Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s quiet, and dark. Almost too quiet. The entropy of the universe seemed like it had finally settled into nothing, into nighttime, and into dark. Jimmy’s still awake. Being on red—it’s like an itch under his skin. He feels sick, feverish, controlled by something he can’t escape. But there's looming to it, too, the shadow of death that clings to him like the scent of smoke. 

Jimmy rolls over. The shape of Tango next to him is soft and warm. His eyes are shut, but his jaw works like he’s biting down on his tongue. It must be getting to him, too.

"Tango?" Jimmy whispers.

"Mm?" Tango hums. He’s still awake, but his voice is heavy with sleep.

Jimmy swallows.

"What happens after this?"

He watches Tango’s face. He frowns, just a soft curve of his mouth, his eyes blinking open. He turns his head, and his expression softens, just a bit, as if he notices the worry in Jimmy’s eyes.

"We win or we die. What do you mean?"

Jimmy opens and shuts his mouth. He means so many things. He’s afraid of losing. He’s afraid of not meaning anything. He’s afraid to be without cause. His heart is a heavy stone in his chest that he wills to beat. What are we? Does this mean something to you? Was this anything?

"I mean...” he says, much slower than he intends. “What happens to us? What happens between us?"

Tango’s face falls in the low light. "Oh," he says, punctuated. "I don't know."

"I don't know either."

"I guess...nothing."

Jimmy stays quiet for a long time before he speaks, his voice soft and barely shaking. His heart hammers in his chest. If he wants to leave, he can leave. He won't keep him. He won’t tie him down. He couldn’t.

"Is that what you want?"

Tango swallows, tries to, Jimmy watches, tries to manage the lump forming in his throat.

"No. It's not. I just don't know what's there for us."

Jimmy laughs a little, and doesn’t mean it to sound as self deprecating as it does.

"I'm not unreachable. I could come visit," he tries.

Tango sighs.

"Sure, but..."

"But what?"

He turns, all at once, to face Jimmy. His face is soft, almost sad , and something in Jimmy aches. Tango reaches out to touch his face, cupping his cheek.

"But do you think you'll still want me? After all of this? I mean you and Scott—"

"Scott? No, no, no, no,” he shuffles forward. He runs his hand over Tango’s shoulder; Tango relaxes and Jimmy drags his hand over his shoulder blades, tracing out the dip of his spine with his fingertips. “Scott and I aren’t together. Scott...” Jimmy sighs. “It was different.” 

Tango nods.

“We’re different. And I—you—you wouldn't let me die. Haven't... haven't let me die. And I think I love you."

“You think?” Tango says, smiling, a laugh bubbling up into his voice.

“I do,” Jimmy grins. “I love you.”

"I love you , even if the stupid curse never breaks."

Tango shuffles over, pressing his forehead against Jimmy’s. His skin is warm against his, drawing lines against his cheek with his thumb. Jimmy snorts.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, even if we die tomorrow. Even if it's next week. Even if it's twenty minutes from now. I love you despite all the...the silly warning signs."

Jimmy laughs, especially as Tango reaches up to kiss the space between his eyes. He traces the back of Tango’s hand, where it still rests on his cheek. His hands track up to thread through Tango’s hair at the base of his skull, scritching against his scalp. Tango sighs against him, his breath warm.

"Come find me when this is all done, won't you?" Jimmy says.

"Can't imagine why I wouldn't. Can't even think of it."

And Jimmy thinks to himself I'm sorry I can't save you. I know it's coming. It's inevitable. But maybe if we hold on a little while longer, I promise you we’ll be alright.

That doesn’t happen.

Jimmy dies as he always does: unceremonious and completely his fault. He finds himself in the shell of what used to be his home, still screaming for help. Still screaming for Tango. The bed next to him is a discarded shape. He has no need for it now, just the wisp of the person he used to be. 

There is the warmth of a presence beside him. He's filled with a list of things he cannot say.

What are you still doing here? It's over. Go home. Go.

Tango’s not gone. He’s there. But god, of course. Of course it was Jimmy’s fault. Of course it would be him. Of course he would curse Tango with the burden of being his. Of being pulled down with him, of being killed. He turns away from him—there’s no need for Tango to care about him anymore. He couldn’t keep him safe.

When Jimmy wakes up, actually, fully, wholly, he is alone. Tango is not with him. He has nothing to find him by. He’s a memory, fast slipping from Jimmy’s hands like the sand outside the saloon. From beside him, Norman stirs. Jimmy sighs, his heart heavy in his chest. 

It was all a bad dream. A bad dream. 

Maybe it was his fault for being too much to love.

The days are hot in Tumble Town. Hot and dusty, much to Jimmy’s dismay. He’s a clean sort of guy—likes to be, at least, but now his feathers are full of dust and so are his lungs, but at least he’s been able to soak up all the sun he hadn’t been able to before. He stretches as he sets the shulker full of buckets of paint and nails outside the main house, his shadow short and thinning in the early afternoon sun.

There’s a long list of things to do today that begins with painting the connecting stable and ends with replanting sagebrush and trimming mountain juniper. The gunpowder depot is selling fine and the town’s finally been able to set up the night market like they’d been wanting to. They’ve got a steady import of stone and gems, a somewhat accessible tunnel system to cut down on travel. A few people have settled in the cliffs, or always have. He doesn’t remember—but the town’s been thriving since he arrived a few weeks prior, and they’ve taken a shining to his ‘funny accent’. Plus, he hired a deputy that wasn’t the two dusty white cats that kept on his heels (and he loved Norman, or Flick, of course, but they didn’t have thumbs). 

