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"Suraya!" Shaw Han is equal parts smile and surprise. "What brings you out here?"
Hawthorne says nothing and holds up a package, giving it an enticing little shake. Louis flaps over to Shaw, landing on the Hunter's arm and nipping at his fingers.
"He doesn't have anything for you!" Hawthorne scolds the bird. "Go on! Hunt!"
Louis blinks reproachfully at her before taking flight. Shaw barely flinches as wings brush across his face, but has to act fast as Hawthorne throws the package his way.
"City food not cutting it for him, huh?"
"He orders too much takeout," she jokes. The two of them watch the peregrine's silhouette grow small in the evening sky. "Plenty of vermin in the City. Mice, rats, and… pigeons."
"Pigeons?" Shaw raises an eyebrow, then-- " Oh. Yikes. "
"So I'm trying to be a good neighbor."
Shaw shucks away the twine and brown paper, and his sudden smile is like a gift in return. "No way ." He pops the top off a metal canister and inhales, closing his eyes: it's Dev's special loose-leaf blend of English breakfast tea, malty and strong. Hawthorne is almost envious.
She looks away and takes in the little setup he's made overlooking the Steppes. There's a crunch, and she sees that he's already broken into Marc's gift: buttery shortbread cookies, sandwiched around tart little buttons of jam. He holds up a thermos packed with the rest and shakes it, hearing the liquid slosh inside, and gives her a questioning look.
"Also tea," Hawthorne explains. "Dev wanted to make it proper himself."
The grin fades into a knowing look. "This is a care package, isn't it?"
Hawthorne rocks back on her heels, guilty. "Little bit."
"I'm doing fine, y'know. It's been months now. I'm getting by."
"I know that," Hawthorne says, tugging at the holes in her poncho. "Devrim seemed pretty insistent that I come and make sure for myself, though."
Shaw meets her eyes, scrutinizing her, and she holds his gaze as long as she can.
"You gotta get back to the City?" he asks.
Hawthorne shrugs. "Probably should." Shaw nods, but an understanding passes between them: it doesn't really matter. Only a handful of Guardians would notice her absence from her perch; fewer among them would care. She and Shaw were in that boat together.
He shrugs. "Probably forgot what life is like without those fancy City amenities, huh? Too pampered to camp out like we used to--"
Hawthorne aims a playful slug at his shoulder and Shaw takes it, laughing. Typical Hunter, goading her into a dare. But it's all the invitation she needs.
"You got a campsite?"
Shaw nods, gathering his things. "That I do."
---
An hour later, they've climbed atop a building overlooking the Jovian Complex. Hawthorne hauls up the ladder as Shaw bends down to start a fire in a blackened dish of scrap metal.
"Get a lot of company up here, do ya?" Hawthorne teases.
Shaw looks up, puzzled--and sees her looking at the tents. He points to each of them in turn.
"Me. Cas. Maeve."
"O-oh." Hawthorne bites her tongue and contemplates throwing herself off the edge of the building. "Sorry."
"It's okay. I should take them down anyway. I just…"
He trails off, and Hawthorne nods, getting it. He's leaving space for them. In their memory, or for his sake--it didn't matter which. She nearly comes to his rescue, guess we'll be sharing a tent, then? , the words half-formed on her lips, but it feels wrong using Cas and Maeve like that.
She's grateful when his eyes instead catch something in the distance. "Oh, quick, c'mere! Check this out."
Shaw guides her to a sniper rifle set up on a bipod. Hawthorne lays next to him on her stomach as he peers through the scope, making adjustments, then moves aside so she can see for herself.
Blue plasma singes and orange flame retorts. A company of Fallen exchanges fire with a cluster of Hive before deciding to move on. Hawthorne feels Shaw's hand leave her shoulder, but the warmth lingers for another moment.
"...What am I supposed to be looking for?"
"Dammit. Thought they were gonna… nevermind."
She frowns sideways at him, and he waves her away.
"Surprise. Maybe it'll happen on its own."
"That structure…" Hawthorne takes another look in the scope at it, spired and poisonous-looking, half-buried. "That where the Hive keep coming from?"
"Right, I guess they don't have those in Dev's neck of the woods, huh." He unscrews the thermos she brought and pours a still-hot cup of Devrim's tea, sipping it. "Seeder Ships. Hive send them ahead of their fleets for preliminary colonization."
She rolls onto her back, looking up at the stars coming out overhead. "After all this time, they're still… seeding?"
"All over Old Russia. Impossible to get rid of them without some kind of coordinated assault."
