NOTE: Content Warning: Major Character Death, Suicidal Ideation

So I collected all our plans and crimes
And set them all alight
The only thing that bound me to this place
You took with you when you died
So goodbye, goodbye

All Is Well (Goodbye, Goodbye) – Radical Face

December 30, 2960; The Last City, Earth

The room was full of buzzing silence. Azra was the only one in today. Zavala was manning ops for a major Fallen disturbance within the City. Ikora was scrambling to find out who they were and how they'd gotten in. That left Azra to man the phones, so to speak, to deal with bounties and other trivial requests.

There wasn't really anything happening. The entire Botza district was shut down due to the disturbance; air travel was restricted. Nobody was dropping by for a chat. Azra had effectively been left to her own devices for a few hours. She had just gone for a quick rez in the bathroom and had hardly had time to settle into her chair before someone slipped into the War Room.

It was Veera, still in heavy armor. She'd been sent in to handle the crisis, naturally. Azra had so badly wanted to go and help- but with still no sleep, she was scatterbrained at the best of times, and Zavala had shut her down when she'd asked, and she was so tired-

"How'd it go?" Spark asked, pulling Azra out of her spiral.

"You… you have not heard?" Veera said. She was quiet, hesitant. Her armor hadn't been repaired from whatever fight she'd gotten involved with, though certainly it had been a few hours. She still smelled of gunsmoke and ether.

"I haven't heard anything," Azra said. "Zavala's been dealing with it all." He'd straight-up shut her out of command decisions. (She was used to it at this point.)

"Azra," Veera said, sounding… worried. Her trepidations flavored the Light, leaving the sour taste of vinegar on Azra's tongue.

"What," the Hunter asked flatly.

Veera pinged her a video file.

Azra immediately recognized the feed from Shiro- from the glimpses of his boots and gloves, to the sidearm he held, to the very way he moved. He hadn't messaged her about being called up for the disturbance- though with the general chaos, it may have just slipped her mind.

The video started in medias res- straight action. Shiro dodged, the scenery spinning around him- the empty, broken shells of apartment buildings, rubble-filled streets, a giant Fallen machine-

(That would explain the commotion. Brigs weren't common Fallen artillery, especially not near the City, especially not as large as the one they fought here. It looked cobbled-together, nightmarish, with a Servitor crammed into where its main CPU would normally be.)

Shiro ducked into cover, gasping audibly on the feed. His visor swung down briefly to look at a hole in his armor- a shrapnel launcher had gotten him in the abdomen. Already there was hydraulic fluid leaking out. Pace appeared to heal the wound and patch the armor.

But though Shiro appeared to safely be in cover, something happened. The shot came at a crazy angle, high up and practically on top of them- it must have been a sniper posted on one of the old buildings. Pace had barely begun his work when he was violently thrown sideways, bouncing against the ground and out into the street.

Shiro dove immediately, hands outstretched. Pace didn't even have a chance to bounce again. Shiro rolled and then was back up, cradling the Ghost. Azra breathed a sigh of relief as Shiro checked him over- he was hurt, certainly- Pace's core was dented and his optic was cracked, but his lights were still on. It would take more than a Wire Rifle shot to put a Ghost out of commission. Pace would be stunned, but with a little help he'd be back up and ready to-

A high-pitched windup sound interrupted that train of thought. Azra's brain, trained from countless fights against the Fallen, said Walker cannon. Get to cover.

Shiro had been too focused on his hurt Ghost. He had just enough time to look up, see the Fallen Brig's main gun aimed at him, and swear.

"Shi-"

The feed ended. Azra sat and watched it, waiting for it to pick back up as Shiro was rezzed, but part of her already knew.

"That's it, then?" she said. Her own voice sounded far away in her ears. Everything was odd, like she was watching someone else speak, merely a passive observer.

"I am… sorry," Veera said stiltedly. She might as well have been in another room.

