Work Text:
“I worry,” Saint says around a mouthful of cookie, “about your new friend.”
Standing beside their coffee table, Osiris frowns. “I just explained how the Hive god of war is using corrupted monsters to establish her dominance across the system, and that’s what you’re concerned about?” He gestures to his intricate cryptolith model constructed from old cookie boxes. “Do you need me to run through it again?”
Saint shakes his head. Purple crumbs tumble down his chest as he does so. “No, I understand. Large spikes make monsters. We kill them. I am not worried about them.”
“Yet you are worried about one of Spider’s employees?”
Saint’s eyes narrow. “You are not? He is a Guardian! He should not be trapped in service to some…”
He mutters something angry and Russian. Osiris doesn’t need to ask for a translation.
“Spider’s deals are not my concern,” Osiris points out. “Stopping Xivu Arath is.”
“And he is helping with that, no? This ‘Crow’?”
“As much as he can,” Osiris admits. “He’s a quick study but he needs a lot of training — his dowsing rituals are still too imprecise.”
He learned early on in their relationship that exos can’t roll their eyes. Nonetheless, he recognises Saint’s approximation of it.
“Oh, the dowsing rituals,” Saint says, voice dripping with fond sarcasm. “So important.”
“They are!” Osiris gestures to his model. “We need to map out the-”
In one swift move, Saint rises to his feet, grips Osiris’ hips, and pulls him in for a kiss before he can get the words out. Osiris lets out an affronted little huff against his mouth but yields far quicker than he should under the steady press of Saint’s lips. He can taste the lingering nutmeg of the cookie as his tongue dips inside, and when they break apart, Osiris’ stomach rumbles in protest.
“You need a break,” Saint says, cupping his cheek in one large hand. “Your work is important, I know, but you must not work forever.” His nose brushes Osiris’ when he leans in. “Besides, I cannot eat all these cookies myself.”
Osiris laughs at that but goes easily when Saint folds him into a hug. “Your altruism astounds me.”
The burble of his thoughts doesn’t disappear, calculations and possibilities still running through his mind, but they do quieten when Saint’s chin comes to rest against his head. His arms are warm, even through Osiris’ heavy robes, and his voice comes out in a soothing rumble when he says, “This is why I am worried. You work too hard and so I stop you, make you get some rest-”
“Forcefeed me cookies?”
“Also that,” Saint says, unrepentant. “But from what you say, your friend also works too hard. And he does not have a Saint-14 — I don’t think anyone will stop him.”
Osiris sighs. “He’s an adult. He knows his responsibilities.”
An unwelcome spark of guilt flares in his chest and he looks up at Saint with a half-hearted glare as they break apart.
“The Spider wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise his investment,” he says firmly. That does nothing to snuff out the spark and he tries again. “Besides, I’ve seen the Guardian bring him cookies.”
“Oh, that is okay then.” The sarcasm is back and Osiris tries very hard to keep a stern face when Saint peppers kisses down his temple and cheek. “I mean, if he has cookies…”
Osiris rolls his eyes but returns the kiss. “All right, you’ve made your point. Although I don’t know why you care so much.”
Saint shrugs, bashful. “I don’t like seeing Guardians suffer.”
Osiris snorts. “He is not suffering. He is working. And I told you, he isn’t a Guardian. He’s managed to avoid the long arm of the Vanguard so far and I’ve advised him to keep it that way.”
He doesn’t bother to keep the envy out of his voice — his research would be so much easier without Zavala nipping at his heels.
Saint just sighs as he kisses him on the forehead. “You are incorrigible. Be nice to the new little bird. For the Dawning.” He dips to meet Osiris’ gaze. “For me.”
For someone who solves most of his problems with headbutts, Saint is uncomfortably persuasive when he chooses to be.
“Fine,” Osiris says, relenting. “I yield. I will…” He fumbles for an action. “…make conversation with Crow.”
Saint tilts his head. “How is that nice?”
Osiris swats him on the arm. “All right, since you’re so fond of stray birds, what do you suggest?” He pulls back, looking up at Saint with a smirk as he teases, “Do I need to bring him cookies too?”
———
“I, uh, brought cookies.”
Elbow deep in the corpse of a Hive knight, Crow goes very still and stares at Osiris with suspicion as he sets the blue box atop a nearby electrical station.
Osiris imagines that him being corrupted by Xivu Arath and appearing to Crow as a Wrathborn would have met with a similar reaction, and so he adds by way of explanation, “A friend had an excess supply.”
“And you thought of us!” Glint says with genuine delight. He zooms over to inspect the box of cookies and turns back to Crow to report, “They’re purple!”
