Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Two weeks after all hell breaks loose and gets contained again, Raz heads to the Green Needle Gulch.

It's not for his Nona, although there is an odd sort of comfort in knowing one of his family members is still living on Psychonauts grounds. After spending several days just wishing they would leave already, it's a bit disconcerting to not have them a five minute's walk away.

Nona is also disconcerting, but Raz can deal with that. Kinda. He's learning as he goes.

Anyway, Raz isn't heading down to the boathouse for Nona (though come to think of it, he probably should visit her, too… she's been wanting to show him her new knitting projects for a while, but Raz has been avoiding this house like the plague. whatever, this'll be two birds with one stone) no, he's heading there for Ford Cruller.

Ford, who randomly decided to pop out of Raz's head two hours ago and ask for his help with ‘something,’ then vanished before Raz could even sputter out a question, or maybe a protest about Ford's continued psychic residence in his head.

But, reasonable protests about personal space aside, he's going. Because it's Ford.

It's not a matter of owing him! Heck knows Raz doesn't owe the guy shit, because even if he did save Nona's life, he still lied-

Raz takes a breath, kicking stones across the dirt path as he walks. He'd be faster on his levitation ball, but he needs this extra time to pull his thoughts together.

“Focus,” Raz mumbles to himself, ignoring the looming presence that is the dilapidated lakehouse ahead of him. Screaming at Ford in a fit of rage won't accomplish anything, except maybe ruining yet another one of his relationships.

(Not that he started it. He wasn't the one who lied, and lied, and lied some more, and was willing to screw over everyone for the sake of just one person-)

So, Raz doesn't owe him. It's just… before Maligula, Ford was the only one who ever saw Raz as an equal. Or, at the very least, as an asset who did not need talking down to.

It had been a blessing, a lifeline, the only thing keeping Raz sane in a camp full of people constantly dismissing his claims. And during the Maligula fiasco, well- his circle of trusted confidantes hadn't exactly grown (and it was really just a triangle to begin with).

Maybe that's a low bar. Dumb, too, considering that Ford's shattered mind was likely the cause of any shared trust on the older man's part.

Of course no Psychonaut in their right mind would treat a child as a fully capable human being with complex thoughts and feelings. That's just, like, common sense.

But the fact remains that Ford did. And logic be damned, Raz misses him.

Raz's foot hits the lowest step of the lakehouse. He blinks.

Guess time's up.

…his thoughts don't feel any more together.

He knocks on the door.

Raz half-expects (hopes) Nona will answer, but the door opens and Ford's furrowed face stares down at him.

“Hi,” Raz says, waving one hand. He tucks the other into the crook of his elbow, tangling it in his sweater sleeve. It's a new one, a gift from his fellow former interns- an apology of sorts. Unnecessary, but Raz had accepted on the sole reasoning that he only owned two outfits before they collectively decided to buy him more.

The fabric is a soft, light green, with a bee embroidered on the front. Raz curls his fingers into it unconsciously.

Ford's eyes flicker to the movement, because he's a trained Psychonaut who's learned to notice all kinds of mental distress, but he doesn't say anything.

Instead, he says, “You came.” He doesn't exactly sound happy about this, just as dull as ever.

Raz forces a half-smile, not feeling it. “Yeah? You- I mean, you asked.”

“Huh,” Ford says. And then he turns around, clearly expecting Raz to follow.

Besides the addition of the door, the interior looks about the same as it always did, with the minor exception of a single floating platform to help less nimble folks ascend to the second floor.

There's also a haphazardly-placed pile of plastic bags on the floor, assorted planks and hardware spilling out over the floor. It must be from the town that's located nearly an hour away from the base, and a little distantly, Raz wonders if Ford owns a car.

Otherwise, the house is empty.

Raz pauses in the middle of the room. His feet hurt from walking all the way here. “Where's N- Lucrecia?”

“Eh, she's off with Cassie and Boole today,” Ford's been messing around at the barren kitchen counter, and when he turns it's to hand Raz a glass of lemonade. “Besides, I thought you and I should talk.”