The seconds stretched impossibly long. The logical fact was, Shiro was gone. His Ghost had been damaged by a Fallen sniper and then obliterated by that giant Brig they'd sent to wreck the City. It seemed like such a cop-out. Twilight Gap hadn't killed Shiro. SIVA hadn't. The Red War hadn't. A sniper and a Brig had done him in, in the middle of the City, in the light of the Traveler. After everything, it had been here. Not to a god or to some existential threat, but to common machinery.

She knew better than that thought- it was always a risk. Every mission. All Shiro had to do was be unlucky. (Zavala was in charge of ops. He hadn't even told her. Hadn't mentioned Shiro was on this mission- she hadn't even known to be worried.)

Azra breathed in, not quite feeling it. "Alright," she said, still sounding monotone and distant. How come her voice didn't shake? "Alright, I'll tell Saladin."

"Is that it?" Veera said. She sounded… incredulous? Angry?

"Put the body, or…" Or what's left of it, she should say, but her brain rejected the image of a pile of twisted scrap- "Put it on my jumpship. I'll take care of it."

"Okay," Veera said. "Do you-"

Azra looked up to meet her eyes. What Veera saw there must have shocked her, because she abruptly stopped speaking. Azra couldn't fathom the slightest guess as to what expression she was making. Everything was numb.

"I will go," Veera said, clipped. She turned and left.

"You gave me your word," Zavala spat.

"I need to go," Azra said. "I said I'll be back-"

Zavala cut her off with a gesture. "It's too dangerous. Our situation is precarious. A Fallen attack inside the City itself-"

"This is important," Azra insisted. "I haven't asked you for anything. I haven't even tried skipping town. This one damn time-"

"What assurance do I have that you won't get yourself killed?" Zavala asked. The accusation was obvious- Andal had gotten himself killed, Cayde had gotten himself killed. Now Azra wouldn't even be given the opportunity.

She stopped at the bank of a mountain stream, looking up through the break in the trees. Turkey vultures pinwheeled in the sky above, a clear sign that no Fallen were in the area. "Radar's clear. The Light's good. I've got four whole guns now." Her fingers itched to fight, to do something.

Cayde still would have none of it. "You agreed to stay on the comms. I'm not-"

"If I can't handle myself in an empty forest for five minutes, you've got other things to worry about."

"You never know what's out there."

Azra threw up her hands. Her patience had run thin hours ago. "Christ! If a Fallen comes out of nowhere and shanks me, Spark can give me a rez! Or I'll just shoot it, with my guns!"

"I have to bury my brother, Zavala!" Azra shouted. It wasn't like her to raise her voice, but Shiro was dead, and here she had to sit here and argue for the right to go dig a hole to dump his body in.

"I. Need. You. Here," Zavala said pointedly. "There is chaos. We need every hand to make sure the perimeter isn't breached again."

"Gods dammit, don't you have an ounce of sympathy in your cold, dead heart?" How could he look at her and tell her he couldn't spare her a few hours? Shiro had died under his command.

"This job is demanding," Zavala reminded her. "But you swore an oath to me that you wouldn't run."

"I'm not running," Azra exclaimed. "I'm burying Shiro, for the Traveler's sake! I haven't so much as tried to put a foot out of the City for…"

How long had it been? Months? Years? "For…"

What date was it? The days blurred together with the sleepless nights, the weeks. When had she lost track of the time?

"I don't even know how long it's been," she admitted quietly. She felt sick.

"Bury him here, then," Zavala suggested.

Azra shook her head. "No. Not an option."

"Why not?"

"I'm not burying Shiro in the City," she said. It was preposterous. As a Vanguard Scout, Shiro had given so much of his time to this place. He'd given his life for it. And now, at the end, to be trapped here in final rest? She wouldn't let it happen.

