I've heard since I was younger
That oil and water don't mix
They're polar opposites
With a molecular rift you can't fix
But I swear with all your burnt bridges
You could leach what's caustic and find
A rudimentary lye
Some kind of miraculous bind
Soap – The Oh Hellos
March 28, 2961; Xenogeography Archives, The Last City, Earth
Veera found her in a dusty little study room off of the Xenogeography Group main archive. Most libraries and archives had some form of research space, from the high-tech halls of the Praxic Order, to the vast, echoing atriums of the Library for Thaumaturgics and Paracausality, to the refined elegance of the Gensym Scribes' main campus. Xenogeography was tiny in comparison to those. Yet no matter how niche the field or how small the hall, there were always a few of these small rooms tucked away somewhere, ripe for the claiming if you knew where to look for them.
They weren't usually this neglected, though. The air was dry and stale. Several ceiling lights had gone out, and the windows had a layer of grime which muted the noonday sun outside. Perhaps most of the people focused on Xenogreography preferred field work. It seemed like one could spend days here without running into anyone else.
That thought made Veera pause before opening the door. Perhaps that was exactly why Azra was here- did she not want to see anyone? Was this a hiding spot? But no, she was logged into the Vanguard Net, and her tracker was on. Surely if she needed privacy, she would have turned it off?
Veera still asked Ghost to ping Spark first, and only moved to open the door when he got an affirmative signal back.
The room was bare- a tiny window by the ceiling, a wraparound desk, and a shoulder-high bookshelf by the door. Azra had obviously been here some time. Most of the desk was covered with books, data pads, and freshly cleaned guns. Azra herself was perched on top of the bookshelf, seemingly oblivious to the presence of the desk chair. She looked down at Veera. The Warlock noted her posture and decided that she probably hadn't been hiding. She didn't look guilty or afraid.
"I did not know you had access to this archive," Veera commented in greeting.
Azra raised an eyebrow. "This is a library dedicated to geography and meteorology. Where do you think they get all their data?"
"I understand that," Veera said. "But you never see Hunters in places like these. I had thought, perhaps uncharitably of the archive…"
Azra shrugged. "Some people do that. Take your research, pay you off, but leave you at the door. Not here, though."
Veera paused, waiting for some witty comment, but none were forthcoming. Azra wasn't tensed as if she were in danger, but she still seemed on edge, watching Veera and waiting for something to happen.
Veera shut the door behind her. "I see you are busy," she commented, taking in the piles of books again.
"Yeah, well," Azra said. She still seemed closed-off. Likely she was wondering why Veera had come.
Veera smiled. "I was wondering if you wanted any help?"
Azra frowned at her. It hurt Veera's heart to see the wariness there. It hurt more to know it wasn't only from the dark future the Hunter had seen. Veera owned a part of it, here in this timeline. She took a deep breath. "I do not know what you are doing here." Cooping yourself up in a study room to read piles of books on who knows what- that was perhaps normal behavior for Veera, but certainly not for the Hunter. It would be natural to be concerned. "But… at this point, I think, you know how to take care of yourself. So. What do you need? What can I do to help?"
Azra's eyes only got harder. Her lips pressed into a thin line. But she did move, holding out the data pad she'd been scrolling through. "I could use another pair of eyes on this," she said.
Veera took it and sat in the neglected desk chair. It was some kind of computer program. She began skimming through it, but its intended function wasn't immediately obvious. "What is this?" she asked.
"It's a temporal pointing and anchoring protocol," Azra said with a flat voice. "Of a sort."
Veera looked up in alarm. There were few reasons why Azra could want this, and none of them were good. If Azra was looking to use this, she was desperate, or deluded, or-
Azra stared back at her, spine straight and stiff, a queer sort of fire in her eyes. She was expecting a negative response. This was a test, or an attempt to push Veera away. It was simply too audacious. Veera swallowed the words in her mouth and looked back down at the code in front of her. Hadn't she just offered unconditional support? Did she trust Azra, or didn't she? "You may have more luck asking Osiris to look this over," Veera said.
Azra just snorted, in a way that told Veera that was never going to happen. Was it because he would object to whatever she was planning? Or had something happened between them while Azra was Cursed?
