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If this were just another night in the Tower, Ikora would have long ago removed Zavala’s hand with a little huff and a smirk to remind the man Ikora Rey is not one for sentimental touches. But this is not life as they knew it. The City is lost, the Tower destoyed, and what’s left of the Guardian ranks scattered. Now, Ikora accepts the gentle caress of blue fingers, Lightless but solid and comforting, just above her elbow as they share their first night reunited in a cramped tent beside the ramshackle barn that passes for a command center. She doesn’t know how Zavala managed to convince Hawthorne a single tent was more appropriate for three adults than, say, the communal shelters just down the hill, but Ikora is grateful for the privacy even at the cost of comfort.
Not that the space is much more narrow than Zavala’s old bed by the time Titan, Hunter, and Warlock have settled and pulled each other close beneath a scavenged blanket.
Ikora’s head rests against the meat of Zavala’s shoulder and, from there, she can see Cayde curled against Zavala’s other side. A metal face digs into the frayed and stained knit of a red, padded sweater- the Commander’s bulky plating stacked orderly beyond their heads with the rest of the trio’s most cumbersome gear. The Exo has always been more demanding of physical touch than Ikora and she feels no jealousy at the fact that Zavala’s face is buried into a Hunter hood whispering relief and affirmation as squared fingers stroke Cayde from shoulder to hip and back again. Ikora squeezes the Exo’s hand where their fingers lay in a tight tangle atop Zavala’s belly to remind Cayde that they’ve all made it.
“We’re here. Together,” she hears herself whisper.
Metal fingers respond with an almost crushing grip.
A brush of lips to her brow pulls Ikora’s attention away from Cayde and when she resettles nose to nose with Zavala, she sees the nightmare question infecting bright eyes.
But what if…
Ikora meets the Awoken in a soft kiss.
“Together,” Ikora reaffirms. "For now, that’s all that matters."