Zavala leaned forward on his knuckles. "What I'll never understand about you Hunters. You take the City's luxury. You take shelter here. You eat here and go shopping." His voice was accusatory, full of spite. "But the second anyone claims that it might be your home, you go running for the hills."

He was angry with her. He was actually angry that she was asking to leave to bury Shiro. He was treating it like an evil, like a sin. Like burying Shiro in the well-worn dirt of a City cemetery was a gift she was scorning. Like Azra should be thankful for being forced to spend her every waking moment trapped inside the Walls.

He'd passed his judgement, Azra realized. He was stubborn- she could argue with him until the end of time and would never change his mind. But Azra wasn't going to betray Shiro's wishes on the Commander's insistence. Zavala may win this argument out of sheer bittern stubbornness and spite, but Azra hadn't been arguing for the ability to go. She'd been arguing for permission.

"Fine," she spat. "Message received."

"Azra," Zavala said in warning.

Azra didn't listen. She stood up, pushed her chair in roughly, and walked out.

Zavala yelled after her, but Spark keyed the doors to close and he was cut off.

Azra actually paused a second in hesitation. That was… they'd crossed a line, both of them. She and Zavala had just broken something between them. She dawdled for a minute, hoping he might come after her with an apology, hoping she might get another chance to explain herself-

But Zavala didn't come. Azra sighed, her heart turning from anger back to grief, and she left.

Shiro was buried in the mountains outside of the City. There wasn't time to find a suitable gravestone or build a cairn, so a rough granite bolder the size of a Pike marked the spot. She laid a single lily on top (they had always been his favorite) and left to sneak back into the City. She added a marker to the map when she got back to her office.

Saladin held a funeral for him at the Iron Temple. Zavala put her on watch duty that night and Azra didn't even try to argue. She mourned privately, sorting out scouting reports, approving bounty payouts, checking in on the strike teams.

The days passed, achingly slowly, yet still a blur.

?

"Come in," Ikora said. "Have a seat."

Azra was struck with a vague sense of dread. Like slouching back into camp when she knew she'd done something to piss off Andal, or walking into the War Room knowing she was about to get chewed out by Zavala.

She entered anyway and shut the door behind her. Her body acted on habit and muscle memory these days. "You called," she said. Her voice croaked, surprising her a bit. Perhaps she should excuse herself and force another rez before getting too wrapped up in this.

We just did one an hour ago, Spark pointed out. It wouldn't improve much. So Azra shuffled across the room and lowered herself into a chair.

"I thought we could have some tea," Ikora said. Indeed, there was a teapot and cups on the table. Azra should have noticed it. She should have smelled it from across the room. She blinked dumbly at the fine China as Ikora poured out their cups. "How are you doing?" the Warlock asked conversationally.

Azra just looked at her. What kind of question was that?

"I've been busy," Ikora said. "I thought we should catch up." She had been occupied, with what Azra didn't know. She never seemed to be available outside of work meetings. Why was she now?

"It's my day off," Azra said, almost pleading. To be up and focused enough to have conversations was hard. She'd expected to be able to rest after her errands, inasmuch as she could rest. It seemed unfair to ask her to drag herself over here for casual conversation.

"I didn't realize tea was such a time-consuming and exhaustive activity," Ikora said mockingly. Perhaps once Azra would have taken it lightly, a friendly jab. But the world was stark now, with Cayde and Sylas and Shiro gone, with Zavala icily angry, with Veera distant. And Ikora's eyes were a little too hard to be entirely teasing.

Azra simply did not have the energy for this conversation. She could dig back up all of her trauma, shuffle through her vocabulary until she found words to match the horror, make the wounds fresh as she laid it out in the light of day. And for what? Ikora sat back, primly sipping at her tea, and Azra saw no sign of compassion on her face. The interest was clean and detached, antiseptic almost, and it stung like rubbing alcohol in Azra's injuries.

"What do you want, Ikora," Azra rasped.

"Is it so hard to believe I just want to catch up?" Ikora replied, still a teasing note in her voice.