"Guessing nobody's eager to volunteer for that."
Shaw is quiet for a moment. "Yeah, not really."
"You think all this here is worth protecting?"
"Top brass thinks there's still plenty of Golden Age secrets to discover here."
"But what do you think?"
"I think…" He blinks and looks away from her. "When the Hive pop their ugly heads above ground, I try to take care of it. Or see if the Fallen take care of it. Or send someone else to take care of it, if we've got Guardians patrolling."
"Like weeding a garden."
"That's the job." Shaw takes refuge in the scope again. "That's why I'm here at all, really. We let the weeds grow for too long, and something really nasty took root."
Navôta. A hollow feeling fills Hawthorne's chest. "So that's why you don't leave," she realizes. "You don't want it to happen again. To someone else."
Shaw doesn't answer her right away.
"I was ready to join them," Shaw confesses at last. He keeps his eye in the scope, and Hawthorne knows that he means Cas and Maeve. "Didn't plan it as a mission I was gonna make it back from."
"From what I read in the report, you almost didn't." The practical part of her wants to be mad at him, but she's seen grief painted in every pattern and color from Guardians. All she could really do was thank their mutual friend for Shaw being with her now. "What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking I'd lost my family," he says, monotone. "I'd survived the worst with them. I didn't see a future without them. I didn't think of anyone else. It was just… tunnel vision."
Shaw pulls himself from the scope and looks at her at last. His features soften, and some color comes back to his voice. "I knew them as long as I've known you. We all met on the Farm, remember?"
Hawthorne rolls over and takes the scope again, not really thinking about why. "Oh, yeah. That's right."
She says it as if just remembering--but there's no way she's forgotten. Still raw from her experience with that Guardian getting the Light back and bounding off to Zavala's call from Titan, she'd met Shaw. He didn't mind her prickliness toward Guardians, so many in crisis at the prospect of being exactly like her. Shaw seemed to understand better than most how insulting that felt for her. Over those hard months she'd warmed to him, liking the ease of his smile, his summery brown eyes. He had an appreciation for her dry wit (as Devrim liked to call it), not flippant the way Cayde was, not silent with her like the Guardian is, but responsive to her. Listening to her. Looking out for her.
She'd be lying to herself if she didn't admit that part of the reason she took her new post up in the City was so their paths might cross again, and more often. But with his Light back, Shaw and his newfound fireteam were suddenly in all corners of the system. Suraya was left to wonder if it was Maeve or Cas he was bound to, more than just his duty as a Guardian, or if she should have been more forward with him from the start.
What am I even supposed to be looking for?
She glances up from the scope, and realizing Shaw is watching her, that softness still in his eyes. They were close--had she put herself this close to him without realizing it? Absurdly, she wonders if he can hear the sound of her galloping heartbeat.
Neither of them has said anything in quite some time. Maybe he was listening for it.
Hawthorne's breath hitches, and she says the first thing that comes to her mind.
"I miss the Farm."
Shaw nods as if he understands her completely, and what he says next convinces her that he does.
"I miss you."
Their lips meet. He tastes like tea and honey. It's a kiss that makes her think of home. She rushes into it, wondering why they ever waited so long for something like this, something so good that they could have had at any time before.
Far out across the Jovian Complex, a company of Fallen stray across Hive clawing their way out of the Seeder. Shaw's hand strays to Suraya's face and she layers hers over it, drawing back her hood. She pushes closer, over the rifle propped up between them. Her long braid falls from where it's usually twisted out of sight, the tail of it tickling his cheek. If either had been at the scope of the rifle they'd have seen the green glow of Cursed Thrall entering the crossfire of a group of Fallen in the distance. Wrapped up in Shaw, all Suraya notices are the fireworks.
A loud, cannon-deep boom sounds from across the complex. The two wrench apart as it triggers a massive chain reaction. Orange flame blossoms around the Seeder Ship, cluster bombs rising to amplify the pyrotechnics. Fallen that aren't caught in the blast scramble away, and when the flames clear, the Seeder Ship is still there, but the Hive have been eviscerated.
"What was that ?!"
Shaw hides his face in his hands. "Weed killer. My own special recipe. I thought it was gonna trigger earlier." He drags his hands down his cheeks and grimaces. "Bad timing."
No kidding.
They both flinch at a sudden flutter of wings. Louis lands on the edge of the building, fresh kill in his talons.
"Seriously?" Hawthorne chides him. "Pigeon, again ?"
Underneath her, Shaw starts to laugh.
The stars are out, and the night is warm, but they end up sharing the tent after all.