Kudos to him.

Arrow and Bullseye aren’t in the pen when he circles around it. The deputy must’ve taken them out with the captain. 

He opens the shulker, sending up a cloud of dust. Jimmy’s too busy breathing it in to realize that Gem’s snuck up on him. 

“Jimmy!”

He coughs, loud and sharp as he startles, throwing up another cloud of red dust and grime that Gem tries to bat away. She laughs, waving her hands as Jimmy settles, leaning hard against the shulker box behind him. He frowns, deep set across his face.

“Gem!” he gripes. “You scared the daylights out of me!”

“Sorry, Jimmy!” Gem winces, looking actually sorry, so Jimmy waves his hands about and flashes her a smile, and the tensions relax all at once.

“Nah, you’re alright,” Jimmy grins.

Gem turns a slow circle as they settle, eyes wide. The few people that pass give her a wave and a smile. She scans over the horizon, to the brightly colored houses pressed into the rock, to the shops constructed of heavy wood and bleached stone, to the cobbles beneath her feet (a joint effort, valiantly so, between Fwhip and Jimmy). She sighs, awed, hands on her hips.

“This place looks incredible!” she says, finally looking back at Jimmy. He isn’t sure if it’s the heat or the flush that makes his face warm. “I didn’t realize how many houses had been put up, and so many people?”

“People love to look for a chance to start over,” Jimmy says. Gem raises her eyebrows, as if to ask him a question.

“And your deputy—”

“Norman!” Jimmy beams. Then he backtracks, noticing his deputy across the way. They’re waiting for someone—perhaps the splotch in the distance, the shape vaguely horselike. “Er, not just the cats, but...”

“Ah,” Gem claps her hands together. “They’re both very good at what they do.”

Jimmy nods. “Very!”

“I’m glad things are working out! A couple hundred people more and you won’t just be Tumble Town .”

Jimmy ducks his head, laughing. He tips his hat back enough to really meet Gem’s eye—she looks out of place, but she doesn’t look like Princess Gem right now. He raises his eyebrows in question.

 “You’re dressed differently, something special happening?” he says. He turns back to the shulker, where he starts unloading. Gem circles around him, keeping a respectful distance, mind the dust and such. 

“Oh!” Gem brightens. She gives a testing tug on her bag, as if it could go anywhere with the buckles clasped tight over her shoulders. “Well...I’m headed out.” 

Jimmy hums. He stacks a box of nails atop one another.

“Out?”

Gem nods.

“Mhm! I’m taking the weekend off from running the startup for the Gem Empire—”

Jimmy laughs.

“Gem-pire—”

“Yes!” Gem claps her hands together. Her positivity is a bit infectious. “I’m headed to HC-9.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Hopefully it’s all safe travels.”

“Jimmy...” she asks.

“Mm?”

“Is there anything you want me to say to Tango when I’m there?”

He stacks another paint can. There’s a stretch of silence that starts to grow as Gem stands next to him, stretching and stretching, much like his shadow. He feels her eyes on him and finally looks up. There’s a cut of concern over her face, eyebrows furrowed tight together. A wave of anxiety passes over him in a cold flash.

“Jim,” she says. Jimmy shuts his eyes.

“I dunno...what’s left to say, Gem? I just...I dunno.”

“I get what you mean.” She reaches out, lingering for a second before her hand grazes his shoulder. He leans to the touch reflexively. She gives it a squeeze.

“Look, I’ve got about...” she glances up at the sky. “Eh, a half a day before I leave. What do you say you write a letter instead?”

Jimmy visibly relaxes, something Gem seems to see as she draws her hand away. Jimmy nods. 

“Sure, I’d like that.”

Gem smiles. “I’ll be back later today, does that sound good?”

“It sounds great—thank you, Gem. You’re the best.”

“In the meantime,” she says, gesturing to his paint cans. “I’ll be setting out blueprints for the Sunrise Kingdom until I come back. You enjoy your paint.”

Jimmy doesn’t get much work done after that. His mind wanders halfway through painting a strip of the barn, bright blue spilling off his brush and over his knuckles. He narrowly misses staining his boots with thick blue paint. His mind fixates on the idea that Tango is only a letter away. He’s a letter away from an apology, from talking with him again, from imagining his voice. He drags the brush over a well worn strip of wood and finishes off the last bit of paint in the tin. Only a bit sticks to his hands.

The sun is starting to heat the ground to a smolder, so his idea to take a break and sit is probably warranted. He watches a couple of the townsfolk pass by, wide brim hats and sleeves rolled down to protect against the blazing sun. Even in the dust bowl, there’s no solace from the sun. 

He’s actually more afraid of water, now, knowing the bowl that is Tumble Town. But nobody’s come in shouting about a rainstorm, so he’ll pick his battles when they come. 

He trails back inside, already dusty, skin dry. He leaves his boots and hat at the door, shrugs off the sky blue shirt to keep the sun off, stands there still a little dusty in jeans and socks and shirt and decides it’s better dusty than sweating. Norman trots up as he steps into the office. Norman stretches, winding through his legs and stopping at his feet when he stands near the desk. He leans over to give him a generous scratch, noticing that Flick, the other bright white cat he’d picked up, is still asleep in the pillows he’d fashioned into a bed, lounging in the midmorning sun. He hums, smiling.