Azra did feel a bit of anger at that, because the answer was so obvious. After everything, she wanted to talk now? "After ignoring me for…" how long had it been? Spark shoved the answer and she took it blindly- "Six and a half months? You want to talk now?"

Ikora sipped her tea and said nothing.

Azra did not have the energy for this. It wasn't concern or sympathy that colored Ikora's voice, it wasn't even curiosity. Azra could only ascribe Ikora's request of conversation as cruel. To invoke pain without the intention of rectifying it. There was that sharp bit of satisfaction in Ikora's light as she watched Azra struggle that turned her stomach.

Azra may have been taking self-sacrifice to an extreme these days, but she still knew better than to burn herself for the benefit of someone who didn't even care. So Azra stood. It took a long second to work up enough moisture in her mouth, but when she did, she spat on the ground in disgust. She left Ikora sitting across from an empty chair and an untouched teacup.

?

"You cannot sneak out?" Veera asked. "I am begging you."

"I'm not going to sneak out," Azra replied. "I have a job to do."

Veera crossed her arms, chin high in challenge, eyes bright with accusation. "You snuck out to bury Shiro," she pointed out.

"That's an entirely different thing than going on a raid in the damn Leviathan!" Azra rebuked. "I can't go around risking my life anymore."

"So you risk ours instead," Veera said. "You are one of the most skilled field operatives the City has ever seen. We need every advantage we have on this raid. We have no idea what we are getting in to. We need a good scout."

"I'm sorry," Azra said. Didn't Veera realize that she wanted to go? That if it were allowed, she'd be up out of the chair in a heartbeat? "I have too much to do here. Too many people to let down."

"Letting people down?" Veera hissed. The accusation had definitely morphed into anger. "Sylas died because you were not there. Shiro died-"

"Don't you dare throw their names at me like that," Azra spat. "What fucking right-"

"Why is this so important to you?" Veera exclaimed. "Was it more important than them?" Her voice dropped suddenly, dangerously soft. "Is it more important than me?"

Azra didn't immediately respond, though she knew in her heart the answer was yes. "You don't understand," she said. She wasn't in this position because she placed her own priorities first.

"You have so little respect for systems," Veera said. "You scoff at Vanguard protocols. You play pranks on your superiors, you steal things, you will deride the chain of command any time someone asks you about it. Forgive me if I don't believe this sudden change of heart."

"This is the one thing," Azra held up a finger, staring furiously past it to Vera. "The one thing I respect. That we all respect. I've watched four of some of the best people I've ever known give themselves for this. I grew up hearing stories about the rest. I know what it's like when there's nobody there looking out for us-"

"You bastard," Veera exclaimed. "How can you bear to sit by and watch?"

That was just it. Azra couldn't bear it. But gods dammit, she was in too deep now, out of any energy to think up alternatives, out of any sympathy to use to leverage someone else into the chair. (Besides, the Vanguard seat was a death sentence. If she couldn't bear to sit by and watch, she couldn't bear to be out there, knowing she'd sent someone else to die for her.)

"Get out," Spark said. "You don't get to say that."

Veera turned her angry eyes on him, but her own Ghost interceded. "Maybe we should all take a little break. Cool off a bit."

Veera looked as if she might argue, but Spark wasn't backing down. "Leave," he hissed.

Azra couldn't process it anymore- his anger, Veera's, her own- it all swirled together in a disorienting tide of heat and the smell of gunsmoke. Azra dropped heavily into a chair, not trusting her legs to hold her anymore.

Veera left. It took a long time for the taint of betrayal to leave the air.

?

"Azra."

Azra didn't respond.

"I don't like this," Spark said. He sounded scared.