That wasn't relevant right now. Veera breathed around the knot of worry in her chest, scrolled back to the first line of the program, and began to look at it more thoroughly. Ghost appeared over her shoulder to read along.
Several minutes passed in silence. Azra sat for a bit, waiting for another retort, but Veera offered none. Eventually she obtained another data pad and began taking notes from a curiously thin book her Ghost provided. Veera worked through the code quickly. Despite the complexity, the program was very bare-bones, more of a funnel or a guard rail than a pointer. It did take inputs, but it had no way of actually generating data. Veera remembered how Azra and her Ghost could navigate the Infinite Forest, needing nothing more than a strong Lightsense and an intuitive understanding of Vex data structures.
Veera set the pad on her lap. When she'd walked into this room, she really had only intended to offer help. Azra was surely tired of questions and grief by now. But the Hunter was angry, and although Veera could not guess the full extent of the reasons, she did know one thing that she ought to apologize for.
"I am sorry I yelled at you. After the Infinite Forest. It was wrong."
Azra looked up from her work, almost confounded. "That was years ago."
Veera nodded. "Still, I am sorry." She picked self-consciously at her cuticles. "I suppose… what has happened has given me an opportunity to reflect. I thought I would never get to see you again. There were things I did not know I regretted, things I did not realize I wanted to apologize for until I could not."
There was a spark of compassion in Azra's eyes. "Void-lessons often hurt," she said. "But they're real."
Veera put the data pad aside and stood, carefully, slowly, watching for any sign of hesitation or discomfort from her companion. Azra just looked at her, eyes strangely sad.
"I never want you to feel unheard," Veera said. "You know how to take care of yourself. You have been doing it for decades before I was a part of your life. Sometimes you… you frustrate me, when you seem to put your needs last. But that does not mean that you cannot make your own choices. That I should not respect those choices. It is your life. I cannot claim I know how to live it better than you can."
The room was very small- she could reach out and take Azra's hand without having to move. Azra's face was red. She didn't speak.
"Do you want me to go?" Veera asked.
"No, no," Azra said quickly. "This- you just kinda blindsided me, is all." She slid from the bookcase so they could look eye-to-eye.
"I want… more than anything, I want to make things right between us," Veera said. "You are so important to me. I could hardly stand the months you weren't there."
Azra's face was wry. "I guess to you, I… died, practically." She squeezed Veera's hand. "I've learned- you have a close call, or you think you've lost something can't and get it back- it can be rough, to come to terms with it. When you have to carry the burden of regret. Then when the bullet misses, or suddenly you realize hope isn't lost, a lot of people just put it aside. They don't want to reckon with the pain, so they act like it never happened."
"Pain is but a teacher," Veera said. "And death is but a door."
"You Warlocks and your maxims," Azra half-grumbled. "What I'm trying to say is, I guess… thanks. For not letting it go. It's already so hard for me to talk about this. But I can't just let things to back to normal. I can't. I want things right, too- I can't afford to let these cracks turn into canyons again. And you trying to fix it means a lot."
Veera did not feel like she had fixed things. She didn't feel like she even really knew what was wrong. Azra's stories of her dark future always skimped on the details. It was worrying- Veera kept placing worse and worse guesses out there, like someone blindly feeling for the last step down a staircase, but she had yet to find the floor.
"Azra," she said. "I want to ask you a question. I have no right to ask it. And you do not have to answer."
Azra looked a bit concerned, but she nodded assent.
Veera took a deep breath, but, despite herself, paused. This was going to be painful. For both of them. Veera didn't know how painful. But if it was out in the open, it would be real. And they could beat anything that was real. "What was the worst thing I ever did to you? During your Curse. I want to know."
Azra paused herself. Her eyes went distant for a moment, caught in some memory. When she shook it off, she was… pale. Veera's throat constricted in sympathetic grief.
Azra's voice was quiet. "That raid you did in the Leviathan… killing that Hive-controlled Cabal? Gahlran?" She waited for Veera to nod in recognition before she continued. "You wanted me to go. To ditch my Vanguard duties."
"And I got upset when you said no," Veera guessed.
