Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first thing the woman did when she came to was take a swing at Hawthorne's head. Hawthorne was just quick enough to dodge it, lucky too, because that fist would have broken her jaw and loosened some teeth. She quickly stood up from her crouch at the woman's side, raising her hands and taking a half-step back. Louis, perched precariously on her shoulder, flapped his wings and nipped at her hood, annoyed at the sudden movement. The woman was already up herself, fast on her feet for someone so heavily armored.

"Easy," Hawthorne murmured, how she might speak to a wounded animal just scared enough to be dangerous. "Easy, Guardian, you're safe here."

Hawthorne had taken the woman's ruined helmet off when she had found her at the bottom of a ravine among the craggy rock and ragged branches, while her ghost had been attempting to heal a leg broken during the fall from the ridges above. He hovered near his master's head like a worried fairy, his flickering light faintly illuminating her face, and under the blood and dirt and the smear of soot Hawthorne saw uncertainty. The woman lowered her arms but she did not make to unclench her fists. Hawthorne carefully offered a hand.

"I'm Suraya Hawthorne, but you can just call me Hawthorne if it's the same to you." Louis shifted against her shoulder and she raised her arm so he could hop down to his spot above the crook of her elbow. "And this is Louis."

The woman regarded the hawk as if she recognized him and then her gaze swung back to Hawthorne's face. Hawthorne felt as though she were being scrutinized and tried not to shift under the heavy stare. Seeming to find her worthy, or at least harmless, the woman's shoulders relaxed and she slowly put her own hand forward. It was only once they touched that she seemed to notice that they were not alone. In the clearing were perhaps a dozen other people, mostly civilians, some of them loading gear and crates onto a ragtag fleet of ships while others kept watch with rifles resting in unsure hands, dark stains on their clothes. Shell-shocked refugees and escaped militia without a commander. They casted cautious glances their way, watched the woman. She met Hawthorne's eyes again, their hands still clasped, and opened her mouth to speak. "You're not a Guardian."

There were no implications or accusations in the statement, but Hawthorne, quick to anger, narrowed her gaze and gripped the woman's gloved palm more firmly. "No. Not immortal either. Seems you and I have something in common now."

From a Titan she might have expected an outburst, but this one just blinked at her, her colorless grey eyes strangely calm, but swimming beneath the surface was something akin to mirth. "Edith," she finally said, and released Hawthorne's hand.

Edith. A delicate name for a woman who looked to be anything but, though Hawthorne figured it may suit her better than it might have before. She nodded. "Edith, we're getting out of here. When the sun sets this place will be overrun with Fallen and I'd rather not have to deal with them or the Cabal that will follow. Are you fit to fly?"

The ghost flittered about them nervously, almost like a hummingbird. "Where to?" it asked her, and Hawthorne grinned. "Isn't part of the fun with you Guardians supposed to be not knowing what's gonna happen next?"

The smile was not returned. Edith simply dipped her head once, her countenance grim. "Lead the way then, Suraya Hawthorne."

"Just Hawthorne is fine," she said. The list of people who called her by her first name was a short one and she intended to keep it so. Still, she could help but poke the bear. "Do I need to call you Lady Guardian or is Edith good enough?"

"You can call me whatever you please," she replied, and although she had just told Hawthorne to lead the way, the sniper found herself stepping aside as Edith strode past her, moving onward in spite of having no idea where she was to go.

"Typical Titan," she breathed, and followed behind.

Hawthorne watched the goings-ons from her secluded little spot on the roof of the barn, crouched above the broken window she had crawled in through with her rifle at her side. Louis was out hunting and while alone with her thoughts she had realized with no small amount of dread that she was well out of her element. She had grown up alone in a way that anyone within a 50 kilometer radius was considered "nearby." Now she was surrounded by strangers and more were coming in, many of them city people with a glazed look in their eyes. There were a couple of other Lightless Guardians like the elderly Cryptarch who had come down from the mountains, and there was an Awoken merchant who had shown up out of nowhere and set herself and her tent up at the edge of the farm without so much as a word as to what strange wares she might be selling. Just hours ago this place had been abandoned, and now it was functioning more or less like a tiny town, with hunters and gatherers out procuring food, those who could cook prepping their stations, those with a trade setting up shop and already bartering amongst themselves. It was the most civilization that Hawthorne had been a part of for what seemed like a very long time and it had taken no time to happen. She might have impressed if she were not terrified.

Then there was Edith, walking around in her ruined armor, the proud red and white paint scratched up and faded, the mark torn to shreds, teaching civilians who had never even held a gun how to shoot, how to maintain their weapons, how to mend tears in their armor. It was clear to Hawthorne that, Light or no Light, Edith was a woman of war, and her newfound mortality did nothing to alter that.

Edith eventually caught Hawthorne staring and made to approach her, so the sniper ducked her head and slid down the side of the roof to meet her at the walkways that wound around the edge of the building.

"Spot anything interesting from up there?" Edith asked, the delivery of her question ambiguous enough that Hawthorne was unsure how to answer her, so she simply shrugged and fiddled absently with one of her belt pouches. "Just getting a lay of the land."

"How is that going?"

"Just fine," Hawthorne answered, and offered nothing more. No words were said for a few moments. She felt, rather than saw, Edith's eyes flick towards her face.

"I apologize if I'm prying, you just seem a little stressed," Edith finally said in response to her non-answer. Hawthorne looked at her fully then. She was slow to trust, and any other time she would have blown off such an observation, or taken offense, but Edith appeared sincere, and Hawthorne (rather proudly) considered herself to be a fair judge of character, and it had been so long since she had anyone to talk to that against her own nature she opened her mouth.

"I'm sort of overwhelmed," she admitted. "It's always just been me and Louis. The people I've met and grown close with are all loners and outcasts like me, and there was this sort of understanding that we really only had to look out for ourselves. But now..."

She trailed off, a little embarrassed by herself. Edith, however, did not seem bothered by her candidness. Instead she just nodded in understanding. "What you're doing isn't easy for anyone. You're handling it incredibly well."

Hawthorne could not help but grin at the compliment. "Yeah, well, we're all having to get used to being something we aren't. How are you holding up?"

"You mean how am I coping with just being human?" Edith clarified, but the question rubbed Hawthorne the wrong way and she bristled. "Yeah, if you want to put it that way, just like the rest of us lesser mortals."

Edith was not looking at her and Hawthorne studied her profile, the straight line of her nose and the edge of her jaw where her hair swept up to gather at the back of her head. With the blood and grime washed away Hawthorne could see that the woman was striking. Perhaps it was inappropriate for her to make such considerations while in a state of indignance but she did it anyway, especially when, just slightly, the corner of Edith's mouth lifted up and she turned her head towards her, her brows furrowed. "I keep saying the wrong things to you. I apologize."

Hawthorne exhaled and, unable to look her in the face without feeling slightly ashamed, looked down at her hands. "No, it's alright. I'm looking to pick a fight when I shouldn't. You're fine."

"To answer your question though, it's been humbling," Edith said. "I'd forgotten what it was like to bleed for longer than a few moments. I'd even forgotten what the fear of death felt like."

Hawthorne then asked a question she knew she should not have. "How many times?"

"Countless. Ghost keeps a tally, but I'm not sure I want to know. It isn't something I've really thought about. I can't remember who I was before I was raised the first time, so when I woke it was like I'd been born a Guardian. I've known nothing else. I think it was the same for a lot of us."

She paused. She was staring at a point of space beyond the trees, at nothing in particular. She took a breath. "I had friends at the Tower. Mentors, allies, even some enemies. Everyone I knew, really. I'm sure many of them are dead now. And they won't come back. And still the idea of a final death is an impossible concept for me to comprehend."

"I don't think even we can comprehend it," Hawthorne said, as gently as she could. "For us it's just something we have to accept. We've been without the Light all our lives."

Edith was quiet and there was a distant look in her eyes. Hawthorne suddenly worried that she had inspired in Edith something she hated, pity, and moved to change the subject. She jerked her chin north. Over the treeline was a massive white structure, a half-moon ruin standing like a shrine in the distant woods. "Heard you're gonna go check out that big hunk of whatever."

"The shard," Edith said, following her eyes. "I don't know if it'll help, but I need to try. There's Light there. I can still feel it."

Hawthorne sighed. "Well, you can take the ship. No one here is gonna be leaving any time soon and it's a short enough trip that we won't be burning through drive cores. But I gotta warn you, it's called the Dead Zone for a reason."

"I've been before."

"Not as a mortal."

Edith's lack of change in expression seemed to disregard that concern. "I can still use my gun, and my fists, and my knee. I think I'll manage."

Cocky. Like every other Guardian Hawthorne had ever met. She shook her head, her lips downturned. "You know, before now I thought they might've messed up with you. You brood like a Warlock. Turns out you've got the recklessness and stupidity appropriate to your class after all."

Edith gave her a look. "You're worried for me, aren't you?"

Hawthorne crossed her arms over her chest as if she were trying to hold something in. "No," she said, too quickly. "In fact, if you die out there, I'll have one less person to worry about, which would be great for me, so you do whatever the hell you want."