Azra sat in the shower, staring at her gun. It was a daily ritual now, sitting on the porcelain floor, making eyes at her sidearm, trying to work up the energy to raise it. After that first rez she could muster the strength to get up and trudge into the War Room and struggle through the rest of the day. Whenever things got too fuzzy to focus on she could excuse herself and find a secluded place to force another reset. But during the night she let herself go. (She'd long since stopped hoping for sleep. Some days she lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling, drifting in a semiconscious haze that was the closest she got to rest. The others she spent wandering the City, half-mad with delirium, trying to at least do something- learn the layout of the grid, watch for trouble, enjoy the quieter night air.)

The hardest part of the day was working up the nerve to start it. Working up the nerve to shoot herself first and not Spark.

"This isn't okay," Spark said.

It hadn't been okay in a long while. In… exactly how long she couldn't recall. Weeks? Months?

"Cayde didn't want this."

Cayde had wanted her in the chair. He'd said so himself.

"Cayde loved you. Cayde wouldn't want… this. I don't think anyone would want this. This is torture."

Ikora wanted it. Zavala wanted it. She'd spoken to both of them before. Hadn't she? She couldn't really remember.

"You told Zavala you were having trouble sleeping a few times," Spark said. "And Ikora can read thoughts, but…" this is wrong, he thought at her. It wasn't like Ikora, Zavala, to be so unhelpful, so hurtfully dismissive. It wasn't like Veera, to not even try to understand. Something here is very wrong.

And yet she could do it, for one more day. That was the game she played with herself, sitting here and thinking up reasons why this was all worth it. All of the Hunters she'd be letting down if she ended it. All of the Warlocks and Titans she'd be letting down. What Veera would think of her- what Ikora and Zavala would think. Shaxx. Banshee. How disappointed Andal and Cayde would have been if they were here to see it. What Shiro would say-

Her hand tightened on the gun as anger burned through her, bright and fierce as magnesium sparks. Then it was gone, flashing back to the dull pain that was all she could manage to feel these days. It was harder and harder to find reasons.

"I'm sorry, Azra," Spark said. "I can't. Not anymore. You're my Guardian. I look after you before anyone else. And you… you can't keep doing this anymore. No matter how much you want to."

"No. Not like this." But Spark had precious few tools to make her stop. He couldn't physically hold her back, all he could do was talk and... "If you go… I'm. I'm not going to go with you," he gasped.

Azra froze.

"You're not thinking straight," he said. "You don't see everything you still stand to lose. So you're going to lose me if you go."

"Spark…"

"No. I'm not enabling this." He trembled on unsteady lifters. "Don't make me leave. Please." He couldn't just let her walk back into hell.

Azra didn't really have the will to argue with him. Not when she was sitting here losing the argument with herself. There was a hollow sort of relief in it, just giving up the fight.

"Tomorrow's your day off," Spark said. "We'll leave. Run away. After you get off shift- it'll be the longest before we're noticed missing. I'll take care of everything." He still spoke urgently, like Azra might change her mind.

Her thoughts couldn't be further form resistance. She steeled herself. One more day. Could she do one more day? Not for everyone else, but for herself?

"You owe yourself that, at least," Spark said. "You owe me that."

She did. So she got up, holstered the gun, and steeled what little resolve she had left.

Spark took care of the affairs- gathering their things as discreetly as possible, scraping up what extra Glimmer he could. It wouldn't be wise to take the Jumpship they had parked in the Hangar, but they'd always had a habit of leaving a spare or two in orbit. They'd be well-supplied for whatever journeys they found themselves on.

Azra didn't have to worry about keeping up a charade at work. Ikora had the night shift. Zavala spent most of the day running ops or in a Consensus meeting. Azra settled into her busywork. In all honesty, there wasn't much to do. She'd long been preparing for when she wouldn't be able to keep up anymore- the patrol rotations were set, her notes organized. So, in between debriefings, Azra drafted a letter.

Ikora, Zavala-

I'm sorry. By the time you read this, I'll be gone.