"You called me heartless bastard," Azra said. "You… you said that Sylas's death was my fault. That Shiro's death was. That I could have saved them if I didn't become the Vanguard. That by not going, I was saying I didn't care if you died, either."
Veera let go of Azra's hand, shocked. She sat back down int the chair. It was better than she'd dreaded, in some ways. "I was so worried- I wondered if I had hurt you. Physically. If I had hit you, or…" she let that phantom pass without manifestation. There was a moment of silence between them. "I think this is worse," Veera said quietly.
"I mean, yeah, you hitting me wouldn't be pleasant," Azra reasoned. "But I don't think you could hurt me. No worse than I get hurt every day."
"But I could break your trust," Veera concluded. "I suppose- I was thinking about what would be the worst for me." She shook her head at her own self-centeredness. "What I would regret the most. Dawnblades must learn early to not act in anger, lest we lose our hold on the fire we seek to control. Having my temper twisted, wanting to do you violence, I do not think I could live with that. I dreaded learning that. But you are right- anybody can hit you."
"I know I'm not great in the Crucible, but anybody?" Azra joked.
Veera laughed, high and taut, but the lead in her stomach persisted. "I hold no monopoly on my ability to inflict physical pain. But I had not thought of my unique capabilities to hurt you emotionally. You carry too much weight on your shoulders. To add to that? To blame you for it?" She murmured. "It boggles my mind."
"I'm trying not to be mad about it," Azra said. "It's… it's not like you did it."
"The flowers may have been false, but the roots were true," Veera said. "I was so worried… I think I did not trust you to have your priorities in order." She looked down at her hands, curled into fists on her lap. "Like I did after the Infinite Forest. Like I did when I heard you were back. I did not even stop to think about what it might be like for you. Not complexly."
Azra leaned on the desk next to her, silent.
Veera laughed again. "And here I sit, doing it again. Making this about myself and how I feel. Gods, Azra, I am so sorry."
"You already apologized," the Hunter said. "That's what blindsided me. I've… I've had arguments. With Ikora." Her grip on the desk was white-knuckled. "And I told Shiro everything, and he apologized, and I believe it when he says he will make it better. But I had to tell him. But you…" Azra looked at her, still sad, but with warmth. "You're you. Of course you already fixed it. I shouldn't be surprised."
Veera stuttered. "I am not asking for forgiveness- you said you were not ready. I just wanted to know. So I could do better. So I could better predict where you might be bruised. You deserve the apology, but-"
"I forgive you," Azra interrupted.
They sat there in silence- Veera stunned, Azra quietly accepting.
"I haven't been perfect, either," Azra said. "What you said, about me not looking out after myself…" she sighed. "I miss Andal. He could- he would just walk into camp and look at you and say, 'What's wrong?', and you'd suddenly realize that you'd been upset. He could tell even when I couldn't. I'll admit, not having him around… I struggle, sometimes, realizing when I've been hurt."
"You seem to have a high pain tolerance," Veera noted. "But still. If everyone is constantly bothering you, I imagine it makes it harder to focus on yourself."
"You feel like you need to look after them," Azra agreed. "I get that they care. That's nice. But having to console people because something bad happened to you gets real old real fast."
"I am not worried," Veera said. "But I see you hurting, and I want to help, if I can. I felt so useless when you were asleep."
Azra just sighed. She was watching Veera with an almost goofy expression on her face. "I don't know how I could ever stay mad at you," she said fondly. "I keep finding myself wondering what I did to deserve you."
"You listened to me," Veera replied. "Even when I was young and stupid. You backed every decision I made- at least the good ones. And you told me which ones were bad ideas without judging me. You gave me room to be myself. And you inspired me. Every day, I just want to do what you would."
"All I do these days is cry," Azra complained. "Cry and read books and write temporal anchoring programs."
"How about a walk?" Veera suggested, standing from her chair. "The Xenobiology group across the street has an interesting botanical garden. The books will still be here when we get back."
March 28, 2961; Xenobiology Botanical Gardens, The Last City, Earth
The Hunter held out a hand. A Venusian moth flapped about wildly before lighting down on her fingertips. It sat for a moment, trembling.
"I love you," Azra said.