Edith laughed, actually laughed, and Hawthorne's ears went red beneath the hood. "Whatever you say, Suraya," and with that, she turned to leave.

"Just Hawthorne," she said again, and the name made her think of something, and she wanted a reason to keep her there just a moment longer. "Wait a second."

Edith paused and looked at her. Hawthorne swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. "You said you don't remember who you were before you were a Guardian. Where did Edith come from then?"

"Ghost gave me the name," she replied. "He said it means 'prosperous in war.'"

"Ah. Of course it does."

Edith arched an imperious brow. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Hawthorne just grinned at her. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

"What does your name mean then?"

Hawthorne winked at her. "Maybe the stars will tell you, Guardian."

Chapter Text

Edith left for the shard well before dawn the next day, at Hawthorne's own recommendation.

"Fallen are nocturnal," she had said. "Leave early enough in the morning and you'll catch them while they're groggy."

Edith was pretty sure that this knowledge was either made up or anectodal at best, since she could not recall a time of day where the EDZ had not been teeming with Fallen, but still she humored her since she had intended on getting an early start regardless.

The ship glided silently above the trees, red light from a cold sun filtering from dark clouds that barely broke the ragged line of snow-capped mountains even further north. Hawthorne had been quiet over the comm and Edith made the assumption that, like the Fallen, she was not a morning person.

The Wall had been steadily coming into view ahead of her trajectory. Once she reached the perimeter Edith knew she would have to disembark and travel on foot for the remainder of the journey. Following Hawthorne's coordinates took her to where the road led into the Wall and through a heavy gate that had rusted shut decades ago. "Let me out here," she murmured to Ghost, and after a moment she stood beneath of the shadow of the Wall, stark and massive and constant and so overgrown with vines that it looked to be an extension of the land itself.

"You there yet?" Hawthorne yawned. Edith nodded, more to herself. "Just landed."

"Alright. So you're gonna walk straight forward. There will be a hole on the left side of the gate where it'll be hollow inside. Turn right once you're in and look slightly up. There's a gap you can get through to the other side."

She followed the instructions, frowning when the promised gap came into view. "Spoken like someone well accustomed to breaking the law."

"You mean that stupid "don't leave the City" rule? You know that doesn't apply once you're out of the City, right?"

Edith did not reply as she slid through, albeit reluctantly, and Hawthorne sighed loudly at her silence. "Okay look, I know how uppity you Titans get about your precious Wall, but it's not like I'm telling you to blow it up or anything."

"Yes, well, I do appreciate that."

Hawthorne snorted. "Sarcasm does not become you, Lady Guardian."

On the other side was a ruined highway littered with the skeletons of pre-golden age autos and abandoned ships. Beyond that were dark woods with rags of snow that harbored wolves and creatures still more dangerous. Further still and reaching above the treeline was the white arch encircled by bright white corona. For a moment the Guardian stood staring, the Light, even at this distance, making her skin tingle.

"You still good?" Hawthorne asked.

Edith shook her head at herself. "Yes. I see it."

"Well, be careful. I don't know that part of the wilds very well. Not sure non-Guardians are supposed to get that close to Light, it always made me feel sort of sick to be near it. It's like it's bleeding it out into the air. Comms and any other tech start to act funny the closer you get."

Edith continued down the road until it fell away into a shallow chasm. She dropped down into the tangle of deadwood and pine, the rock under her feet slick with moss. Ghost illuminated the cavern ahead, a hall of misshapen columns and shallow pools of still water. There was a small splash just beyond the glow. Edith froze.

"Did you hear that?" Ghost whispered. She nodded at him and readied her rifle.

"You alright?" Hawthorne asked, her voice crackled and distorted.

"Hang on."

There was a burst of static and a whine over the radio. Ghost's light flared for a moment. "Comm is going to go out."

A clawed limb grasping a wicked blade emerged from the darkness from a veil of blue and without a moment's hesitation Edith swung her fist and connected with the creature's head. An angry chorus of chatters followed and cloaked Fallen began to swarm her as if they had manifested from the shadows themselves. They flickered m in and out of sight and Edith fired almost blindly into the murk.

"-is that gunfire? what's ha-"

The line failed and Hawthorne's voice disappeared in the rattle of bullets and metal meeting flesh as Edith fought her way through the ambush. A single vandal met his target as he slid his blade between the plates of her armor at her shoulder but he was promptly dispatched and Ghost wasted no time in healing the wound. Many-limbed bodies laid crumpled at her feet. They were alone once more. Edith reached up to her helmet and tapped her earpiece. "Suraya. You still there?"

She was met with only the flat hum of a dead channel. With an unhappy twist of her mouth she switched the comm off and looked ahead. Sickly grey light poured in through the mouth of the cave and she could hear the sound of water running gently over rock.

They emerged and followed the creek further into the woods. The air around them faintly shimmered and pulsed with energy. They broke through the trees and stood in a small floodplain in a valley circled by ridges raw and unforgiving. The shard stood in the center, surrounded by shallow pools of dark water and a white haze. Edith approached slowly, feeling tendrils of Light pull and beckon. Ghost left her and floated near, as if the action were irresistible.

"Do you feel that?" he whispered, his voice hoarse as if he were overcome. "I haven't been this close to the Traveler since-"

There was a soft flash. Blue light washed over them and Edith gasped. Ghost blinked, pulsing white.

"Brace yourself," he said in warning. Edith reached a hand forward and gently placed her palm on the shard, and at the moment of contact a wave of Light poured through her and swelled and swallowed up the forest entire.

It took a disturbance at the perimeter of the Farm for Hawthorne to abandon her anxious watch. At the fence was a behemoth of a man flanked by a combat frame, the first working model that Hawthorne had laid eyes on in years. He was speaking to them in a voice that likely could have bridged the entire Dead Zone, and one that Hawthorne found to be oddly familiar. The guards, jumpy and inexperienced, had reacted negatively to the stranger's sheer size and this, coupled with the horned helmet, had led them to believe he was not there on friendly terms.

"Great, another Titan," Hawthorne called out on her approach, and they looked over at her. The man dipped his head at her.

"Greetings, Hunter. Can't say I've ever seen a cloak quite like that."

She waved off the sentries and stuck out her hand, which he shook with vigor. "Not a Guardian myself, but there was another Titan like you here this morning."

He introduced himself as Shaxx and the frame as Arcite. They had been wandering the wilds since the fall of the City until they had stumbled upon the Farm's emergency broadcast.

"I just realized where I know your voice from," Hawthorne said as they walked together back towards the barn, the trio drawing concerned stares. "You run the Crucible. I've seen your broadcasts."

"I am the Crucible," he corrected. "But what do you think of it?"

Hawthorne gave him a look. "The Crucible? Well, I think it's kinda weird you have Guardians killing each other instead of bad guys."

"A common misconception by the uninformed. We've got Guardians in our midst that have slayed gods, felled creatures of immeasurable age and power. Do you know what gets them primed to kill the next one? Forging themselves in the fires of the Crucible. Hunting and defeating the only other beings capable of matching them. You mark my words: the Guardians who end up dragging us out of this mess will be those who tested themselves against their fellows, again and again."

Hawthorne tried not to roll her eyes at his diatribe and instead just nodded vaguely. This seemed to be good enough for him.

"You mentioned another Guardian here," he said. She looked towards the shard, painted red by the setting sun.

"Left this morning to go find that thing. She thought it would give her her Light back. She's been gone a long time though. Said her name was Edith, you know her?"

He laughed, and the sound was endearing and terrifying in equal measure. "Know her? She's a legend. She's been involved in nearly every major victory the Vanguard have had in the last three years. And she's an animal in the Crucible."

Hawthorne felt like they may not be talking about the same Guardian. "Really? Almost find that hard to believe. She seems pretty... collected. Especially for a Titan."

He turned his head towards her. With the helmet on it was impossible to gauge his feelings towards her ignorance. "I like you," he finally said, " so allow me to share something about our order. Every Titan experiences the various conditions of humanity very strongly. Hatred, fury, joy, love, they dictate us, far more than they do the Warlocks and the Hunters. There are ultimately two kinds of Titan. The first kind feels it all and they immediately put it back out into the world. They are in a constant state of giving and taking whatever they feel at that moment. Then there are those who hold it in. It builds, like an electric charge, until they finally experience something so profound as to finally trigger the release. I know a few such Titans like this very well. One is the Vanguard Commander. Edith is another."

Hawthorne nodded. "So you're telling me that I shouldn't make her mad."

"You certainly can, but I wouldn't recommend being the one that finally puts her over the edge."

She grinned at him. "You think she's okay out there? We lost contact and I haven't heard from her or her ghost in a while."

He scoffed, crossing his great arms across his chest. "Light or not, it'll take far more than some many-limbed vermin to take her. After all, she was-"

"Forged in the Crucible?" Hawthorne chanced, smirking when he nodded.

"I knew there was a reason I liked you."