“He likes purple,” Crow says, for Osiris’ benefit, but he doesn’t move away from the knight. “He used to have a shell that color.”
“This shell is just as good,” Glint says firmly.
Crow apparently doesn’t feel the need to mention the explosives packed inside it and so Osiris opts not to bring it up.
“You didn’t need to do this,” Crow says, extracting a glowing green sliver from the corpse. He gets a beep and a sharp look from Glint in return and says quickly, “But thank you.”
With a nod of acknowledgement, Osiris figures his work is done and returns to setting up his divining instruments. Glint flits back across the clearing as Crow begins to wipe the dark ichor from his armor and even with Glint’s voice lowering, Osiris can’t help but overhear snatches of their conversation.
“See? Wasn’t I telling you that you should eat more? Even he noticed it!”
Crow shakes a glob of hive gunk to the ground. “I don’t think Osiris is concerned about my diet, Glint. He just had some spare food, that’s all.”
Glint’s skeptical hum travels across the clearing. “Well, I’m concerned about your diet. At least the cookies can make up for some of those meals you keep missing.”
“I eat!” Crow protests. “I’ve just been busy lately.”
“Maybe I should send Baron Spider your nutritional readout? He wants you to be at maximum efficiency while you’re hunting Wrathborn — maybe he doesn’t understand how important food is to Awoken biology.”
“He understands,” Crow says, and it’s only due to the movement of the cloth he’s holding that Osiris notices the tremor in his hand. “Don’t send him anything. The number of hunts is already increasing — I don’t want him to have any excuse to-”
He trails off, gesturing vaguely at Glint, and Glint bumps against his shoulder in reassurance.
“I won’t,” he promises. He hovers, eye shining. “But I’m still going to make you eat all those cookies at some point.”
That gets a smile from Crow and he shakes one of Glint’s points with mock formality. “Deal.”
With most of the mess sufficiently clean, the two of them head over to the cookies. Osiris catches one last cheerful comment from Glint — “Look on the bright side: at least you’re not stuck with his leftovers anymore!” — before they move out of earshot to examine the battered box with reverent curiosity.
Osiris is reminded of Saint bringing his pigeons a new type of pastry for the first time — Crow and Glint peer and poke at the box, discussing quietly amongst themselves, before finally delving in to retrieve a cookie and take a bite.
From Crow’s body language alone, they meet with his approval, and Osiris calls across the clearing as he approaches, “They’re called Lavender Ribbons.”
“After the legendary titan, Saint-14,” Glint informs Crow. He pauses, scanning his records. “Oh. This says he died.”
“Not quite yet, although possibly soon if he continues to eat this much,” Osiris says, nodding to the box with a smirk. “You’re saving him from himself.”
Glint’s eye goes wide. “These are from him? You know Saint-14?”
“In a fashion.”
Even Crow looks impressed (from what he can see behind his hood), and he takes another bite out of the cookie as he asks, “Are there many famous Guardians at the Tower? Other that you, that is.”
Osiris preens a little at the recognition. “There are many new Lights there who may yet eclipse us all,” he allows. “But yes, most well-known Guardians find their way to the Tower sooner or later.”
Crow looks unbearably young when he nods with quiet awe. There’s hope there, bright and familiar, but just as familiar is the way it’s extinguished when he swallows, slipping back beneath the cover of his hood. “It sounds nice.”
“At times,” Osiris says. “It can also be insufferable. So many eyes keeping watch on you at all times.”
Crow’s lips curve in a dry smile. “Can’t imagine what that’s like.”
The sarcasm isn’t lost on him but Osiris bats it away with ease. “You’ll get your chance eventually. Once you’ve had a chance to compare, I’d be intrigued to learn whether Zavala is truly more vexatious than the Spider.”
“If I ever get the opportunity, I’ll be sure to let you know.” Crow’s hand lingers on the blue box for a second, tucking it more safely against the back of the junction box as he says, quiet, “Please tell your friend thank you. For his excess supply.”
He straightens up, striding back over to the knight corpse, and continues before Osiris can respond, “If the equipment allows it, I was thinking we could map the wavelengths of the crystals?”
The change of subject is awkward but welcome, and with one final glance at the now-secured box of cookies, Osiris follows him to the corpse to explain why that idea won’t work.
———
When he goes to retrieve Crow for further training the next day, Osiris doesn’t miss the crushed box in the corner or the crumbs from broken cookies scattered in the grime of Spider’s throne room.
He decides not to tell Saint.
———
It’s over a week before there’s any further cause for concern.
