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The Hub is quiet, save the continual hum of GAIA’s servers below. Usually, there’d be banter between Erend and Varl to fill the room, or Alva popping in and out with a question or two before she retreated to her archives. But Erend and Varl went hunting two days past, and Zo had let the night grow long, poring over what GAIA had given her on the Grimhorns. It still struck her how cruel HEPHAESTUS’s plan had been, and her stomach turned at the thought of the next perversion. Hopefully, Aloy would return soon, bearing POSEIDON with her.
When she’d last pinged in on the Focus, nearly a week ago, she’d sounded lighter than usual, with the sound of a friendly argument buzzing in the background. Zo remembers grinning along as Aloy regaled them with tales of her glimmering underwater city, catching Varl’s eye as he too listened in. How they’d both breathed a little easier as she told of how, even as she fought a new and terrifying beast, she’d had backup. Zo looked forward to meeting the odd Oseram trio someday. To thank them personally for having Aloy’s back.
It was so rare for her not to go in it alone. Even now, with her last check in so upbeat, Zo worried. On a charger, Aloy should have been back yesterday. Aloy was capable, searingly so, but the bandit camps lay thick between GAIA and Dunehollow.
Zo had been a soldier. She knew how death could come whistling in a moment. Sometimes the difference between life and death lay not always on skill, but on the tilt of the soil, the will of the wind. With the amount of fights Aloy threw herself into…
As if cued by her thoughts, Zo hears the western door of the hub woosh open, followed by irregular footsteps. Aloy snuck into the hub, covered in dust and carrying her bow across the wrong shoulder. Zo starts forward, and Aloy locks eyes with her.
She looks exhausted, eyes collecting the familiar shadows and a tight, angry line around her mouth. But after a moment it melts into something younger, a little embarrassed.
“Hey, Zo. I, uh. Is anyone else up?” Zo shakes her head, the knot of concern solidifying within her. She rushed past the console she’s claimed, and the closer she gets to Aloy the worse she looks. The dust cakes in her hair, leaving rivulets on her temples where sweat carved through. There’s bruising on her side that peeks through a rip in her armor, and Zo notices a braid that’s singed partway through, burnt by a machine bullet. Most concerning, though, is her shoulder. Bandages show under the armor on her right shoulder, rusty with a mixture of blood and dust. Aloy drops her pack from her left shoulder, and seems to consider sitting down on Erend’s usual low sofa, but hesitates.
“Aloy, are you alright?” The huntress nods, but it’s absent, and her hand goes to her side gingerly. The first time Aloy speaks, it’s so quick and quiet that Zo misses it. She tries again.
“I didn’t think there would be a Thunderjaw.” Zo’s hands are moving faster than she can think, coming to support the warriors shoulder, feeling the fine tremors running through them. She could see scorch marks on her armor, even parts where the broken plate showed the once-white of bandages beneath. They stretched from her collarbone to around her waist, and Zo’s breath tightened. A hit from a cannon, or worse a Thunderjaw disc, could have killed Aloy. It still might.
“Come on, I need to see your wound.” Zo turns and walks to the room she shares with Varl, hearing Aloy hesitate behind her. She turned, seeing stubbornness and something deeper, something nervous and small and afraid flare up in Aloy’s eyes. “Aloy, please. I have a healing kit in my room. Don’t ask me to leave my ally wounded like this.” At this, Aloy relaxes, and Zo wonders what kind of life led her to distrust aid so deeply. Why she would be so much more comfortable as an ally than a-
Than a what, exactly? She shakes off the thought, and smiles a little as Aloy passes her, settling awkwardly onto the stool Varl uses to put his boots on. Now is not the time to be pondering the affections of the woman gritting her teeth and struggling to loosen her armor ties one-handed.
