"Goddamn Vanguard," was what he heard muttered under her breath, and it was repeated a few times for good measure. "Think you can just skip wait lists for luxury items! And with empty pockets while you're at it!"

He frowned. "Phiona—"

"It's Aisland, Cayde," the merchant shot back. "I'm not in a patient mood today, and your shiny googly-eyes don't work on me."

He held back a sigh. "You must want something other than glimmer."

"Absolutely not." She turned away from him and slammed the book in her hands down on the desk in front of her. "Glimmer is the only thing that keeps my warehouse staffed, my scouts bringing back inventory to catalogue and sell, and my competition bought out." She turned to whisper to a man that had slipped behind the counter of her storefront, and he ran off in the same direction he came a moment later. Cayde saw the scouting badge ironed onto the arm of his jacket and got an idea.

Cayde, I don't think Aisland will fall for—

He ignored his ghost. "But I could get you paperwork that would speed customs along at the gates. I know you keep most of your inventory cycling day-to-day. Delays at inspection cost you a lot of money."

She narrowed her eyes and stepped closer to him, her hands planting flat on the counter.

I told you, idiot.

"You wanna know something else, Cayde? Glimmer doesn't try to lie or cheat me with bullshit lines about 'special permits', either." Her fingers made harsh quotes next to her face before thumping back down on the counter. "Surprisingly that's a difficult quality to find in people, even someone as esteemed as the Hunter Vanguard." Her tone wasn't exactly threatening, but he'd toed over her line, and he would need to work quickly to correct that.

Goddamn rookies always get to the good ones first and ruin the game for everyone else.

It's very unfortunate that you can't just scam people with your paperwork line, yes, his ghost whispered to him.

You're enjoying this too much.

I like a challenge, same as you.

"You can give me glimmer now," Aisland continued, the suspicious look in her eyes not fading. "Or you can write your name on my list and get the…. fifty-eighth feather bed I happen across in the Wilds, and then you'll still need glimmer for that." She raised a brow and held out a pen to him. "So? What will it be, Vanguard?"

He rolled his shoulders and put on a winning smile, doing his best to save face. "I'll be back with a good offer, Aisland. Don't you worry."

"Wasn't planning on it."

He stepped away from her stall, heard the line murmur in relief behind him, and he hurried away from the bazaar. His ghost popped up in front of him, floating backwards to hold his eye. "So what's the plan now?"

"Now we do some research."

The cogs of his ghost's body dipped in a cautious frown. "What sort of research are you talking about?"

"In accordance with Article Seven point Six-Five of the Vanguard Code of Ethics under Section Four: Personnel Operational Standards, it has been deemed wholly immoral for any member of the Vanguard, past or present, to engage in larceny of any kind while in a humanity-controlled territory. The only exceptions to this are during Major-Class security breaches of said territories, where total loss of weaponry while engaged in combat demands weapon-related theft only, and severe medical emergencies in which the theft of specific equipment is deemed necessary to the safety of human lives." His ghost hummed, twirling its fins in the dim light. "Well, unless you want to set the Tower on fire and kick down the Wall, I can't find a legally sanctioned reason for you to break into Aisland's warehouse and steal a feather-down."

He frowned at that. Hours of searching and he was still nowhere closer to coming into possession of a mattress. "How about those Warlock philosonomicon scripts? They're all about moral-relativism in those things, and I'm sure they have something about rationalising theft for a girl you're sweet on."

"I'm surprised you remember the name."

Cayde scoffed at his ghost. "You sound like Ikora."

"I do often listen to her on your behalf while you zone out," it reminded him. "Which is more than you think it is—and by the way, we should be present at the Vanguard table to listen to her right now."

When he didn't respond with anything more than a dismissive shrug, his ghost sighed. "But to answer your question: while important philosophical works, they should not and will never be legal or moral frameworks for Guardian civilizations."

"They were written by Guardian scholars, though." He fingered a piece of rust off the railing in front of him. "It's a Warlock's job to know things and write them down for the benefit of the rest of us."