While he doesn’t admit it to Saint, Osiris does keep a closer eye on Crow during their trainings after the conversation he overheard. Lifetimes of self-sufficiency haven’t exactly aided his ability to assess the wellbeing of others, however, and while he could perhaps say that Crow looks slightly thinner, it’s hard to notice anything amiss.
At least until Crow misses his cloaking grenade and a corrupted servitor throws him halfway across the Shore.
It takes out some of Osiris’ best scrying equipment too in its thrashes but it soon slinks back to its master in the Ascendant Plane, leaving Osiris free to retrieve his current charge.
From the way Glint is fussing when Osiris brings his sparrow to a stop, the fall wasn’t enough to warrant a resurrection, and he watches as Crow clambers unsteadily down from the wreckage he landed on. “What happened?”
“Miscalculation,” Crow says through gritted teeth.
“On a smoke grenade?” Osiris raises his eyebrows. “I’ve seen you hit headshots in high winds yet you can’t throw a grenade at your own feet?”
The one eye that’s visible beneath Crow’s hood narrows but he ducks his head in contrition rather than offering any kind of defence. “I apologise. It won’t happen again.”
Some of Osiris’ irritation defuses at the submission
From the way he’s holding his side, the landing was a rough one and Osiris casts an appraising eye over him as Crow begins the walk back to their testing site. He’s still mobile enough, whatever his injuries, and Osiris decides that will have to suffice.
Besides, at least Crow still has a ghost to patch him up as needed.
“I can reconfigure the lure to bait in another Wrathborn,” Crow says as they walk. “Perhaps a different mutation could-”
“Repair my equipment?”
Crow glances over, nervous. “Something broke?”
“The tripod of the dowsing rod,” Osiris says curtly. “One of the hazards of an uncontrolled servitor.”
Crow’s shoulders tighten. “I’m sorry. I- I can fix it.”
“It will take time,” Osiris warns. “Time we don’t have with Xivu Arath’s forces growing at this speed.”
“I know,” Crow says. “Leave it with me. I’ll work on it tonight.”
Glint pipes up at Crow’s shoulder, “You shouldn’t-”
“I’ll work on it,” Crow promises, but the determination in his voice seems to be directed more at Glint than at Osiris. “Spider has supplies at the safehouse. I should be able to-”
His voice stumbles before his body does. Osiris barely hears Glint’s yelp before Crow pitches sideways but he shifts just in time to avoid being knocked off his feet as the dead weight of Crow’s body slumps against him. The catch is more due to his fortunate position rather than any real action on his part but Osiris manages to take most of the impact as he lowers them both to the ground.
The request for Sagira to run diagnostics sits on his tongue but he swallows it down as Glint scans over Crow’s body, shell twitching with concern.
Crow’s only out for a moment, coming back to consciousness with a groan, and Osiris looks between him and Glint when he asks, bemused, “What was that? Is he injured?”
He gets enough of an answer when he sees the blood on Crow’s face. While it was covered by the shadow of his hood while he was upright, the gash along his hairline is clearly visible from his current angle even as Crow says, “I’m fine.”
“You are not,” Glint says, concern tipping over into impertinence. He looks up at Osiris. “He hit his head when he fell.”
“I can see that,” Osiris retorts. “It would have been useful to mention this before he collapsed.”
“It’s nothing,” Crow says, although his confidence is undercut by the way he sways as he climbs back to his feet. “I’ll deal with it after we’ve finished the scrying ritual.”
“You’ll deal with it now,” Osiris orders. “Sit down before you pass out again.”
With a firm nudge from Glint to his chest, Crow drops to a seat on a rock. Osiris moves in, pushing Crow’s hood down to get a better look at the wound.
Crow recoils in surprise, moving to pull his hood back up as he says, “I can’t-”
Osiris bats his hand away. “I can’t inspect the wound with that in the way. Besides, there’s no-one else out here; it won’t kill you to have your face exposed for thirty seconds.”
“It has before,” Glint chimes in.
Osiris ignores him as he tilts Crow’s head up to look at his injury. It’s bleeding heavily — not unexpected for head wounds — but his pupils are even and he doesn’t seem to be on the verge of passing out again.
Still, Osiris hesitates as he looks him over. The dark circles of exhaustion under his eyes are familiar, even on Awoken skin, but the mottled bruises along his jaw are unexpected. They’re too old to be from the servitor and Osiris casts his mind back, trying and failing to remember an instance where Crow was struck that hard during a hunt.
It’s curiosity that drives him to touch them — scientific intrigue at how the Awoken bruise and what colors their skin turns — but he regrets it when Crow flinches back, turning his face away.
“You need rest,” Glint says, coming to float by Crow’s face.