The smile, already weak, drops from Raz's lips. “...talk?”

Before he can so much as think no please not right now, though, Ford slaps him on the shoulder and announces, “Yes, about these cabinets! I don't know about you, son, but I don't feel good about storing food right next to wood rot, y’feel me?”

“Uh, sure,” Raz tries, but Ford is already dragging him over to the counter with a firm hand on Raz's upper arm. He tries his best not to spill the lemonade.

“Now, I ain't got the stamina to do it myself, but I figure between my custodial know-how and your young self, we can get this place looking right. I'll even sign off with Hollis, say it counts as part of your yearly research requirement. You in?”

Raz frowns. “You're both staying here for good, then?”

It's the first news he's heard on that topic in a while. Even Nona had seemed uncertain last time he brought it up, and that had been just a few days ago in the Motherlobe.

(Also, shit, Psychonauts have a yearly research requirement?)

“For the time being, at least,” Ford dismissively waves his free hand. “They want to monitor Lucy for a while. So? We got a deal?”

Raz hesitates a moment longer. Partially because it seems more like a demand than a deal, mostly because he doesn't want to spend more time here than absolutely necessary.

Ford seems to sense this. “If not for me, then for your grandmother. How ‘bout that?”

This time, Raz nods, slowly. “Alright. For my fake grandma. What do you need me to do?”

Raz doesn't point out that he wouldn't have said yes otherwise, and Ford doesn't point out that Raz still calls her ‘Nona’ whenever Ford isn't in the room. Compromise.

Ford just shows him how to hold a screwdriver with his TK, and they get to work.

The first step is the cabinets themselves; some of them need to be torn out entirely, others just need a hinge or door replacement.

(Privately, Raz thinks the whole building should just be torn out and rebuilt from the ground up, but even he can guess that's probably, y'know, insensitive or something. Ford and Lucrecia likely have some sort of emotional attachment to the place.)

Either way, Raz spends most of his afternoon prying wood planks and rusty nails out of the walls.

A couple hours in, Ford speaks up. “How's Psychonaut life treatin’ you?”

“Junior Psychonaut,” Raz corrects absently. He's sitting on his levitation ball to avoid further aches and pains, holding up a brand new shelf for Ford to hammer in. It doesn't match the rest of the house, cherry wood against spruce. “And, it's fine, I guess? I dunno. Lots of paperwork because of the whole Maligula deal.”

“Hm, not surprising. I've had a fair bit shoved my way, too.” Ford tilts his head, leaning in close to peer at the nail he's been hitting. “You fill yours out in crayon?”

Raz aims a kick at him. Lightly. Kinda. He's several feet off the ground, so it collides with Ford's stomach, knocking a bit of the air out of his lungs.

“Watch it, firestarter,” Ford snaps, but his lip twitches in an almost-smile.

Raz snickers. He readjusts his grip on the board.

“...and what about you?” Ford asks, after another moment. He hits the nail again, and this time it goes in. He picks up another from the package balancing on Raz's knee. “How are you doing?”

Raz swallows. Suddenly he can’t meet Ford's eyes, and looks out the window instead. The sun will be setting soon, but for now the world is a soft yellow, heralding the beginnings of twilight. “I'm fine.”

And, in fairness, that's true.

Sure, his family left, and Raz still doesn't know if he wanted them to stay, and Sasha and Milla left, and Raz definitely did want them to stay, but Lili's still here and the other Junior Psychonauts are here and Loboto's, like, around somewhere, so.

So, yeah. He's fine.

He's doing fine here. He has people in his life, alright? Even if some of them left. It's okay. He's thriving, actually, and he doesn't need anything more.

Anyone more.

“I'm looking forward to taking on some real missions soon,” Raz adds, for the sake of killing the awkward silence. “Uh, and, how are you?”

“I'm fine too, Raz,” Ford says, voice soft. Out of the corner of his vision, Raz can see Ford's eyes on him.

He doesn't look up.

Nona arrives home after nightfall, when Raz's head and hands are aching to match his legs, and the wrinkles under Ford's eyes are more shadows than wrinkles. Both of them are mildly sweaty and a little worn down. Also, Raz is pretty sure he has some slivers in his fingers.