“Hey, big man,” he tells Norman. Norman starts up a furious purr, knocking his face against the back of his hand before he trails off again, through the door to the kitchen.

Jimmy watches him trot off before he sits at the desk. He rearranges his papers—files needing to be filed, trade agreements to be signed, notes from other empires—before he finds any clean sheets or his pen. As he settles in, fiddling with the corner of the page, he starts to write.

Hi, Tango,

It feels a little bit silly to be writing you a letter. Maybe it's a bit more official than trying to send a verbal message—I know it would be hard to call you over this distance. The times work so weird I don't think I could manage well enough. So here's a letter. I'm sorry if you weren't expecting me.

I’m not certain of what to say to you. I think my first thing is that I’m sorry. I’m sorry it ended so soon for us.

I'm sorry I couldn't be the person to bring us to victory. I was trying to get home to you. I was trying to get home to eat and to be at home with you, and I'm sorry for all the things we never talked about. That night was our last. The one where you told me you'd find me anywhere. I'm so so incredibly sorry.

It's hard to live here, but I think you'd like it. It's hot during the day. Norman's here—the cat I told you about, in this silly place in need of a rancher. My home. My past.

I'm going to come out and say it, by the way: I didn't think I'd miss you at first. I really didn't think I would until I sat down. I didn't think I'd miss understanding someone so completely that you'd know the shape of their heart in your chest

It's so wrong and cruel that I miss it, isn't it? Knowing what your heart felt like. Like, that in itself is a concept unimaginable. To know someone's heartbeat as well as your own. Stupid metaphor. Stupid simile. I keep thinking that maybe I was crazy, maybe the soulbond made me crazy but I keep thinking and I think about the fact that you built a house and found chickens and raised a warden and it was for us and my heart can't take it. I think I still love you. I think part of me still loves the fact that you never once blamed me for dying. You never once thought it was rotten work. You loved an omen and you didn't care.

I guess this is a confession of love. Or whatever. Do with it what you please. And thank Gem for me. I still love you. And I miss you a whole lot. There's still an invitation to you, here—now it's in writing.

Yours,

Jim

Life goes back to normal quickly on HC9. It kind of came with the territory. You witness horrors beyond your comprehension (in a fun and cool way) and then you build to forget.

Jokes aside, Tango had learned over the past two death games to not let it get under his skin. Yeah, he lost. He lost a lot. He was good at losing, at dying, without reason, without cause. And he was used to losing people. So he kind of settled with the fact that he lost.

Of course he missed Jim. It was inevitable. When he woke up, dark wood and low lighting around him, he knew it wasn’t the place he’d called home for the past six weeks and he knew that if he were to reach out to the other side of the bed, he wouldn’t meet warm shoulder or wing or fabric or the impression of a body sleeping next to him. It would just be empty. And he was mostly fine with that. Mostly.

There wasn’t a lot that was left unsaid between them. They were forced to know each other like the back of their hands, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever know another person that well again, or in the same way. So it was half missing the idea of being known and half missing the idea of being loved and being known. He missed Jimmy, and he missed the way Jimmy loved him.

But he was busy. He was too busy for people.  He’d never get things done if he spent all his time doing other things and he would stay busy until things were done. Because something couldn’t ever stay half finished and that was fine, he could deal with a bit of distance, it was fine. Totally good. Not lamenting at all .

The sun is warm on HC9. It reminds him of a lot. He basks in it now, carrying shulker boxes back and forth from his home to his build chunks away in the mountains. Transitions from warm to cold are good on his skin, so he settles and stands for a moment, taking it in. 

“Tango!”

Tango startles, looking around. A voice jolts him from his sun-induced daze. He blinks, trying to find the voice he knows—Gem. He doesn’t spot her at first, but Gem does another lap, the wings of her elytra—bright orange and black—flutter in the wind. He grins, waving at her, hoisting the shulker in his arms over one hip.

There she is!

“Gem!”

She closes her wings, dropping a few feet to the ground. She blows the hair from her face when she lands and grins wide and bright at Tango.

“Tango!” she says again. He laughs.

“Gem, hi!”

Gem sets her hands on her hips as Tango resettles the shulker in his arms.

“How are you?” she asks.

“Good! I’m good!” Tango beams. He pats the top of the shulker. “I’ve been busy since I got back. Been working on getting some super secret projects done. How’s it going over in the empire?”

“Oh, it’s great!” Gem beams. “Lots of positives for the Gem Empire.”

“Gem-pire?” Tango supplies, grinning. Gem rolls her eyes.

“Gosh, you two and your—”

“You two?” Tango frowns. Gem smiles a bit.

“You and Jimmy both made that joke.”

Tango’s stomach twists.

“Oh, really?” he says, trying to convey something more nonchalant than surprise. “That sounds like something he’d say.” His heart beats a little fast in his chest as he glances away, tracing the top of the shulker to try to bring himself back into focus. He shuffles the weight from one side to the other. “Hey uh, how...how is he? How’s he doin’?”

Gem smiles.

“He’s good! Actually...” and she draws out the a when she speaks. “He wanted me to give you this.”

She holds out a manila envelope. On it, in surprisingly neat and formal handwriting, is Tango’s name. The O has a little loop to it. He sets the shulker down at his feet and takes the letter from Gem’s hands. He turns it in his own, eyeing the dark blue seal with a star in the center. There’s no return or forwarding address, which, he supposes makes sense considering Gem is hand delivering it, but everything else about it denotes a level of extreme care. He glances up at her as he finally speaks.