His words may be gentle but Osiris recognises the ghost’s position as a protective one, putting himself between his lightbearer and a potential threat, and the wound of Sagira’s absence aches again.
He steps back, watching Crow instantly tug his hood back into place, and says, “Your ghost may be right. That’s a nasty wound. Perhaps some rest would improve your aim with grenades.”
Crow hunches in on himself in shame but Glint puffs his shell up as he says, “It isn’t Crow’s fault.”
“Glint-”
“It isn’t!” Glint insists, turning back to Crow this time. “If Baron Spider would just let you sleep-”
Osiris arches an eyebrow, skeptical. “Spider won’t permit sleep?”
“Of course he will,” Crow says, scowling at Glint. “I’m kept busy lately but we all are. These are dangerous times, after all — the Baron just requires my services more often.”
“Is this why you were sloppy with the servitor?” Osiris pushes. “Exhaustion?”
“No,” Crow says sharply. “I’m fine. I just- I messed up, that’s all. I won’t let it happen again.”
It isn’t convincing, especially not with Glint still hovering like he wants to say more, but the details of the arrangement between Spider and his employee are beyond Osiris’ remit.
“See that it doesn’t.”
It comes out blunter than intended and Crow bows his head in apology. “Yes, Baron.”
Osiris blinks in surprise but Crow tenses when he realises his mistake.
“Osiris,” he stammers. “I didn’t- I’m sorry.”
It was a reflex, Osiris tells himself, nothing more. However, as they walk back to the testing site in uncomfortable silence, the reassurance isn’t enough to rid him of the feeling of unease.
———
Osiris stays clear of the Shore for the next couple of weeks.
He gets data from Crow and the Guardian on hunts, of course, along with the occasional disgruntled message from Spider demanding updates on his progress, but he keeps his research focused on the Dreaming City.
He tells Saint (and Glint, when he sends hopeful messages asking about Crow’s next training session) that the shift in focus is due to the activity of the cryptoliths. While that’s true to an extent, he’s also aware of Spider’s reluctance to let Crow travel to Awoken territory for anything other than urgent business.
Still, the other cryptoliths cannot be ignored for long and when enough of his clues lead back to Spider’s domain, Osiris reaches out to Crow to arrange for his assistance with a ritual.
He gets an instant, relieved acceptance from Glint, and so is somewhat surprised when Crow appears via transmat nearly two hours later than their agreed time.
“Nice of you to finally show up,” Osiris calls, crouching to adjust the dial on an instrument. “I take it you had more pressing matters than slowing the Hive’s imminent destruction of the Reef?”
“I’m sorry,” Crow says. “Urgent business for Spider. I got here as fast as I could.”
He’s out of breath, and when Osiris stands and looks over at him, he begins to understand why.
Crow is filthy. Black ichor from the Hive and the purple-blue blood of the Fallen are splattered across him from boot to hood, and when he takes a step closer, Osiris can smell the stench of the thrall gunk soaked into his cloak. There are scrapes from claws and knives across his leathers, his pants more black than red now, and Osiris retreats with a grimace when Crow swipes the back of his hand across his sweat-slick forehead, leaving a fresh trail of dirt on his skin.
“Did you come here straight from a mass grave?”
Crow looks down at himself and doesn’t advance any further. “Oh. I didn’t have a chance to clean up, and I was already late so I thought…”
“That I’d forgotten what Hive guts smell like?”
It’s almost teasing — if Saint had been here, he’d have waved his grubby hands in Osiris’ face in response, but Crow just ducks his head, dejected.
“I can go,” he says quietly. “You shouldn’t have to…”
He gestures down at himself. Glint appears at his side to prepare for transmat, clean but similarly downcast, and Osiris holds a hand out. “Wait.”
Crow hesitates, visibly confused, and Osiris says, “I scouted the facilities here before you arrived. This place is an old Cabal base — there was nothing useful for our work but there are a couple of working showers.”
Crow blinks. “But the ritual-”
“Takes some time,” Osiris says. “I already found some promising readings while I was waiting for your arrival; once you’re cleaned up, we can see if your interpretation skills have improved.”
He clears his throat, uncomfortable under the look of wide-eyed gratitude on Crow’s face, and he continues before Crow can respond, “Now go, before the presence of that much viscera starts distorting the data.”
With a small smile, Crow nods, taking off into the buildings at a run, and Osiris catches Glint’s stunned comment as he follows, “That was nice of him!”
Confident that Saint would be satisfied with his compassion, Osiris leaves them to it as he goes to the ramp of his ship to prepare a fresh pot of tea.
