Chapter Text
She lit up.
There is no other way to describe the straighten of her spine, the raise of her shoulders, the unclench of her fists.
All because she saw him.
Crow balances his blade on the tip of his finger, sunset flickering along her frame and then back to her helmet visor.
Over his shoulder, there is shouting and tension but she doesn't seem to pay it any mind as she stops beside him.
"Not sure I'd go in there if I were you," he quirks a smile and she tilts her head. Her visor drifts back to the commotion and then to him like a silent question.
"You caused quite the ruckus out there, Old Light."
She shrugs and he arches a brow. She doesn't care. Guess she really takes no matter the cost to heart. That shouldn't surprise him about her but still. The alliance is so fragile. Barreling in like that, killing all those Cabal - she's usually more pragmatic, usually so much more aware of circumstances.
Perhaps Savathûn has her wound up as well.
The Witch Queen escaped after the ritual. From what Crow had heard, she dumped Osiris there and vanished. Mara was pissed. Saint, relieved. But the Young Wolf? He can't get a read on her.
So much has happened since the last time he was in the City. Has she really changed all that much?
Come on.
She beckons wordlessly with a jerk of her head, moving toward what very well could be the scolding of a lifetime.
Still, Crow flips his blade once more before sliding it into its sheath, trailing after her. As they approach, his eyes flicker over the various parties; the irritation from Caiatl is palpable but his Hunter doesn't pay her any mind.
She's either brave or very, very foolish.
"Guardian, what fortuitous timing." Zavala straightens when his gaze settles on the Guardian. As she comes to a halt beside Saladin, Crow moves behind her, his eyes flitting from the Commander to the Empress as he settles with his arms crossed over his chest.
"Indeed," Caiatl agrees, a degree of anger in her voice.
Crow snorts softly behind them all, drawing Saladin’s gaze and a stern, reprimanding look at that. The Gunslinger doesn’t react as the Iron Lord turns back, gazing at the Young Wolf expectantly.
And yet, she seems completely at ease. Her hands hang at her sides, her helmet angled up toward the Empress as Caiatl speaks.
“I’m fresh from performing Cabal funeral rites. Care to explain?”
As expected, the Young Wolf defaults to her Ghost answering for her. But as Ghost begins to speak, her gaze shifts abruptly to him, as if surprised or…expectant?
“Our condolences, Empress. Your people fought and died with honor. But they didn’t have to.”
Crow watches the Guardian look back at Caiatl, apprehensive, perhaps, beneath that helmet. She’s always so thorough in veiling her true emotions, certainly more than Crow would like. She’s indecipherable most times when he wishes she were transparent with him.
Now is no different.
Especially not after Savathun’s reveal.
Caiatl’s frustrated growl draws Crow’s focus back to the present, away from gazing at the hood of his - well, of the Guardian.
“We can all prevent future losses if we choose to put the incident on Mars behind us and work together.” Zavala intercedes smoothly, taking a step forward and gestures in an almost placating manner with both hands extended palm-up at his sides. His weight shifts before he draws a holoprojector from his belt. The soft click of the device reveals a visual of - a Hive Knight? But larger, bearing a shield.
Crow’s brow furrows as he leans, shifting his weight to his right hip as he stares at the projection.
Is this what you fought aboard that ship?
“What we discovered there is a threat to both humanity and the Cabal.” Zavala says, gazing up at Caiatl intently.
The Empress angles her head, intrigue flashing across golden eyes. “You want my help.” Less a question, more a statement.
“ Want is a strong word.” Saladin interjects, both Hunters’ focus shifting to him and then back to the Empress.
The Guardian has begun to grow restless, her fingers tapping lightly against her holster along her right hip. Crow’s eyes are drawn to the barely detectable disturbance. She wants to leave. To get back to the fight before things worsen.
But she needs an answer. To know whether or not she can rely on Caiatl and her forces in the coming fight. To know if she will have to kill more Cabal.
Caiatl’s chin lifts, a degree of smugness in her voice as she answers the Iron Lord’s correction. “You need my help.”
The Commander speaks up before Saladin can respond, “I don’t know how the Hive came into possession of the Light. Ikora will find out. But in the meantime…” His eyes lift to Caiatl.
“Invincibility lies in the defense; the possibility of victory in the attack.” Her hand clenches into a fist on the final word.
“Sun Tzu?” Saladin’s gaze lifts in barely contained surprise.
“I’ve read your texts.” The Empress returns cooly before her eyes moves back to the projected Lucent Knight, “You want us to hit them.”
“I need us to hit them. Hard.” Zavala corrects, deactivating the projection and clenches it in his fist. Caiatl meets his gaze steadily before she chuckles softly.
The decision is made, seemingly in a single glance between leaders.