“A letter?”

Gem nods, rocking a bit on her toes.

“Mhm.”

Tango speaks hesitantly, a sense of awe filling his voice all of a sudden.

“Oh,” he manages. “Thanks, Gem.”

She nods, leaning forward a bit to knock his shoulder with her own.

“If you want to respond to it, you just let me know,” she says, leaning into him. “I won’t run letters forever but I’ll do it a few times, because I like you.”

“Me? Of all people?”

Gem rolls her eyes. Tango laughs, leaning back, and they knock each other back and forth for a moment before he replies.

“Gotcha,” he giggles. “Thanks a bunch.”

Gem snaps, giving him a double thumbs up.

“You got it!” she says. She rolls her shoulders back after a second, and Tango watches her stretch her wings. He picks up his shulker box and she starts to take off. She waves to him. “Bye, Tango!”

“Bye, Gem!”

Gem disappears behind the shingles of his house with a flutter of orange and black wings. He stands there for a moment, weight on his hip, letter in one hand. He turns it over again, as if he could see the contents without opening it.

“A letter, huh?” he says to himself. The prospect is simple enough, but the amount of things that could be enclosed, the words that could be said. What did Jimmy have left to say? What did he have left to say?

Well, realistically, a lot. He could go on at length, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that if he wanted any further closure, it was in the letter he was holding. And he certainly didn’t want to read it out in the open.

Tango tracks inside, feeling a tension twist uncomfortably in his stomach. He sets the empty shulker down before he wanders off into his enchanting space, the only place with good enough lighting, and enough paper and ink, to prove adequate for a letter reading.

It’s sweet. It’s almost too sweet. He hears him speak the words. He remembers the shape of his face. At some point he sinks to the ground, or his knees give, he isn’t sure which one. He lingers on the words ( I’m sorry, maybe I’m crazy, I still love you. An invitation ). Something warm and cruel weasels its way into his chest. He swallows to keep it down. He holds the letter to his chest.

Jimmy,

Writing letters is really hard. I hate words. You know the ways I messed them up, not being any good with them. Um. Anyways.

Hi, Jim. I feel like we were two socks that weren't supposed to match and then did. If I lie down and it's really dark and everything is really quiet except for the cicadas outside I like to think I can still hear another thumping noise in my ears. Or that I can hear shuffling beside me.

I hate sleeping alone. I thought I would never be able to sleep next to someone but now I can't sleep at all. It's quiet. It's cold. I mean of course it's cold here, you know what I mean.

I keep thinking I might see a little shimmery thread when I look at my hands. I keep finding yellow feathers.

I don't think you're crazy. If you're crazy then I'm crazy. I’m guy-who-can’t-catch-a-clue-if-you-threw-it-in-my-face crazy. I’m off the deep end crazy. Super crazy idiot over here. Hello. Yeah. If you are then I am. Really, though, I know putting hopeless people into hopelessness makes them crazy and makes them want to be loved in a way that makes them safe but I think I cared too much for it to just be the crazies.

Whenever I can't sleep I think about how you brought home cows and I was really impressed with it. You probably thought ‘Why is Tango so impressed with me because I brought home cows?’ And it's because I've never been very good with animals even though I really like them and it makes me really sad. I remember you said one time when it was dark and you probably thought I was asleep even though I wasn't that you'd build a ranch and do it again. But only with me. Not with anyone else, you thought, because I was the only one who got it.

I miss the feeling of being complete. I don't think I'm supposed to feel this much empty, but I do.

I'm still in love with you. I forgive you.

Can you visit? Is that something you can do?

I miss your hands and your face and the way you smile and things like that that I can't remember that well.

Sorry if there's charcoal on the page.

Tango

Jimmy spends the next two weeks with a nervous churning in his organs. Gem is gone for a week of that, or at least he doesn’t see her, so he busies himself with tasks around Tumble Town. He sets up a postage board for job listings with the help of his deputy. They travel with him to investigate the mines a second time, waving around heavy burning torches at the spiders that threaten to bite their ankles. They don’t find anything useful, aside from a few tunnels that don’t look like anything Jimmy would’ve made (Jimmy automatically assumes it’s Fwhip. When he confronts him about it later, he gets a haphazard excuse of why it can’t be him). The barn gets painted in full. More farm animals move in. Tumble Town grows out of its moniker of Town and into something bigger, brighter, more full of life. 

Two weeks is a long time, Jimmy realizes. 

Jimmy passes over a handful of diamond chips to the merchant in the square before he lifts his basket of produce over his hip. It weighs a good ton now, eggs and cured meat and vegetables. He hopes the icebox will keep them cool for a few days. A few loaves of bread. Dried goods. The like. He nods his thanks before pulling away, counterbalancing as he walks the distance back to the office, hat pulled low over his eyes. He can feel a dust storm settling over the horizon, even if he can’t see it, the air still and warm in the bowl. 

He’s halfway through unpacking groceries when Gem knocks on the door. Jimmy startles. He only knows it’s her because she announces herself as she knocks, and because Norman clamors up to greet her. She enters without waiting for Jimmy’s response and he scrambles over. 

“Hi, Jimmy!” she says, bending over to scoop Norman into her arms. He wiggles a bit, but then sits still.

“Hi, Gem,” Jimmy sighs, heart still thudding in his chest. “You spooked me.”