It made Veera's heart sink. It sounded like a confession borne of regret. Like a goodbye. "Azra-" she began. She'd hidden her concerns about the nature of the program she'd been troubleshooting an hour ago, but that didn't mean she wasn't worried. "You- you're not going to…"
Azra turned, causing the moth to flutter off. Her eyes met Veera's, and her face flashed from confusion to recognition to sadness in a heartbeat. She stepped over and wrapped her arms around Veera, shushing her half-formed questions. "It'll be fine. Trust me."
"What is it for," Veera insisted, voice muffled by Azra's shirt.
"…I can't tell you that," Azra said. "I'm sorry I gave it to you- I knew it'd be worrying."
Veera pulled back, ready to protest more, but Azra was calm. She put her hands on the sides of Veera's face, pressing their foreheads together. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise."
"You promise?" Veera asked. She grabbed Azra's hands, squeezing them, searching her eyes for any sign of doubt.
"I promise," Azra confirmed. "I'm staying right here. Well, not right here. But you know."
"…I love you, too," Veera said.
Azra's eyes twinkled as she grinned. "I heard."
March 29, 2961, 23:03; Appalachian Dead Zone, Earth
The only warning she got was Cayde tensing suddenly beside her.
This, normally, would mean danger. Azra had been on so many missions with him, she'd learned to trust his reactions as instinctually as her own- he went rigid like that, or gasped, or grabbed her arm, she felt as much alarm as if she'd spotted the enemy herself.
It didn't matter that they were at a party, surrounded by friendly faces (she still hadn't gotten used to friendly faces yet). Cayde tensed, and she drew her sidearm before she even thought to look to see what it was.
It was Commander Zavala. He was still in his shiny Tower armor, standing stiffly as the crowd around him quieted. He could have been a cutout from a newsreel, if not for the caddy of glass bottles clenched in one of his hands.
The party-chatter died quickly. This was a Hunter gathering, with two bonfires and a bar set up on rickety folding tables. This was just not the kind of event Titans went to- much less the Vanguard Commander. How had he even known this was happening? Why did he come?
It wasn't just A Hunter Party, it was Dead End Cure's Hunter Party. Ashton, one of the senior members, spoke in the sudden hush. "What are you doing here?"
He sounded more bewildered than anything else. Zavala, despite himself, looked a little bewildered, too. He hid it quickly behind an extra layer of formality. "I am crashing this party," he intoned, just the barest bit of hesitation audible, "as is my right."
Azra and Cayde cast each other side-eyes. Technically, technically, that was a privilege granted to the Hunter Vanguard. To be welcome at any camp, to attend any party, to sleep in any Den. There was very tenuous legality towards that extending to other Vanguard members. None of them had tried to invoke it before.
The official host (a DEC member named Moacir) gave a shrug. There were eyes turning towards Azra and Cayde, now. They were sat on a log by the farther bonfire, far enough away Zavala might not have spotted them at first. He looked over at them now, and even in the dim firelight Azra could make the expressions on his face- recognition, relief, then perhaps a guarded bit of guilt. He'd come looking for one of them, perhaps both.
The whole crowd was staring at them, silently asking for some kind of permission. Cayde just shrugged and took a drink from his cup- it wasn't his party, and he wasn't about to let Zavala bother him into getting upset.
"It's not like we can't just leave," Spark whispered.
"Fuck leaving," Sundance countered, just as quiet but much more fierce. "He tries to talk to us, we tell him to piss off. If he doesn't, they'd kick him out as soon as we asked."
So it was decided, at least among them. Azra made eye contact with Moacir and shrugged herself, then holstered her sidearm and disentangled herself from Cayde to prop another log on the fire.
That broke the spell of silence. People began moving again, talking, though they drew their clusters tighter and spoke in hushed tones.
Azra and Cayde went back to leaning on each other.
Zavala regretted coming to the party as soon as he transmatted in.
He had been to parties like this, albeit long ago. The fires, the night-darkness, the rickety tables and logs and lawn chairs that constituted the only furnishings- this was a party in the Dark Age style, before there were walls and electric lights and crystal glasses.
Even if it wasn't his typical scene (parties in general were not; he preferred a quiet night in with a good book to the raucous merrymaking of most Guardians), it still wasn't unfamiliar. He should know how to navigate this.