It was dusk when Edith's ship was spotted, a black shape drifting just at the line of the horizon. Hawthorne could not help but sigh in relief at the sight of it, relief that quickly changed to awe as the ramp lowered and Edith walked out. Gone was the ruined armor, now she wore plain grey plate, a white mark at her hip, looking every bit like a knight from a plane that defied the limits time with her guns strapped her to her person. But there was something else different about her, and it was only once the Titan stood before her that Hawthorne realized what it was.

Edith was radiant, almost glowing from within. It was as if the Light had injected itself into her veins and lit her up. She smelled like a coming storm, the air around her electric, and the hairs on the back of Hawthorne's neck stood up. Edith smiled at her expression, which, Hawthorne realized too late, was a slack-jawed stare. "You're back. And you're glowing."

"This?" Edith said, looking at her arms. She clenched a fist and sparks flew from between her fingers. "This will fade, I think. It was a lot of Light to take in at once. Thought it was going to kill me, but when I took control of it..."

She grinned again, bright white and otherworldly, and Hawthorne understood that she no longer stood before a mortal, but a god, and beside her Hawthorne felt even smaller than she had before.

"Well," she finally managed, "looks like you're finally useful to us again."

"Indeed. Where can I start?"

"I've actually been doing some brainstorming while you were traipsing around the forest. I'm trying to get in contact with an old friend of mine named Devrim. He was City militia and made it out when the Cabal attacked. He knows the area just outside the Wall very well and can probably help us get a comm network set up to filter in refugees still stranded out there. That should be our first priority. I think I can probably have you meet up with him in a day or two. In the meantime I guess you can just do... Guardian things. Whatever those are."

"Guardian things," Edith repeated, smiling again.

"Or you can just stand there lookin' pretty," Hawthorne blurted before she could stop herself. Her ears flushed scarlet and she fumbled, trying to pass it off as a joke, while Edith laughed at her.

"Don't worry Suraya, I'll find a way to pass my time."

She turned to go and Hawthorne was so mortified with herself that she did not even think to correct her until she was well out of earshot.

Chapter Text

When Hawthorne woke the next morning she found Edith and Shaxx in the barn, engaged in a discussion regarding the best use of their current resources.

"We can't start the Crucible back up," Edith was saying, her voice incredibly even and calm considering they were arguing over what Hawthorne immediately found to be alarming subject matter.

"And why not?" Shaxx asked, as if it were ludicrous that they were even discussing it. "It'll do them good to get shot up a few times. Their ghosts can heal them just fine. And I'm sure our Guardians have enough discipline to know when to stop firing."

"What the hell!" Hawthorne exclaimed, and the two Titans looked at her as if they had just realized she had been standing there. Edith smiled at her. "Good morning, Suraya."

She turned back to Shaxx, who had his arms crossed over his chest. "I'm not sure the risk is worth it," she said diplomatically. "Better to have them scouting the wilds for other refugees and resources. Thin the Cabal a bit. It'll help when we go on the offensive."

Shaxx shook his head and sighed as if to concede. "Used to be us Guardians had no-ghost matches where we would play chicken with rocket launchers. Now look at us. We've gotten soft. Where is the spirit of competition?"

Hawthorne gestured vaguely at the field behind her. "We've, uh, got a soccer ball you can have them kick around if its competition you're missing."

He sighed in disgust and took his leave, muttering about how "it just isn't the same."

Hawthorne watched him go and turned to Edith, who was regarding her with a bemused expression. "He's alright, just homesick and restless."

"Was he being serious?" Hawthorne asked. "About the Crucible?"

"Oh, yes. Absolutely," Edith replied. Hawthorne tried not to look as appalled as she felt and chalked it up to being something that, as a civilian, she simply would not understand. She shook her head at herself and rubbed her eyes. Edith was not glowing like she had been yesterday but there was still a faint cast to her that had Hawthorne staring, an act interrupted by Edith's voice.

"What's the plan for today?" she asked, catching Hawthorne's gaze with her own. Hawthorne grinned through the embarrassment of being caught again.

"Good news, my impatient friend. Devrim made contact. Start up the ship. We're going on a little trip into town."

"It's funny how this works out, isnt it?" Devrim commented over the radio, and Hawthorne heard him pause to drink his tea and she could not help but roll her eyes. "After doing this to some degree for years using back channels, entirely illegally, of course, now we're playing hero."

"Tell me about it," she muttered, still winding her way up the path that circled past the Trostland ruins and through the wall of pine and their beds of needles that lined the ascent to the peak above the mines. "It's like we're official now. Hell, we've got an actual bonafide Guardian working with us. And not some rule-bending outlaw of a Hunter either. A Titan, of all things."

"I've got her running some recon for us while I tinker with the booster. Had I known you two were going to get here so quickly I would have had it ready by now."

"Yeah, well, that's a story for another time," she said, thinking briefly about their shared flight over to the EDZ and the close proximity forced by the cockpit. How she had gripped the armrests in fear as they barreled onward just above the trees while Ghost made off-handed comments about how Edith always flew too fast but now was just showing off, an accusation that she denied in totality.

Hawthorne smirked at the recollection, recalled how Edith's cheeks had darkened faintly just before her ears, and she paused to glass the forest behind her with the binoculars to make sure she was not being tracked. No Fallen in sight, safe to assume Edith had them preoccupied.

"I imagine this has been an interesting experience for you," Devrim said, yet another off-handed comment, and there was an underlying current of something in his voice that she did not care for one bit.

"What do you mean?" she asked, keeping her own tone relentlessly neutral.

"Oh, I don't know," he drawled, playing along, taking another sip of tea and making sure to do it loud enough that she could hear. "Maybe it has to do with her being your exact type."

She scoffed. "I don't have a type. And besides, she's all... Guardiany."

"Very eloquent. But how do you mean?"

"She's, well, she's too tall," she explained, as if that were reason and explanation enough. "I don't like having to look up at things. And she's too serious. Guardiany."

He chortled at that. "You mean to say that tall and grim isn't what does it for you? Because as I remember it-"

She cut him off. "Don't you have tinkering to do? Or Fallen to kill? I bet you haven't even fired that rifle once. You've probably just been sitting there doing your "gentleman sniper" thing and waiting for someone to come along so they can catch you doing it."

"You wound me, Suraya," he said, sounding anything but wounded. There was a smugness there that set her teeth on edge. "Ah. Our friend is heading back this way, I'm going to patch her in to our channel once she's picked up the booster. It'll give you a few moments to collect yourself."

"I'm going to end you, old man."

There was a low beep as Edith was patched in. "Suraya, have you made it up there yet?"

Hawthorne momentarily wrestled with the dilemma of correcting her or not, but knowing that Devrim would have some smart-ass comment regardless she decided to leave it alone. "I'm getting close. Did Devrim give you the coordinates to follow?"

"Already done," he said. "Your ghost will able to track where you're going, though it's a fairly easy little jaunt assuming the elevators are still functioning properly. That might be hoping for too much though."

"Alright," Edith said, "I'm heading out. Let me know when you get up there, Suraya."

Hawthorne stopped walking and closed her eyes. It was like being babysat. "Yep. Yep, sure thing. Be safe."

"How sweet," Devrim cooed, and Hawthorne made a mental note to take him to task when she next saw him in person.

After a short run into the mine, and a fairly quick skirmish between herself and a territorial Fallen Captain, Edith had located the elevator and then watched it as it crashed dramatically and uselessly to the ground floor after a long screaming hurdle from the top. She wiped the dust off her visor and regarded the crumpled cage of metal with about as displeased of an expression as she was capable of.

"The hell was that?" Suraya asked.

"Elevator is out," Edith replied matter-of-factly, "is there another way up?"

"I'll transmit new coordinates to your ghost," Devrim said, "should be just a moment."

There was only one way forward: a dank, flooded tunnel past a heavy service gate. Ghost peered through the grate as he worked to open it, his optic narrowing. "It can't ever just be a tunnel. Has to be a dark and ominous tunnel."

They moved on, encountering more Fallen: nervous things that had not anticipated anything like a Guardian to come across them, and, having no warning, they were largely scattered and unprepared for her presence. Hawthorne would comment on her progress now and then, making a wincing noise between her teeth each time the heady boom of Edith's shotgun cut short the angry chatter.

"Are you here yet?" she asked eventually, the question catching Edith off-guard as she dropped down into wide shaft that had been dug by men long dead, and she laughed in surprise as she landed, quickly sowing discord amongst the mine's unhappy alien residents. "Do you see me?"

"No."

"Guess not then."

Hawthorne sighed, the crackle of static blending with the thud of metal meeting flesh as Edith punched and bashed her way through.

"I'm sorry," Edith said, the cavern behind her dead silent and littered with bodies and the room before her bright red with lasers, "am I not going fast enough for you? Do you have places to be?"

Hawthorne was quiet and Devrim was laughing. "I think you might have shamed her into silence."

"No," Hawthorne corrected. "When am I ever ashamed? I'm just surprised that our Lady Guardian actually sassed me."

