Archive of Our Own

Octavio sighed, his feet up on a table. His nails tapped against the leather of the seat and he sighed, again, forgetting he did so .02 seconds ago. Why did he have to be the first one to get ready? Now he had to wait, and worse than that; he had to wait in pants. Five minutes passed, and that was about all he could take of pants. He lifted his legs up higher and began rolling said pants up the best he could. Granted, they didn’t cover his legs fully. But any clothes that went past the point where he could pop his leg off easy-peasy sucked. So he rolled the pants up as much as he could, which didn’t fix the problem. But it did make him feel better. Octavio hated pants past his knees, but, as he had to just keep reminding himself, This night isn’t for you.

Ajay was doing this for Pathfinder. Gibby was doing this for Pathfinder. Pathfinder was doing all of this for some M.R.V.N that he was sure he was related to. Octavio was doing this for Ajay. A full circle. 

He was well-aware that Ajay was being beyond selfless. She had set the whole thing up, and given everyone a plan, but he knew how this made her feel. How she was probably going to steel up in anger and stress, all for a M.R.V.N to make Pathfinder happy. And what was he going to do, let her have to face those jackass demons alone? They’d been here before. They didn’t let each other go to things like this alone, ever since they were kids, they’d sneak out if they had to.

“You can’t jump into a tank full of tiburones y serpientes without someone to pull you out.”

 Sharks and snakes. Man, sometimes he could describe things way too accurately. He scoffed. And she thinks I’m bad at telling stories…

“All right.”

Octavio’s head snapped up when he heard Makoa’s door slide open. Downed in white, just a dress shirt and clean pants, hair the same. Not too fancy—it fit him. He looked good! Octavio’s legs swung off the table and his hands tapped against the table. “Maldición , Gibs! You clean up good!” He chided, leaning his head closer to Makoa. He waggled his eyebrows above his goggles. “Lookin’ to pick up some arm candy, eeehhh ?”

“Watch your mouth,” Makoa said, but it was drowned in a smile. He slid in next to him at the table. “I’m tryin’ to fly under the radar. We all should be, unlike you, apparently.” He eyed his suit and chuckled.

“You know what they say, go big or go home, and we’re doing both.”

That got a full laugh out of Makoa, and a grin beneath Octavio’s mask. Maybe tonight won’t be so bad. Nothing ends up terrible when Makoa’s around. He knew full well Che and himself could take this—hell, Ajay could take this alone, as hellish it would be, but the extra comfort was welcome. He knew she appreciated it, even if she wouldn’t say it to his face. Knowing her, she might, but if she didn’t he knew she’d show it in different ways. She always did. He could feel the fabric on his lower face smile with him. He knew her.

“So, when are we set to fly?” Makoa sat back in his chair a little more, relaxing with his legs crossed and his arms across the top of his seat.
“Once everyone’s ready!” Octavio said loud enough (hopefully) for the other two to hear. Makoa rolled his eyes a bit, though the action lacked hostility. He muttered something along the lines of, “Always impatient,” but sat with the other in waiting nonetheless.

They sat quietly, waiting for a bit. Octavio’s feet ended up on the table again, despite Makoa’s half-assed efforts to keep them off. But, of course, the younger couldn’t stay quiet for very long, and was soon rattling off about stuff that had happened in recent matches (mostly ones he had won), and Makoa was happy to listen. His seating changed to have his arms resting on the table, leaning in to show he was invested. Octavio appreciated that. It was cool knowing someone was listening to you, and cared about what you had to say. He was talking fast, and at some points Makoa would laugh and tell him to slow down, brudda, and repeat himself, but he never got upset.

Octavio internally agreed that he should talk to him more. He liked him.

Eventually, he ran out of things to talk about, and Makoa went back into silence from asking questions during Octavio’s verbal ambush. He stared at the table. Through tinted green Octavio squinted at him. Something was on his mind. He wasn’t going to push, not yet, because he’s played too many matches with him to tell when he’s physically getting ready to do something, even say something. So with a leg bouncing he—though impatiently—waited.