“Sorry,” she placates. “Seems like I’m always spooking you.”

He turns back to his groceries, lifting the basket, now with only a loaf of bread and dry goods left, before he steps away and to the kitchen. He calls to her as he walks. 

“‘S alright,” he says. “You’re always sneaking around.”

“I don’t mean to!”

He laughs, wandering back in. “It’s alright, I don’t mean it,” he pauses in the doorframe of the kitchen for a second. “You want a cup of coffee or something? Tea?” he offers.

Gem shakes her head, letting Norman down onto the desk. “I’m alright. I’m just back for your letter. If you’ve got one,” Jimmy blinks— of course —”I mean, I can’t be expected to play postal service the entire time we’re here, but I don’t mind a few.”

He nods, pacing over to the desk and opening a drawer. He rifles around for a moment.

“Yeah, yeah I’ve got one, hold on,” It takes a second to find the envelope through the stack of papers on the desk. It’s already signed and stamped. He folds it over in his hands before he holds it out to her. She takes it, tucking it away into her bag. Jimmy taps his fingers against the table before he speaks again.

“Also I was just thinking...” he starts, then he frowns, humming. “I...mm.”

Gem tilts her head.

“Mm? What’s up?”

“Oh, nah,” Jimmy waves his hands, glancing away. “No, it’s nothing—”

“Jimmy...” Gem starts, leaning forward with her hands on the table. “No weaseling out, I’ve already heard about things from both Impulse and Pearl, I know how much these little letters mean to you, alright?” Jimmy doesn’t look at her directly, but he nods, staring at the desk. “Now, what’re you thinking about?”

“I just miss him. I just...” he sighs through his nose. “I wonder if he could ever visit here. Maybe not to stay, but just for a bit,” he shrugs. “Just come and visit every so often.”

Gem nods, pulling back from the table.

“If I can do it, I don’t see why he couldn’t,” she says. “You can talk to Fwhip while I’m gone—I’m sure he’d be willing to help since I can’t. Otherwise I totally would.”

Jimmy nods. Gem’s busy as it is—asking her to set up an arrangement like that would be insult to injury, especially knowing Fwhip’s fully capable, and willing (hopefully, considering their alliance), to do it. Ducking around the side of the desk, Jimmy grabs his bag, tossing it over the desk. He’ll have to leave now if he wants to get there by dark.

“That would be amazing,” he says, hands half in and half out of the bag. Gem laughs.

“Glad I could help, Jim.”

“When do you think you’ll be back?”

Gem hums.

“Within a week,” she says. “I’ll leave tomorrow morning so you have time to make arrangements. I’ll drop off the letter, pick up Tango, drop him here, and go back.”

“I’ll get ready, then,” Jimmy says, and a warm feeling settles in his chest.

(Fwhip greets Jimmy with an unmatched enthusiasm when he arrives at his kingdom. He ushers him in and takes his arm, showing him around to all the new things he’s made—a lot of new things—pushes a cup of coffee into his hands and asks him about his day. When Jimmy brings up the fact that he’s been wanting someone to visit, Fwhip’s ears perk up and he smiles like he knows something. He waits for Jimmy to finish, before he nods just once, and tells him that he’s already done it. Joel asked him about Etho two weeks ago. Fwhip pressed about Jimmy, and when Joel reluctantly said that he’d been with Tango, it was, and he quotes, “his duty as Jimmy’s good friend and partner” to make sure it could happen. He’d only been waiting for Jimmy to officially ask before he told him. 

Of course he had.)

After about three weeks, Gem comes back. He isn’t expecting her so soon. Soon, of course, is relative, because in the scale of building and sorting and engineering feats such as what the Citadel is, or will be, it’s easy to lose track of time. That’s what happens to Tango, of course. It’s what always happens to Tango, knee deep in a project, tunnel vision so dense he sometimes forgets to sleep or eat or take an actual break.

She catches him at a bad time, too, he’s moving, and he can’t navigate over the shulkers he’s got stacked waist high, and he’s climbed up into the rafters when she knocks on the door and he has to yell for her to open it. 

“Tango?” She laughs as she enters.

“I’m in here!”

Tango leans from his place in the rafters, peering down to the lower levels. He can see her, mottled wings and bright red hair, but she turns a circle as she starts up the stairs, pausing at the landing. He can see her look of confusion as she surveys the open chests and shulker boxes strewn so haphazardly she can barely pick through them.

“Tango, what is going on?”

“Moving!” he starts, shifting on the beam. His tail flicks as if it could keep him balanced. “Er, moving- ish . I’ve got to take a bunch of stuff over to my new base.”

Gem sets her hands on her hips, looking around.

“Do you have a minute to chat? Where...” she looks up, passes over him, then snaps back as he swings his legs, grinning at her. “Oh!” Gem startles. Then she snorts.

“Hi, Gem,” he waves.

“Hi, Tango.”

He pats the beam, resettling.

“What’s up? What’s going on?”

“Well, I have your letter...” Gem pulls an envelope from her bag—same blue seal, same neat handwriting. Tango’s heart swells, and also quickens a bit, knowing those words are for him . Jimmy’s words, for him .

“Oh! Oh, thank you,” he says, pressing his hands together. “Thank you so much.”

“And...” Gem says, drawing out the a . Tango raises his eyebrows.

“And?” he asks. Gem nods.

“Jimmy talked to Fwhip. Because they’re in an alliance. About having you visit maybe.”