Edith paused and bowed her head. "You're right, it was unbecoming, I-"

"Oh no, don't apologize. I'm actually impressed."

Edith had come upon a large underground warehouse. The elevator Ghost had marked for the exit was at the other end.

"Of course," Hawthorne continued, "not impressed enough to not help but wonder where my signal booster is."

Edith bit back a retort, maintaining what was left of her dignity as she approached the elevator. "Coming right up."

Just as she had finished speaking and had made to call the elevator the power went out. She spun around. A low, familiar droning noise erupted and three large purple lights emerged from gloom and the chatter of the Fallen filled the room. She readied her weapons and allowed the arc light to become her and leapt once more into the fray.

Outside, about 200 feet above the warehouse that had become a war zone, the ground was beginning to shake beneath Hawthorne's feet. Alarmed, she pushed herself off the makeshift console she had been leaning on and looked down at her feet, the tremors coinciding with a cacaphony of ungodly noises coming from Edith's line. "You okay down there?"

"Servitors," came the clipped response, barely noticeable above the other, much stronger sounds of gunfire and explosions. "A lot of them, I can't-"

There was a gasp of pain. Hawthorne swallowed and began to pace, not sure what to do. "Edith?"

Another explosion, another pained gasp, and with a burst of static the line went dead. Hawthorne tapped on the earpiece. "Edith?"

"We lost the connection," Devrim said. "I can't get through. She might have gone down."

"What?"

He did not reply, she could hear him typing on the other end. Edith's own line was still a flat, even buzzing. The noise of a dead connection. The tremors had ceased. Several long moments passed in heavy silence.

"I'm going down there," Hawthorne suddenly decided, readying her rifle.

"Don't be daft," Devrim said. "You'll get yourself killed. Give her a second."

"Dev, she's-"

There was a loud clatter up the path towards the service elevator. Hawthorne froze. There was a long, agonizing moment of heavy silence as the gates to the elevator folded open. After a few seconds a helmeted head appeared around the corner, followed by the rest of her body. Edith spotted Hawthorne and raised a hand to her and jogged down the hill to where she was standing, gliding along at an unhurried pace. Hawthorne made an attempt to move but found her knees shaky. Edith removed her helmet and for some inexplicable reason Hawthorne was surprised to find her intact and unscathed. She understood how the Light worked, how extreme the circumstances would need to be for a Guardian to be so thoroughly annihilated that they were not saveable. She knew this and still felt sick to her stomach. Edith, apparently alarmed by her expression, had stopped moving and stood watching her with clear concern. "Are you alright, Suraya?"

"Are you?!" she blurted. "What happened down there?"

"Oh. Tactical error. Got cornered in a bad spot and was overwhelmed."

A military analysis of her demise. Edith was even blushing faintly, as if her death was a failure that embarrassed her. Hawthorne realized in horror that she was about to cry and cleared her throat, blinking rapidly. "Did it hurt? Are you okay?"

Edith looked at her and Hawthorne could see that yes, it had hurt. Phantom pain lined her eyes. Hawthorne had been shot in the back during a bar fight once, years ago. Now and then she could still feel the bullet as it broke flesh and splintered bone and pain more than a decade old would fire up her spine. She wondered how many bullets and burns and disintegrations and dismemberments the Guardians could still feel. Edith smiled and it did not meet her eyes. "No," she said, lying to her, "I'm fine. Here, I've even brought you something."

She flashed the signal booster with a lopsided smirk. "Sorry I didn't get it here faster. Dying slowed me down a bit."

A morbid joke. Hawthorne had to work not to wince. Her own inexplicable guilt was nearly overwhelming and she did not say much as she plucked the little chip from Edith's fingers. "Hope I read the manual right," she murmured, watching the screen with perhaps excess concentration as the device installed itself. A window popped up, attempting to load. Hawthorne frowned at the screen. "Says there's an incoming transmission?"

Edith's expression matched Hawthorne's as she moved to peer at the monitor. A stern blue face appeared and Edith made a surprised noise. "Commander Zavala."

Hawthorne recognized the name. It had left Shaxx's lips a few times, either in tones of annoyance or reverence. "Connection isn't great. I don't think he's even on planet."

She fiddled with the settings and the message came forward:

"Guardians. This is Commander Zavala. The City is lost to us. If there is any Light left in the system, we rally on the moon Titan. Be brave. Be safe. This message repeats."

"Titan," Edith repeated, nodding to herself. "Can we spare a drive core? I can get-"

Hawthorne slammed her hand down on the console, terminating the message. "You are not going to Titan."

Edith furrowed her brow at her. "Suraya, my Commander is on Titan and he needs my help. I'm probably the only Guardian who has their Light back, I can't just abandon him and the rest of us."

"But you'll abandon us. You'll abandon me," Hawthorne snapped, her anger and fear getting the better of her. "This is where the fight is. On Earth, not some moon a million miles from here."

Edith shook her head. "I am not abandoning you. I never would. But I have to do this. If there is any hope of us getting our Light back, of taking back the City-"

"Your City is gone! Your Commander said so himself!"

Edith reached for her but Hawthorne moved away, grabbing her rifle and making to stalk off, knowing by the look in Edith's eyes that her mind was made up. She looked hurt but still tried to speak to her, even as Hawthorne left her standing there. "Suraya. I will be back. And I'll be back with help."

"You know where to find me once you realize what you're actually fighting for," she said, unable to turn around and face her knowing, with an ugly stab of certainly, that Edith would not try and stop her again.

Chapter Text

The sun, small and cold and shrouded by thin white clouds smeared in an unfriendly grey sky, had just reached its nadir when Hawthorne stepped into the ruins of a church gothic and grim. Devrim had seen her coming, of course, and stood peering down at her from his vantage in the dusty rafts above, regarding her with a knowing but gentle gaze. "Suraya."

"Devrim."

"How did you get here so quickly?"

She held her arms out. "The Fallen think I'm a Guardian."

He laughed. "Get on up here. I've got water boiling."

She easily climbed up into his nest, catlike in her quickness and quietness. She looked around his modest abode: at the crates and trunks of scavenged goods, the couch he slept on and his stack of books at one end on the cushions and spilling onto the floor. The place was dusty and littered with shattered glass and spent casings but he had done what he could to make a home of it. Up a wooden ramp was the upper level where he kept his electronics and a broken window he watched the Fallen. From where she stood she could see a wall where he had made small tallies numbering in the hundreds. His kill count. The rapid bubbling of water gave way to sharp whistle and he moved the kettle.

"I'm afraid I don't have any sugar or cream," he called down apologetically. "I wasn't expecting more guests. But I'm glad you came to see me."

"You have anything stronger than tea?" she asked, picking up a book at random from the stack. Moby Dick. Unabridged. She shook her head and put it back down.

"I've got a bottle of something I stole from a Cabal resupply cache," he said, walking down and holding full, steaming mugs in each hand. "I've been saving it, mostly because I'm afraid it might kill me, but I'm game to try it if you are."

"I don't care if it kills me," she breathed, and with that she flopped down on the couch. Devrim raised an eyebrow and gifted her with one of his infuriating little smirks. "You're in rare form. Need to get something off your chest?"

She sighed and took the offered mug. The tea was painfully hot and very bitter and exactly what she needed. "Edith is leaving to go to Titan and I didn't handle it well."

"I know. I heard."

She leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees, her face set by frustration. "There's so much she could do here. For humanity, not just other Guardians. And she knows it. And she's leaving it all behind just because her Commander said so. I don't get it."

Devrim shrugged and sat down neatly beside her, poised as always. "You were never military. You forget that for all their power that Guardians still have a chain of command, still have orders to follow."

"But she's still a human, just like you and me. Her being a Guardian shouldn't change that."

"No, but it's less important to her. She is a Guardian first and foremost, a Titan second, and a human third. Ask any of them how they prioritize it and they'll tell you the same thing."

Hawthorne narrowed her eyes at him. "You act like you're some kind of authority."

"Suraya, I've spent my life around Guardians. My direct supervisor is... was, a Titan. I spent my days and nights on the Wall, watching them come and go. The Light always comes first. And I don't say that critically. It needs to. And you need to understand that."

"That's interesting," Hawthorne said, peering at him over the edge of her mug. "I came here for a drink and to air my grievances with a friend, not for a lecture from someone trying to be my dad."

Devrim laughed at her and stood up, taking her now empty mug with him. "This is what happens when you never have children of your own, you start trying to parent other adults. You want another cup?"

Hawthorne shook her head. "How's Mark?"

"He's safe, that's what matters," Devrim said gratefully. "Just wish he wasn't so damn far away."

Hawthorne sat there a moment, not really looking at anything. Devrim watched her, setting the mugs down. "You're thinking pretty hard about something."

"I'm being dumb," she finally admitted. "She's right. She'll probably be more useful somewhere else. I just..."

She paused. Devrim tilted his head at her, and realizing that she would not say it herself, answered for her. "You care about her."

Hawthorne shrugged and looked down at her clasped hands. "Well, yeah. Sure. I care about a lot of people."