Most of the old shelving and cabinets have been tossed into a pile in the front yard to be burned, new, shiny furnishings in their place.

“Ah, it's looking beautiful, Crully!” Nona exclaims, then spots Raz peeking out from behind one of the lower cabinets. “Oh, Pootie, you're here too! Give us a hug, eh?”

“I'm all gross,” Raz complains, but doesn't try very hard at all to avoid the arms reaching for him.

Lucrecia smells like water, which makes sense, but like comforting water. Like a kettle boiling on the stove, and puddles after a summer storm. Raz tucks his face into her shoulder, just for a moment.

“The kid was helpin’ me,” Ford says, voice pitched louder to carry over Lucrecia’s cooing. “He's not a bad hand at this stuff.”

Nona pulls away to look at Ford, that soft smile she only ever gives to Ford taking over her face.

“Did you now?” She asks, pinching Raz's cheek. It only hurts a little. “That's high praise, carino. My Crully is hard to pry compliments from.”

Ford steps over, a respectful distance from the two of them. “Well, he's not as good as me, of course. But he could get there.”

“Excuse me? I was doing all the hard stuff,” Raz shoots back playfully. There's a lightness in his chest, only heightened by Nona's hand lingering on his arm.

The teenager interns hate showing vulnerability, and Lili's great, but neither of them are bold enough to initiate much physical touch yet, and the combination has left Raz craving contact more than food.

“Only ‘cause I was the brains of the operation,” Ford rumbles. And then he goes to ruffle Raz's hair.

And Raz- Raz flinches back.

Ford blinks. Raz blinks. He isn't looking at her, but he's sure Nona blinks too.

His breaths are a little faster, chest a little tighter for reasons that have nothing to do with the binder he's been wearing since eight o'clock this morning. He took a step back at some point; Nona is no longer touching him.

What is wrong with him? A year ago, he would've killed for a Psychonaut to joke around with him, and now- now-

They used to be friends, back when Coach Oleander was their biggest problem. He's not sure what they are, now.

Ford drops his hand. Raz starts breathing easier.

“Sorry, I have to- go. Curfew. Yeah. Sorry.” Raz hears himself speak as if from far away.

“Er,” Ford starts, but Lucrecia beats him to it. “Are you coming back tomorrow, Pootie? I would so love to get this old place liveable again.”

“I, um,” Raz forces himself to draw in a breath, hoping not to be too obvious about it. “Maybe, I guess?”

“We’ll be here,” says Nona gently, and maybe Raz is going crazy but it feels like she puts an extra emphasis on the ‘we.’

He darts out the door before he can give it much further thought.

----

Later that night, Raz finds himself sitting alone in his dorm room, staring at the ceiling.

He took his binder off the moment he walked in, but his ribs still ache ache ache as he lays on the bed, motionless.

Raz asked his dad, once, if he was mad at Ford. It occurs to him now that he'd never asked the same of himself.

A murderer, Raz thinks, scratching absently at the parallel scars on his wrists. That’s what Raz called Lucrecia, back at the beginning of this mess. The term isn't any less true now that he knows the full story.

But it changes how he thinks about it. How he feels. And isn't that equally important to the story? That's what Psychonauts are all about.

And how he feels is…

Raz sighs, and sits up. This is stupid. If he's gonna be awake, he may as well get some paperwork done.

But. He doesn't have to do it alone, right?

Cautiously, he reaches out and nudges Lili through their bond.

No response. She must already be asleep. Keeping up the traditional gardener's schedule, and all that. Hopefully Raz didn't disturb her dreams too badly.

Raz bites his lip. Who else could he bug past midnight? He's closer with the guys emotionally, but he's closer to the girls in terms of physical distance. They'll be easier to contact.

He's reasonably sure Lizzie and Gisu are out graffiting Psycho-Isolation tonight, and he wouldn't poke Norma with a ten foot pole, so that leaves Sam.

She responds immediately, however it's less of a ‘yes I'm awake’ and more just a barrage of images of a whale. Or perhaps several different whales. Telepathic communication with humans is not Sam's strong suit.