“You sure… Ajay’s gonna be okay with this?”

The question hung in the air for a bit. Octavio hummed. He leaned his head back, but Makoa was looking straight at him. He knew only he would know the real answer to that question. The problem is, he only knew half.

“Yes, and no, but kind of a yes,” he settled on, “but a little bit of a no.”

“Wasn’t exactly helpful, brudda. Wanna take another try?’

“What, do I look like Renee to you? Can’t exactly tell the future, gran chico.”

“That’s not what I meant, I—”

“Hello, friends!”

Both heads swiveled at the sound of whirring robotic legs entering the room, the source being Pathfinder. Wearing a suit like attire, downed in gold, bright red bowtie on his neck. Even the screen on his chest wore a heart-eyed face, complete with not only a mustache but another bowtie. He did a slow spin, with his arms out, and it seemed very Mirage like.

Immediately upon seeing him, Octavio wolf whistled and pounded his fist on the table while Makoa lifted his hands in the air and clapped loudly, grinning ear to ear. 

“Wow, Path! You know how to dress to party!” Octavio beamed, watching the screen on his chest turn pink with small blush marks across the face, “You’re making me feel underdressed!”

Pathfinder had been down. He seemed happy, at this moment, but for days and days on end he’d been talking to a broken down bot, waiting for a response. Octavio didn’t really get it. If he was a robot, he wouldn’t be bumbling around trying to find who made him or what he was made for, he’d be doing robot things! Like… shooting lasers, and... printing stuff. Okay, well, maybe not the same kind of robot as Pathfinder. Maybe he got him then, a little. 

“Who got all of this for you, eh?” Maoka poked.

“My best friend Mirage!” Pathfinder answered, of course, “I told him we were going to a party, and since he wasn’t invited, he told me to look good in his place!”

The robot sat across from Makoa in the rounded-out seat, with Octavio in the middle of them. He had his hands on the table, politely put together, with Makoa’s arms over the headrest of the seat yet again, Octavio’s feet still propped on the table. An unsettling stillness came into the air. Octavio did not like it when things were still.

Worriedly, he checked around the corner to Ajay’s small bunk where she was getting ready. She must have still been at the vanity, because she wasn’t in his line of sight. His eyebrows knitted together, and his eyes squinted. He leaned forward, trying to see if she was on the other side of the room instead. Nothing. Octavio nawed on his bottom lip. Ajay usually never take long to get ready. She didn’t go all out, or get fancy, because she hates that. What is she doing?

When he came back to focus on the other two they were both looking at him. Pathfinder’s screen was filled with question marks, and Makoa’s face was twisted in confused concern. Octavio blinked. His head kept turning back between the two.

“Worried?” Makoa asked.

“Nah,” Octavio lied, glancing back at Ajay’s room, “just weird she isn’t ready yet, she doesn’t usually take this long.”

Makoa is too smart. Octavio earlier announced how impatiently he was waiting for everyone to get ready. Just by his face, he realized Makoa caught that he didn’t push Ajay. He asked, “Should I check on her?”

Quickly, the youngest shook his head. He closed his eyes as he did so, though, because he didn’t like the feeling of his actual feelings being found out. But hey, to be honest, it’s pretty futile to try and hide any kind of emotions from Makoa. He was Makoa. That was enough of an explanation. 

But then the truth laid on the table, just next to his feet; he was worried about Ajay. His teeth were back on his lip. Makoa started standing, eyes on Ajay’s room. Octavio could tell his hero instincts were kicking in, but Octavio’s instincts were kicking in faster. Way faster, of course.
In an instant Octavio’s feet were standing on the table, his arms propelling himself from his seat to stand on the table. He put his hands on his hips triumphantly, and looking to his left, he felt powerful being able to look down at Makoa. He liked to feel tall. “I’ll go check on her,” he announced to them, but he glanced over to Makoa, “but if she ends up throwing D.O.C at me, I’ll call in backup, ¿entendido?”