"Well, for one thing, that's a fairly blatant lie, but even if it were true, do a lot of people make you blush when you think about them?"

"Just you," she said, winking.

"Flattering. But come on now. Living in denial does you no favors."

"I'm not in denial."

"You even let her call you by your first name," Devrim pointed out.

"No, I didn't. She just decided to. And I stopped correcting her because she's too stubborn and Guardiany to respect my wishes."

"Suraya."

"I can't believe this," she sighed, leaning back into the couch as if she could disappear between the cushions. "Yes. Fine. I care. I'm worried for her even though I know she's like 99% invincible. I'm upset she's choosing Zavala over me. I'm terrified at the idea of doing this without her, even though I know I can. And I like her. A lot. Are you happy, old man?"

"Aw. Do you just like her, or do you like like her?"

"You're an ass. I feel bad for all the poor saps who still think you're a classy fellow just because of your accent."

Devrim smirked at her. "Come now, you know it's more than just the accent."

She opened her mouth to retort but footsteps from below silenced her. Whoever it was was not trying to be quiet and her and Devrim both moved to see who was coming.

It was Edith, who was openly relieved to find Hawthorne there, though her smile did not linger long. "Good, you're safe."

"Yeah, I can handle myself," Hawthorne said, the response automatic, and Devrim shook his head beside her. "Such a charmer," he murmured. Then, louder, he asked Edith if she would like some tea.

"No, but thank you," she said, and then stood there a moment, her eyes flickering between the two of them. Devrim, catching her gaze, quickly excused himself to heat more water.

Hawthorne gave him a dirty look as he retreated and, after taking a moment to collect herself, hopped down to meet Edith on the ground floor. Looking her in the face was difficult due to her newly budding shame but she managed it. Edith seemed almost regretful while she attempted to explain her unexpected presence. "I'm still going to Titan. I don't want you thinking I'm not. But I didn't want to leave it like we did. It didn't feel right to me."

"It's fine," Hawthorne said, quicker than she wanted, so she took a breath and shut her eyes a moment and when she spoke again her voice was softer. "It's fine. Really. I understand. And I'm sorry for how I acted. I was selfish."

"I don't want to leave you," Edith said, and the proclamation was enough to make Hawthorne's stomach flip. She thought she might need to sit down. Edith continued, somehow unaware. "I've never once considered insubordination before today. I'd like you to know that."

"Oh," Hawthorne managed, incapable of saying anything more articulate.

Edith made a small, helpless gesture with her hands. "I know it doesn't mean anything. I just wanted you to know that I'm not leaving willingly."

She was wrong. It absolutely meant something. The way Edith looked now was as vulnerable as Hawthorne had ever seen her. More so than when she had been mortal. Hawthorne's heart felt so heavy beneath her ribs that it nearly hurt. "It's okay," she managed. "I'll still be here when you get back. And I'll do what I can to keep Shaxx from trying to start the Crucible up again."

The moment had passed and Hawthorne, with her little joke, had allowed it to. Edith relaxed and smiled at her. "I do appreciate that."

"So. When are you leaving?"

Edith's smile faded again. "I was going to leave today. Now, actually. But then I remembered that we flew here together. I wanted to take you home first."

Hawthorne shook her head. It was funny but wrong to hear her call it home. "I'm going to stay here for a bit. Keep an eye on Devrim. Let him get some sleep. I'll radio to the farm and have someone pick me up."

Edith nodded but she looked disappointed. "It's a short flight"

Hawthorne raised a brow. "It's an hour. It was only a short flight because you fly like a lunatic."

"I was showing off."

Hawthorne returned the smile now. "I know. It didn't work. I was terrified, not impressed."

Edith tilted her head. "Not both?"

"Maybe a bit of both."

"Suraya," Devrim called, and they both looked up at him. "Get on out of here. They'll need you at the farm when the refugees start coming in. I'll be just fine."

"You sure?" she said, though really she was glad he was letting her go.

He nodded, knowing that this was what she wanted even though she would not say it. "Yes. I'm always sure. And Edith, it was an honor working with you."

She bowed her head. "And with you as well. I look forward to doing it again."

Edith turned to take her leave. Hawthorne lingered a moment, mouthing "thank you," at Devrim, who winked and saluted her. "Good luck," he returned, with a grin that matched her own.

The flight back was short and quiet. Hawthorne, while mostly beyond her anger, was still upset by the thought of Edith leaving. The feeling was, oddly enough, what Hawthorne imagined homesickness felt like. She had no idea when she would be back, no idea if Titan would be the only place she went once she left Earth behind. There were questions she wanted to ask but could not, things she wanted to say that she would not. Her discussion with Devrim had done nothing to temper her concerns, if anything she was even more of a nervous wreck around Edith than she had been before.

Meanwhile, as Hawthorne was fighting internally with her own self-control, Edith was struggling with an ironically similar dilemma. Her trek from the mines had given her time to think, time she did not often have, and allowed her to ponder on a certain hooded scout. She had begun to consider why her internal reaction to her Commander's orders that she leave the planet had been so negative. Why the thought of leaving Hawthorne behind made her feel like she was losing something. Edith was grateful that she seemed to have come to terms with her imminent departure, but now, once again within her proximity, she found her eyes traveling across the planes of her face, tracing the angle of her brow and the subtle downturn of her lips. She found herself suddenly noticing, and appreciating the expressiveness and color of her eyes (they were golden, like a hawk's.) These considerations were frustrating and appealing in equal measure, but Edith had no intention of addressing them, not when she would be leaving so soon. So they flew back in near silence, neither of them knowing what to say to the other when the ship touched down. Hawthorne stood up but paused when she saw that Edith had remained seated. "You're really leaving right this second?"

She had not planned on it, but her revelation regarding Hawthorne had led her to believe that perhaps some distance would be best, and she nodded. "If they're in trouble, I shouldn't leave them alone for much longer."

Hawthorne sighed, her mouth skewed by an unhappy twist. "Well, I get that. But wait here a second. I have something I wanted to give you."

Hawthorne was gone no longer than a minute. When she returned she had in her hands something Edith had not expected. A shotgun. Homemade and heavily modified, it appeared to have been cobbled together using pre-Golden Age parts. She offered it and rolled her eyes when Edith just stared at it. "Look, I know it's kinda rough looking but I promise you'll love the hell out of this thing. And I also promise that it won't blow up in your hands. I mean, the odds are pretty low, at least."

Edith tilted her head. "Is it yours? Why are you giving it to me?"

"Because I know you'll get way more use out of it than I ever did. It's full-auto. Will absolutely shred anything that tries to get in your face. Seriously, take it."

Edith slowly raised it from Hawthorne's hands. It was heavy, and now that she had taken a good look at it she realized it was very well-made. "It's perfect, I don't know how to thank you," she murmured, reaching behind to fasten it at her back. When she looked back up she met Hawthorne's gaze. She blushed, and Edith wondered if the heat she felt in her own cheeks was just as visible. "You can thank me by kicking some ass for me. And getting back here soon."

"I promise," Edith said, and with that Hawthorne ducked her head and left, leaving in her wake the faintest hint of something warm and herbal and as soft as the rustle of feathers. Edith sighed and looked at Ghost, who had observed the exchange in silence but was now flittering about and blinking rapidly. "You'll keep quiet if you know what's good for you," she warned, and he rotated on his axis in a way meant to indicate he was judging her. "Whatever you say, Guardian."

"Whatever I say, indeed. Let's get going."

"Yes, Guardian."

Chapter Text

Edith had been gone a week when the Titan and Hunter vanguards arrived at the farm. When Hawthorne first laid eyes on them they were holding council at the "war table" in the stables and were bickering over the applications of the Vex teleporter Cayde had managed to seize during his anabasis into Nessus. Caught up in their discussion they had not yet noticed her presence, so she stood in the shadows with Louis on her arm and eavesdropped.

"I mean, why not?" Cayde said convincingly, shrugging while Zavala glared at him, though Hawthorne was fairly certain that particular expression was likely a constant. "I think I've mostly figured out how this thing works, and once Ikora gets here we'll iron out the details, and bam, we're in."

Zavala was clearly doing all he could to not lose his temper, because when he spoke again his voice was strained. "And how to do you propose we deal with the Almighty at that point?" he asked. "Or is that the part of the plan that doesn't concern you?"

Cayde, who had been petting a chicken he had tucked beneath his elbow, paused his ministrations. The hen pecked once at his fingers but he did not seem to notice. "Huh. Yeah. Hadn't made it that far."

"The Almighty?" Hawthorne asked, the ominous title rousing her curiosity enough for her to reveal herself. The two of them turned to regard her: Zavala with suspicion, Cayde with interest. "Nice poncho. Where'd you come from, Hunter?"

She shook her head. "Not a Hunter. Not a Guardian. Just a concerned citizen."

"You must be Hawthorne," Zavala said formally. "Deputy-Commander Sloane told me about you. You're the one she's been coordinating requisitions with."

"That's me."