Can I come over, Raz asks her, attempting to throw a few mental projections of her dorm door along with it to make sure she gets the question.

He receives the same sequence of whale images in response, but this time they're smiling. Good enough.

Raz trudges over to her room in a pair of fluffy knitted socks instead of shoes, his standard-issue linen blanket strewn across his shoulders.

He can't put his binder back on, but this should cover up his torso well enough. Particularly because this is Sam- if Dogen was never weird about it when they were roommates at camp, Raz can't think of many reasons why Sam would be.

Her door is already open when he approaches. She has a candle burning on her desk, the only light in the room other than the moonlight outside. It smells like pine needles.

“You look crazy awful right now,” Sam says, without sitting up from the floor. Her fingers are tangled in yarn, for whatever reason.

Raz sits down next to her. She wrinkles her nose.

“You also kinda smell terrible.”

“Die,” Raz says amicably.

“You first.”

“Kill me yourself, coward.”

“...wanna talk about it?” Sam asks, a few seconds later.

Raz considers. Then he shakes his head, laying down alongside her. It’s not like anything is wrong, really. Not in a way that matters, when they’re surrounded by head cases and life-threatening missions. All things are relative in their line of work. “Not really. It’s not a big deal, anyway. But can I do my homework here? Erm, paperwork, I mean?”

“Duh.”

He gets through one report (of Cassie's mind) and one psychiatric evaluation (of himself) before he gives up. Sam has managed to completely tangle her forearms in the yarn, as well as make a passable cat's cradle.

“Um, thanks. By the way.”

Sam angles exactly one eyeball at him. “No biggie. You can stay the night, if you want. But you owe me. Again.”

“Thank y- wait. Again? I saved you! I saved your brother's brain! That gets me at least one favor.”

“Did you?” Sam challenges, very seriously.

Raz eyes her. He uses two eyeballs instead of one, because he needs all the advantages he can get. “Yes?!”

Then Sam snickers. “I'm just fucking with you, Raz. Geez, you're just like the squirrels. Can't pick up on a joke.”

“I've eaten squirrels,” Raz says. “I’d prefer to be compared to a different animal, please.”

Sam hums. She looks him up and down, for real this time. “Cat, then.”

“Cat?”

“Kitten, actually. You've got a lot of scary cats looking out for you.”

Raz suspects he should be offended, but mostly he's just confused. Even on a metaphorical level, that doesn't feel very true. “No, I don't.”

Sam purses her lips. “Yeah, maybe not right now. But you did. And you will.” She leans in, green eyes intense and piercing his soul. “Promise.”

Raz stares at her. Her breath smells like fur for some terrifying, unknown reason, and her left cheek is smushed against the cheap dormitory carpet.

It's weird, having friends. Even slightly-scary friends, like Sam. Weird and great. He has people who smile at him now, who tell jokes, just because they want to, no blood relation required.

The Razputin of even one year ago would be so fucking jealous, he thinks smugly.

“You're full of crap,” Raz decides, and puts his palm directly on Sam's face, shoving her backwards. She laughs. 

“Wanna sleep on the floor together?” Sam asks, rolling away and into a sitting position. It’s hardly the smoothest motion, but she makes it look intentional, hooking her hair behind her ear as she regains equilibrium. "I've been trying to meditate before bed, but I keep dozing off. You could keep me awake, couldn'tcha?"

“Sure,” Raz says. Technically that counts as practice for his job, right? Before he knows it, Sam’s untangled herself from the yarn and is pulling blankets and pillows off of her bed, assembling a nest on the floor around him.

She doesn’t ask for his help, and it’s her stuff anyway, so Raz just kinda sits there feeling awkward until she drops back down next to him, shoving an obscenely round cat plush into his lap.

“Okay,” she says, legs crossed and eyes already closing. “Here goes. This isn’t my best subject, so don’t give me shit or I’ll kick you out.”

“I would never,” gasps Raz in mock-offense. Sam just snorts, which, rude.

