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“They don’t bother you anymore?”
Eris and Crow are sitting at one of the makeshift camps the Vanguard provides them with. A swatch of plasteel floor, a precarious stack of equipment, some folding chairs reappropriated from the Crimson Day dance. The two of them are on either side of a lamp. Eris thinks this might be evidence of some primitive fondness for campfires, even in the Leviathan's inhospitable atmosphere.
At some point, on the peripheries of Eris’s vision, the white glow of the lamp had been occluded by red. Her fire team is no longer omnipresent—Eris is unsure if that is due to the remove of the Leviathan, or to variations in her own temperament. While she has become accustomed to their migrations, she understands they can be disconcerting to one still new to Luna’s native fauna.
“They do bother me at times,” she says. “Not as constantly as they did at first, but it is impossible to live with them and not feel their weight. But now that I have accepted them, instead of denying or fighting them, I have learned to accommodate that weight. It is even a comfort, sometimes, to be able to look upon my friends once more.” She pauses. “I worry that Zavala may not yet be ready to grapple with such remembrance, much less find comfort.”
“Yeah, I—yeah.” Crows sighs. He twiddles his stylus and stares down at his datapad. He still fills out patrol reports immediately upon returning to camp. But he will leave the date blank and fill it out later, so that Zavala believes he is taking downtime.
All Eris can offer is her judgmental silence. Crow is not yet ready to grapple with the knowledge that Zavala will be far from comforted if he learns that Crow has suffered, trying to help him.
They are quiet for a while before Crow speaks again. “Is it the Hellmouth of it all, or the—them?”
He is not especially eloquent, but Eris can parse his meaning. “The trauma and the survivor’s guilt are inextricably linked. But I suppose the bodies… yes. When I think about them, I think about ‘them.’”
“Right. Right.” Crow sets down his stylus and meets her eyes, as best he can. “I’m glad you’re here, you know.”
“Of course,” Eris says. “In time you, too, will be able to accept your past. It may never be anything but a weight. But you are strong enough to thrive with it.”
Eris assumes that the lesson will be the end of it. But Crow’s brow furrows as he frowns. Eris is prepared to reassure him further, but he is already speaking again.
“I mean—yeah. I’m really grateful for all your help with this stuff. I can’t say that enough.” He pushes his hair out of his face. “But, you know. I’m not talking about me.” Eris tilts her head, quizzical. “You went through all this and are helping people because of it and that’s incredible. But sometimes you talk to me like you teaching me these things is… not all you’re good for, but, like…”
Crow rubs his face. Eris waits for him to find his words. “That’s not the reason I’m glad you’re here. Not the only reason, anyway. You’re not a self-help book or whatever. You’re just… Eris, and I like spending time with Eris. You’ve actually made this assignment kind of nice, when we get to just hang out. Even though all my meals have been ‘experiments.’”
“It is only through failure that we achieve. And my failures have still been edible.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” he says. Eris wishes Hive eyes were capable of rolling. “I guess I just want to make sure you know that you’re not worth surviving just because you can help people. I’m grateful I got to know you better, as a person. I should say that too.”
Eris looks down at the stone she cups in her hands. Green glow competing with white light, rimmed in red shadow. She has not felt strained, standing by as Crow and Zavala face their horrors. Offering guidance on shame and grief somehow feels better than offering guidance on the bowels of the Hellmouth. She had assumed this was because it was nice when her experiences allowed her to be productive, rather than catatonic with misery.
But perhaps Crow has found something she had overlooked. Maybe she feels better because she shares her experiences as Eris the person, not Eris the fell omen. Maybe it is a relief to finally give voice to the things she tries not to speak of, because no one else should hold even a sliver of her burdens. Maybe it is a relief when other people relate to what she has gone through, and to know that their empathy is not pity. Maybe it is a relief to simply be a person around other people.
“I appreciate you letting me know,” Eris says quietly. “Thank you.”
Crow nods. His awkwardness is so different from Uldren. “Yeah. Anytime.”
Nothing is said for a while. But disturbance grows within Eris, until she must voice her turmoil.
“Incidentally, you are welcome to try your hand at cooking our meals at any point, if my food is so unsatisfactory.”
Crow bursts out laughing. “For fuck’s sake, Eris.”
She grins. “I am simply saying.”
“You’re always already cooking by the time I get back here!”
“That was when I presumed gratitude. I may be less motivated in the future.” Crow groans. “Though, let us put aside your own will. Are you even capable of rising to this challenge?”
Crow averts his gaze. “I mean, on the Shore, I guess I cooked in the field some. But I uh, don’t know if you’d be… familiar… with some of the ingredients.”
“I refuse to associate with another individual who attempts to feed me aliens.”
“I’d never eat aliens!” Crow protests. “But you know, when they come to our system they bring some of their crops. And also it’s not like war beasts are people—“
“If you cannot find it at the Vanguard canteen it is not passing my lips.”
Crow laughs again and gets up. “The stuff I made was still better than those kebabs you tried.”
“I trust actions, not words,” Eris calls out, as he summons his sparrow.
After he speeds away, Eris registers that her fire team is gone. She sits with her rock and the lamp and smiles to herself.
She has no faith in Crow’s culinary endeavors. But after feeding herself and others for so long, she is happy to be fed.