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When the dust settles in the aftermath, neither of them know what's left for them to do.
It’s been years since Mav’s been to the EDZ and Trip can barely recall his one and only visit, back when he was still wet behind the antenna. Hawthorne’s fledgling settlement has become humanity's last stronghold overnight and Mav still hasn’t come to terms with how this place, so far from the Traveler's shadow, could save so many when their Light couldn’t.
He sighs and reaches out again in vain. What used to come so naturally is now an impossible void that every other Guardian he’s talked to since the attack has spoken of. He feels broken, empty. There is Light in all things but he can no longer sense it, and the world seems duller without it.
Fuck. It’s hard for him to believe it’s been a little over a week since their world came crashing down around them. Jumpships are pouring in from all over the system and there must still be so many Guardians who haven’t heard the news, stranded and lost without their light, unable to find any answers. The City, The Tower, life as he knew it seems so distant it feels like years since any of it was real.
He turns over onto his back in the cot one of Hawthorne’s people gave him the night they got here, staring at up at the battered ceiling through drooping eyes. He doesn’t remember ever being this tired when he had his Light. Sleep has always been more of a refresher than a necessity; Guardians could go days, weeks, without their heads ever touching a pillow but now he finds himself drifting off almost every night, and while Trip hasn’t said anything Mav knows he’s been doing the same.
A noise from outside the door to their appropriated apartment pulls Mav out of his thoughts. He snaps up in an instant, hand cannon pulled from its holster and pointed at the intruder. His ghost comes to life beside his head, shining light onto—
“Hey, whoa, put that down!”
—Trip. It’s Trip, standing in the doorway with his palms held up, his own weapons holstered. “It’s just me,” he says, lowering his hands just a fraction. “It’s just me.
Mav takes a breath and closes his eyes, tossing the hand cannon down onto the cot next to him. Of course it’s just Trip, his patrol would’ve ended not too long ago. “Sorry,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “I just…”
“We all have to be careful, I know.” Trip sighs in the mechanical way all Exos do, and the distorted sound almost brings a smile to the edge of Mav’s lips. It’s so familiar it aches. He swings his legs over the edge of the cot and watches Trip take off his helmet and set it by the door. His optic lights glow brightly in the dark and for a moment all he does is stare out at the trees through the crumbling bit of wall.
“The patrol go alright?”
Trip hesitates, just for a second, blue light flickering in and out just long enough for his ghost to start doing the talking for him. “One of the other Guardians on patrol had a run in with a group of Fallen. She did not survive.”
Oh. Trip’s hands clench into fists and Mav’s own heart sinks. That, too, is hard to get used to. He hasn’t been afraid of death in a long, long time, and being vulnerable, mortal, again terrifies him. The memory of watching a Guardian get gunned down by a Legionary in their escape from the city haunts the both of them. Mav doubts he’ll ever forget the horrible feeling in his chest as they watched the Warlock’s Ghost shutter helplessly as seconds stretched into minutes without so much as a twitch from the corpse. He can’t imagine having to see it happen again.
He swallows the tightness in his throat, watching Trip’s face carefully. “Anyone we knew?”
“No, no. She, uh, just got here last night. Hawthorne told us to keep our distance but she was a Titan and got too close.” Trip takes a few steps toward the cot. “A Wretch got her with its spear. I didn’t notice she was overwhelmed until it was too late.”
“Shit,” Mav breathes. Trip hasn’t looked at him yet, but he’s standing close enough for Mav to reach out and take his hand, pulling him down to sit next to him on the cot. When all he does is stare down at their intertwined hands, Mav asks, “are you alright?”
“I’m fine, just a little scratched up. I’ll need to see if anyone’s got any spare polish lying around,” he answers, but he knows that’s not what Mav meant. Their eyes meet and he sighs again. “I don’t know. I’ll probably be fine eventually, but for now I just don’t know.”
Mav can relate. If—no, when they get their Light back, it’ll take a long time for him to forget everything that’s happened here. So many good lives lost, so many homes and livelihoods destroyed overnight. Recovery seems near unreachable from his view, but he has to keep believing. If he doesn’t, what else would be left to live for?
Letting go of Trip’s hand, Mav wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him close, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. The metal is warm against his lips, the mechanics of Trip’s body whirring away underneath the metal plating. “We’ll be alright,” he says. It’s a shallow promise, he knows, but it’s better than nothing. “The Cabal aren’t the first things we’ve fought and they won’t be the last. I overheard one of Hawthorne’s men earlier at camp, and apparently there’s a Guardian who thinks they can get back their light. It’s not over for us yet.”
It’s Trip who takes his hand this time, pressing Mav’s knuckles against his faceplate in a kiss of his own. “I know, Mav. I know. Just… promise me you won’t do anything crazy until we get our Light back, alright?”
“You’re telling me not to do anything crazy? If I remember correctly you were the one who thought we could take on two Hydra’s by ourselves.”
“Hey now, we got through that just fine.”
“Yeah, well what about the time you were convinced you could solo the Crucible? That sure worked out in your favor.”
“I got close and you know it! If Shaxx hadn’t called the fight early I would’ve kicked the other team’s asses.”
“Uh-huh, sure. And the time you—”
Trip’s laughing now, tinny and contagious because soon enough Mav is laughing right along with him, doubled over at the waist. It feels good to laugh again, and he finds himself wiping tears from his eyes when they finally calm down. Trip pulls their foreheads together, smiling. “Fine, if you promise to keep yourself safe I’ll do the same. I don’t want to know what it’s like to fight without you.”
Mav’s heart swells in his chest. “I don’t either. We’re in this together, alright? No matter what happens.”
“No matter what,” Trip agrees.
It takes them a while to move again, afraid to ruin the first moment of happiness they’ve had since they’ve been here, but before long the sun has started to rise over the horizon and Mav’s Ghost is reminding him that he volunteered for the first patrol. He reluctantly pulls away from Trip, reholstering his hand cannon and grabbing his helmet off the floor.
“I think someone mentioned they were going to cook up some eggs for the next patrol when I left. We should go see if there’s any left since you probably need to eat.”
Mav grimaces at the mention of food. Yet another thing he never had to think much of before losing his light. “That doesn’t sound half bad.”
Both their helmets lock into place with soft clicks, the first of the sun’s rays painting their decrepit little apartment golden. In the light things don’t look quite as bleak, and for the first time in days, Mav truly believes that things will be okay.