Zo chuckles, partly to avoid startling Aloy as she approaches. She rests her hands atop her shoulders, letting Aloy adjust to the contact
“It would be helpful to me if you’d avoid aggravating anything further. Please, be a good patient and sit still.” The teasing tone isn’t something Zo has used on Aloy much, and she pauses to see if her charge looks bothered. But Aloy grins a little ruefully and sighs.
“Yes, Commander Zo.” The last ties comes loose, and Zo eases off the chest piece to see the thin shirt beneath. Sweat from the road has molded the fabric to Aloy’s back, outlining the smooth muscles in her back as well as the ungainly lumps of bandage. At the center of where the bandage sits, the shirt gapes open around a ragged, hole. Zo bites her lip, and grasps the bottom of Aloy’s shirt. The smallest of flinches runs through Aloy, and Zo pauses. That seems to only irk Aloy, and she huffs, abruptly grabbing at it and pulling her shirt over her head.
Her back is all scar tissue and muscles, accented by scatterings of delicate freckles. For a moment Zo is frozen, lost in the single curling strand of hair at the base of her neck, at the smooth and sure line from that flaming curl to her neck to her shoulders, fiercely sculpted by the bow. But the edges of Aloy’s bandage barely cover angry skin, and she feels herself falling into the familiar rhythm of triage. She sets down bowls of herbs and water and fetches her healing kit. Working carefully, she takes a small pair of scissors and starts to gently cut through the old wrappings.
It’s slow going, Zo stopping to wipe off dust and debris as it crumbles from the bandage, and pausing when Aloy hisses at the tug of bandage over healing skin. As she finally cuts through enough to lift off the old wrappings, Aloy’s breastband is revealed beneath, the edges singed along the lines of her wound and leaving a few charred threads keeping it together. It falls, gaping at her front, and a dark red flush rises through Aloy’s shoulders, purpling in her ears. Zo almost wants to laugh, but holds it in. For a moment, the huntress sits self consciously holding the ruined garment in place, even as her front stays concealed from Zo. The ridges in her shoulders deepen, and Zo sees a crack form in one of the fresh scabs on her wounds. She hesitates, wondering if it would be better to let Aloy have a semblance of privacy. But Aloy sighs, and makes what sounds like she intended to be a chuckle. It sounds more like a wordless curse.
“I’m not-used to this. The Nora, they bathed together in the river but-” Zo pauses, remembering what Varl had told her of their home. No wonder something so simple as being unbound would feel so raw, so conflicting for Aloy. Zo pulls away for a moment, casting around for something to cover Aloy while still letting her work, but Aloy is shaking her head, turning with her good arm to catch Zo’s wrist. Zo keeps her gaze firmly on Aloy’s face, the rising red serving only to sharpen the green of her eyes. “But I’m being stupid, you need to see the wound, so-sorry.” Aloy breathes quickly, keeping her eyes pinned firmly to the left of Zo. She turns back quickly as well, again treating Zo to the broad expanse of her back. Zo tries to ignore the strength under her hands as she begins to softly wipe away the grime. She aims to keep her voice diplomatic, pretending the shake in her hands is just a caution of the torn skin.
“There’s nothing to apologize for. I appreciate you letting me do this.” Aloy scoffs, but stops when Zo reiterates fiercely. “I wouldn’t want you to do this alone.”
The wound is wide, and angry, a long burn mark that Aloy tells her came from a glancing blow of a disk launcher, but looks as if it were followed by a sliding hit to the ground. It isn’t deep, not requiring stitches, and Zo can’t stop the proud grin from spreading on her face as Aloy asks questions over her choice of healing herbs in her kit. The work is slow, though, and Zo has to stop to dig out gravel from Aloy’s shoulders, chasing it with harsh astringents to prevent infection. Zo watches the movement in Aloy’s back, the twitching muscles more demonstrative than the huntress often chose to be. When she finishes dressing the wound, she hands one end of a clean bandage to Aloy, letting her hold the fabric to her skin as Zo adjusts and fastens it in place.