But his entrance was not unnoticed. There was a tense, standoffish moment as he and the partygoers sized each other up. Even after his presence was grudgingly accepted, he got the feeling he was still not very welcome.
There was an Exo Hunter manning the "bar", presiding over a table cluttered with various liquor bottles and mixers. Zavala awkwardly set his offering on the edge and waited for her attention.
She ignored him for a few seconds, but there were no other patrons waiting, and eventually she attended to him with a sigh. She wore an oddly guarded expression, optics glowing a soft violet in the dimness.
She stared at him for a moment. He began to try to order, but she cut him off. "This isn't my party," she said, "so I can't kick you out. But this is my bar." She picked up a stack of plastic cups and handed it off to her Ghost to clean, turning away to grab a fresh stack.
After a moment, she turned back, seemingly surprised Zavala was still there. "You brought your own beer," she said (was that a hint of judgement in her voice?). "Drink that." Then she walked away completely, down to some cooler tucked under one of the tables. Zavala, for lack of something else to do, slid one of the bottles out of their carrying case and popped the cap off.
He worked with crowds too often to not know how to read them. There was a palpable tension in the air. He felt eyes boring into his back, though when he turned back from the bar, he found all gazes averted from him. There wasn't just discomfort or unfamiliarity making everyone edgy- there was real anger simmering under the surface.
Perhaps he was going further over the line than he'd thought, arriving unannounced and without asking. Maybe it was something else. It was possible the anger wasn't even directed at him- he may just have been adding tension to an already frustrated climate.
He wasn't about to leave, though. He was on a mission.
Zavala ended up sitting by one of the bonfires. He sat alone. People didn't explicitly stand up and move away when he sat, but those that left to get a fresh drink or to stretch their legs did not return. There was almost a bubble of space around him. People skirted the edge of the clearing rather than get close to him, as if avoiding contracting a plague.
He sat, drank his beer, and allowed himself to feel a bit sorry for himself. He'd wanted context, outside opinions, or at least to talk to Cayde in a less formalized setting. It was rapidly becoming evident all he'd achieved here was ruining the party. The tension never faded. Newcomers stared at him before their comrades pulled them into one of their circles. Those leaving cast him reproachful glares before they went.
He was suddenly a social pariah. Why, exactly, he didn't know- he wasn't a Hunter, but he was still a Guardian. Besides, Hunters usually seemed to enjoy the challenge of getting him to loosen up at events like these. It was like a game to them.
Usually.
He made sure not to stare, but he did keep an eye on Cayde and Azra Jax as the minutes passed. They sat by the other fire, arms around each other's shoulders. Cayde was angled with his back turned towards Zavala, though the Arcstrider's features were visible, lit by the flames. She didn't look like she was merrymaking. She spoke with Cayde or the others around her with a neutral expression on her face. More than once, he looked over to catch her staring at him, always with her quickly breaking eye contact.
Zavala was just about finished with his beer, planning his next actions, when movement caught his eye. He watched Azra as she stood up and worked her way over to the bar, moving with that unconscious Hunter grace. She set her cup in a stack of similarly dirty cups and then leaned over the table. She and the bartender exchanged a few words, there was a flurry of motion, and then Azra walked away with a new glass.
But not back to the campfire with Cayde. She walked straight- as straight as one could through the clusters of people- towards Zavala.
He would have stood, but he was encumbered by the armor, and he had only a few seconds before she was there. He at least had the wits to settle his bottle on the ground, gather himself a bit.
She held the glass out and Zavala accepted it automatically. It was clear that she wasn't expecting it to be handed back when she shoved her hands in her pockets.
"What is this?" he asked, at a loss for other words.
She hesitated for a moment, gaze flickering around. Zavala felt eyes upon him- upon her, as well.
"… A message," she said finally.
To the Hunter at the bar? To everyone watching them? "People are upset," Azra said. Her tone was bland, clearly still hiding her feelings on the matter. "But we still have a job to do. An important one. This… isn't helping." She paused for a second, considering her own words. "Can't let personal shit get in the way."