He sees Makoa smile, and puts his hands in the air as he sits back down. Octavio was relieved when the older man said, “All yours, brudda.”

Dramatically, his arms spread out as he walked across the table, and robotic legs stepped off as if he was jumping off a bridge. Octavio’s legs didn’t even bend when he landed. Almost in a second, he was in Ajay’s doorway. His left hand rested outside the door, next to the door frame, and his head popped in. “Che?”

Ajay was sitting at her vanity, staring straight into the mirror. She didn’t turn to see him. She didn’t react. Her hair wasn’t in her usual buns or any kind of style, completely free down her back. Her shoulders were raised, stiff, and visible through the dress she had put herself in. Blue, like always. She always wore blue to these kinds of things, always blue dresses. But that wasn’t Octavio’s main focus. It was the look on her face. 

The fear.

With his left hand that was out of Ajay’s sight, against the wall, he waved off his friends. Telling them not to come near. He didn’t look over his shoulder to make sure they got the message, because not only is he almost one hundred percent sure Makoa would understand, but if either of them did come in, Octavio would have no problem getting them out. He stepped into her room, and pressed the button to make the door slide shut. He lifted a hand to his mask and lifted it from an ear. It hung loosely around his right ear, next to his scarred face. “Hey, Che,” Octavio was talking softer, still chipper, still Octavio, but quiet, “just you and me, everyone else is outside, promesa.”

Ajay’s head slowly turned to see him, half of it at least, even though it was shrouded partially by the hair that cascaded down her back. She hadn’t even done her hair yet. An unsettling chill went down Octavio’s back at the internal question of how long she’d been frozen there. The look she gave him, eyes squinted, pained, said a long time. The whole time. She didn’t say a word and Octavio crossed the floor to be with her. 

“Why the long face?” He tried to joke, but before he could even try the punchline, Ajay cut him off.

“Silva,” she said, rough, tired, “don’t.”

His face fell a bit, but his smile stayed on for her. Even if it was a small one, he had to stay smiling for her. He’d been here before. They both had, including the roles reversed. Her face fell to the ground and she shook her head. “None of that right now, Silva.”

Octavio moved to be behind her, closer to her. Her face returned to the mirror, eyes darting to him before going back to the depths of her eyes.

He fluffed up her hair from behind her, glancing at himself in her mirror. Ajay’s vanity was not prim and proper—just a table with a mirror and some makeup she used now and again. Most of it went with costumes from the games, with only a few being just for her. Hell, Octavio wore more makeup than her, and he hardly showed half his face.

Ajay’s head didn’t move. Looking at her in the reflection, she still hadn’t moved since he got to her. Her head was downcast, not fully but enough to show she was on the brink. Her eyes are what did it, though. Full, brown, staring at the ground in terror.

For a brief moment, he wondered if Makoa could hear his heart sink from the other room. He’d known Ajay for—what, about twenty damn years? He should have known how to take care of her like this. And he sort of did, at least, as best as he could as Octavio Silva.

“Mira, look, Che,” he bit his tongue. Should he be calling her that right now, since the Ches were the source of her pain? Either way, she didn’t react, just stayed frozen and tight. “Won’t even be there for long—you probably won’t even have to talk to them for more than like, fifteen minutes! Which is short for you, right?”

Truth be told, he had no idea what the night would have in store for the four of them. Octavio didn’t know what the party was going to be like, or if his parents were there, because most of the time wherever the Ches went, the Silvas followed, and vice versa. To be honest, he was scared too. But the Ches? Being the daughter of such escoria? He couldn’t imagine what seeing them again, at that time , must have been doing to her. But, he had his own vices to keep him steady. Now he had to be Ajay's.

