Take it from me, I've been there a thousand times
You hate your pulse because it thinks you're still alive
And everything's wrong
It just gets so hard sometimes
Be calm

Be Calm – fun.

?

Azra blinked once. How had she gotten here? Where was here?

She sat, leaning on a railing, legs sticking out between the bars. Early morning, from the angle of the sun and the freshness of the air. Light glittered on the buildings below. It was a magnificent view of the City, from somewhere near the new Tower.

No, not just somewhere. She knew exactly where. The view was burned into her mind, as was every other view and every other angle of the City. She'd spent days staring out at the skyline, weeks pacing the walls, months wandering the alleys and streets she could make out below. She knew every damn inch of the City, whether she wanted to or not.

The view immediately repulsed her. Bile churned in her stomach. She didn't want to be here-

So, suddenly, she wasn't.

Azra sat in darkness. The floor was rough under her hands, dusty. There was the smell of old campfire. Azra waited for a second for Spark to turn on his flashlight. It was a jolt when she realized that he wasn't with her. She had no idea where he was- she could barely even feel him.

She stood up and summoned her Arc Staff instead. Its jittering light revealed what she already knew was there- a burnt-out fire in an eclectic circle of stones, a pile of tinder in the corner, and five handprints on the wall. She was in the Cave.

Had she… had she teleported here? Just like that? She felt rattled. One moment, she'd been in the Prison, then she'd just woken up in the City. What day was it? What year was it? Half an hour ago when she'd died, it had been August- but the glimpse she'd caught of the City hadn't had any snow. The air had been relatively warm. In the Southern Hemisphere, August was deep winter. Even… the collapse of the Prison had taken place in June. It still should have been cold.

She let the Arc Staff go and sat, shaky, against the wall of the Cave. At least here she was safe. She could take her time and work things out.

"I can't do it," Azra gasped. All the anxiety she'd bottled up inside came pouring out. "I just can't do it. I'm like a rat in a cage and if I escape I'm hurting everyone. And on top of it all, Suraya-"

"Slow down," Shiro said, half a command and half a comfort. "I know it's bad. Take a moment to settle yourself." Azra tried, catching her own breathing before it got away from her. "The universe isn't going to end because you had a fight with Suraya," Shiro continued. "There's always time to make up."

Azra hugged her arms and took deep, gulping breaths. Where was Spark? Her connection to him was dimmer than it was during the Red War. All she had was a vague sense of his existence. That part of her mind felt raw and delicate, like a throat sore from shouting.

But it was still there. She needed to know if Spark was okay. Desperately. That moment after he'd died had been the worst, a pinnacle of horror after long dragging months of despair. She couldn't bear to think of going through it a second time- she hadn't even borne it the first time, to be honest.

She had no idea what was going on, but she needed to know that he was okay. So she closed her eyes and tried to fall back into the orbit of him. It was like reaching out into the cave-darkness, waiting to bump into a wall you knew was there somewhere but your brain couldn't tell if it was inches or miles away. When she caught just the faintest tug of their mutual gravity, she held onto it for dear life and focused, hard.

"Nah," Shiro said. I think we're just about wrapped up here."

"I might head back early, then," Spark said. "Azra's felt a little bit more… awake, recently." He tried to not pay attention to that sick, useless feeling of hope- his sense of Azra's awareness waxed and waned, but after all these months he had no real reason to expect change. That didn't stop him from doting, checking again and again.

"Small problem with that," Pace announced. "Cayde says she's wandered off again."

True, Spark checked the group channel and there the message was. Azra's gone again. I'll check you-know-where, you guys get her cliff.

Azra's eyes snapped open to blackness. Her sense of Spark was gone, suddenly, back to dimness. She'd been brought around to reality by some stimulus. And there it was, again- a shuffling noise, a grunt. She saw his optic lights first as he squeezed into the Cave, then Sundance appeared to shine a flashlight.

Sundance! And Cayde, looking blessedly healthy, his cloak with only one stripe. She almost couldn't believe it, but every sense of hers confirmed the truth: the tenor of his huff as he straightened back upright, the shape of him, how he put his feet on the floor, the way his head turned. His Light was a blast of nostalgia: playing cards and honey and screaming giddy challenges to the dark.

He looked sad, though. His optics lit on Azra and there was.. almost a sense of disappointment? The heady, tired pain of some long-drawn-out wound. "Come on, then, let's get you back home," he muttered.

He reached out a hand and Azra took it. The feeling of his hand in hers- warm, always so warm- broke the spell of her disbelief. He pulled her to her feet and she threw her arms around him, squeezing as tightly as she could.

He staggered back at the sudden assault but steadied himself. Slowly, a dangerous and sharp knife of hope cut through the tired, quiet despair. Slowly, his arms raised to return her embrace.