Tango thinks he feels his heart skip. 

“Mhm? What, uh, what did he say? Did they agree on anything?”

“He said yes.”

“ What ?” Tango nearly falls from his perch. He scrambles up and drops to the ground, stumbling forward to pluck the letter from Gem’s outstretched hand. He flips it over in his hands, tracing the seal. He can’t keep his voice level or in one octave for that matter. What? She’s serious? Is she? 

“Are you for real?” he stammers. Gem beams.

“Mhm!”

“Gem! You’re incredible!” he grabs her shoulders, shaking her back and forth. She laughs, wobbling willingly. “I...oh my gosh,” Tango drops his hands, turning away, running a hand through his hair. His whole body feels flooded with energy. He turns back to her. “When...when can I go?”

“Today—” she says, and Tango’s legs go weak. He might pass out, right here, right now. “Right now, if you want. I came by mostly to tell you I was headed back. I was only in to coordinate with Pearl.”

“I...yeah,” Tango says, nodding. If he passes out then he won’t be able to go. He braces himself against one of the shulker stacks, hoping it’s sturdier than his legs. “Yeah, I would love to go. I...god I feel like I have to look the part, now!”

Gem snorts.

“I wouldn’t jump the gun, I’m almost certain Jimmy has something in mind based on how he dresses.”

Tango’s face falls.

“Oh, no, c’mon, don’t say that, you’ll make me nervous.” (As if he weren’t already on edge.)

Gem waves her hands.

“No! No, his outfit is...charming,” she nods. “You’ll see.”

Tango isn’t sure how much to believe of that, but he hasn’t half the mind to care. His heart feels like it might beat straight from his chest, pattering away against his sternum. His legs are weak around the knee, holding together only from his slouch over the shulker boxes. He’s lightheaded, giddy, chest full of warm light. Gem tells him to pack a bag if he wants to, just some essentials that could easily be transferred over. He tells her two hours. He needs two hours to be ready to leave.

There’s a sling bag built for traveling that he starts to fill with basic supplies, things Jimmy might not have, given the circumstance. It’s all stuff that, if lost to time, space, void, or whatever it may be, won’t actually cause any harm. He’ll take his com, that’s for certain.

He feels his lungs tighten in his chest. The thing is, Tango hasn’t truly world-hopped in a long time. Not something like this. It’s been a long time since he took himself and his things through to a spawn hub, letter in hand, and stepped through. Grian’s little games were different. The process was different. Plus that was set up years ago. This is new.

Tango stands at the landing of the stairs for a long moment, amongst all the clutter of his home. His stomach rolls. The apprehension feels warranted, but out of place. Why should he be nervous about something like this, knowing full well this is something Jimmy wants, something he wants?

Gem doesn’t let him stew for long. She knocks on the door—loud enough to jolt him out of his daze.

“Tango!”

“Coming, coming!” he calls, startling, shuffling down the stairs. He pulls on his coat for good measure, laces his boots tight. When he opens the door and steps out, making his way across the makeshift path, Gem is standing in the grass over at the other side of the pond. He hears someone call his name as he approaches, and turns to see Pearl on the bridge, furiously waving her arm.

“Bye, Tango! See you in a few weeks!”

Tango grins, waving back. Gem laughs.

As she turns to him, Tango holds the strap on his bag tight in two hands. He’s bouncing a bit, something Gem copies before they start off together.

“You’ve traveled before,” she asks, looking over at him. “Haven’t you?”

He nods. “Oh, sure, sure, but it’s been a while.”

She hums, nodding. “Ah, you’ll be fine!”

They curve around several starter bases, passing through Scar’s tree and the mushrooms around it, past Cub’s base, bordered on the other side by the rise of GigaPies across the river. When the spawn hub (or what could be considered such, the little hut, the farms, the collective chest, it’s all quite cute) comes into view, Tango asks:

“So, where’s the world jumpy thingy at?”

“Hm? Oh,” Gem starts. “Xisuma set it up a while ago. He tried to explain it to me one time, the way portals get in and out of here, the void, the whole bit, but I kind of lost track. All I know is that I tell him when I’m leaving, and I can leave. I think he works it out.”

“Oh.” Well, that certainly did very little to settle Tango’s stomach. But he supposed it was no different than it had been in the past. Portal opens, step through. Simple. Simple as a Nether portal. Which is what Gem says when she sees his face pale unexpectedly.

When they finally stand a few feet from spawn, Tango realizes he can feel it before he sees it, the swirling in front of him, just a sheen of silver, like water suspended. Part of him itches to reach out and touch it, but he knows better. He’ll be pulled in without Gem, his anchor, and who knows what’ll happen then. He wouldn’t be able to find his way around.

Gem takes his hand, cold in his. She squeezes it. 

“You ready?”

“Oh, yeah—”

The sensation of stepping through and spawning into a new world is a lot like falling from a massive height knowing full well you’re standing still. The vertigo hits all at once, pulling and twisting, even as his brain knows there’s no movement. Tango is overwhelmed by nausea, vision swimming as he blinks back the sun above him. Gem holds fast to his shoulder as he stumbles, leaning hard against it. He resists the urge to vomit, much to his surprise. He breathes hard, shutting his eyes.

“That’s a lot worse than I remember it,” he manages. Gem laughs. 

“Yeah, it’s definitely not enjoyable the first time,” she says. She squeezes his shoulder. He rightens slowly and cautiously, breathing deep. 