"They also have a lengthy section detailing the economic and technological rationale behind mass slavery," his ghost replied. "Philosonomicons compile and detail moral justifications for all kinds of deeds, good and bad, and some warlocks choose to live by those writings in various degrees of intensity. However, you are neither a warlock nor a free agent that can operate outside of Vanguard law. Well," it added, seeing the look on Cayde's face. "Not to the degree that Ikora or Zavala would ignore you breaking into the private property of a Tower merchant."

"So it's okay when they get fancy weapon mods out of my smuggling, but not when I want to do something nice for someone." He shook his head. "Hypocritical."

"I recall the primary benefit of obtaining a new mattress would be to satisfy you, not Amanda. Anyway, as I said, I would advise you very strongly against larceny."

"Aisland doesn't speak my language," he complained, shifting his weight to his other knee. The vantage point the vacant apartment balcony afforded him was perfect, really; her entire warehouse was in view, and he could easily see several potential points of entry. It was be so simple….

"Not everyone can be bought with those fancy illegal weapon mods or licensing scams."

"Property wealth means nothing to people anymore."

"Not when you're cash-poor, no," his ghost agreed. "But selling off some of your cached locations to guardians might earn you enough money to jump Aisland's queue for feather beds."

His face twisted in disgust at that. "That is a terrible idea."

"It is an excellent one, given you only have four hours to obtain a mattress."

"I'm not really property-rich if I sell off the locations to said property."

"But it makes you cash-rich, which is the only way to obtain a new bed for Amanda. No," it added immediately, anticipating his counter-argument. "Stealing from Aisland is out of the question. It would be the easiest case of theft to solve given your display at her stall this morning, and you would also implicate Holliday in your criminal activity, which I think would be more than enough to halt any chance of you spending another night with her."

"Don't break your legs jumping off that high horse," he muttered.

"Lucky for both of us, I don't have legs."

"Or a solid plan."

"Oh, I do, you just don't like it."

"Well what else am I gonna do when I get the chance to roam the solar system again if it's not go back for the shit I didn't have time to collect before?" He pulled his hood down lower over his face, annoyed at how bright the city could be in the evenings. Made reconnaissance work damn difficult sometimes.

"Perhaps patrol work or something collectively beneficial for the Tower."

"Now you're just being facetious."

"You're the one not taking this seriously."

And then he considered it. It could potentially work out in his favour—sell off geopoints for glimmer, then split some of the plunder with the scouts. It might even help complete some trade deals he had with Future War Cult, if Lakshmi was willing to build her munitions with some outdated Golden Age equipment….

Cayde sighed. "Alright. Start compiling lat-long coordinates for some of the easier locations—"

"Already done," his ghost replied. "I've also assessed the market price for scavenging intel and, well, you'll get that bed in no time. Information is at a nice premium at the moment, lucky for you."

"Better be one hell of a great bed."

Hmmm. Well, not exactly what he'd been going for, but—

His ghost scanned the floor of Holliday's apartment, whistling in disapproval. "Do you remember where all of this goes?" it asked, picking up the frame of a rusted floodlight with a small beam from its lens.

"Kind of," he lied, placing the fallen collectibles in his hands back on the shelves lining her room. "Hopefully she won't notice."

"Yes. The horribly oversized mattress will probably distract her." It placed the frame on the top shelf and looked at him. "You didn't listen to me when I told you to get the dimensions of her room first—"

"There was no time! And it fits well enough anyway," he added, nodding to the new mattress that dominated the corner of her room.

"You only destroyed the rest of her quarters getting it in here."

"I'm not the one responsible for transmatting—"

"I told you to get the correct dimensions so that I would know—"

He waved his hand in dismissal. "No time for figuring out who's to blame. Just help me put this stuff back."

It is your fault, it whispered to him, but put up no more of a fight. Trinkets and old souvenirs slipped in and out of his hands as he placed them carefully back on the shelves that his ghost had slammed with the edges of the bed frame. She really did have a lot junk—stuff, he reminded himself—and it would take awhile to put it all back. It did give him a good excuse to look through it, though.

"She really likes old equipment frames," he observed, turning the empty shell of a manual computer mouse over in his hands. "I'll have to keep an eye out for these in the future."

"I'm not sure she'll want more gifts from you if this is at all indicative of a trend," his ghost muttered, flicking about the room. "And you don't do a lot of rummaging around these days, anyway."

