she'd told us. Makes her what? Fifteen, sixteen now? A mere babe, Zavala. She has no business-” Clench, unclench, repeat. “being the best flyer I’ve ever met. Fix anything you ever need, half of it with her eyes shut. But get her in the skies and - well, you saw how well Sloane’s op went.” When silence fell, Andal nudged the Titan's beer closer to him. “Drink up, mate. Cayde's told me several stories that I think you'd rather enjoy.”

He skips the finer details, takes note of questions he can’t answer, and offers to get what info he can without any further promise of time away - he’s getting soft, damn it all, but Zavala is very invested in his every word. This girl means something to her. Something very important. So he does what he does best: spins stories.

Eight - or was it twelve - fourteen? - beers, two shots, one race, and a pretty fantastic return on investment for the Hunter Vanguard later, the two members of the top brass are almost-not quite stumbling back to the Tower. Andal is talking animatedly about a - definitely unsanctioned - job on Venus - or maybe Phobos, or was it… didn’t matter, and Zavala is laughing, shoulders loose for a change, from the excess of booze. Something about reframing an Interceptor with slug rifles since they'd shot out the blasters. Cabal never saw them coming. The stories get lighter as the night goes on, because Andal has known this man for more than a couple decades, and he'd sag under the weight of the world on his shoulders if things got too heavy while he's trashed(not that he's liable to admit it - it's not a pretty sight).

Zavala claps Andal once on the back and says, “First time I met Amanda, I saved her from a Fallen brigade. Dropped down on them with Fists ,” He makes start of the motion, always a bit more animated when he’s had something to drink. “She spent the next hour checking to make sure I didn’t hurt my hands. Didn’t have the heart to tell her Titans drop from the tallest buildings we can find for fun.”

Andal decides it was worth the hangover the next morning, especially when he holds all the info he's accumulated over Cayde's head.

-/

She returns to the small room she rents in the city bone tired and weary. She hasn’t slept in three days, the job paid poorly, and the guys she’d worked for were pigs. She shudders thinking about it. Worse times, she's had far worse than a few lecherous toerags staring at her. She leans her head against the door frame and looks down. There’s a box outside her door. She brings it inside, opening it slowly and cautiously.

It’s a radio, smallish and scuffed. The circular logo is unmistakable. There is a slip of paper with tidy writing folded beside it.

Should you ever you wish to talk, I will be here. Be safe.

He still cares. It hits her like a tidal wave, but the part of her heart she’s tried so hard to ignore says of course he does. She cradles the scout radio to her chest and cries.

-/

Months later, she’s sent to the Outskirts, past Trostland, just shy of the Shard. She rarely goes out that way, because of the Fallen. She knows infestation when she sees it, but some things just can’t be helped.

There’s a Pike Gang that’s been driven out of the area recently, by guardians. She’s to pick through their makeshift garage and bring back whatever vehicles she can. The more she brings back, the better her payout. High risk, high reward, the man tells her when she agrees, despite reasonable doubt to her chances of success.

It’s an old parking garage that’s been converted into a living space, complete with transportation storage. There are six pristine looking pikes lined up and ripe for the taking, and no enemies on her radar. Smooth sailing.

Or at least it was, until the Fallen happened upon her theft in progress. Must’ve jammed the radar.

She’s not a soldier, and the reward isn’t worth her life, so she dumps the Pike she’s moving and runs. She hears the sound of rockets and a too loud blast and knows they’ve likely just bombed her ship. She forces herself not to panic. Panic won’t save her life. Panic is the same thing as death in these situations.

She reaches for a little metal button clipped to her bandana. “Anybody out here that can assist in an extraction?” She says in a clipped tone over static. She’s got the radio on her belt tuned to a general frequency. “Got some glimmer I can give ya.” There’s gotta be a couple money hungry guardians around here somewhere.

“Did somebody say glimmer?”