Zo presses her hand against the bandage, compacting the poultice one last time. Aloy’s been drifting, wincing at times but mostly ignoring the pain with a practiced focus that Zo recognizes and resents. Her job done, she casts an appraising look over her back, noting how bright her freckles stood on her skin, pale in comparison to the sunburn across her tanned arms and cheeks.
“How many hours did you ride?” Aloy shrugs, but she answers.
“At least a day. The sun cycled through once, but I lashed myself on and slept for a bit. Sort of.” Zo nods. So that explains the windburn on her cheeks, then. Zo leans forward over Aloy, breathing in the scent of the back of Aloy’s neck. Dust, and sun. She rubs her thumb gently along Aloy’s cheek.
“I have something for this, if I may?” Aloy stills, and Zo withdraws her hand. Stupid. Presumptuous. As If Aloy has ever cared about something so trivial. But Aloy nods after a moment, and her voice sounds strained.
“Yeah, that would be nice.” Zo rises, and passes Aloy’s shoulder to grab another poultice from her bedside. She’d first used it the day Aloy taught her to ride a charger. Zo had loved it, immediately warming to the rhythm of the great beast and the thrill in Aloy’s breath as she raced ahead. Aloy’s breath races again now, and Zo feels something twist in her heart when she looks at the young huntress. Her hair falls loose, flaming brighter than usual in the warm candlelight. Zo keeps her eyes on Aloy’s face, not forgetting her earlier trepidation. The clean bandage shines especially starkly against the warm fires of the room. Zo tries to ignore the knot in her throat. She dips her fingers into the poultice, gently smoothing it over the spattered freckles on Aloy’s face.
Aloy closes her eyes, and though she doesn’t grit her teeth, Zo can tell she wants to as her fingers trace the sharp lines of her face. She looks in more pain than she did while Zo dug pebbles from her back. But Aloy holds still, and seems to alternate between glancing at Zo and staring determinedly into the candlelight beyond. Zo traces her fingers across cheekbones, tracing over Aloy’s brow, letting her fingers press gently against her temples. Her hand traces Aloy’s jaw, coming to rest at the hinge of her stubborn jaw. Aloy sighs, eyes lingering on Zo before darting determinedly to the ceiling. Her face matches her hair. Zo grins.
“You don’t mean to tell me that Aloy, Champion of Meridian and the West alike, is nervous, is she?” She’d meant it to sound light, but Zo hears the hopeful note in her voice. Aloy shakes her head, like coming out of a dream, and frowns.
“You love Varl.” Her voice is accusatory, flat.
“Yes, of course.” Aloy’s gaze snaps to Zo, her eyes hardening
Zo pauses, pulling her hand back. There’s a shame and something deeper on Aloy’s face, even as she pulls her face from Zo’s hands. Without thinking, Zo stops her.
“I don’t understand. Are you-angry that I am with Varl?” Aloy gasps, looking affronted and frustrated and-
“No! Zo, he’s one of my best friends, and you’re-you shouldn’t be touching me like this when you love him.” Zo’s stomach churns, and everything falls into place. Aloy knows so much, but she learned it all alone.
“Aloy, I apologize. It was cruel of me, but I forget that for all the secrets you know, there’s so much nobody bothers to tell you. The Utaru, we are led by the example of the Land Gods. Love the earth and its bounty, carry our lives as seeds to enrich the soil again. When we look to nature, the Utaru see love as… varied. There are trees whose trunks twine together, unwilling to be parted. But that’s only one path. In the Utaru, it is seen as noble to love and be loved by many if you so choose, or to abstain, or to twine your roots with only one. It was-new to Varl, at first. But in the end, your-Nora culture is matriarchal. Women may take men as they choose, the only difference being that mates can be-approved by the Matriarchs for the purpose of child bearing.” Zo pauses, resenting how removed, how wise she sounds. It feels false, so she tries again.