"Cayde," she said, and then could speak no more as Cayde's hug suddenly crushed the air from her lungs.

"Azra," he said. "Azra, you're back, you're awake."

That didn't make sense. None of this made sense- the weather, Spark's distance, the wonderous joy rolling off of Cayde. It didn't matter because they were both here.

Cayde seemed to finally relax at that. He held out his arms. "C'mere."

Azra did and the pair of Hunters embraced. Cayde held on just a little bit too tightly, reaching up to feel Azra's hair and grip her side like he was making sure she wasn't a figment of his imagination. Azra squeezed him back in turn, some irrational bit of her brain afraid that if she let go, he'd be gone. She closed her eyes and drank in the feel of him. It hadn't even been a month, but it had felt like years.

"Is Shiro okay?" Azra managed to gasp. "Is Sylas?" She'd seen Shiro through Spark's perspective, but none of this seemed real. He'd been dead. Cayde had been dead. And so had Azra- but now they were all back?

"What the blazes you talking about?" Cayde asked. Just the fact that her question didn't make sense sent relief zinging through her body. Her knees gave out.

Cayde lowered them both gently to the floor. He seemed shaky himself. "You've been away so long," he said, sounding small and scared. "I thought you were gone."

"I was," Azra gasped. "I was."

The date was March 11, 2961. It was the second March 11, 2961 Azra had seen. She'd been catatonic for eight months, Cayde said, and they'd all nearly given up on her waking up.

It made sense, in a funny sort of way. A second chance meant a second timeline. A divergence. Last time, Cayde had died and Azra had been Vanguard for eight months before leaving. This time everyone was still alive. Azra had just been… absent. She didn't remember any of it, just dying (well, not dying), and the Prison, again, and taking the bullet meant for Sundance.

And then now she was here, miraculously. She was still left with a crawling sense of discomfort. On the surface of it, this was certainly the better outcome: no death, no exile. But she didn't believe that gods damn actual, non-paradoxical time travel just happened on accident. Something else was going on here. There was something Cayde wasn't telling her, something different about the way he looked at her. Even thinking about it too hard made her head hurt. (She wondered what Osiris made of all of this, if he knew. Had this thrown the Vex into disarray? Did they even notice?)

Azra had reluctantly followed Cayde back to the City, where there were tearful reunions with Shiro and Spark. The briefest of debriefs with Zavala. And then Cayde had whisked her off to Osiris's old lab to be 'checked out' by Ikora.

There had been a million questions asked of her along the way, of which Azra answered very few. She was still reeling, and she wanted to be careful. This was the second March 11, 2961 she had seen, after all, and although things were different, they still rhymed. She saw echoes of the dark past everywhere she looked: In the friction evident between Cayde and Zavala (they were on professional speaking terms only, it seemed). In the smoking crater that once was the Botza district. In the jar of Dark Ether sitting on the corner table of the lab. Cayde had stuttered something about the gajillion messages he had to send, gave her another hug, then vacated to the hallway, leaving her alone in the lab with Ikora Rey.

Ikora barely made conversation. It was clear she was looking for something, peering at Azra through different lenses, firing up the old thaumaturgic spectrographs and superposition collapse detectors and a dozen other instruments Azra had no name for. Azra sat on the table, making herself as small as possible, speaking as little as possible, watching Ikora with wary eyes as she swept back and forth across the room.

She couldn't even lean on her Ghost for support. Spark sat on her shoulder practically buzzing with questions, but Azra couldn't hear any of them. Their link was still oddly disconnected. All she could make out from him was a vague sense of distress. (What was he feeling from her? What was she feeling?)

Finally, Ikora reached some conclusion. She reviewed her spectrograms, compared them to some fuzzy-looking printout from one of the more ancient machines, and nodded to herself.

Then she set down her papers and looked directly at Azra. "You were cursed," she said, like a doctor breaking news of a diagnosis.

Azra hunched her shoulders more. "I know," she said quietly.

"Were, as in past tense," Ikora said. "As in no longer."

Too good to be true. "Not even a little bit?"

"Not even a little bit," Ikora confirmed. She looked fond. Like she'd missed Azra. She gestured to her printouts. "I can detect the changes in your Light caused by your mood. If there was some other paracausal force still influencing you, I would be able to see it."

Azra slumped a little bit. It was over, then. She had looked for ways to break it, back then. She'd drafted a half-dozen counter wishes, but it had never been worth the risk. Chances were she'd only be making things worse. Besides, who was to say it hadn't been broken when she first left?

Ikora broke through her thoughts, laying an unexpected hand on her shoulder. Azra flinched away violently, baring her teeth. "Don't touch me," she spat. She was only still sitting by a feat of will. She'd wanted to bolt since Cayde had left the room. She didn't trust Ikora, not anymore.