“Then hit them, we shall.” She says, gesturing to her Psions and they turn, preparing for her departure.
The Commander and Saladin move past the Young Wolf, each giving her their own form of an expectant, chiding look before heading back toward the Courtyard.
The Guardian turns to leave as well but not before Crow steps forward, uncrossing his arms so he can catch hold of her forearm. His voice lowers as her head turns toward him curiously.
"Rooftop?" He asks and she straightens, giving a firm nod.
"See you there," he squeezes her gauntlet gently before letting her pass.
—
The sound of her boots alert Crow of his Guardian's approach. He tears his eyes away from the Traveler, pivoting to face her.
"It's good to see you again," he manages softly, taking a few steps toward her.
She almost lunges forward, he can read her well enough to note the restraint in her movements. Instead of an embrace, she gives him a nod, holding a few feet short of him.
Keeping her distance. Prepared for the worst.
He's the one who closes the distance, much to her surprise. He's the one who lifts her hood off and gently removes her helmet. Traveler, she looks exhausted. There's no spark in her eyes, but there are bags beneath them.
She looks ready to drop.
"You look like you've had a hell of a day."
"You try getting thrown out of a Throne World." Her head sags forward, resting on his shoulder as Crow chuckles softly.
The fact she’s so willing to ease into whatever form of contact Crow will allow is a good sign. It means their last parting wasn’t as… damaging as Crow believed it was.
"I'm sure the scolding you got didn't help matters." He teases gently, laying his hands on her waist. It's as if all the tension drains from her frame beneath his touch. They stay there for a long moment, basking in silence and a comfort both have been denied for a long time. But she doesn’t reach for him. Her hands hang at her sides, fingers partially curled as they simply stand there. When she starts to keel forward into him, his grip tightens to steady her. Her hands snap up, curling around the front of his shirt, "Whoa, easy." He adjusts his stance, "You sure you're alright?"
"Mhm," she mumbles, pressing into the crook of his neck. She seems to have caught herself but the exhaustion must be catching up to her.
"You should probably get some sleep," he adjusts his grip, scooping the Hunter up in his arms.
"I'm fine," she protests even as he sits with her in his lap.
Stubborn. Always so damned stubborn on everything.
"Yeah, fine isn't the word I'd use. How long has it been since you've gotten any sleep?"
"...next question." Her arms loop up around his neck and she makes herself comfortable. Her breath against the side of his neck is damned distracting when he’s trying to reprimand her.
" Guardian ," he scolds lowly.
She squeezes him in response, outright ignoring the tone of his voice in favor of kissing the side of his neck innocently.
To hell with it. He doesn't have the heart to argue right now anyway.
"I missed you," he manages after a few minutes of silence.
Her answer that follows isn't verbal. She presses another light kiss to the side of his neck before snuggling into him. It's confirmation that he'd been missed as well - sometimes he wishes she'd just say it.
She’s left so much unsaid between them but then again, so has he. He needs to broach Uldren's death. Her role. The memories - but she's so warm. Solid and comfortable and soothing tucked against him. He can swear he can make out a soft snore after a while.
The Guardian fell asleep.
His eyes drop to her, tucking a few strands of hair back away from her face before tilting her head up.
Traveler, he has missed her.
He's still angry, at least, to some degree. But his need to be near her outweighs that resentment churning in the pit of his stomach - at least right now.
He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. The tension around her eyes ebbs in her sleep even as the rigidity in her shoulders falters. She almost melts against him.
His thumb traces that familiar scar over her brow, taking his time with each marred inch. How many new scars? How many sleepless nights?
How much has his Guardian changed?
—
He can’t…how could any of them be okay with this?
Lucent Hive are a threat, yes. But they don’t deserve this . To be trapped in their minds while a Psion pushes and prods and seeks the answers they require.
Perhaps it reminds him too much of Savathûn's efforts in months past. The prodding questions. The uncomfortably insightful observations. The games she played with all of their heads.
With Crow, she was fairly straightforward after her Osiris guise was dropped.
But how much had she toyed with the Queen of the Reef?
How much did she drudge from the Guardian’s past to sew discourse and stagger Earth's champion?
How much damage did she do to the Vanguard's strongest warriors?
Regardless, their efforts and essential compromise of the Vanguard's morality is not something Crow can stand for. They're better than this, why would they stoop so low?
Crow doesn't care about the answer, only that he puts an end to this.
And there's only one woman he can rely on that for. But it isn’t easy to catch the Young Wolf before she departs each time. She’s usually in and out in a matter of minutes.
Thankfully, this time she’s waiting for whatever intel the Psion pulls and Crow has a chance to talk to her.
He moves up alongside her, bumping his shoulder into hers and her head lifts.
Traveler, you look just as tired as you did the day I returned.