“This world is so beautiful and so fragile, and now we are in the face of so much danger, how can we say no?” Aloy’s green eyes flicker in the candles, turning amber in the warm light. She looks so young and so afraid, and Zo barely knows how to breathe. She feels gutted, aching and angry and so sad that this beautiful woman in front of her had so little of this. Aloy sucks in a breath, and it feels like Zo speaks for her, words too true to make her say herself.
“It’s cruel that you won’t let yourself be loved.”
She doesn’t know if Aloy will cry or try to run, so Zo kisses her, so softly, letting her hand rest on Aloy’s ribs and spread wide and warm, willing it to say everything that she can’t. For a moment Aloy is still, but then Zo is gasping under the ferocity of her, a need and a want and a fear in the way she tilts her head up and presses her lips to Zo, pressing eagerly, but unsurely against Zo’s. Her leather-and oil smell, so like Varl and yet not at all, drowns Zo as she lets her hands dive into Aloy’s hair, thinking gentle, gentle because she has never seen Aloy tremble like this. It could be endearing, or even funny, if Zo hadn’t seen Aloy practically roll her eyes at the death of gods, and deliver soul crushing news with the brisque tone of a woman already planning what’s next.
She pulls back, only barely, her forehead resting on Aloy’s. This close she can see the candles in her eyes, glancing off the tightness of an old scar over her eyebrow. Zo hears a door woosh open somewhere in the base, and distantly wonders what they look like, Aloy’s scars bare on her back as her head tilts, her face held in Zo’s hands like a rare bloom. And Zo herself, somehow lucky enough to have the honor of this impossible woman’s trust.
But Aloy stiffens at the sound of the door and moves to get up, reaching for her ruined wrappings and wincing as she remembered why it was she was bare in the first place. Her weakened arm shakes under her, and Zo catches her shoulders, willing her into bed.
“GAIA, please lock the door. Aloy’s going to stay in here tonight.”
“But Varl-”
“Is beloved, and will want you to be well. Please.” Aloy won’t look at her, but she stops trying to leave. Zo stands up, removing her hands from Aloy for the first time in what felt like hours. She stretches, idly thinking that it had to have been at least an hour since Aloy had come crashing back to base. When she turns, Aloy is still sitting on the bed, flushing red, her hand twitching as if to go to her lips. But while her earlier look of blank, grim pain was gone, she looks-worried.
“I’m not-ignorant. I know what this means, Zo, and I don’t think I can-” Aloy sighs, running a frustrated hand through her hair. “I see how people look at me, sometimes, and I know what it means, and I don’t know if I-want it.” Suddenly worry returns to Zo’s gut.
“I’m sorry, should I not have-”
“No! No, I just-I. I want to kiss you. But I don’t know that I want anything else. I don’t want to-waste your time.” Zo shakes her head.
“I told you, Aloy. To love at all is sacred. You’re free to decide what it means to you. I think you’ll find I’m not…unfulfilled.” She smiles wryly, thinking fondly of Varl and his sometimes overzealous enthusiasm. Aloy smiles a little too, and Zo sits down beside her. “I would like for you to sleep tonight. Perhaps even eat, in the morning?” Aloy rolls her eyes. “And if you’d permit it, I would like to hold you tonight. Simply that.”
Aloy looks sidelong at Zo, her thoughts flashing transparently across her face. Then she nods. She helps the huntress lay herself down while avoiding the worst of her shoulder. Zo curled herself around her, letting her hand rest lightly on Aloy’s hip. But the huntress catches it and pulls it to her heart. The velvet skin of her breast buzzes against the back of Zos hand, with the rougher edge of the bandage tickling her wrist. But she wraps herself around Aloy regardless and relishes the warmth between them. Her journey takes its toll on her, and Aloy slips almost instantly into sleep.
Zo hesitates to close her eyes. Tomorrow, Aloy will be up and pushing forward once more, and she will go running into another jungle yet unknown. Zo will stay behind and she will worry, but that is tomorrow. Tonight, candles burn low, GAIA’s steady hum pulses beneath, and Aloy grips her tight, even in her sleep.