The current outcropping is relatively remote as far as the Shore goes, leaving Osiris free to concentrate on Wrathborn signatures without having to pick off Fallen with his rifle every thirty seconds. The work is engrossing enough that he only realises Crow hasn’t re-emerged once the tea he poured for him has gone cold.
It’s easy enough to follow the trail of dirt and blood inside the facility. The rooms have been picked clean by looters since the place was abandoned by the Cabal but their purpose is still clear enough from their architecture — communications, break room, dormitory — and Osiris continues to wind his way through the hallways in search of the showers.
Any concerns that Crow might have been ambushed by stragglers are soon quashed when Glint comes zooming out of one of the rooms with the rushed greeting, “Mr. Osiris!”
Osiris narrows his eyes. “Where’s Crow?”
He tries to continue forward but Glint hovers in his face. “Oh, he’s fine. He’s just getting cleaned up like you asked.”
“I don’t hear any showers running,” Osiris points out. “Did he leave?”
“No!” Glint says, sounding taken aback at the question. “Of course not.”
“I’d understand if he has more ‘urgent business’ for Spider,” he says. It would be irritating, yes, but he would understand. “I appreciate he has other responsibilities.”
“He does,” Glint admits, “too many of them, but no. These trainings are one of the only things he enjoys — he’d never leave without telling you, especially not when you’ve been away for so long.”
It’s said with complete sincerity but Osiris feels the sting of guilt anyway at the implication. He knows Crow values his tutelage, especially given his lack of other resources, but hearing it out loud makes him all the more aware of his own cowardice over the past few weeks.
“Then where is he?”
Glint’s plates twitch nervously and when he doesn’t answer, Osiris pushes past him to head towards the showers.
“It isn’t his fault,” Glint babbles, speeding along behind him. “Spider’s been working him so hard — every time he finishes one job, he’s sent right to the next, no time to clean up or eat or-”
He trails off as they round the corner to the showers, and Osiris’ heart sinks as the sight finishes Glint’s sentence for him.
Crow is fast asleep, perched on a broken bench in the corner of the room and slumped against the wall for support. Most of his clothes are in a heap at the side of the room but between the one boot that’s on the floor and the one that’s still on Crow’s foot, Osiris can pinpoint the exact second he passed out.
Glint floats sadly between them and keeps his voice to a whisper as he says, “I’m sorry for not telling you. I didn’t want to wake him.”
Osiris can only manage a nod in return as he moves closer to look Crow over.
His previous opinion that Crow looked thinner now feels like an understatement — even from here, Osiris can see the curve of his ribs and the jut of his collarbone. The injuries from a few weeks ago are healed, either by time or resurrection, but new ones have sprung up in their place, from electrical burns down his forearm to deep scratches across his stomach.
It’s the bruises that hold his attention though, the grip of three-fingered hands stamped across Crow’s arms and hips, and ugly anger twists inside him when he sees the same marks layered across Crow’s throat.
“His injuries,” Osiris says quietly, “are these all from hunts?”
Glint nods. “He’s been unlucky.”
It’s a lie and an understatement at the same time but Osiris doesn’t challenge it.
“It’ll be over soon,” he says. “We’re getting close to the High Celebrant.”
“I know,” Glint says and the determination in his voice makes a new kind of awful sense. “We’re going to find it and end this.” He moves to Crow’s shoulder and looks up at Osiris for instruction. “Should I wake him? He’ll want to help however he can.”
“No,” Osiris says. “Let him sleep. I can talk him through the pulse analysis later.”
Glint’s eye flickers in pleased surprise. “If you’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” He takes a pace backwards to the door. “Tell him I’ll have some food waiting on my ship when he wakes.”
Glint nods again, light shining as he tucks himself carefully in the crook of Crow’s arm, and with one last glance back at the two of them, Osiris heads back out into the daylight.
Not that he’s looking forward to admitting it, but he realises Saint was right to worry.
He feels Sagira’s absence keenly as he checks his instruments and then returns to his ship to assess his supplies. While it wouldn’t necessarily be welcome advice, her input was always a valuable counterweight to his own instincts and not for the first time, he feels adrift without it.
There’s always Saint, of course, but he resists the urge to open the comm line. He already knows what Saint would do here but as appealing as the idea of Spider’s death may be, there are too many other factors in play to risk that kind of instability.
And so, to his own disappointment, he resolves to wait. He can grant Crow some rest and a meal but beyond that, the High Celebrant is his focus and will continue to be so.
When it’s dead, when Xivu Arath’s machinations are halted, when Sagira is avenged, only then can he turn his attention to this new problem that sorely needs a solution.