The next few minutes are quiet. Really quiet. Raz lies down and picks at the cat plush, fiddling with its floppy ears. It looks like it’s seen better days.

True to her word, Sam dozes off a few times. Raz pokes her awake the first three times, but after that he gives up, letting her slump over (directly forwards, actually, her body folded in half like a practiced gymnast) against his stomach. If her body's craving sleep this badly, she probably needs it.

Raz's hand absently finds her hair, fingers tangling in the course strands. It'd feel weird with most people, but Sam lets literal rats comb her hair, so he gives himself a pass for this particular social faux pas.

Yeah, he thinks, staring up at the cheap plaster of Sam's ceiling. He's got plenty of people. He doesn't need Ford's mentorship, or friendship, or whatever the heck they had- not anymore. Who cares if being around him sucks now?

Sam begins to snore, and several moths claw their way inside the cracked window to cling to her back. Raz doesn't fall asleep until morning.

Chapter Text

He shows back up at Ford and Nona's front door the next afternoon.

He doesn't know why. But his feet carry him there and the door opens and Nona plants a kiss on his cheek and it's nice, okay? It's just nice.

“The pipes are leaking,” Ford announces once they both step fully into the house. “Makes cooking a right pain, not to mention showering.”

“His hydrokinesis needs work,” Nona stage-whispers to Raz.

Ford shoots her a good-natured middle finger, then holds up another plastic bag Raz hadn't noticed he was carrying. “Down for a little manual labor, Razputin?”

“Sure,” Raz says, like that wasn't entirely what he came over here to do.

Briefly, he wonders what they would've done if he'd said ‘no.’ Would they have been okay to just let him sit and observe, or would they have kicked him out?

“Excellent!” Nona chirps, clapping her hands together. “Come over here, Pootie, I will show you how we fix it.”

“Um,” Raz says, but she's already dragging him over to the back (front? it's so hard to tell in a circular house) door. It's been left open, allowing the hot summer sun inside, and the reason why becomes quickly apparent; the floorboards have been torn up, exposing a broken section of pipe. Water is pooling around it, more still gushing out.

Nona sits down in the sunlight, leaving Raz no choice but to plop down beside her.

“We cannot turn the flow off, so you and I must hold the water. Otto was supposed to look for the valve, but, he's, eh… busy.”

“Busy avoiding us, more like,” Ford grumbles. He sits down across from them, legs folded criss-cross so that his shoes barely dip into the hole.

He's obviously pissed, but Raz uncomfortably thinks that Otto Mentalis might just be the most relatable person on the grounds, all of a sudden.

Nona looks away from the pipe to meet Ford's gaze. “No, just me, Crully.”

Her voice is calm, with the practiced air of one who has had this argument before. They probably have.

Ford shakes his head. “Us, Lucrecia. If he's avoidin’ you, then he's avoiding me, too.”

Raz stares at him. There's an odd feeling in his chest, sick and warm all at once. Inexplicably, he feels guilty.

He refocuses on the burst pipe.

Nona pulls his wrist closer to the hole, and then pauses, glancing at him. Her eyes are clear, as they have been ever since her mind was restored. Raz is still getting used to it. “Are you sure you are ready to learn this?” Nona asks him.

“Yes,” Raz answers instantly, usual lust for knowledge taking over before he fully processes the deeper meaning behind the question. Then his lungs seize up. Crap. “I mean, probably. Definitely. Yup.”

Nona raises a wrinkled eyebrow at him.

“I'd have to be an idiot not to accept a hydrokinesis lesson from the Deluge of Grulovia herself, right?” Raz laughs, a touch hysterically, then feels Ford's eyes on him. “Uh, not that you're- like, I know you're not- fuck. Shit! Um, sorry.”

Nona's other eyebrow raises. Across the gap, Raz thinks Ford might be stifling a laugh.

Raz plucks a pebble out of the hole with his TK and chucks it at him. Ford's strangled breaths only get louder.

With a completely blank face, Nona says, “Careful, my little Razputie. Your mother would surely kill us both if she heard you using such foul fucking language. Now,” she continues, barreling right past Raz's now-slackened jaw, “we will take it slow, yes? The mind needs time to overcome fear.”

