Hello reader! I know that Legend ended a long while ago and the fandom is pretty dead but I found this in my drafts and decided to post it. I wrote this two years ago when I finished Champion and I didn't post it then because I hadn't finished the story. But since I'm not going to, I decided to post it anyway because I like the way it reads. Cue angst. Hope you like it! I miss these two :(

June

People pass me awkward glances as I run down the hall towards the one room I have been pacing around since the last five months but my observational skills are all jittered and hazy, lying in a scatter of syllables in some remote corner of my mind and I pay no attention to anyone but that door at the end of the hall. A nurse gives me a smile as I skid to a stop, the boots of my Republic uniform barely sliding against the sterile white floor of the hospital. My body moves as if in a dream, slowly reaching out and pushing through the door. There is noise behind me but all I hear is a faint buzz of distant voices, as if my ears have been stuffed with cotton. I enter into the room and simultaneously the world stops and comes back to life.

Day is alert, leaning heavily on a pile of pillows propped up behind him, looking considerably healthier than when I had last seen him in action. For a moment, time has ceased to move; I am aware of nothing else in the universe. My eyes drink him in, every last thread of his visage, every last bruise on his body. His hair is clean and shinning, splayed around his back, considerably longer than it was before. His face has regained its color, making his cheeks appear fuller and reducing the deep indents I had grown used to seeing underneath his eyes. Even though he had been comatose since the last five months, he seems to have grown an inch. A variety of tubes link his body to a set of complicated machinery that I'm too occupied to discern. My eyes can't stop in there silent inspection because there is life thrumming beneath his skin, there are thoughts whirling around in his brain and his eyes- his eyes look back at me for the first time in five months.

The startling blue irises register my presence and they light up in recognition, in familiarity, and a beautiful smile blossoms up on his face. He stares at me with the familiar passion I had been deprived form since what seems like forever, that deep fire that always managed to render me thoughtless, that something that seems to be a mix of admiration and adoration and maybe I'm smiling and maybe I'm crying but I'm suddenly moving forwards walking, running, falling-

A chocked kind of sob escapes my throat as my arms find their way around his body, as I cling to him and he clings to me. It is only when his arms have wrapped around me that I discover what I had been missing these last few months, the familiarity of his embrace, the comfort of his presence, the tender way he touched me even when he is clutching me like he has found life again and I almost laugh at the irony because he has, he has.

"You're awake." I let out a mix between a sob and a laugh. There's something shinning on his face, tears. I can't almost believe the way his mouth tugs upwards, the way his eyes dance around with that little imperfection that has always been the most perfect thing about them.

He laughs and there is a tremble in his voice. "If I'd known I'd get such an enthusiastic welcome, I would've woken up months ago."

His voice is an even sharper reminder that he is actually alive and healthy and tumor-free, sitting right in front of me and I don't have it in me to find words; so I bury my face in his neck, hold him even tighter and in this moment I swear that I would never let him go, never let any harm come to him, protect him with my life. He seems just as content to just hold me and I think that after all we've been through, we've somehow managed to climb over buildings and fight through plagues and jump across borders right back to each other. This is everything, I think.

"Hey." Day says in my ear after a few minutes or hours or days. One of his fingers has reached up to twirl a single lock of my hair around his finger; his mouth is traitorously close to my skin.

"Hi." I reply, barely containing the wide grin that is threatening to break my face into two. I finally detach myself form his body and tilt my head up to look at his face instead; the distance between us is still mere inches. My eyes scan his face again like they did when I first entered the room. After five months of utter solitude, I don't know when I'd finally find the desire to look away. His face had always been beautiful to me but I hadn't been able to look at his lifeless pale features during the length of his extended comma. So, now I drink it in. The long but barely visible eyelashes, the slightest set of his jaw, the quiver in his otherwise icy eyes.

"I missed you." I say. Somehow, the simple words seem to convey the ocean of feelings that had been building up inside me for so long; now releasing in waves and tides in the form of my words that sound too soft, my hands that seem to clutch some part of his skin, my eyes that can't seem to stop their silent inspection.

"I missed you too." he replies immediately, on instinct.

I laugh; it's a mixture of both amusement and plain relief. "You have been in a comma for five months." I tell him.

His features lose his easy grin and school themselves into something softer. The upward curve of his lips seems to hold a tinge of remorse, like he suddenly remembered the circumstances of our reunion. He shrugs a little bit and almost instinctively, I push away the strand of blonde that falls across his face. "But I'm alive, yeah?"

"Yes." I reply softly, my own smile contorting to mirror his- a smile that is mostly content but is riddled with the slightest quiver of grief. He is alive. He is healthy and for once that's the only the only thing that matters Almost on its own, my hand moves up and lands on his cheek in a feather like touch- at first hesitant, as if still checking whether he is real and then more firmly so that I run my thumb along the pale skin of his cheek. "You're alive. That's what matters."