“Long time, no see, Guardian.” He says warmly.
She doesn’t have a direct say in any of this but…she does have the Commander’s ear. If she agrees with Crow, she can talk to him, maybe get him to put an end to this.
It’s inhumane and…the Vanguard shouldn’t stand for this.
Her head angles toward him, her arms uncross and the Guardian rests the back of her hand against Crow’s.
He's grateful she's returned to initiating points of contact. With the way things have been between them, he feared she'd keep her distance. That he would have to approach her each time and be the first to broach that invisible barrier.
He smiles over at her, turning his wrist so he can slot his fingers between hers. Her head tilts in surprise and he smiles softly.
You're always so…sweet about things like this. Like you don't expect it.
She surprises him by curling her hand around his and pressing into him. Her head rests on his shoulder and she breathes a weighted sigh though she feels as though she relaxes. As if his touch had brought her a respite from the weight on her shoulders.
Can he really add one more thing to her list of burdens?
No. It wouldn't be right. She is fighting a war on two fronts…Crow will deal with this his way.
For now, he holds her hand tightly and he waits with her. He savors these fleeting moments alone with her while she clings to his touch and no doubt, reminds herself what humanity feels like between stints of being the only weapon Earth has that can consistently slay gods.
Lord Saladin emerges from the chamber probably closer to a half hour later but it feels so much shorter. A matter of minutes.
The Young Wolf lifts her head, straightens up but she does not pull her hand from Crow’s. If anything, she holds it tighter while her mentor addresses her.
His briefing is succinct.
She has her next target. Another Light-recovery op. Another fireteam that never reported in.
The Iron Lord departs and Crow looks over at her.
She looks distracted, no doubt already going through logistics and potential strategies.
He loves watching her mind work but for now…for now he has to reason out his own strategy to handle this…delicately. But he's not about to let her leave without a proper goodbye.
Crow steps closer, drawing her gaze from the floor and she summons a dazed sort of smile. Her eyes are still distant but the moment he touches her cheek, they clear.
Emerald sparks and searches his feature. Her fingers curl tight around his and her smile is warmer as she inclines her head into his touch.
"One of these days, we'll have that chat you promised me."
The promise she'd made in a note she left for him during the Dawning. A vow to talk things through, mend whatever they have in - hopefully - its entirely.
"When the Witch Queen is dead." She squeezes his hand, "When we're safe."
There will be something else that rises from her ashes. Some other hellish nightmare they must endure while she tries to find a solution.
Crow knows this and yet, he gives her a smile and a nod.
"Gonna hold you to it, Old Light."
She leans in, resting her forehead against his and he can't breathe. She's - she's rarely that close. Close enough that a simple tilt of his head would allow him to do the one thing he's ached to do since the day they met.
And yet, he holds steady. He closes his eyes and enjoys her proximity - soft, warm breaths against his skin. Her Light dancing on the edge of his senses.
"Be careful out there," he manages at last; a breathless whisper against her lips.
"I'll see you soon, my Little Light." She lifts her hand, stroking her thumb over his cheek three fleeting times before she forces herself to withdraw. Before the only point of contact is firm grip on his fingers that all too quickly falters as she moves past.
Until he can no longer hear her footsteps and his palm feels oddly cold and heavy. Until he opens his eyes and he is alone save for the soft beeps echoing from the room before him.
Crow’s eyes drift to the door before him before he turns and moves toward the Psion chamber. He knows what he must do now. What the Vanguard needs to do.
This hell ends here and now.
—
It all went so wrong.
The Psion - he hadn’t meant to–
The Guardian had arrived in the aftermath. Saladin tearing the Gunslinger a new one over his actions with sparks dancing around them. The smell of death had begun to settle over steel paneling, fluids coating the floor.
It was awful.
And when all was said and done? When Saladin left and it was just the two of them?
Crow looked to his Guardian and there was no way to tell how she reacted. She stood there, steadily holding her weapon, taking in the carnage.
She never looked at him once.
He couldn’t stomach facing her - he couldn’t stand to see that hurt in her eyes again. So, he left. He planned to face Caiatl and make whatever amends he must to pay for what he’s done.
Crow never expected Saladin to offer himself up. To take the fall and leave with the Empress.
Zavala’s anger was tangible but here and now? With his Guardian a mere few feet away? The Guardian is silent and, to some degree, an unpredictable factor. She had been close to Saladin. He was her mentor, her friend, her confidant after Cayde’s passing.
And now Crow has taken Saladin from her, too.
“You’re angry with me too, aren’t you?” Crow keeps ample distance between himself and the Guardian.
Her eyes are locked on the axe leaning on the console, her fingers tracing along the pendant so slowly that it unsettles the Hunter.