“Y-yeah,” Raz nods, too thrown by hearing his grandmother swear for the first time ever to feel afraid, at least for a few seconds. “I got this.”

“Yes,” she agrees. “You do.”

“Wait, do I need a badge for this?”

Nona pauses. She glances at Ford exactly once before refocusing on Raz. “Eh, well… hydrokinesis is not exactly an official psychic power, so to speak…”

“It's banned,” Ford cuts in, blunt as ever. “Illegal, even, if you're in the wrong jurisdiction. So if you use it, don't mention it on any of your reports, got it?”

Oh. That tracks, honestly.

“Understood, sir,” he says, flashing a bright smile, and the tension in the air dissipates.

Raz isn't sure what he's expecting, but all Nona does is guide his hands a few inches closer to the leaking water and turn his palms face-up.

She lets go. A few drops of muddy water splash onto his skin.

There's a strange expression on Ford's face as he watches them, brows furrowed and eyes tired. It's familiar, but Raz can't place it at the moment.

“Calm yourself,” Lucrecia murmurs, holding out her own hands to mirror Raz's position. “Breathe. Water is… like a memory. You know its shape, its form. Find it in yourself.”

Raz frowns. “What if I don't know it, though? I have, like, a dozen memories of water, tops, and none of them are pleasant.”

His Nona smiles, but remains unrelenting. “Try anyway, hm? It may surprise you, what knowledge we retain.”

Fine. Fine! Fuck it. Raz closes his eyes.

He can feel the sunlight beating down on his back, hear the shifts of Nona's shawl as she breathes.

“Water is a part of your mind, like fire. But it is… more gentle, yes? Sensitive. You know what it can be, what it can do. All you must do is show it how.”

Her voice is soft, kind, as if she's talking about a living thing. Perhaps to her, it is.

Raz… well, despite the lack of a “curse,” he's yet to develop any good feelings about water. Water isn't gentle or living or wondrous, it's a force of nature, and a violent one at that.

His main memories of water are ones of fear.

“Oh,” Lucrecia gasps, and the note of shock makes Raz open his eyes again.

Around Raz's hands, the water has spiked. Spiked rings of liquid that defy gravity, weaving painlessly across his fingers.

It should be deadly sharp- and it probably is, but not to him.

“Woah,” Raz breathes.

The second he forgets to be afraid, the water smooths out, thorns falling away until he's left with a single strand of water. Like a little snake.

It grows as the pipe continues to leak, wreathing up around his arms.

“It's- it's like it's… listening to me? Is that crazy?”

“No, dearie. That isn't.”

Raz giggles in sheer delight, letting the water-snake wriggle over his skin. It's nothing like the ones Maligula threw at him, mostly because he isn't sure how to make it have defined features yet. Still, a sentient noodle is pretty cute.

“You have a knack for this!” cheers Lucrecia, throwing her arms around Raz's shoulders to tug him close. “I should expect nothing less from my family. So talented! And flexible!”

“Nona, you're embarrassing me,” Raz whines, cheeks burning. He's grinning, though, water wavering as he loses focus.

He's still smiling when he looks up at Ford.

Ford, who is gripping his knees so tightly his knuckles are turning white. His eyes are wide, and entirely focused on Raz.

He looks like he's seen a ghost; or what it would feel like to see one, if necromancy were a real thing.

“Agent Cruller? W-what’s wrong?” Raz asks, uncertain. His chest has gone cold, water falling away from his hands. It soaks his sleeves on the way down, since he's no longer the one directing it.

Nona looks up, too, appearing just as confused as Raz feels.

Ford swallows. “Nothing,” he says. Then, more determinedly, “Nothin’ at all. Lemme grab my tools, eh, Razputin? No use slacking.”

Raz stares at his back, only breaking away once to make eye contact with Nona. She shrugs, a little helplessly.

When Ford turns around again, his expression is unerringly normal. It's kinda freaky.

“Keep it contained, would ya?” It’s a question, but Ford doesn't say it like one. He reaches for the pipe without waiting for an answer, leaving Nona to hurriedly stall the water before it can soak the electric drill in Ford's hands.