Then he draws me close like he's breathing me in and his hands are on my face, touching, tasting, searching. We're steadily drawing closer as if under the influence of some alien force and suddenly our foreheads are touching and I can feel his breath on my skin and again my hands have started to tremble. Our eyes seem to flutter close at the same time and just before our lips meet, I say the words that I have coiled up inside of me for so long and I allow then to unwind and unfold and escape my mouth in the barest whisper that is meant for his ears only. "I love you."

June Iparis shoots up in her bed, her breathing hard, her face tearstained and her heart broken. This time, she isn't surprised. She always wakes up before he can tell her that he loves her back.

The knock on the door is so timid that I almost miss it. I abandon the can of food that I had been about to prop into the microwave and turn to the door as the knock repeats itself, this time louder. The only person I can think might be on the other side of the door is Anden but it is late and after everything that has transpired within the last two weeks, I'm not sure whether I would be properly comfortable in his presence as of yet, especially if he's here alone. But when I open the door, I'm surprised to see that instead of Anden, Tess stands in front of me, still wearing her lab coat from her apprenticeship at the hospital and looking around the place with a mildly uncomfortable expression. I know that even after the last five months, she is still new and wary to the grandeur of the gem sectors. And even after all these months, I still flash back to the bony wide-eyed girl I had saved from the skiz fight instead of the pretty teenager that stands in front of me today.

"Tess." I say in surprise, opening the door wider and smiling. I have to say that it is pretty good to see her. Our friendship started off as forced and hesitant but it had turned out to be nicer than I had expected.

"Hey." she greets, giving me a small smile as she enters the apartment. Her eyes seem to dart around from place to place analyzing her surroundings much like Day used to do, but now she doesn't squint because of the contacts one of the lab techs had given her when she had first started trailing the doctors around the hospital.

The silence between us is oddly comfortable as I make my way back to the kitchen to pop the can of stew into the microwave. "Did you have dinner already?" I ask her, moving to take out two bowls from the cupboard and setting them on the counter without waiting for a reply.

Tess seats herself on one of the stools, leans an elbow on the counter and supports her face with a hand; I catch her tiredness even though I know she's trying not to show it. Her short hair is a little unruly, there is the slightest hint of violet underlining her eyes and her movement is too lazy. She must have been working longer for the last few days to look this tired. There is something in her eyes too, something heavy, and somehow I know that for once in our lives, both of us share the same burden.

"No." she replies. "I'd like dinner."

The stew is done within minutes and it's only when we're both already hallway through our bowls when Tess speaks again.

"He's leaving tomorrow." Tess tells me. I already know. "For Antarctica. Him and Eden."

"Yeah." I say, passing her an empathetic smile. The past few days come back to me, things I've been trying to distance myself from in any way possible. I pretend that I don't the feel piercing pain that courses through my heart as the realization sets in yet again. "I know."

"You should talk to him, June." she says imploringly, looking up from her bowl and directly into my eyes. I finally understand why she is here. I don't know how I ever assumed that she wouldn't care for what I did. "You don't have to do this."

I avoid looking directly into her eyes, instead pretending to play with the contents of my bowl. Suddenly, I'm not hungry anymore.

"It's not gonna matter." I say, quietly, my eyes lowered. The sinking feeling is back again, the feeling that has been drowning and suffocating me since the past week. It's only a matter of time till I run out of breath.

"Of course it's gonna matter, June." Tess says, looking beseechingly at me with her big eyes. She drops her spoon and it clangs sharply against her ceramic bowl. "What you're doing isn't right."

And just like that, my throat is closing up and I try to swallow the lodge in vain. I hate this feeling; like I'm just on the brink, like I'm holding onto a ledge and I'll fall the moment I let go. I don't tell Tess that this might be the most right thing I've ever done in my life. That that're isn't a choice in this. That I've lost everything either way.

"What happens then, Tess?" I ask. My voice is a little shaper than I intend it to be in an effort to contain the waver that threatens to undo my words. Never before have I felt this volatile, like the world around me is just waiting for me to combust. I'm a wound that has been cut open and now I've lost the only two people who had the ability to bandage me up. "What happens when I tell him?" I ask. My voice is laced in disappointment when I say. "He's not going to recover his memories."

"He might." Tess says. I hear a faint trickle of hope underneath her voice and it's then that I realize that I'm not the only one hurting from Day's memory lapse. I realize that she's hurting because Day was leaving her behind yet again; she's hurting because Day has, in context, forgotten her too. He remembered the small, worn out Tess from the streets. He didn't remember this Tess who had gone through so much in so little time and had transformed into the person sitting before me today. He didn't remember the Tess who no longer needs his help to survive.

I feel a sudden need to comfort her and to reassure her that things between her and Day would be alright. At least she had a chance; at least Day could still get to know this new her. But I stay quite because I know that I'm probably in no condition to comfort anyone about Day's situation when I'm the one that has suffered the most. I heave a deep sigh, push my bowl away and fold my arm over the counter. For a moment, there is silence in the room. Neither of us speak.