The Warlock pulled back, looking alarmed and concerned. That's what really rankled Azra, that pity. Azra had seen the cold, compassionless lengths Ikora could go to. She couldn't just sit here in this room and pretend it hadn't happened.

She couldn't stay here.

"…I guess I'm tired. And annoyed. This hasn't been very fun."

Osiris snorted. "You aren't here to have fun. You're here to learn about your abilities," he chided.

Azra looked back up at him, eyes sharp with indignation. "Yeah, well, I haven't leaned shit."

Osiris turned his gaze back to the readout. "And apparently, neither have I."

Spark spoke up. "Osiris. We came here as a favor. And we came here for help. We have been truthful with you. If you're not going to be truthful with us, then I think we should leave."

She stood up abruptly, causing Ikora to take a step backwards. Azra knew she was sloppy, radiating anger and grief, but frankly, she was far past the point of caring what Ikora thought. She'd given a lot for the Warlock's opinion in the past, and how easily it'd been thrown away.

She made for the door. She couldn't stand this room anymore.

Regret was always quick enough to make her hesitate, though. Ikora was so confused, the Light around her twisting in disorganized patterns as she tried to line her theoretical knowledge up to reality. She looked hurt.

"… You were cursed, too," Azra said. Could she really hold Ikora responsible for it? Especially that now she'd never actually done anything?

Azra didn't have the emotional energy to wrestle with that. "I'm leaving," she said (somewhat unnecessarily, she was already at the door).

Ikora took a step forward. "But-"

"Gods damn it, Ikora? How many times have you told me off for not looking after myself?" Azra was yelling. She didn't really care. Gods, Shiro had been dead, Cayde had been dead, and now it looked like they weren't, but Azra had just spent six exiled months being hunted, isolated, terrified of everyone she came in contact with. That didn't just go away because someone showed concern.

Distantly, she realized she was having a panic attack. She was dizzy, heaving breath through her clenched teeth like she'd just run a race. Spark was so dim, she couldn't hear him over the cacophony of her own thoughts.

Ikora took a step forward. Azra ran.

Azra hadn't realized she was running to anywhere until she ended up in the EDZ. It wasn't like she'd thought it over and decided this was the best choice- just like she had nowhere else she could go. She didn't want to be alone, but there were very few people left that could make her feel safer. Ikora and Zavala she could barely stand the sight of. Cayde and Shiro- she loved them, but they'd want answers and Azra didn't know if she was ready to give them. Veera was too painful to think about. The Iron Temple- surely Saladin would've been disappointed in her. Even if she hadn't burned any bridges now (yet), she couldn't sit and reckon with her feelings next to someone who'd hunted her, who had twisted the knife of her grief.

So she'd ended up in the EDZ. Inside an old church, up the wooden ramp which still creaked loudly. She hadn't called ahead, but Devrim Kay didn't seem to mind. "Azra Jax," he said warmly, half-turning from his position. "I'd heard the news you were up and about. It's good to see you." There was a question he was too polite to ask- why are you here instead of debriefing with the Vanguard?

"Can… can you do something for me?" Azra asked, too weary to hide her fear.

"Of course," Devrim said, concern showing. He leaned his rifle on the wall and gave her his full attention.

"Can you… not tell anyone I'm here?" Azra asked quietly. "And can I sit a while?" Devrim frowned at her. "I don't want to be alone," she added, almost a whisper.

Bless Devrim Kay. He didn't ask questions, he didn't explode into a flurry of fussing like Cayde would have. He nodded graciously, simple. "Yes, you may."

March 11, 2961; Trostland, The European Dead Zone, Earth

Azra ended up curling up under one of the folding tables, hunched to keep her head from brushing the underside. The shelter, however thin it was, did a lot to ease her anxiety.

Devrim, too, helped. He sat next to one of his crates, humming to himself as he sorted through its contents, projecting an air of peace. Azra didn't miss the glances he kept taking at the entrance ramp, at the street outside. Azra felt better with him keeping watch. She had a lot more than the Fallen to hide from, these days-

No, you don't, Spark interrupted. It wasn't anything but the quietest whisper, a sense of confusion. The distance between them felt so wrong.

No, he'd gotten used to the distance between them, even if he still niggled at it like a chipped fingernail.

Azra held him in her physical hands and reached for him with her mental ones. Normally, their shared experiences made things easier between them, a twin perspective on the world. But ask either of them what had happened yesterday and you'd get two completely separate answers.

Show me, Azra begged him, pushing through the soreness in her mind. I don't remember anything.