"Oh, don't I?" He held up the spoke of a chain from what looked to be a motorcycle, spinning it around his finger. "What do you call this, then?"

"Breaking and entering."

"Slanderous. Robbers don't leave gifts for people, either."

He did hurry up and get her room sorted, though. The timeline was getting tight, and as much as he was excited to see her again, he could really use a few extra forty minutes or so. The state of her quarters once he'd finished wasn't exactly what he'd consider pristine, but it was the best he could put together in the time he had. His fingers left the last trinket as he heard noise at the door, and he managed to look just shy of casual when it opened.

Holliday trudged in, dragging her boots over the rug with her shoulders slouched. Her mouth stretched into the beginnings of a yawn when she spotted him, and then something like a squeak came out of her.

"Oh—Lord, Cayde, really," she breathed, hand to heart. "You look creepy as all hell standing in the dark with your eyes glowing like that."

Creepy. Not a stellar start to the conversation, but he'd make do. "Sorry. Forgot you don't have night vision."

She flicked the lights on and rubbed at her eyes, nodding to him in approval. "Much better," she murmured. "You're here early. Figured you'd still be working."

"Took a personal day."

"Heckling the merchants along The Laneways," his ghost chimed in, floating over to Amanda. "It was quite the sight."

She snickered and held out her palm to the ghost, who rested its small fins on her hand. "What were you heckling 'em for?"

Cayde shrugged, leaning against the shelf. "It was bartering, for one, and nothing, really. Just making good on my promise."

She raised a brow, and then her line of sight slipped past him and caught onto the bed. "Oh," she said, eyes going wide. "I'd almost forgot about that."

He offered his hand to her, which she squeezed with her free hand. His ghost popped out of sight and her other hand fell tiredly to her side. "Come sit down."

They wandered over and sat on the edge. "It's um. It's big," she said, taking a tentative seat beside him on the mattress. "A lot bigger'n the last one. Hope you're not planning to have a party in here."

"You'll need a bigger fridge if you want to have a proper party," he said. "And unfortunately I don't have the funds for that at the moment."

She bounced on the edge of the bed, testing the springs, and then fell back onto it. She still had a hand in his, so he laid back with her. "It's nice," she said, wiggling around. "Ass-big, but nice."

"And quiet," he added. "And not lumpy."

"Well you're noisy enough for all of us."

He was stilling trying to think of a worthy reply when she sighed and closed her eyes. "I do wanna say thank you, Cayde. This is actually real nice."

He felt his insides warm. "It was nothing."

"Couldn't've been." She squeezed his hand. "I know how hard it is to get luxury item tickets in the City."

"I got friends in good places."

She snorted, levelling a doubtful look at him. "Yeah, okay then. I do, uh—I do got a question, though."

"Shoot."

"Why's all my stuff mussed around?"

He laughed. "Shoddy transmatting work from my ghost, unfortunately."

It appeared over their heads, flaring hot indignation at the pair of them. "The state of your room has absolutely nothing to do with m—"

Cayde's hand whipped up to grab the ghost out of the air, and his fingers closed around its cogs just before to poofed out of sight with an incredulous chirp. Amanda laughed, cheeks warm and crinkled with amusement, and then she rolled over to him. Her leg brushed his, and her hand settled on his chest, fingers wrapping around the strap of his pouch.

"I got," she began slow, face close to his. "Another question."

"Shoot again," he replied, voice strained.

"How d'you go about givin' an exo a smooch?" Blue eyes were bright and challenging, and if he wasn't so preoccupied with figuring out how to answer her question, he would have noticed she was nervous.

"Can't ever—" He stops, squints, and seeing no hint of malice or trickery in Holliday's face—as if he ever would—he continues. "I can't really give you an answer."

"Must be one," she said, the hand on his chest moving up and brushing under the plates of his jaw. "Seen other exos get up close and personal with their friends. Gotta be a work-around, right?"

"Right." His own hand finds itself trailing up her arm, to her shoulder and into her hair. It's soft even through the material of his glove, and his chest constricts. "You can, it's just—"

"Yeah?"

"I don't really have a way of returning the favour. Not in the traditional sense anyway." Memories he had done well to bury came flooding back—ancient history with those long since dead, carved in with longing and regret, and Amanda was the only thing keeping him from drifting away altogether.