If there was one thing Azra had never hesitated to throw the full force of her efforts behind, it was the "job", as she had put it. However clear it had been all these years that she chafed under the rigid structure of Vanguard operations- the debriefs, the schedule, the protocols- it was also clear that she understood how important it was. She put painstaking effort into the rigamarole.
She blinked at him. He wasn't sure what she saw in his face, but it must have been something, because she shrugged to herself and walked off. She did stop by the drinks table on the way back, slipping one of Zavala's beers out of its caddy, stride only briefly pausing as she pulled a knife from her belt and expertly popped the cap off.
Zavala peered down at his drink again. It was dark out, and the glass was opaque. He lifted it carefully to his nose, getting a strong hint of mint, before taking a tentative sip.
There was mint, and lime, a note of sweet, and bourbon. Zavala was no connoisseur of fine cocktails, but he knew this one. It was his go-to order on the rare occasion there was a social event at a bar. Whiskey smash, with lime.
He looked back across the party, but Azra was solidly back to ignoring him, lounging next to Cayde-6 and staring at the fire.
A message, she had called it. Impersonal. But when he took another sip of the drink, it tasted… not of forgiveness, perhaps, but of acknowledgment. A hint of acceptance.
It was not long after that when Zavala found himself suddenly not sitting alone. A Hunter practically flopped onto the log beside him, letting out a small 'oof' with the impact.
Zavala didn't recognize them. They were smooth-faced, with brown skin and black eyes. Their cloak was shark-themed, with a small dorsal fin and a cowl lined with white ceramic triangles. Zavala decided it must be a costume- or they must forever be buffing scratches out of their helmet. They had an incredibly cheerful air about them, seemingly unaffected by the tension running through the party.
They spoke easily, with just the hint of a Brazilian accent under their jovial inflection. "Commander Zavala. Never thought I'd catch you at one of these."
Introductions like this were always awkward. Everyone knew Zavala's name, but it was rare he could return the courtesy. It was simply impossible for Zavala to remember every Guardian and Militia member who came through the Tower. Over the years he'd crafted many strategies to navigate this situation, mostly relying on formality and careful phrasing.
He didn't get to use any of them this time. He hadn't hesitated more than half a second when the Hunter grinned crookedly. "Ah, no worries," they said. "So many of us, and only one of you. It's Moacir. He, him."
"Moacir," Zavala echoed. He held out a hand and the Hunter grabbed it, giving a firm shake. Zavala frowned. There was something unusual about the hand in his. The shape was wrong. Zavala, not one to be disturbed, did not comment. Still, as they pulled apart, the Hunter waggled his fingers long enough for Zavala to see them in the firelight. The hand was missing its index finger, with a puckered scar cutting a line across the palm. "The Great Disaster," Moacir explained. "Tried to block a swordstrike from a Knight. Stupid. Lucky you don't need all your fingers to shoot a gun, eh?" He took a swig from his drink. Zavala had to wonder how many he'd had so far.
"But enough about me," the Hunter continued. "How are you enjoying the party so far?"
Enjoying? All Zavala had done was sit on a dead tree and drink a beer while people glared at him. "It has been a while since I was at a bonfire," he replied diplomatically.
"That doesn't really answer the question," Moacir pointed out. "Are you having a good time? A bad time?"
"I am not here for the sake of pleasure." He took a drink from his own glass.
Moacir tilted his head, causing the teeth on his hood to clink against each other. "Pleasure's what's a party's for, velho. Why come if you're just gonna sit here moping all night?"
Zavala couldn't help himself- he cast another glance at the two Hunters across the way.
"Ahhhh," Moacir said knowingly. "That makes sense."
Why this Hunter had singled Zavala out for joking and prodding when the rest elected for a colder shoulder, he couldn't guess. "Why are you here?" he asked in turn.
"For good vibes and good conversation!" The Hunter answered enthusiastically, scratching his nose with a pinky. "Gotta admit, it's not every day you have the ear of the Vanguard Commander. Interesting. But it seems like there's a different conversation you'd rather be having, huh?"
Well, Zavala wasn't going to get anywhere 'sitting here moping all night', as the Hunter had described it. "I don't even know why Cayde is so mad at me," he admitted.