June 04, 2960 (Timeline B); The Last City, Earth

Cayde was shaking. Spark noticed it, even though the Exo's hands were clenched tight around the yoke of the Jumpship. (Not Cayde's jumpship, Azra's. Spark's. The one they'd snuck out in.) The Ghost couldn't guess the cause of the tremmor- shock? Anger? The Light burned about him with some emotion, but without Azra here Spark couldn't tell what-

Because Azra wasn't here. It was wrong. It should have been her in the driver's seat, griping at Cayde to get his feet off the dashboard, giddy and relaxed after the mission. But she was gone. Not dead, but cut off, the connection between them strangled. Her absence was an abyss and all Spark could do was sit there and stare at it in silent horror. He hadn't felt so alone since before he'd Raised her- not even during the Red War.

They flew into the City, Sundance taking over the necessary flight protocols when Spark hesitated, and landed with no fanfare.

No fanfare, either, as they disembarked and walked through the hangar. Them helping with the prison riot hadn't been a publicized mission, so really, seeing Cayde show up without Azra shouldn't have raised any suspicion (even if he was seething so hard he practically glowed Solar). But Azra was gone. Spark's shock was so total it seemed like the world should be standing still. Yet people were still going on about their day, oblivious to the maelstrom that was brewing elsewhere. Spark wordlessly trailed behind the Hunger Vanguard, trying to process, trying to think around the sudden hole in his reality.

Cayde made straight for the War Room.

Cayde only really decided he was pissed when they got back to the City. He looked at the everyday hustle and bustle and decided that no, he was not okay with this. By the time he'd gotten to the War Room, his disbelief had fully ignited into rage. He shook with it. Even clenching his fists couldn't stop it- his arms trembled, his knees. He felt like he'd been tossed into a bonfire. His mind kept replaying the events of the past few hours over and over, trying to figure out where it had all gone wrong. Had it all been a trap, from the very start?

Zavala and Ikora were talking. Cayde had flown the ship (Azra's ship, with her flight displays and her knickknacks and her passcodes) back to the City and gave his report like a good little scout. And what was the rest of the Vanguard going to do about it? They were going to talk.

Zavala's voice was insultingly unemotional. "The fact remains: this is Awoken business."

"Awoken business?" Cayde scoffed. "City business. It became our business the moment they kidnapped our Guardian."

Ikora cast him a glance sidelong. Zavala just frowned at him. "You weren't cleared for a strike on the Prison of Elders," the Titan intoned. "Whatever trouble you got up to, it wasn't in the name of the City." Cayde knew that somewhere, he was sorry. Just not sorry enough to actually say it.

"Cayde," Ikora interrupted gently. "We've both seen the footage. I'm not sure what happened was a kidnapping."

"Of course it was a kidnapping!" Cayde exclaimed. "What else could it be?" Like she'd willingly gone and joined Uldren Sov? Like she'd run out on Cayde- run out on Spark? Never in a million years.

"She knew what was going to happen," Spark said, whisper-soft. The Ghost had barely spoken since the incident, obviously still in shock.

"Exactly," Ikora said. "Azra knew something we didn't. Maybe we should trust her judgement on this."

"So you're just going to let it happen," Cayde accused. "Azra gets fucking kidnapped and you're going to just sit around twiddling your thumbs at it."

"This is a delicate situation," Zavala said through clenched teeth. "We can't send Vanguard troops into Reef Space uninvited. And to hunt a member of the Awoken royalty? We may as well declare war."

Bullshit. "After everything she's done for you, you'd throw her to the wolves."

"What would you have me do?" Zavala asked rhetorically.

"Fine," Cayde spat. "You don't have to do anything. I'm going."

"Cayde," Zavala said in an exasperated warning. Cayde knew the speech that was coming- he'd heard it a thousand times before.

"You know what? No." Cayde turned on him, pointing an accusing finger. "You don't get to 'honor' and 'greater purpose' me like that. We all know I'm here 'cause of Andal. And I see more these days what he put into this, what this is supposed to mean." At least he could go to sleep at night and know he was helping, but by the Traveler, he saw where that train of thought led. "But I also see what he sacrificed for this. Giving up on the Crew? That was the biggest mistake he ever made."

Zavala wasn't cowed by the opposition. "You swore an oath to your office-"

"She was my Pack first," Cayde said. "You talk about honor? How's sitting by and letting my sister get kidnapped or killed because of diplomacy? Because it would upset people?" He crossed his arms. "That goes against everything it means to be a Hunter."

Ikora opened her mouth to try and reason with him, and bless her, but he didn't particularly want to be reasoned with.

He'd been balancing on the tightrope of responsibility for years- duty to the Vanguard on one side, duty to his family on the other. He'd kept the stakes even as he could, redirecting his priorities to harmonize, making small concessions one way or the other. He always knew there would be the day when they would pull against each other and he'd have to choose. He'd wondered what he would do when they finally came into conflict.

He felt stupid for ever questioning it. Of course he was going. He left Ikora and Zavala to argue behind him. He had preparations to make.