Chapter Text
For just a moment, the fusion core spluttered to life, illuminating the cave walls in a soft blue glow. It flickered. Pulsed brighter, brighter, brighter. Fizzled.
He threw the spanner and heard it land with a clatter somewhere in the darkness at the edge of the chamber. Breathing deeply was a difficult trick for him, but he tried it. Anything to calm down before he threw the core right along after it. He set it down amongst the clutter of scavenged technology and tools, and looked over in the direction he’d just thrown the spanner, but made no move to retrieve it. Without a new plan, the chances of success were nominal.
“Maybe that’s enough for tonight. You should… rest.” His Ghost’s voice was gentle, he felt her nudging him towards sleep through their bond. He shook his head. Rest accomplished nothing; his dreams were too fraught to sleep.
Without a word, he got up and walked deeper into the shadows at the back of the cave. All the medical equipment he’d ever managed to recover and repair filled the cavern. And all of it useless, save for some monitors and a cryo-cell.
He stood beside the cell and stared down at it. Beneath the frosted glass he could make out a slim figure. The temptation to open it and truly see swelled in him, but it was a risk he couldn’t take. He wasn’t ready for the thaw.
“It’s getting hard to remember,” he said, his voice raspy and weak.
He removed his gauntlets and placed his hand on top of the cell. Deep within he could still sense the light and dark at war with each other, but nothing else. Only the monitors told him there was a life caught up in the struggle. He wondered if Arriel was dreaming--if there enough left of him to dream. He wondered if through all these years, he’d spoken his words to an empty shell; if he kept failing to wake him because there was nothing left to wake; if he had left him trapped for centuries in this nebulous place between life and death, light and dark.
If all he knew now were endless nightmares.
If it would have been better to let him die.
The only mercy he could imagine was if he felt nothing, knew nothing, floated free from the horrors they’d both wrought. That the Light had embraced him seemed too much to hope.
Slowly, he sank down with his back to the cryo-cell. He brought his bare hand up in front of his helmet, turned it over slowly as he examined the scarring. What debts were still left to pay? His own scores were hardly settled, and shouldering Arriel’s as well more than doubled the weight he had to carry. So many times that he’d lost count, he’d told himself it was necessary. Worth it, even.
He no longer told himself anything--he just moved, hoping he’d found a way forward.
Time had begun to lose meaning. He didn’t know how much of it passed as he sat there, watching the shadows dance. Or how much more of it he lost roaming through his own thoughts, trying desperately to remember the sound of a laugh, the curve of a smile, the electricity of fingers on his skin. It took him down to the floor in increments, until he was laying on his back, helmet finally discarded, trying to see into each crevice of the ceiling with his own eyes.
In the shadows he saw a figure he could not name. He knew that it spoke, but he did not understand. It left him unsettled, an omen of the next hardship, a threat for which he was ill prepared. But all of his long life, he had never been ready, never really understood if this was a gift or a madness, and regardless he still stood, still fought, still saw another dawn.
“The garden on Venus. You found roses in the ruins.” That sounded true, but he didn’t know if it was. He rolled onto his side and placed his hand against the base of the cryo-cell, ignoring how cold and smooth it was against his palm. It was solid; that was all that mattered.
“I remember…” Fleeting images. He fought to make them something coherent.
“I remember.” It started to taste like a lie.
His hand pressed more firmly against the cell. He closed his eyes. The roses. Deep blue hair sliding between his fingers and his hand still unscarred. Fires. Glowing silver eyes. Gunshots. Breath against his neck. Bodies, so many dead. A voice that whispered his name but somehow he did not know the sound of it.
“Give me something,” he rasped, not knowing if the words were for the silent presence before or above him. “Please. Give me something.”
Let me help. His Ghost’s offer was gentle. He knew what she could do for him; the projections were hollow and cold. Her view, her memories. He needed something more than that. But to even just see him again…
“Not yet,” he said. Or tried to--his damaged voice had given out. She understood, sent him her comfort through their bond. Without her, he didn’t know where he’d be.
He dove again, into the deepest parts of his memories, probing against the locks.
A misty rain against his cheeks. Wet grass under his feet, dirt starting to slide between his toes. Without his armor on he felt weightless and strange. The scent of smoke came from somewhere in the distance but he did not turn to find it. Soft footsteps behind him; he knew them and didn’t need to look. Here he was safe--they were safe.
Arriel’s chin dug into his shoulder and the weight was a comfort. He felt his chest against his back, his hand on his stomach. “You’re up early. Did you sleep?”
Did you sleep? Did you sleep? Did you sleep?
You’re up early.
Did you--
Every time he replayed it in his mind, he thought he got closer to really hearing his voice. But when he focused, tried to really catch it, it slipped from him and became a vague recollection of words that might never have been spoken. He chased it through soft mornings and battlefields, promises and arguments, until he got lost somewhere in tangle of his thoughts and exhaustion finally caught up to him.
He dreamt of a ring of stones and yellow sands. Night and day cycled rapidly. When he tried to move, each step he took spanned months. The wind on his face scorched him, but the air in his lungs was freezing. There was something in the center of the ring he both needed and feared to reach.
The ground gave out. He fell into the earth until he was a ghost at its core. There he saw a shadowy figure, eyes glowing silver, hidden in the dark but light shimmering over his skin.
“I remember,” the man said, his voice full of accusation.
He woke gasping, his struggle for breath was the only sound in the room aside from the gentle beeping. His hand was still resting on the base of the cryo-cell.
I remember.