“I—”

Octavio raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to finish, but after she let out a shaky breath he knew she wasn’t going to. The stiffness in her body began to tighten more before her muscles started shaking, her head slowly beginning to shake saying, “No.” Octavio shook his head with her and, quickly, wrapped his arms around her from behind. His cheek, bare face, pressed against the top of her head. This is what he’d do when they were kids. When their families would get together, and they would find somewhere to escape and get away, and Ajay would scream and cry over how her parents treated people, Octavio would just wrap her into him, tight. Sometimes this worked, other times she would push him away and scream more until she was out of air to scream with. Whichever reaction she was going to have, though, he was ready.

It was very relieving to not have his arms shoved back to him.

Instead, she instantly leaned back into him, crashing into his chest and reaching up to hold his arm. Ajay’s head was down now, away from the mirror. Whether it was because she didn’t want to see herself, or she didn’t want Octavio to see her break, there was no Tell. He didn’t stop her either way. He knew Ajay.

“Hey, hey,” he whispered roughly, holding her a bit tighter when she squeezed his arm. He knew that that’s what she did when she needed more pressure. “Hey, it’s just one night, even if it's shitty. Time passes quickly, and I’m not just saying that because it passes twice as quick for me.”

That made her laugh, a little. Not verbally, but in the way her shoulders rose and shrank. Octavio smiled at that. He was getting somewhere.

“And ‘Jay?” he said, softly, quietly, like when they would plot some evil, childish pranks as children, “if you don’t wanna go, I can just steal it, no biggie. ‘Koa and Path’ll have my ba—”

“No.” It was strong, but not harsh. She began shaking her head again, but she didn’t let go of his arm, so he knew she didn’t want him to back away. Steadily, she took in another breath, and slowly blew it out. “No,” she repeated, and Ajay slowly lifted her head. Her face was wet, determined, straight, and her eyes were on the verge of being puffy, but now they were dry. “No, I have to do this. Face them on my own, once and for all.”

She looked at herself in the mirror, and she could see Octavio grinning. He moved to have his chin on the top of her head, smiling. “Atta girl, hermana.”

Ajay smiled at that. He was always happy to see her smile. She gave his arm one last squeeze, and Octavio gave her one last squeeze, before slowly taking his arms away to rest his hands on her shoulders.

“Now, you’re waaay too shaken up to do your liner right,” he quipped, “so turn to me and hand it over.”

“Yeah?” Ajay said back, smirking, “‘N why should I let Mr. Twitchy do it for me, eh?”

“Because I'm the best, duh !” he pulled his goggles up to rest against his forehead to show off his work, using the hands on her shoulders to turn Ajay towards him to show her. “See? The best, chica!”

She laughed. Fully heartedly laughed. Afterwards, she was smiling, her deep dimples showing him that it was genuine.

“Thank you, ‘Tavi,” she said softly, mostly because she didn’t want anyone to hear she was thanking Octavio.

“What’d I tell you? I’m your lifeline tonight! Now, hand your shit over.”

“Okay, okay, jeez. Such a priss.”

Ajay didn’t like over the top looks, and Octavio knew that. He just slapped on some concealer, added a little blush and highlight, and that's it. No foundation or anything. He liked seeing her freckles, and so did she. After that he hung out on her bed, chatting away as she finished up her hair. She adjusted the rings around her buns, and then began to put her earrings in.

“Those your mom’s?” Octavio asked, “I remember seeing them.”

“Gave ‘em to me as a “goodbye present”,” she responded, rolling her eyes. “hopefully it’ll piss her off.”

That made both of them smile. 

Once Ajay stood up, Octavio did too, and he dramatically presented his arm for her to take. She took it, but took it in a way to where they were just arm-linked, like they were about to go skipping. Just like old times, doing everything the wrong way. 

Their way.

“Yuh’ look ridiculous, Silva.”

“Hey, I look great! Don’t go insulting my vibe!”

“Yuh’ look like The Joker from that old movie.”

He blew a raspberry in her face, to which she did so back, and they began to laugh like they did as kids. It was so refreshing, hopefully as refreshing to her as it was to him. Before they began walking, they exchanged smiles. With his free hand Octavio put his mask around his other ear, covering his face.

“C’mon, hermana,” he said, “we have a party to crash.”