"I'm doing this, Tess." I say with finality. My voice sounds tired. Somewhere inside of me I want her to argue more, I want her to convince me to take back my decision. "You can't make me change my mind."

She nods as if this was exactly what she had expected. A despondent expression crosses her face. She runs a hand through her hair that is still cut short in a neat pixie and then lets out a little humorless laugh. "I still can't believe it, you know?" she looks at me with vulnerability in her eyes. "How could this have happened?"

For a moment, I want to tell her about the promise I made, how I had kneeled besides his dying body and begged, how I had bargained anything and everything in exchange for his life, how it's all my fault. But I don't tell her because even though I know she won't believe me, some part of me is afraid that she will. There is an odd kind of sting in my eye. Tess in the first person that has confronted me; I want to let it all out.

"I don't know." I say. And then, hearing the tremble in my own voice, something inside of me snaps, something that I've been trying hard to keep together. "How could he forget me, Tess?" I demand. My voice crumbles. Tears flow down my cheek but I find that I no longer care. I finally let out the thought that has been spinning inside of my mind since the day he regained consciousness. "After all that's happened, how can he just forget me?"

Even though, I've known it from the start that this is for the best and that the world is doing him a favor by erasing myself from his mind, there is a part of me that hates him for it. Because he loved me and somewhere along the way, he made me love him too and I hate him. Because after that, he leaves. After that, I am forced to let him go. That's where our story ends. And while I'm more than thankful for the parts I got to live, it doesn't keep me from wishing for more.

Tess gets up from her place and then walks over to hug me. This is the first time that she's ever hugged me and I find myself clinging to the small comfort she provides. "I'm sorry." she whispers and I can tell that she means it wholeheartedly. I can tell that there is nothing but honesty in her voice.

I nod. "I'm sorry too." I say. "I'm so sorry."

That night, as she gets ready for bed, June eyes the coat that still hangs from her bedpost. She picks it up gingerly, before folding it up in her hands and stuffing it away to the most remote corner of her closet.

Day

Day feels terrified.

The thing is that during all the time he has lived on the streets, nothing has ever been as frightening as this. He has starved to near death. He has been chased by Republic soldiers for years. He has been stuck in gang fights that had gotten a little too violent. But he has never felt so unsure of his life than right now. His eyes dart all over the place. He doesn't feel right in his own body. The ground seems further down than he remembers. His hands are long, angular, with nimble fingers that seem too long. His limp is gone, his leg working perfectly; but he often forgets that half of it is now made of metal. There is a barest hint of a stubble on his face because he also forgot that he is now old enough to shave.

The only thing tethering him to reality is his little brother who is holding tightly to his hand. Behind them a woman named Lucy follows; Day doesn't remember her but Eden seems to trust her wholeheartedly so he allows it. Ahead of them another women walks but Day seems to have missed her name.

They tell him, of course, what has happened. The two years of his life that have suddenly vanished into thin air. And what has happened through them. How he managed to revolutionize the whole country. How he managed to save the Republic from the Colonies. He doesn't remember it, yet he knows it's the truth. He knows it.

Ross city is strange, to say the least. He thought that the Republic was technologically advanced. This doesn't even compare. The large silvery dome covering the entire city, the high-rises that change colors according to will, the web of bridges woven between the buildings. It's all glimmering, making it seem ethereal, like it's made of moonlight. The glasses sitting on his nose are annoying and the numbers and words that suddenly float above everyone's heads are mindboggling. He could stare at the bedazzling sky forever. Everything is beautiful. Everything is amazing. He wants to go home.

"This way Mr. Wing." the woman says. She looks at Eden, giving him a polite smile and then adds. "Mr. Wing."

She leads them into one of the towering buildings and into a lavishly decorated lobby that Day needs some time to absorb. They travel up an elevator and through a corridor and then the women introduces them to their new home.

Day takes it all in, the size of the apartment, the exquisite decoration, some contraption that he doesn't understand. One of the walls is entirely made of glass, offering a breathtaking view of the city. The Antarctican woman starts to show them around, offering him his pick from the rooms, telling him about the strange contraption called an internet portal, explaining the point system in greater detail. He nods along, listens to Eden's excited chatter, smiles when Lucy tells him off, but he feels numb. He has been thrown into a life in which he doesn't belong.

But most of all, he feels like he misses something. He misses his mom and his older brother because the wound is still fresh even though they tell him that they both died two years ago. And he misses Tess, he misses her and the empty streets where they huddled for the night. And he misses something else too. Something, no matter how hard he tries, he doesn't remember.

All he wants to do is go home.

As Day lays in his bed, deep into the night, he wonders where home is. The little house with his family, the dirty abandoned streets with Tess, or a large apartment in San Francisco whose memory suddenly resurfaces in his mind.

fin.