Chapter Text
It’s eight months into the year, and according to Barry’s calculations the Light should have fallen in the quadrant of the southern hemisphere they’re currently exploring. They’ve been skimming over the surface for the past few weeks, occasionally stopping at the settlements that dot the extensive mountain range they’re flying over to ask if anyone has heard tale of it. The Light has the tendency to make waves once it falls, and they’ve all grown quite good at distinguishing fact from fiction when it comes to talk of a mysterious spirit in the woods, or the nearby village that’s begun to build strange new tools, or an island that sings a siren song so loud seasoned fisherman have dashed themselves against the rocks to answer it. But there’s no such talk this cycle. They’ve found no trace of the Light, and Barry is starting to doubt his math.
The living room and kitchen area of the Starblaster are what someone very polite might call open-concept. The ships designers had prioritized conserving space and emphasizing utility, which lead to the Starblaster’s common areas being somewhat multi-purpose. The living room is just an extension of the kitchen, which means that as Barry pores over his notes at the dining room table, he’s sharing space with Lup and Taako, who appear to be baking something. Everyone else has retreated to their bunks for the evening, but the two of them continue to flit around, having half-sentence long conversations and occasionally singing nonsense at each other. Their presence would be comforting if it weren’t suddenly loud and overwhelming, competing for space with the thoughts that are chasing their way around Barry’s head. He doesn’t think either Lup or Taako notice him rising from the table and moving out to the deck. If they do, neither bother to glance his way.
The space around the deck is spelled to keep them insulated from the outside world. Most of the time it’s there to stop them from getting sucked into space, but right now it’s cutting them off from the snow and wind blowing across the planet, which means Barry can walk right up to the side and look down without getting swept overboard.
They’re currently floating over a mountain pass. At the bottom there is a huge, five-sided lake, which the locals call All-Giver. Davenport had been worried about landing the Starblaster on the sheer slopes of the mountainside, so he’d leveled it off a couple miles above the highest peak and gone to bed. That was a perk of the bond engine; the ship could idle for hours without the need for fuel. With his hands on the railing Barry can feel it humming now, just barely, under his fingertips, working hard to keep them all alive.
The air is cold, and would be too thin to breathe were it not for the Starblaster regulating the oxygen levels on deck. Barry exhales, watches it fog in front of him, then inhales. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Until his breath is too cold to condensate and he feels the chill burning at the bottom of his lungs.
He’s upset. That’s fine, he tells himself. It’s upsetting to be wrong, especially when the stakes are high. Especially when the game doesn’t make sense and the outcome is always the same, no matter how hard you work. The worlds they spend a year living in, learning about, they die, or are damaged irreparably. Ten worlds, now. That’s upsetting.
He will have to tell Davenport in the morning, that he must have calculated wrong, though he’s not sure how that could be. Perhaps the light is here, but somewhere they can’t see. Perhaps it is at the bottom of All-Giver, or in a cave so dark even it cannot shine bright enough to be seen.
Barry thinks about being at the bottom of a lake, or deep in a cave. He thinks how quiet it would be. How still. Like death, except real. Something he could hold onto for longer than a moment, before life was struck back into him. Again. Again. Ten worlds. Ten lives.
“Aren’t you cold?”
Someone has stepped out onto the deck with him. Barry doesn’t want to turn, lest they see the tears on his face, but he knows it’s Lup. He shakes his head.
“I made tea, do you want some?”
Another head shake. He swipes the back of his hand across his face, trying to be nonchalant.
“Liar.” Her voice is close now, just to his left. A plink, and she’s set the mug down on the railing. It’s precarious, even with the Starblaster’s soft, unhurried trek through the sky. “Better take it before it falls.”
It’s his favorite mug, so he does. He wonders if she knew it was his favorite, or just thought he’d be easily bullied. He pulls a sip into his mouth: Chamomile, with just the right amount of milk and honey.
“Thank you,” he says. His breath billows into clouds, drifting upwards.
“Sure thing.”
To his surprise she doesn’t go back inside after that. Just stands there in his periphery, loudly slurping her own tea. When he risks a glance at her she’s looking up at the stars, which seem painfully bright at this altitude. The door slides open behind them, and she glances over her shoulder, to where Barry can’t see.
“The bread needs to prove, so I’m going to bed. Night, pipsqueak.” It’s Taako’s voice, which Barry had expected.
“Nighty.”
The sound of the door closing again. Lup turns back to Barry.
“Pumpernickel,” she says by way of explanation. “One of the villagers in the last place we stopped at gave us a local recipe. Should be ready by breakfast.”
Barry nods, a bit awkwardly. “Sounds good.” He’s not quite sure why she hadn’t gone back inside with Taako. Time has eased the mystery of Lup somewhat, but she still has the tendency to catch him off guard like this, when she is so direct he has no idea what she wants from him. Once, in their first couple cycles, Barry had awkwardly asked how she was always so sure in her actions. He’d idolized her a little bit then, how she was so confident. Always on.
Lup had given him a strange look and said, “If you aren’t certain of who you are, or what you want, someone will use that uncertainty to take it from you.” Later, he’d learned that she and Taako had grown up without anyone to take care of them. He thought he understood her a little better after that.
“Is, uh, there a story behind the nickname?” He asks, mostly to have something to say. He rolls the mug back and forth between his palms.
“Huh?”
“Pipsqueak. I’ve heard Taako call you that a couple times.”
“Oh,” Lup laughs, loud and open. “It’s just a thing from when we were kids. We had this aunt we lived with for a little while, and she called us Pitter and Patter. It sort of took off from there.”
Barry frowns, thinking. “So pipsqueak makes you… pitter, or patter?”
“Pitter, obvi. I thought you were smart, Barry.”
It surprises a laugh out of him, and he finally turns to fully look at her. It’s a bit of a shock to find her looking right back at him, smiling in a small, satisfied way. It makes his heart throb, to realize she sees him. Sees right through him.
“You know you can like, talk to us when you’re upset about stuff, right?” She says. “I get needing to be alone, but you don’t have to be if you don’t want to be.”
He has to look away. “Yeah, I... I know.”
“Cool.” She says it with an ease Barry envies. Then, after a beat, goes on. “You know, I think Taako likes you.”
Barry blinks. Glances nervously at her. “Yeah?”
“After I started making tea, he said, do you think Barry wants some? It was sweet.” She drains her mug. “I like you a lot, too.”
His throat feels a little tight suddenly, and he swallows hard against the feeling. She’s always earnest when he least expects it; deft in all the ways he’s clumsy, and she makes it look so easy. “Thanks, I uh. I like you guys, too.”
She snorts. “Okay, dork. Let’s go inside, it’s cold as balls out here.”
He nods, letting himself follow her away from the edge. They’ve almost made it to the door when she freezes suddenly and grabs his free hand to get his attention.
“Shit, there was a falling star! Quick, wish for something cool.”
Barry’s too surprised to do anything but watch her as she jams her eyes closed and frowns in concentration. Her face, tilted upwards, is washed in moonlight, and he spends a long moment just looking. The notion of Lup as beautiful isn’t new to him. She’s lovely in a way that’s almost overwhelming, and he’s thought it a hundred times, a thousand times, over the last ten years: when he’s caught her smiling, or sweaty and snarling from a fight, or humming as she cooks. But even the most beautiful face will become commonplace after long enough, and it’s in this moment, looking at her, that Barry realizes the way he’s thought of her as beautiful has stopped having anything to do with her physical appearance.
The star he’s supposed to have wished on is long gone, but he focuses on the mingled heat of their hands together, as hot as a sun, and thinks, for the first time, I wish...