She exhales a sigh of relief. “Cayde-6, that you?”

“Amanda, love, send us your location.”

Cayde and Andal? It's her lucky day. Thank the Traveler. Then, their communication is washed out with angry fallen chatter. She double presses and holds the button to give her current location away, then sets out to find a place to hide from the throng of angry Fallen out for blood.

“Jeez kid,” The comm crackles to life minutes later, Cayde sounding just this side of concerned over exasperated. “What’d ya do to piss ‘em off? Call their mothers ugly?” She hears the scratchy wailing sound of sparrows on fast approach, followed by some telling hand cannon fire.

“Tried to take their Pikes,” she whispers back. “Intel I got was that the gang was taken out. Seems they rolled out the welcome wagon. Sorry ‘bout that.”

Andal chuckles. “We have a similar knack for trouble. Get to you as soon as we can. Keep your head down.”

She stays in a high corner of the garage, hidden behind the skeleton of a rusted car. Fallen chatter comes close and then fades, and she forces herself to breathe slowly, lower the volume on her comm as low as it can go for her to still hear any directions from the hunters down below.

“Alright,” Cayde says, once the gunfire has slowed to a dull roar, “You’re lucky I like you. You got an entire ketch on you. Whoever gave you that intel should be shot.”

“High risk, high reward,” she calls back. “I’m just lucky y'all were nearby.”

“Lucky is one word for it, kid. You shouldn't be out this far in the EDZ without a crew.”

“C’mon, I can handle-” a squealing whoosh and the corresponding blast short out the comms for a second. The concrete underneath her collapses, her vision goes purple around the edges, and she falls.

-/

The comms light up red in the Vanguard Hall. Sloane toggles them immediately. “Go ahead.”

“I need backup in the EDZ. We got anybody available to help out?”

“Cayde-6. You were supposed to report in weeks ago,” The deputy commander says, looking at his ping on the map. “And besides, you never need backup.” She’s skeptical. “What’ve you got yourself into this time?”

“There’s a first time for everything. Look, I don’t - I don’t have time to explain. Just send someone to Outskirts - literally anyone - pronto.” The static catches gunfire.

Zavala and Sloane look at each other. “Well, should I authorize a fire team?” She asks him.

He nods. “I would.”

“Cayde, we'll need some more information-”

Andal’s voice is cool and curt as he interrupts her. All business. Both Titans glance at each other. “Deputy Commander. Put Zavala on the line.”

“You're late, Brask.” The Hunter Vanguard is over a week late checking in, and Zavala takes that agreement they made to the letter. His voice is clipped, angry.

The sigh that cuts across the line is subdued. Andal knows he deserves it, not that he'll admit it. “I'd like to think I'm right on time, considering the circumstances. Sending coordinates to your ghost.”

“Why?” Sloan asks the question he's thinking.

“Holliday.” The Hunter Vanguard punctuates the rush of her name with several shots of his sniper rifle. “Bad Intel. No time to explain.”

“Holiday? Is that a protocol or...?” She's not looking at the Commander. For the best. Zavala jumps up, summons his ghost. Her cones are swirling and twitching, and his rifle falls into his hands - a steady weight - as though he's standing in front of a battlefield, not the Vanguard Table.

“Send a message to Ikora that I will be unavailable for the foreseeable future,” He addresses Sloane, like she’s some orderly and not his second in command. His ghost transmats them away immediately after.

Sloane is left standing there, infinitely confused and kind of ticked. How the hell is she supposed to explain this to Ikora?

[thedistantstorm]

Shipwright Update

Hey friends, if you're reading this and are interested in A Shipwright Worth Her Salt, I regret to inform you that the update this week will be late(but hopefully not skipped entirely) as I have my bridal shower tomorrow and will not be able to update as usual. Also, this most recent chapter has been really difficult to write, so I want to take my time and do it right rather than slap something together that I would have to retcon later. Please be patient with me!

-Storm