The Hunter shot him an incredulous look. "Bullshit."
Zavala backtracked. "I understand it's about the Tangled Shore, and his hunt for Uldren," he said. "He has been angry with me before. But usually it blows over after a few days."
Moacir looked at him, then at Azra and Cayde by their fire, then back at him. "It'd be a trick and half to get this to blow over," he commented. "Your name is dirt with a good lot of Hunters these days."
Zavala didn't work too often with Hunters outside of running ops and the occasional debrief. Looking back, they all had gotten a bit more… formal, after the events at the Tangled Shore. Zavala hadn't put much thought into it. "I cannot fix things if I don't know what's wrong," he said. Frustration turned his normally smooth tone into a rumble. "I can't figure out what's wrong if nobody will talk to me about it."
"Figure it's gone on a bit too long for just talking," Moacir commented, frowning. There was some calculation running in his head. Zavala got the distinct impression he was scheming, weighing his options.
Moacir moved suddenly, pulling a hand cannon from a holster at his waist. "Here, look at this gun," he said. "I've had this gun for two months." He turned the gun this way and that, carefully showing it off. Even in the dim firelight, Zavala could see the scratches and the chipping paint. Then Moacir slid the gun into its holster and held out his arms. On cue, his Ghost materialized a sniper rifle for him. It looked new, polished and shining. The scope was holographic, crisp and unwavering, the sign of a perfectly-tuned emitter. "I've had this gun for twenty-seven years," Moacir bragged.
Another Hunter stepped out of the crowd and interrupted their conversation. Zavala did recognize her- she as a Vanguard Scout. "You know you're not allowed to threaten people," she said dryly, directed at Moacir. "It's against the rules."
Moacir spoke as if offended, but still with that easygoing manner. "What, a man can't show off his guns every now and again? Get off my dick."
The other Hunter shrugged and moved away. Moacir glared at her until she was out of earshot, then turned back to Zavala. "Anyway, what I was saying, is… we don't get to keep much, out here. You've got your nice little office, your poetry books and your scarves- out here, stuff gets damaged. It gets dirty, broken. You pick up guns when you get them, put them down as they get worn and you find better stuff. If you find something you like, you need to put a lot of time into maintaining it, fixing it when it breaks, upgrading it when it gets old. You put the time in, you make it a part of yourself. Make it yours, truly." The Hunter settled the rifle on his lap and leaned over it in a casual gesture. "People, too. Come and go. They die. Or go to a different part of the system. Or you just lose touch. It's a thing, when you say, 'this one, I want to keep'. If you decide to stick with them, and they stick with you."
Zavala frowned.
"You ever love someone, Commander?" Moacir asked in a soft voice. "Back in the Dark Ages, maybe, before all this? Found a Mortal to settle down with, or some snot-nosed kid you though you could save? Had a friend you'd give your life for, easy as breathing?"
If Zavala's regrets showed on his face, Moacir didn't react. He just looked, deliberately, over at the other fire. Azra and Cayde still sat there, arms around each other. It was an oddly somber sight. Cayde was practically curled up against Azra, empty of his typical exuberance. The glow from the fire highlighted every line in Azra's face, making her look old. She looked like a pilgrim fresh off the refugee roads, tired and defensive and resolute because she'd forgotten how to be anything else.
How it warmed Zavala's heart to see that expression melt away from the refugees, ripening into relaxation, to peace and joy as the safety of the City settled in them. Azra's hand fingers traced slow patterns on Cayde's shoulder. Even here, among her people, her expression just grew more haggard.
"He practically raised her, you know," Moacir said, cutting through Zavala's thoughts. "Guardians… we're never kids, but… you know. You find someone, you watch them grow up, watch them find themselves, and one day they phrase something like you'd say it or pull out some trick you taught them, and… well."
Zavala knew. Images of Hakim rose unbidden before his eyes.
"I have a sibling like that. If something happened to them… I'd burn the world down, just to get them back."
"I had a son, once," Zavala confessed.
Moacir stared at him, eyes entirely too knowing. "We ask our Vanguard to give up a lot. Basically everything they are. Everything they wanted to be. We can't ask them to give up that. Nobody would dream of it."