"And you're sure you're not one of my Hunters?" Cayde asked, resuming his attentions on the chicken, who had begun to wriggle nervously at seeing the hungry-eyed hawk perched on Hawthorne's arm. "Cause I seriously did not hear you come in and I'm kinda impressed."

"Positive. But thanks for the compliment," she said wryly, taking a few steps closer. "So. The Almighty?"

"It's some sort of super-device, capable of destroying stars," Zavala explained carefully. "It's what Ghaul does to a system when he can't defeat it through traditional military means."

Hawthorne raised a brow. "He... blows up the sun?"

"Pretty much," Cayde said. "We have a way to get into the City, and onto his ship, but that doesn't matter if we've still got to worry about that thing. He'll just set it off the moment he thinks we're trying something. Means that we can't send our favorite Guardian in to put him in his place until we've dealt with it."

"Edith?" Hawthorne asked, working to maintain her excitement to within respectable levels. "Where is she now? Is she doing okay?"

"I sent her to Io to track down Ikora. Our Warlock," he explained. "Once Ikora knows what's up she'll make her way here, and I bet Edith won't be far behind. Problem is that even with them here we've got a big ole star blower-upper parked on Mercury. And we can't just fly her up there cause they'll fire it if they spot a Guardian ship. Our hands are kinda tied."

Hawthorne had more questions about Edith, but none of them were the type she could ask without arousing some sort of suspicion, especially from Zavala, who acted as though he still was not quite ready to let a civilian like her into the fold.

She was, however, was pretty sure she knew how to get into their good graces. "So why don't you just put her on a Cabal ship?"

Cayde looked intrigued by the idea. "You got one of those lying around?"

"Not quite. I do know where to get one though."

She pulled out her map of the EDZ, carefully hand-drawn from scout reports and her own explorations, and rolled it out on the table. She pointed at an anonymous stretch of ridge along the northern edge of the map. "Right here is a service tunnel they used to use back when this was a military zone. It leads to a huge cavern system the Cabal have been carving out. They've got it big enough down there that you can literally fly a ship through it. On the other side is where they've got one of their Legion commanders and his carrier parked. We've managed to intercept enough of their transmissions to get a name. Thumos, the Unbroken."

"Not very inspired," Cayde said. Zavala shushed him by means of a glare. "Go on," he said.

"If she can get on the carrier and kill Thumos, she can grab access codes to one of the ships at Firebase Hades, which has direct access from the carrier. The problem is that the carrier is huge. We need exterior scans of the ship, interior too if I think my scouts can manage it without being caught. We haven't been able to get a scouting party all the way into the landing zone yet, but I can work on it so we've got a better idea of where to send Edith once she's in. The faster she can get in, the less likely they are to try and take off."

"Let's start there," Zavala said, already warming to her. "In the meantime, we'll get a plan going for what happens once the Almighty is dealt with. How many Lightless Guardians are on-site?"

Hawthorne shrugged. "We had a few leave for Titan once you guys set up base there, and a few that went into the EDZ and never came back, but I'd say a few more than a dozen."

"More than enough, Light or no Light. Once we've secured the carrier I'll send for the Guardians on Titan to join us, along with Sloane. I'm going to get Holliday here as well for aerial support," Zavala said. Cayde nodded, looking pleased. "Maybe I'm crazy but it sounds like we actually have a shot at this."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Zavala cautioned, though his expression had softened considerably since Hawthorne had presented her plans to them. "We've got a lot to do, and not a lot of time to do it. And I'd like both Ikora and Edith here before we set anything in stone."

"Fair enough," Hawthorne assented. "After all, it's Edith's ass we're throwing into the fire."

"She can handle it," Cayde said with obvious pride. "We get our kicks by giving her nearly impossible tasks to complete and watching her make a game out of it. It's really the only way we feel anything anymore."

Hawthorne grinned at him. Zavala just sighed.

Ikora Rey, as promised, arrived soon the next day, not long after Hawthorne had sent her scouting team to recon Thumos' carrier. Imperious and ageless, Hawthorne immediately found herself tongue-tied in the Warlock's presence. Ikora, for her part, regarded the civilian with a patient curiosity, praising her when Cayde and Zavala introduced her as the one who had kept things together on Earth.

"Well, it wasn't all me," Hawthorne demurred, "I've had a lot of help."

It was true. Even disregarding the assistance that Devrim and Edith had been capable of providing, she had watched civilian and Guardian alike work together seamlessly. Even when cursed with mortality the Guardians at the farm fought with the ferocity and fearlessness of an entire squadron, and never once left a man or woman behind, Guardian or not, with it never mattering if they were human, Awoken or Exo. It was impressive, and Hawthorne had found it necessary to re-evaluate her views on what exactly defined "human." She had once otherized the Guardians without a second thought, deeming them as self-obsessed warmongerers who cared only for conquest and the spoils of war. She had thought Edith an enigma, but she had been wrong, though she was still convinced that the Titan was among the best of them.

To be fair to Hawthorne though, the Vanguard had seemed just as surprised by her ability, likely assuming that her mortality shackled her with limitations they simply did not need to consider. It was probably a fair assessment, but it seemed as though they were learning from each other. An entirely necessary aspect, if their plan was to succeed.

"Edith is still on Io, working with Asher Mir," Ikora said when Hawthorne asked her, shamelessly, if she was far behind.

"I hate that guy," Cayde said. "Eris has a stick up her ass too but at least she doesn't pull it out and try to beat me with it."

"They're attempting to make contact with the Warmind," Ikora continued, ignoring Cayde. "Hopefully, their research will be able to offer more insight on the Almighty. I don't imagine that will take long. Edith expressed an interest in returning to Earth rather quickly."

Hawthorne's heart raced hopefully at that particular statement but she kept her cool and simply nodded. "Sounds good."

Ikora looked at Cayde and Zavala. "Have the three of you made headway on what happens once she arrives?"

"Step 1: highjack Cabal ship. Step 2: destroy the Almighty. Step 3: kill Ghaul," Cayde said. "Thrown into the mix somewhere in there is figuring out exactly how the teleporter works and, you know, the logistics of everything. But that's why we have you."

Ikora regarded him flatly. "I see."

They waited for her to say something else. She did not. Zavala, who had remained quiet up to this point, did not appear to be as optimistic as he had been the day before when he admitted that they still had a lot of work to do. The mood had shifted considerably and Hawthorne suddenly felt incredibly stifled.

"Well," Hawthorne said, taking a step backwards towards the exit. "I'll leave the three of you to it. I'm gonna, uh, check in with my patrols real fast."

This was the part she had been afraid of, the nitty-gritty. It was all fine to simply say they were going to do something, to visualize the moment of victory and nothing else, but the little details were going to be what ruined them. This was not the sort of war that Guardians were accustomed to. They could not throw hordes of deathless warriors at their foe until they finally overpowered them. The thought of Edith dying over and over for necessity of trial and error made Hawthorne sick. They had to get it right the first time, with limited information, and a Vanguard trio who seemed just as lost as the rest of them.

She sat down at her comm center with a heavy sigh, feeling exhausted and anxious. She really wished that Edith was here. It was all she could think about, that if she were present this mess would just fall together and make sense. That the Titan would see her doubts and fears and just gently laugh them away.

She shook her head at herself. Unfair to put that sort of emotional burden on someone millions of miles away, especially when the fate of an entire planet rested on her shoulders already. She put her headset on and scanned the monitors. Her squad was nearing the tunnels.

"Hawthorne to Squad One, how's progress?"

They were being led by one of the Lightless, an exo Hunter who she knew only as Forty. She had not asked him about the meaning behind the name because she already had a pretty good guess as to what it was.

"Forty to Hawthorne, we are in the tunnels. No resistance encountered. I don't like it."

She smirked. "You Guardians don't have to pick fights everywhere you go, you know."

"Negative, ma'am. I came by my name honestly."

She watched the little blips that indicated their position: five little white dots moving through the caverns. She guessed they were about an hour out from the exit on the other side.

"Forty to Hawthorne, I really don't like this," he said after nearly that period of radio silence. "Tunnels were teeming with Cabal before. None here."

She frowned at the monitors, unsure what to say. "If it feels wrong it probably is wrong. You know you can back out-"

"Movement."

The rattle of gunfire became general after only a moment of heavy silence. Hawthorne leapt up, nearly overturning the table in the process. "Squad One, what's happening?"

No one answered. Through the radio she heard the heavy grunts of things not human, the boom of rockers and panicked voices. "Squad One? Copy!"

The line went quiet. She sat there for what felt like an eternity, waiting for a sound. There was a brief rustle, as if someone were touching the microphone with their hand, and then a voice.

"To the rat listening in from the comfort of their outpost," they said, their voice a deep, alien rumble that sent a wash of horror up Hawthorne's spine. "I am Thumos. Your men have been captured. They have surrendered their weapons. This will not save them. They will burn just as the rest of this wretched planet will burn."

She heard a loud grunt and a clatter and realized that whatever had just spoken had done so by picking up Forty, speaking into his mouthpiece, and then dropping him back on the ground. The voice spoke again, more distant this time and in his own language. Then she heard the roar of flame and a scream.