She grinned down at him. "I ain't doin' it so you can return some favours, Cayde. Just wanna kiss you is all."

He conceded her point with a nod. "I just wanted to warn you upfront."

"Yeah, you don't gotta warn me about kissin' you. Already know what I'm getting myself into."

He wanted to respond, but then she ducked her head and pressed a soft, warm kiss to cold steel. His fingers curled in her hair. He tracked Light up his arm and into his hand, a brief spark that was just enough to spread outwards from his fingers and warm her skin with a heady glow that he knew was especially addictive to non-guardians. Amanda responded with a surprised, pleased hum that he found no less addictive in its own way.

She pulled back too soon, her eyes warm and smile big. Amanda breathed out, blowing gentle air onto his faceplates. "Now see, that weren't so bad."

"For me." The joke was weak, even to his ears.

She rolled her eyes and patted his chest. "Nah, I liked it. Neckin' is fun, but I like this arrangement well enough."

He flipped their positions on the bed—carefully, so as not to jostle her around too much. She rolled with him, arm wrapping over his shoulders and knocking her boots with his. He blocked out the light swaying over her, casting her in shadow and throwing sharp lines of honey light over her face when he spoke.

"I can't kiss you, but—"

"But you gonna sweet talk me?"

"I can make you feel good." Wow, very cheesy. He brushed the hair out of her face, doing well to keep her gaze, and did his best to continue. "I can—"

"What're you on about?" She sat up, put an arm of distance between them, and he stumbled up from the bed. Amanda shimmied to the edge of the mattress and raised a brow at him. "Is this why you got me a new bed?"

"No! I mean—no, it's not. That was purely to save my back," he added, another weak joke.

She narrowed her eyes. "You were fine till I asked to kiss you. Now you're all weird."

He shook his head. "That sounds bad I know, but—" His hands wove around in front of him, searching for the right thing to say. "I feel bad for not—it's just hard to—"

She continued to stare at him, and he continued to not have a proper explanation. "I don't know," he said finally, honestly. "I'm sorry if that was sudden."

"Well, I was rolling around in a bed with you. Wasn't completely out of the blue." She bobbed her head from side to side. "But all I wanted was a kiss, honest."

"That I can't return."

"So it is bothering you."

He shrugged. "It doesn't bother you?"

There was another long stretch of silence, and Amanda didn't once look away from him. He'd had plenty of staring contests across tables and over canyons, and even one with Zavala, but this was proving to be a challenge unto itself.

She cleared her throat a few seconds after he thought it might be a good time for him to shove himself through her window again, and he stopped his boot from pulling the rest of his body in that direction at the sound. "Cayde," she said. "I'm not gonna hold you ransom for affection."

"I wasn't—"

"Hush. And I ain't gonna brush you off because we can't neck on some bed you probably stole."

"I didn't—"

"I said hush." She held up a finger. "I kissed you cause I wanted to, and I liked it a lot. I'm sorry if someone's jerked you around for that before, but I'm not gonna. Are we clear?"

He nodded, not knowing what else to say. She nodded back and held out her hand. "Then come on back here. I'm tired and you're good at cuddling. Just kick off your boots first."

He hummed at that and eagerly followed her back onto the mattress, letting her settle themselves down on the bed however she liked. He silently told his ghost to shut off the light, which it did with a click of its shell, and he felt Amanda's arm wrap tight over his waist.

"And one more thing," she whispered, mouth brushing over the hood of his cloak. Her voice was husky, as if she'd just woken up.

"What's that?"

"I'll take a rain cheque on whatever it was you had in mind," she said, incredibly close and warm in his arms. "Just can't spring that kinda thing on me."

His chest constricted again, but it wasn't in apprehension. "Loud and clear."

He could feel her smile against his face, and his hand worked its way back into her hair, running softly over her scalp. It wasn't a conventional goodnight kiss, but it was enough to prompt her to press her mouth into the exposed steel at his neck, and he continued to play with her hair well into the night, long after she had fallen asleep.

AN: much thanks to occasional_boy_reporter on AO3 for the idea of Cayde transmatting a mattress directly into Holliday's room.

Well, that concludes this story. Thanks for all the lovely comments and faves!