As he does, Gem lets go of his shoulder. He finally gets his first good look at her.

She’s not...completely different from what she looks like on HC9, but something about her is inexplicably off. Her wings are still there, but she’s so fancy , Tango’s nearly taken aback by the fact that it’s still Gem .

“Someone’s lookin’ fancy,” he says, blinking. She grins.

“Princess Gem, at your service.”

“Princess,” Tango repeats. He raises his eyebrows. “Huh.”

“C’mon,” she says. “We can chat about this place on the way. The weather’s nice but it’s about a half day's walk, so better to start while there’s still sun.”

Jimmy’s morning starts the same as many of them have. He resists getting up until the very last second, until Norman’s making circles at the foot of the bed and he can hear Flick running up the stairs (at an alarming speed, as well). He dresses, body tired and aching, steps down to the kitchen to fix breakfast and tea. Just as that finishes, he hears the Deputy wander in, calling ‘ Sheriff!’ at the top of their lungs and he spills tea everywhere. 

The two of them lay out the day standing on opposite sides of Jimmy’s desk, new cup of tea at the edge, Norman supervising. There’s a perimeter check, a new shipment in from Sausage that he’ll have to sign in, four land deeds needing revisions and someone to ride out to check the property, and god knows when that’ll come up during the day. 

They split it half way: he’ll deal with the deeds and the wood, and the Deputy’ll manage the perimeter check. The deeds make a stack thicker than he’s expecting, considering all of the specificities in language and land-use (land-use...he knew exactly who pushed for that at the last meeting). And a meeting, at the end of the week, he can’t forget that. He’d have to get back in touch with the tailor about helping him embroider and sew down the yoke he’d cut for his newly made shirt. That, and the jacket too. Black and white, way out of his comfort zone of blue and red and dusty tan.

No matter. 

He sets off to start the rounds on the deeds, taking Bullseye with him. The day is hot and long and the travel doesn’t make it easier. By the second one, his hair is already plastered to his forehead and the back of his neck, and the fourth and fifth he’s tiredly looking over the papers, the words starting to blur. He spares enough water for Bullseye, luckily, and both make it back relatively well. His face and the back of his neck hurts. Bullseye better than him, if he’s being honest.

(The deputy laughs at how pathetic he looks, red from the sun, even with his hat, face contorted into a grimace. He washes off in the sink and it helps a good bit. Enough to make him feel like himself again.)

As the Deputy departs for the afternoon, tipping their hat, Jimmy sits at the desk, and pulls the papers to him. He starts, and Norman trots off, and his now third cup of tea goes cool before he finishes the first page.

At some point, he realizes that his eyes have glazed over.

The stack is much shorter now, finished, actually, pen set aside as he drifts half in and half out of sleep. His tea is cold, and sunlight pours full through the window beside and behind him, making the room comfortably warm. He blinks, coming to. The town is in motion outside the office, people chatting, shops in the square, a voice, calling his name.

He startles.

“Jimmy!” Gem yells, just audible from the noise outside.

“Gem?” he frowns, calling back.

“Come out here, I have something for you!” and she laughs, trying to shout above the people moving past her. Jimmy rises, stretching. She must’ve intercepted Sausage’s delivery. Or it was something too big to bring in. No matter.

“Just a second, Gem!” Jimmy yells from inside. He readjusts the stack of papers, the deeds that now needed filing, into a neat stack before he stands, pushing away from the desk. Norman stretches lazily from his spot by the window, curling himself into a twisted U that Jimmy smiles at. He starts over to the door as soon as Gem calls him again.

“Jimmy, c’mon!”

“Okay! Okay—” Jimmy manages, speaking to the open air around him. He lifts his hat from the hook beside the door, ducking his head as he pushes open the door with his shoulder. He blinks back the sunlight as he sets the hat on his head, breathing in the dust that always filtered through the air. Gem is standing in the square with the few people braving the midday sun passing around her, the shopkeep, a few ranchers, people Jimmy knows. Jimmy sweeps the crowd. Then he sees him. 

Jimmy’s legs go weak all at once. He stumbles on the steps, pulls himself forward, his heart slamming in his chest and in his ears. He’s laughing, loud and foolish and grinning stupidly because it’s Tango . Tango is here , Tango is standing in his square , Tango is waving his hands and grinning and it’s Tango . 

Jimmy runs at him. He pushes his hat off his head and flings his arms out. He collides into Tango, scoops him up in his arms, and lifts him. Tango cackles, manic and unhinged, gripping Jimmy’s rib cage like he’s got nowhere else to be, burying his face against his shoulder. He laughs, and Jimmy spins them, wobbling, arms tight around Tango’s waist. He breathes him in, the smell of dirt and dust and burning, god he feels like he could cry if it wouldn’t just evaporate off his face. He spins until his head starts to swim, laughing, drunk and giddy. Finally, he lets them down, swaying and wobbling, rocking back and forth. They giggle in each other’s arms, Tango’s hands fisted in his shirt. Jimmy tries to relax, but it’s Tango. Tango is here. He’s here . He can’t be normal about it, he doesn’t know how.

“Oh my god,” Jimmy breathes into him. “Tango. My god.”

“Jimmy,” Tango sighs. “You’re crushing me.”

