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She was the first to wake, of her old squad, but she would not leave them behind.
Forseti comes next, gasping for breath, wheezing against her shoulder as she helps him out of his transference pod. Ordis had hemmed and hawed, nervous about waking other operators, especially without notifying the Lotus first, but in the end he'd relented to her requests – demands – that he help her find them. As she sets Forseti down into a kneel so he can center himself, she's grateful he was able to pull it off.
At least this time there is no Stalker, no Orokin machines, nothing trying to kill them on the way back to extraction.
On his orbiter his helmet peels back from his face as he slumps in a seat, rubbing tiredly at his jaw. Behind her she feels the presence of her Mesa, of his Loki, but her attention is on him. His cephalon hovers to the side, glowing faintly yellow-gold, pulsing with light.
It's familiar, she realizes, the quirk of his smile, the hazel of his eyes – though they glowed now, swirling with energy. She hadn't seen his face for centuries, but looking at him set something into place inside her. Safe, said her instincts. Ally. Friend.
He tries to speak, coughs, then laughs roughly. He leans back in his seat, eyes still twinkling with an alien inner light.
“Hey, Percy.”
They clasp wrists, and Nowhere feels the tension in her spine ease.
Cerberus was an ill-fitting designation for him. Maybe that was why she remembered his name so quickly, sooner even than her own. Saint was a small man, only a few inches taller than herself, and he seemed to be completely unconscious upon removing him from his pod. Forseti had no trouble hefting him up, even outside of his frame, though Nowhere had to haul the inactive Limbo back in hers.
It took half an hour for him to wake up, but they waited. Nothing else was as important to them, and they sat in his quarters as they left him sprawled across his couch. The cephalon of the ship popped in every now and then in flickers of red light, but did not make himself a constant presence. The lights from his vignette played off the surface of his suit, granting the illusion of movement, so it took them a moment or two longer than necessary to notice when he did finally stir.
Forseti and Nowhere lean closer when the helmet slides off, revealing a young man with dark skin and eyes blazing gold. He peered up at them, blinking slowly, then offered them both a weary grin. Along his neck lines of light glowed, the color of his eyes, like magma under stone.
“Had the most amazing dream, guys.”
They pull him into their arms, and if his laughter turned to tears they did not say a word about it.
The last of them is Hades, but not by much.
He is tall, taller than even Forseti, and shakes like a leaf in a storm when he slides out of his transference seat. They catch him, pull his arms over their shoulders, drag him out and away from the Reservoir.
They take him home, to where the violet cephalon of his ship waits, to where their lives wait.
He is awake, long legs sprawled out carelessly, storm gray eyes meeting each of theirs in turn as the helmet comes off, dark red hair disheveled. His hand comes up, all bony plating and claws, rubs the side of his neck where his void mutation aches, then exhales slowly.
“You with us, boss?” Asks Forseti, a hand on the other man's shoulder. Hades' eyes slide over to him, smiles faintly.
“Yeah.” He says. “I'm with you guys.”
Neither Hades nor Nowhere are good at being tactile, but Forseti and Saint more than make up for it, gathering everyone together and settling in. Just for now, just this once.
They made it, all of them. Across time and space and a fever dream, they'd made it.