She shut the comm off, shaking and locked in a crouch above her chair, like an animal staring down the barrel. Nothing she could do, no one she could send. One by one the white blips on her monitor flashed red and then disappeared. Forty lasted longer than the others, but not by much, and then he was gone too. She stared at the screens, mouth open, her chest heaving. They were gone.

She fell back in the chair, raised trembling hands to her face, and put them back down. And then she froze. There on the screen was a tiny dot, flashing red. She leaned forward, eyes locked on it, unblinking. It began to drift towards the end of the tunnels and towards the carrier. She turned the mic back on. "Forty? Is that you?"

No one responded. All she could hear was the crackle of flame. She waited, watching the little dot as it moved towards the carrier. Another monitor lit up. Incoming video. The quality was poor, whatever was sending it was heavily damaged and listed side to side several feet above the ground, and she finally realized what she was seeing.

"Forty's ghost," she breathed, and leaned closer. The video showed the carrier's exterior, defense systems and weaponry. She watched it as it honed in on a command console. A moment passed as it attempted to uplink, the video growing blurrier.

"Hang on," she whispered, as if the little ghost could hear her. "Hang on just a bit longer."

New images, a scan of the ship's interior, access codes, blueprints. She had it all. The image went black and flickered again, the view going upside down as the ghost tilted and finally fell. The flashing blip disappeared. At great cost, they now had what they needed.

Chapter Text

"You know there's nothing you could have done. You do understand that, right?"

Hawthorne just shrugged, knowing full well that Devrim could not see the motion of her shoulders, and did not say a word in reply to his question. The night before had been somber as they mourned those they had lost, even with the intel they had procured, and one thing led to another, and now it was well in the afternoon the next day and Hawthorne was hungover, though the pain that pulsed through her skull had nothing on the ache in her chest.

"Suraya."

"Dev, I don't need a pep-talk," she snapped. "I lost five people yesterday. People I hardly knew. They went and did this knowing they might not come back. And yeah, everyone says that, but they really aren't coming back. And there was nothing I could do."

"That last sentence," he said, his voice low and gentle, "I want you to keep that in mind. Mourn all you need, honor their memory, but wallowing in self-pity is below you."

She rolled her eyes and said once more said nothing.

"You got what you needed, though?" he prodded.

"I don't even know how useful it will be," she said, running a hand over her face. "And I can't help but think my selfishness got get them killed."

"How do you mean?"

"I sent them there so that Edith would have an easier time, but Edith is a goddamn immortal. The people I sent weren't. Why didn't I just wait? If she died, so what? She'd come back. They won't. They're dead. Permanently dead. I traded them for her, and it wasn't fair."

On Devrim's end she could hear the boiling of water. He was clearly settling in for what he expected to be a long discussion. "You know as well as I do that isn't why they were sent. Had you waited and sent Edith to go herself then the Cabal would have taken off, carrier and all, and then we'd really be in trouble. You're just finding reasons to blame yourself."

She did not have anything to say to that. It did not really matter to her if he was right or not, and he seemed to understand that, because she could hear him sigh heavily, defeated.

"Get some rest, Suraya. Sleep off that hangover. There's nothing else you can do until Edith gets there. Be gentle with yourself."

She considered being combative and difficult but decided against it and just shut her eyes. "Bye, Dev."

She disconnected before he could respond and leaned back on her cot. This was not like her. She was prone to righteous anger, to stirrings of vengeance against those that wronged her and wronged those she cared for. This dismal hopelessness she was consumed by was foreign and wrong, though she supposed that with the end of the world hanging over her head the feeling was perhaps justified.

She laid there a while longer, staring at the ceiling. She watched the angle of the sunlight that fell through the wooden slats of the roof grow sharper and the light grow dimmer, and watched the dust that floated like pollen in the space above her head. She suddenly felt claustrophobic in her little dwelling and got up and walked outside.

Briefly, she thought of flight. She looked to the woods, a dark labyrinth of wildlands where she could lose herself, leave this all behind. Take Louis and go back to being the nomad with no ties to anyone. She had done it once, she could do it again. But it was only a passing notion, and she was about to lambast herself for her cowardice when she heard a soft thud. And then another.

Cayde was in the small landing zone by the barn, kicking the soccer ball around. His chicken, now dubbed Colonel, watched from the sidelines, clearly unimpressed as it pecked at the ground, one eye on the sky as it kept watch for the greedy hawk that had menaced it previously. "Hey, Poncho," Cayde said when he spotted Hawthorne watching him, and he nudged the ball over to her. It came to a stop neatly between her feet. She just stared at it. "How you holding up?" he asked.

She just raised her brows at the question and shrugged, but after a long moment she began to slowly dribble the ball towards the other end of the field, about thirty feet from where Cayde stood. With a firm kick she sent it back to him. "Just fine."

"Yeah?" he answered doubtfully, knocking the ball back and forth between his own feet a few times before kicking it back over, showing off his footwork. "Even after clearing a whole bottle of gin yourself?"

"Not like I'm the only one who drank last night," she retorted, which was true. Shaxx, being the emotional Titan he had already claimed to be, had thrown back more than the rest of them combined.

"Fair enough," he returned, "but you know it's alright to feel bummed out."

"Thanks for your permission," she said, harsher than she wanted.

"No problemo," he replied, excusing her rudeness with a grace that slightly shamed her. "I knew him. Forty, I mean," he told her after a while. She did not want to say she was sorry, or say something pointless like oh, or really?, so she said nothing.

"He'd been through a lot," he said, after they had sent the ball between them a handful more times. "Twilight Gap, the first war with Crota. It took a toll on him. You probably know where the nickname came from. Exo thing. I'm only at six. I can't imagine having thirty-nine other versions of me."

"What are you getting at?" she asked him, stopping the ball with her heel.

Now it was his turn to shrug. "I'm saying that sometimes Guardians have to move on. All that time, the endless cycle of death and rebirth, it gets hard. Gets to be exhausting, really. There's a reason that so many of us old-timers have desk jobs, standing around giving orders while the new blood does the footwork. Even Zavala with all that mystic Awoken longevity quit active duty years ago. I only know one Exo who beat Forty at the numbers game, and he can barely remember his name or the names of the people around him. People he's spent decades with. So between you and me, I don't think Forty really wanted to become Forty-One."

Hawthorne shook her head. "That wasn't my choice to make. And it never should have been."

"Nope, it was his, and he made it. He volunteered for a risky assignment knowing the dangers that came along with it. Him and everyone else that died yesterday. This isn't on you."

When she finally kicked the ball back over she did it a little too hard and it flew past Cayde and nearly took out Colonel. "That supposed to make me feel better?" she snapped, feeling heat rise in her cheeks.

"No," he said, still infuriatingly calm. "It's supposed to get you to stop feeling sorry for yourself and get pissed off. I know it looks like we're all just soldiering on but I promise you we're all just as affected as you are. You don't think Ikora isn't seething right now, or that Zavala isn't doing all he can to not punch a hole through the wall? Hell, beneath this sleek, cool-as-a-cucumber exterior I'm a raging storm of anger. And guess what, we've got the perfect delivery system for all this pent-up vengeance, and she'll be here literally any minute. So sack up and get mad, Poncho."

She gaped at him, and within moments her incredulity became fury. "Who the hell do you think you are?" she said, her voice loud and high with indignance. "I'll kick your ass, you cocky f-"

He clapped his hands. "There. Right there. Remember that. Hold onto it. It'll do you way more good than sorrow ever will. You're human. You're alive. And you're ready to fight tooth and nail to keep on living."

Hawthorne realized that she had formed fists with her hands, like she was really about to go to blows. It was invigorating, and even though it vexed her to no end to admit it, this was exactly what she had needed to hear. Cayde had gone to retrieve Colonel and had tucked her beneath his arm. "Can't punch me while I'm holding something this pure," he taunted, walking away from her towards the makeshift mess hall. "Dinner time, Colonel. Let's get you some corn," she heard him murmur, and she watched as they disappeared into the gloom.

She stood there a few moments, breathing harder than she needed to, watching the sky. She felt rejuvenated, she could almost hear the blood in her veins, feel the cold wind over the skin on her face and hands. Somewhere in the dark she heard Louis cry out, returning with his kill, and she heard other people, her people, walking about and talking in the murk, the thrum of living things, and she smelled the pine trees and the sharp chill of winter, and somewhere out beyond all this on Earth was a woman who made her feel things so wonderful she could hardly put a name to them, and she knew she loved all of it and would stand and fight for all of it.

For the first time since arriving at the Farm Hawthorne woke up sweating. Sometime in the night somebody had come and put another blanket over her, and while the thought of someone coming up on her while she slept was slightly disconcerting, she was too grateful for the warmth to be incredibly upset about it. She yawned and rolled over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. Still early, the sunlight filtering in a pale red. A rooster crowed. Outside she heard a few muffled voices. She could clearly make out Zavala's even cadence, and Shaxx's voice always rose well above everyone else's. But then she noticed yet another, quieter but just as distinguished, and with a jolt she realized who it was.