“Say something .” He pleads, taking another step closer. Her head turns slightly in his direction with an abruptness that forces him to retreat again.
“These are for you,” she says at last, her hand falling away from the pendant as she steps away. He watches her cautiously - he can’t get a read on her. Usually there’s something; a twinge in her voice, a shift in her body that tells him exactly what she’s thinking but now? Now it’s impossible to decipher.
She’s standing off to the side, allowing him a path toward the items Saladin had left him but her head is still turned toward them. He thought she and Saladin didn’t get along - or perhaps it was the sort of friendship where she could get away with the pranks her Ghost described because Saladin allowed it. He knows her Young Wolf nickname stemmed from the Iron Lord - perhaps they were closer than he thought.
His feet carry him to the axe and he tentatively reaches out, fingertips grazing the cool metal. “I don’t deserve these.”
“He thinks you do.”
“Do you?” Sunset flickers to her visor.
“It doesn’t matter what I think.” She returns calmly but he can hear the resentment sparking on the edge of her voice.
“Guardian–”
She holds up a hand to silence him and his jaw clamps shut.
“Don’t do him the dishonor of refusing him this, Crow. He made a sacrifice for you. Don’t lament over it. Don’t…waste it.” Her head tilts toward the axe again, “Be the Guardian he believes you can be.”
She moves past him and his hand snaps out before he can think better of it. He grips her forearm, halting her but she does not meet his gaze.
“You used to have that kind of faith in me.”
She doesn’t answer, her head turning away a bit more so all that he can see is her hood.
“Do you really hate me that much? Have I fallen that far out of your favor?” He takes a step closer and her shoulders square.
“I need to–”
“Guardian,” he cuts in gently and her shoulders sag. Another step and his chest is inches from her pauldron. “Talk to me.”
“You won’t like what I have to say, Little Light.” She returns stiffly, lifting her head to meet his gaze.
“Is it that cruel?”
“It’s not kind.” She pulls her arm free of his grasp, “We’ll discuss this later.” She takes a step away, “For now…make it count, Crow. Saladin would want it that way.”
She’s gone a moment later.
---
A week later…
She won’t look at him.
The Young Wolf is at the war table, going over god knows what but when Crow took a place just off to her right, her head didn’t lift. Her helmet remained a steadfast veil of her emotion yet Crow can sense the tension from here.
He went to take a step toward her and she turned away, starting toward the vault on the other side of the room. Crow follows but he can read the warning - her shoulders drawn back, her chin lifted; don’t touch me is clear yet the Hunter follows.
She’s at the console and he stops beside her, “Guardian?”
Silence, yet her helmet angles toward him a fraction while she continues sifting through the vault contents.
“How long are you going to be angry with me?” He asks softly.
Her fingers still against the panel and his eyes dart from her visor to her hand. He has her attention, perhaps that’s a good thing. His weight shifts as he looks back to her visor, “I didn’t–”
“Think.” She interrupts, lifting her head to meet his gaze for the first time, “You didn’t think , Crow. You were impulsive. Careless,” she turns to face him squarely and Crow’s shoulders draw back. “ Selfish . There were other ways, other options but you thought you could handle it yourself.” She steps closer and Crow’s eyes drop; they’re inches apart and it’s not like any other time she’s ever been this close.
Solar sparks against his senses, a dangerous flare of her temper manifesting far too close to him. But he doesn’t retreat. He doesn’t dare. Because if he does, she’ll withdraw and Traveler only knows when he’ll see her again.
“And Saladin paid the price,” her voice is low and holds an edge he’s never heard from her before. It sets his nerves on edge - for the first time, he feels something akin to fear of the Young Wolf. A flare of memories from the Citadel - the last time these emotions had surfaced and Crow reaches for her instinctively as he always does when the memories flare.
But this time, this time she doesn’t hold him. This time, the Young Wolf pushes him back against the wall beside the vault panel, holding him there with a forearm over his chest and panic wells in his throat.
“Guardian–” He whispers, a desperate plea as his hands hang uselessly at his side.
She must see the fear in his eyes because her arm withdraws and she retreats a step. Her head diverts immediately, “I need time, Crow. I’ll see you again when I’m ready.”
Her hand comes down hard on the button to retrieve a weapon and it transmats into her hands. She slings it up along her shoulders and turns to leave.
“I’m sorry,” Crow chokes out, stumbling half a step away from the wall, willing himself through the panic.
Her head turns toward him for a moment before she nods and vanishes in a transmat.
He can’t breathe.
Crow sinks to a crouched position against the wall, sucking in an unsteady inhalation as his head falls into his hands.
I’m sorry, please–
The Young Wolf won’t return to the H.E.L.M. for weeks and when she does, Crow wishes it were under better circumstances.
—