Raz sets his hands out to help her, grabbing the few droplets that spill and forming them into a tiny sphere.

It's surprisingly difficult. The water listens, but gravity doesn't, and the act of keeping one wobbly bubble in the air ends up feeling like he's juggling plates.

There's a very long silence. Only the occasional pulses of the motorized drill break it, ominously loud inside the empty cabin.

“Uh,” Raz says, out of discomfort. “So, Nona, what's the deal with Otto?”

Nona hums, clearly grateful for the topic change. She's easier to read than most people, or maybe Raz has just known her long enough. “Ah, he is- guilty, I believe.”

“Guilty?”

She nods, mournful. It's not a look Raz likes seeing on her. “I have tried to talk to him, to tell him I do not blame him, but he is avoiding me.”

Something squirms in Raz's chest. He glances over at Ford, who is still putting off don't talk to me vibes, rancid and suffocating, and before he can really think it through, says, “He's not the one who should feel guilty.”

Nona pauses. Ford does not.

The drilling noises feel louder, somehow.

“Yes,” Lucrecia ventures, after a moment. “No one is to blame.”

If Ford isn't gonna grace that with a response, Raz isn't either.

They sit in their self-inflicted uncomfortable silence until the pipe is fixed, and Ford excuses himself to wash his hands outside.

“Why did he stare at me like that, earlier? With the water?” Raz whispers at Nona, once he's sure Ford is out of earshot.

“I… I am not sure,” says Nona. She stands, brushing off her skirt, and offers a hand to Raz, who takes it. “He is a very private man, you know.”

“I'm getting that,” Raz mutters. It sounds more bitter than he meant it to. He lets himself be pulled up and follows her over to the counter.

Lucrecia starts making something- tea, maybe, so Raz rolls the ball of water he'd collected around in his fingers, drops it in the now-functional sink, and takes a seat on the counter to watch.

Nona clicks her tongue at him, but doesn't tell him to get down. She's gotten a lot more lenient since her memories returned.

She sets three mugs down beside Raz's thigh. Quietly, she says, “He did not mean to hurt us, Pootie. I can promise you that.”

“I- I know,” Raz replies, because he does.

If there's one thing he knows for certain, it's that Ford only ever wanted to protect them. Or, protect Nona and Dad, at least, since Raz didn't exist yet, but that's basically the same thing.

(So why doesn't that make Raz feel any better?)

Nona smiles sadly at him. “I would ask that you try not to hurt him, either. I know it is hard right now, but can you do that for me?”

The request is sweet and soft, altruistic in every sense of the word. Because Lucrecia is a good person, just like everyone always said.

Only a monster would deny a request like that.

Raz stares at her, his mouth suddenly as dry as the sand outside. His lungs ache.

Ford walks back in before Raz can muster up a response.

Nona makes them all tea, and then drags Raz over to see her current knitting project. She doesn't attempt to bring the subject back up for the rest of the afternoon, and Raz is stupidly, horribly grateful for it.

----

“You're upset,” Lili comments, utterly toneless. She's holding one of Raz's comics above her head, arms wavering slightly against the gravity.

It's the middle of the night, but they're laying in Raz's bed together, because Lili says that until her dad manages to change the Motherlobe’s policy on gendered dorms, they're allowed to abuse the ever-loving crap out of it.

Raz isn't so sure about that, but Lili says it'll be an incentive for her dad to rush the change, so he’s decided to trust her judgement.

Besides, he'll never turn down a sleepover with his ‘best friend turned girlfriend turned other half.’

“I'm not upset,” he lies.

“Yes, you are.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yeah-huh,” Lili snaps, telekinetically slamming a pillow into Raz's face. It's shaped like a brain; he got it at the Motherlobe's gift shop.

Seems like a dumb thing for a government base to have, in his opinion, but hey, easy access to psychic merch is basically a dream come true.

Raz sputters, batting it away. “Geez, fine, I'm upset! Happy?”