You'll probably think me a coward, or weak, or selfish. All I can say is that I tried. You don't know how hard I've tried. But there's something wrong here and I don't know how to fix it.

I don't want to leave the chair open. When Kauko Swiftriver went missing, it was all chaos. That's part of why I never spoke up about Andal joining the Vanguard- even back then, I understood. I understand even more now. But I don't have a lot of options left to me- staying isn't an option. At least not once I can take anymore.

I know the Vanguard effectively going crazy and running away isn't a good look. Whatever lies you need to tell to make this position more appealing, tell them. Scapegoat me. Exile me, even. I'll take whatever fallout I can. If condemning me will take blame from the system, if it'll make someone else more willing to do the work, then condemn me. It's the least I can do after leaving like this.

I can't come back, obviously. Give whatever I've left behind to the Kinderguardian fund. Basically everyone I'd mentioned in my will is dead anyway, and the kids are gonna need it.

I've set patrol rotations for the next six months. They never seem to keep that long without something going wrong, but it's a baseline to work off of. And all my notes and things- they're all in the database for the next person to use. If they want to use them. I'm not sure if I would.

Sorry, again. I'd keep apologizing to the end of time, but that wouldn't make any of this better.

Regards,

-Azra Jax

She'd always been able to sneak out. That was the real irony of this. Zavala could bluster all he wanted- and although they could keep Cayde fairly under wraps, Azra was a much slipperier sort.

She couldn't really remember packing, but Spark assured her she had everything they'd need. Adelante was slung across her back, the Requiem at her hip, a generic cloak thrown over her shoulders.

With her helmet on and in her strike gear and the anonymous cloak, nobody would recognize her. And if she was casual enough when she pried open the manhole and scooted into the stormwater system, nobody would think twice.

"Come on, Cayde," Azra begged. "It'll look suspicious if I overstay my takeoff clearance. I think Zavala's wising up that I'm the one that keeps helping you sneak out."

Finally, finally, Cayde strolled his way to the open side of the hangar where the ready ships waited to lift off. He rubbernecked like a Kinderguardian, gawping up at the sleek vessels.

"You have sixty seconds before we're leaving without you," Azra warned.

"Relaaaaax," came Cayde's drawled reply.

He nodded at a passing technician, scrutinized an old Phaeton-class ship like it was familiar to him, then strolled up Azra's ramp, as cool as could be.

It's how she'd escaped the City during the Red War. It was rather undignified, squirming and scraping to get through the bars on the culvert, straining to keep her Void invisibility up long enough to get out and across the cleared space to genuine cover.

She had to pause and catch her breath. She was a wreck. Despite all of the rezzes, despite the lack of physical strain, she was barely holding it together. Once upon a time she could have kept invisibility up for damn near fifteen minutes if she'd had to. Now forty seconds was pushing her limits. She cursed her numb legs as she crouched behind a bush, trying to steady her heartbeat.

The wind came, shaking the tree branches, setting the dappled light into motion. Azra took a deep breath in, smelling decaying leaves and fresh growth and dirt. Dirt! Even in the few islands of plants in the ocean of concrete that was the City, the smells had been drowned out by emissions and baking asphalt. She'd only been outside to bury Shiro, and she hadn't exactly been enjoying herself then.

She didn't know how long she sat there, entranced by the sounds and sights around her. She only blinked back into focus when her vision began to sway.

"We need somewhere to rest," Spark said.

"The Cave," Azra decided. It was close and safe and the only people who would think to look for her there were all dead.

She barely made it.

She didn't have time to take off her armor, she didn't have time to unlace her boots or start a fire. She crawled through the small entrance to the Cave, and when the ceiling opened up above her, she just… failed to stand up. She dragged herself a few extra feet, then curled up on the dusty floor.

Spark asked her something, but the blackness came and swallowed up his words, swallowed up her aching shoulders and tired feet, and she plunged into true unconsciousness for the first time in nearly eight months.