"We all make sacrifices," Zavala said.
Moacir snorted. "If it were that easy, why did we go so long after Kauko died? Why hasn't someone more qualified than Cayde taken his spot already?"
Zavala didn't have an answer for that- at least not a pretty one. "It isn't up to me how the Hunters elect their leadership," he said. "It would be inappropriate."
Moacir's joking gained a bitter edge. "Very convenient. And not really your concern, hey? Not your problem. Yours isn't the back getting skinned." The Hunter grimaced and looked away. "You want truth? I think, you had no right asking Cayde to make a choice like you did. Between his honor and his family. I think you had even less right to judge him for the option he took. Why'd you think none of us said boo when he left? There's some lines you just don't ask someone to cross."
Zavala frowned. "It feels like it's more than that."
Moacir shrugged. "You were willing to throw his sister to the wolves," he said. "You were so ready to do it, you tried to stop him from helping her. He would burn the world down for her. You almost made him do it."
"If he was always going to go," Zavala mused, "if the demand is static- if whatever price was set would be paid…"
"Raising the price is basically a punishment," Moacir concluded. "You decide how much he suffers. You draw the lines he must cross. How's he supposed to trust you with anything important now? How's any of us?"
"I wasn't aware my personal conflicts with Cayde had such wide-reaching consequences," Zavala said sarcastically.
Moacir shrugged. "Why Cayde is the Vanguard and I am not- it is a thing of fate. We are not so different. It could be me in his position, easy. What you are willing to do to him, you would be willing to do to me."
Zavala looked at Moacir. The Hunter was staring at him intensely.
"She saved my life," Moacir said. "At the Great Disaster. Would have bled out in the moon dust if it weren't for her. Her and Cayde did a lot of good that day." There was a threat in his tone, now. His eyes bored into Zavala. He was silently screaming listen, you idiot. "They're good people. They don't deserve to get yanked around."
"I understand," Zavala said.
"Do you?" Moacir asked.
"Cayde and Azra are both important," he said. "To a lot of people. And I have ignored my obligations to them. I have a duty to work with them- to listen and understand. By shirking that, I have disrespected all of you in turn."
"That's a very Titan way of putting it," Moacir commented. "Though I guess you are a very Titan."
"Judged by Hunter standards, it seems I come up quite short," Zavala said with a chuckle. "Though the reverse is also true of Cayde."
"That's the whole reason we have three Vanguards," Moacir reminded him. "I think, maybe, if you stop expecting fish to climb trees, this might work out." He frowned, casting another glance at Cayde. "Maybe."
"That is definitely something to think on," Zavala murmured. "Still, what do I do next? I don't think an apology at this point would be well-received, no matter how I phrase it."
"Well, then, don't phrase it," Moacir said, as if it were the obvious answer. "An apology in words does not prove anything."
"It's clear am not welcome here," Zavala said. "Should I stay and further provoke people? Should I leave and imply I am not dedicated to fixing this?"
"Here's what we do," Moacir offered. "You finish your drink and go. I'll tell them we had a talk, and you apologized, and I told you to finish your drink and go." When Zavala frowned at that, Moacir just grinned. "It's my party, velho. You are not the supreme authority here, I am. Nobody will think you weak for listening to what I tell you."
"Is that why you came to talk to me?" Zavala asked. "Being a good host?"
Moacir winked. "You're the Vanguard. You make sure the City doesn't get invaded. I'm the party host. I make sure people don't sit by themselves moping all night." He finished off his drink with a sigh. "Besides, Azra's right. This has gone on too long. She's willing to extend an olive branch, the rest of us should try."
"Don't neglect the rest of your guests for my sake," Zavala insisted. "I'll go when I'm done."
Moacir stood and gave a cheeky half- salute. "Yessir," he slurred.
Zavala caught him before he could wander off. "Moacir," he insisted, staring up into the Hunter's eyes. "Thank you."
Moacir winked. "Any time, Commander. Hey, maybe you'll remember this when performance reviews come around, huh?"
"Unfortunately, Cayde would handle yours," Zavala said.
Moacir rolled his eyes. "Of course. Porra, all that work and I don't even get brownie points! Well, good night."
"Good night," Zavala replied.