“Extremely. Can't you tell?” Lili says, just as monotone as before. Her eyes are flat, and she's tossed the comic onto the bedside table.

“I just- are you ever mad about things that don't make sense?”

Lili nods. “Yeah, all the time. I've never seen you get angry, though.”

“I have this… friend,” Raz says slowly, choosing his words. Lili can probably guess who he's talking about, but he wants some plausible deniability in case he regrets voicing this later. “And he did something that hurt me. And I know he wasn't trying to, but I'm still really frustrated. Is that… is that terrible? I should be able to let go, shouldn't I?”

Lili tilts her head, finger to her chin. She does things like that, little mannerisms picked up from movies and comic books that real people don't have, because she was an isolated kid, too, even if she's better at hiding it. “Did this guy apologize?”

“Of course he-” Raz stops cold. Oh.

That can't be right, can it?

Raz scans through his memories as best he can without literally peeking into his own brain. But, no, he can't recall an apology ever happening.

“Well, there you go,” Lili says with a shrug. She leans into Raz's side again, her shoulder warm and slightly squishier than his. “I'd be mad, too.”

“You're always mad,” replies Raz, on autopilot. Lili socks him in the arm.

“Have you been eating?” She asks, changing the subject. “Your wimpy little shoulder feels bonier than usual.”

“Uh-huh.” Nope.

Lili grunts. She's not convinced.

“How are things with you?” Raz tries. He really doesn't want to talk about this. With everything else going on, his food insecurity is kinda at the bottom of his ‘to-fix’ list.

“Fine,” Lili bites her lip. “Well, not fine, I guess. My dad wants me to sign up for more missions. Says I need lots of field experience if I want to lead someday.”

Raz tilts his head. It causes his head to land atop hers, and he leaves it there. Her hair is soft, even if it smells vaguely of dirt. “Do you want to lead someday?”

Lili crosses her arms. “I don't know.”

That's a no, then. Lili only expresses uncertainty when she doesn't want to voice the answer.

She traces her fingers along his bedcovers, picking at the few stitches that have torn.

“You don't have to, you know,” Raz tells her. “You're your own person.”

“I- I know! Obviously I know that!” Lili half-yells, in that Lili way where Raz is entranced and mildly afraid for his life all at once. “I just,” she hesitates, switches to picking at her nail beds, “don't know how to tell my dad that.”

Raz nods, knowing Lili can feel it even if she can't see it from this angle.

She sighs. She speaks again, and it's much quieter, like a shameful secret. “I just want him to be proud of me.”

“I don't know how anyone couldn't be,” Raz replies honestly. “You're amazing, Lil'. I bet your dad knows that, too.”

Lili frowns, and she stares down at her lap. “Maybe.”

“Definitely.”

“Fine, well… I'll tell him I don't wanna do it if you tell Ford you hate his guts. Deal?”

“You comparing Agent Cruller to your dad takes this to a weird place,” Raz says, and then blinks. “And I never said it was him. And I never said I hated him!”

It's not even a lie. Raz doesn't think he could hate Ford if he tried. And he definitely did try, it just didn't stick.

Raz is just… sad. That's the closest word for it, the closest one he knows. It's hard (if not outright painful) to go from having your mentor take psychic residence in your head to being unable to look him in the eye.

There's a sense of loss to it. Of grief. Perhaps whatever anger he's feeling comes from that- it's one of the five stages, isn't it?

Lili gives him a look so deadpan it wouldn't be out of place on a corpse. “Sure, Raz. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Speaking of,” Raz jerks his head at the lamp on the bedside table. “Ready for bed?”

“Yeah,” Lili flops over, stealing his pillow.

Raz flicks the light off and lies down next to her; he has to bonk his forehead into hers a few times to claim a spot on the pillow but eventually Lili relents.

“You need a bigger bed,” Lili whispers. Her knees are brushing his, hands resting between them. Raz could reach out and take them, if he wanted.

He doesn't. Bedsharing aside, actually cuddling up at night feels like too big a step.

“And whose fault is that?” He retorts, just as hushed.

“Not mine,” Lili says immediately. Raz sticks his tongue out at her.