She jumped out of bed so quickly that she nearly tripped on the blankets. As she struggled to pull her boots on she saw, with frustration, she was attempting in vain to put them on the wrong feet. Finally dressed, perhaps a bit more hapharzardly than she would have liked, she, as casually as possible, made her way outside.

The trio of Titans was standing near the well, Edith among them with her back to Hawthorne. She wore new armor and had obtained more powerful and exotic weaponry through her conquests across the system, though Hawthorne's shotgun still held a place of honor over her shoulder.

"Nice of you to show up," Hawthorne called, though her devil-may-care act quickly fell apart when Edith turned to regard her with a truly radiant smile. "Suraya. Nice of you to wake up," she returned without missing a beat.

Hawthorne regarded her. She looked perhaps a little tired, a little worn down, though she supposed flying all over the system to fetch the Vanguard would do that to a person. This took nothing away from the beauty Hawthorne saw in her though, if anything it just made her look more human.

"How's that shotgun been treating you?" Hawthorne asked, endeavoring to actually say something and not just stare at her like a fool.

Edith grinned. "You were right. I do love the hell out of it. It's saved my ass more than a few times."

Hawthorne came very close to making an inappropriate comment about preserving precious resources but held her tongue. "Thank the Traveler for that," she said instead, still blushing at the thought.

Edith only laughed. "I heard it's been pretty hectic here. I've also heard something about how part of the plan involves me hijacking a Cabal transport ship?"

Hawthorne winced. "Yeah... But I'm probably not the one to brief you on that."

Edith shrugged, still smiling. "I've got time. Coffee? I've been flying all night and could use it."

Hawthorne looked around. She had been so caught up in Edith that she had not even realized that Zavala and Shaxx had left, probably for the mess hall. "Yeah. It's gotten better since you were last here. It's actually lukewarm now."

"Progress is always welcome," Edith said, and put her gloved hand on Hawthorne's shoulder as she fell into stride beside her. "It is good to see you again."

Hawthorne swallowed. Even with the layers of cloth and metal between them the contact made her palms sweat. However, she conquered fear with boldness and paused mid-step, gently grasped the hand on her shoulder and briefly placed her lips upon the top of Edith's hand. "A pleasure as always, Lady Guardian."

Edith, generally so composed, raised her brows and seemed to be at a loss for words, and so she followed Hawthorne mutely while the sniper fought down a stupid-looking grin at the expression on Edith's face.

"The plan is as follows: you will board the Orobas Vectura and secure the access codes to Firebase Hades from Thumos. Once he is dead you will proceed west through the service tunnels towards the Firebase and take control of one of the Cabal transport vessels. We will be able to provide coordinates to the Almighty, but once you're on Mercury we likely won't be able to maintain radio contact in order to avoid detection by Ghaul. You will disable the super-weapon, by any means necessary. Once it has been eliminated as a threat we will initiate a counter-attack on the City. While the Lightless Guardians work to distract the bulk of the Legion forces, the Vanguard will prepare the Vex teleporter to board Ghaul's ship. Once boarded, we will take him out. Any questions?"

The dread in Hawthorne's gut, previously just a small, nagging ache, had grown into something horrible and consuming with every word that Zavala uttered. Once Edith managed to board the Almighty, assuming she even got that far, it was going to be nothing but chaos and educated guesses as to how the rest of their plan was to unfold. There was no guarantee that she would even be able to destroy it, no certainty that they would be able to storm the City quickly enough to cut a swath for her to reach the Vanguard. Even the Vex teleporter was still an unknown factor. The Vanguard were quiet. They were all staring at Edith, whose face was an unreadable mask. Finally, after what felt like a long moment, she simply nodded. "When do we start?"

"First thing tomorrow morning," Zavala said, and Hawthorne blanched. She had no idea this was going to happen so soon. Edith had not even been back for a day, there had been no time to prepare, no time for Hawthorne to say the things she needed to say.

But Edith, the good soldier, nodded again. "Understood."

"I advise you to spend the rest of the day in preparation," Ikora murmured, her voice low. "You won't have a chance to rest again until we succeed. Or fail."

"Of course," Edith said, her expression still as flat as before. She met Hawthorne's gaze and Hawthorne had immediately needed to look away. She felt sick. Ikora bowed her head at the Titan and looked over everyone. "I'll keep it brief. You all know what to do, what your roles are. This is our last stand on Earth. Our final chance. Let's show the Cabal what humanity has to offer, with or without the Light."

Cayde gave a little whoop. Even Zavala's lips curled up ever so slightly in a grim mockery of a smile. Ikora's words, meant to be encouraging and inspiring, did not have that effect on Hawthorne at all, and with a hushed mumble she excused herself and walked outside.

The cool air outside the "war room" immediately calmed her, but still she felt an awful panic growing deep within her. Time. She was running out of it. She had heard what Ikora had said, and it sounded as if Edith was to sequester herself and ready her mind and body for what would no doubt be a long and brutal campaign come morning.

She stood there, frozen. After a few minutes Edith came outside to check on her. "Suraya, are you okay?" she asked, and when Hawthorne did not respond she put her hand on her shoulder but quickly removed it when Hawthorne flinched at the contact. "Suraya?"

She met Edith's eyes, grey eyes she had once thought colorless but held so much compassion and so much determination. The ache in her chest went beyond blood and sinew and she felt like she was drowning in her longing but she realized with an awful pang that the eve of war was not the time for matters of her heart. "I... I need to go see Devrim. For a thing. I don't think I'll see you before you leave."

Edith's face registered surprise first but quickly shifted to disappointment. "Oh, alright... would you like me to fly you over?"

"No, no. That's alright," Hawthorne said, crushed, backing away from her and shaking her head, trying to force her mouth into something that would count as a smile. "You need to prepare, like Ikora said. Tomorrow is important, you know. I'm sure I'll see you after everything."

She suddenly turned and walked away, feeling like a coward, knowing that if she kept looking at her she would do something that she would regret even more than she regretted leaving. She did not look back as she boarded her ship, did not glance behind her at the tall figure still standing in the field, alone, watching her grow smaller and more distant with every second, unaware that the watcher was burdened by her own unspoken regrets.

"You really need to stop dropping in like this without telling me you're coming," Devrim told her, though his tone was much softer than his words. "I never get a chance to tidy up."

Hawthorne, seated on the couch with her head in her hands, could only mumble a response.

"What's that?" Devrim said, sitting next to her with tea in a chipped mug. Her own cup sat cooling on an empty crate that Devrim was using as a coffee table.

"I don't know what to do," she said again, raising her head, dismay clear on her visage. "I want... I need to tell her so many things. Things I've never said to anyone. And I don't know how to say them, and I don't know if I should, because what if she doesn't feel like that? Or what if she does and it doesn't matter because we'll all just die tomorrow anyway?"

She looked at him, helpless. "This isn't... I've never... I can't-"

"Why don't you woo her with your poetic prowess?" Devrim offered. She narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm being serious! I need help. Tell me to just let it go, move on. Try again later at a way more appropriate time than literally the worst time I could do this. Or not at all. Anything. Be my voice of reason, Dev."

Devrim looked down at his hands. "You know," he said, quieter than before. "I would kill to have Mark here. To tell him things I've already told him many times. To have him present. We might all die tomorrow, like you said, and it'll be four months since we've seen each other in person."

"But you and Mark, you're human," she said. "Like, die-for-no-reason-at-all-and-not-come-back human. You're on an even playing field. Even if this works, even if we survive tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that, I'll keep getting older, and eventually I'll die, and she'll still be the same. Why am I doing this to myself? Why to her?"

"It's not like love gives you a choice," he said with a gentle smirk. "As for her immortality: well, that's the dilemma of gods, isn't it? Watching the world around them go to ruin while they remain ageless. It's something she and all other Guardians will have to deal with, with or without you."

"Look, I know you fancy yourself some sort of warrior-philosopher, but none of that wisdom makes this any easier."

"And as for your other point," he continued, ignoring what he saw as a meaningless deflection, "with all that said, does her being a Guardian really make her any less human? Do you think she doesn't feel fear? Doesn't feel love or hatred just as strongly as you? Doesn't want to fight for life just as hard as you will?"

Hawthorne paused, considering his questions, and then shook her head. "No. No, I don't believe that. Not anymore. I just think-"

"You know what I think?" he said, standing and pulling her with him. "I think you're wasting the precious time you have talking to an old man."

She just stared at him a moment and then, finally making up her mind, pulled him into a tight, grateful hug. "Where are you going to be tomorrow?"

"Fighting at your side, my friend."

He let her go. "Now go on. I've got Fallen to kill before I clear out of here tomorrow. You'd think they breed like rabbits with how many show up."

She nodded at him as she turned to leave. "Don't waste all your ammo on the little guys."

He saluted her, and then, noticing her untouched mug, his face fell. "You let your tea get cold!" he called after her, but there was no answer, and he mournfully poured it out of the window.

"Such a waste."