“Sorry—” Jimmy startles, loosening. He nearly draws away, but Tango clutches to him, tail flicking back and forth, and Jimmy stays. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Tango says, ducking his head back against Jimmy’s shoulder. “Hi, hi, I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Jimmy says, and dissolves into laughter. He giggles, Tango does too, rocking them back and forth and back and forth. From over Tango’s shoulder Gem gives him a thumbs up and Jimmy grins stupidly back at her and kisses the curve of Tango’s shoulder when she leaves. He does draw back a second later, but only to cup Tango’s face in his hands. To have Tango’s hands circle his wrists. And to kiss him, lopsided and poorly but warm and soft and laughing against his mouth when they don’t connect quite right the first time. Tango kisses him again, properly, and again, until they’re laughing and smiling and out of breath. 

Jimmy finally gets a good look at him in the sun, his hair a bright gold against the backdrop of the mesa. He’s dressed comfortably—not for the desert of course, but comfortable in terms of outside the death game. Soft clothes: Cargo pants. Lace up shoes. Dark woolen cardigan. Bright red sunglasses. Lightweight things. Nothing like the dark, close fit clothes he knew, the heavy boots, the dark eyes. His scars are gone too—no remnants of the blast that killed them the first time, and certainly not the broken nose and cheekbone from the second, or the battered bones they would’ve left with. Just scrapes and scratches and jewelry. And soft hands. And a gentle face, no dark circles, no tired lines. He’s gorgeous. He’s...

“Jimmy.”

“Huh?” Jimmy swallows, blinking. Tango’s wide red eyes flicker over his face, the wisp of a smile still playing on his own.

“You’re starin’ at me.”

“Yeah?” Jimmy admits. “Can you blame me? I’ve never seen you like this before.”

Tango snorts, ducking his head. There’s a flush creeping up his neck. “No, guess not. But—”

“No! No buts—” Jimmy tries to argue, until Tango cuts him off. 

“But it’s so hot out here, is what I was going to say,” he sighs, still smiling. “Let’s go inside?”

“Yeah,” Jimmy takes his hand, looking incredulous. “Of course we can.”

They start toward the house. Tango reaches over for a moment, setting Jimmy’s hat back on his head.

“Sherriff, aye?” he asks, fixing the hat. Jimmy smiles.

“That’s me, protecting the town, doing what I do best, besides helping them rebuild.”

They step up the stairs and into the house. Jimmy shoulders the door, letting Tango through. He stops for a moment in the doorway, looking back on the town square.

“It’s nice. It’s...picturesque. More so than I got from your letters,” he turns back, and the smile on his face makes Jimmy weak in the knees. “Guess I should’ve guessed you’d be a rancher through and through then, huh?”

Jimmy laughs. 

“I guess so. Guess it was always in my nature.”

Later, when most of everyone has gone to bed and Jimmy’s already made dinner and tea and Tango settles in, they sit together outside. It’s lit by a warm light, enough to where Jimmy can take in a Tango, unbruised and gentle. Tango sets down his cup, empty, turning toward him as Jimmy lifts his hands. He takes Tango’s face in his hands to trace it, smoothing across his cheekbones and over along his jaw.

“You look so different,” Jimmy says softly, not sure if it actually comes out as words. It must, because Tango takes it, smiling, trapping a laugh in his throat as Jimmy fluffs his fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. He tilts his head into Jimmy’s hand, pressing against his palm.

“Do I?” he asks, a bit in awe. “You do, too.”

“You look softer, it’s...” Jimmy swallows. “I’m sorry, it’s just really—”

“You’re amazing,” Tango blurts. He immediately flushes, mouth opening and closing as his eyes flit over Jimmy’s face. Jimmy’s heart rate spikes when he does, suddenly flooded with a rush of yearning. His face softens all at once.

“You think?”

“Yeah, I...you’re not tired, not scared,” Tango says, soft and awed. He reaches up to trace Jimmy’s jawline, scratching at the soft skin, scrunching his nose. “No bruises. Something about you is just so...happy. Healthy. Comfortable. Not that you weren’t lovely before it’s just...”

“I want to kiss you so bad,” Jimmy manages.

Tango grins, all sharp teeth. “Okay,” he says, and he pulls Jimmy to him. He kisses him gently, Jimmy shifting his hands up the back of his neck and into his hair. Tango leans into him, holding his hips, palms flat up his sides. Tango laughs a little against his mouth and Jimmy smiles. He tries to kiss him again, but it’s mostly Tango’s teeth and they both try again but don’t connect quite right. Tango kisses the side of his mouth by accident, Jimmy kisses his chin, and instead Jimmy presses their foreheads together and laughs. Tango careens into him, giggling to himself.

“You do, though,” he says after a second. Jimmy hums. “You look good here, where you don’t have to worry about anything.”

“You are, too, dressed like this,” Jimmy says, tugging at his shirtsleeve. “You look normal. Kind of weird to say that normal is better, eh?”

Tango laughs, shaking his head.

“Nah, not even close.”

“I’m kind of excited to see you normal.”

Tango hums, shifting to lean into him, shoulder to shoulder.

“Beauty in the normal, huh?” he says. Jimmy nods.

“You get it.”

“Guess you’re not that normal, though,” Tango says, prodding him in the side. “You and your empire .”

Jimmy laughs.

“Yeah, but now you’re here, so who knows what’ll happen.”

Tango sets his chin on his shoulder, and Jimmy leans into him. His hand finds his.

“C’mon now,” he says. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Jimmy laughs a little, kissing the top of his head.

“Oh no, not even close.”

Not even.