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There was no sense in making it awkward when Crow returned to the Tower. There wasn't time . With the Cabal warring with the Hive and the horrific revelation of what Savathun had accomplished… there was too much. Between the first time she had crushed a Ghost in her hand to the resurgence of the pyramid’s influence on the Moon there was no place for personal dramas. No place for them.
The Guardian saw him for the first time in months outside where Zavala was meeting with Caiatl. He toyed with a dagger, the expression in his eyes distant and shuttered when he lifted them to look at her. He gave away nothing at all of what he had been thinking or feeling since that day as he wryly said, I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.
And that was that. The reunion was over. The moment passed over in favor of focusing upon the most recent catastrophe. With the way things were shaping up, it could be a hundred years or more before they even found time enough to talk. Not as if she were particularly eager to have that conversation…
And judging by how quick Crow was to leave her company as soon as he entered it, there was no need to guess whether the feeling was mutual.
It was easy to fall into nostalgia at the worst moments. There was work to be done and monsters to face. The Moon was rife with Hive activity now that the Leviathan had reappeared– tainted and corrupted with the nightmarish fiends.
Among the horror of it, she often let her thoughts drift back to those first days– the simple ones, untroubled and sweet with the innocence Crow had yet to shed. It was not long though that a dark shadow would roll over those memories as a voice within her head accused silently–
You took advantage of him. Of his naivety. Of his ignorance.
It was hard to keep these things from tangling in and turning every happy moment of those days into something that left her desperate to forget them. To never speak of it again. But that too was unfair was it not? To pretend as if Crow had never meant anything at all to her when nothing could have been further from the truth?
She should have sent that message the day she recorded it. Instead, it sat, undelivered and unheard– the break that the silence between them so desperately needed and yet and yet –
“Shame corrodes the part of us that believes itself capable of change,” Eris’ soft voice broke the Guardian from her thoughts.
“What?”
“The severance ritual. For Crow, it will mean confronting his nightmare. And we both know that nightmare is Uldren Sov.”
The name of that man alone was enough to make the Guardian have to repress a flinch.
“Lightbearers endure all forms of pain, but it is shame that devours all men whole,” Eris continued, the wistful distance in her voice betraying what the Guardian was already beginning to understand.
“I speak from experience, of course.”
The Guardian frowned, “Eris–”
“Do not worry on my account. I have faced my failures. I have named them. I have looked them in the eye… all three of them,” Eris added with a wry smirk. The Guardian exhaled a barely-there laugh.
“... I–”
“You wonder what your nightmare will be?”
The Guardian swallowed thickly and then nodded.
“So do I. Candidly, I believe it will most likely take the form of Cayde.”
There was no hiding her reaction to that.
“You still blame yourself. It is the easiest thing for the pyramid to target… but not the only thing, I wager,” Eris said in that simple, matter-of-fact way she was inclined towards. She did not mince words.
“Do you know shame’s greatest enemy?”
The Guardian shook her head. Eris smiled again, faint as a whisper.
“ Light .”
It all goes wrong of course. Crow isn’t ready. But who can ever be ready for that kind of thing? She too had spent the entire mission with an eye over her shoulder, watchful and waiting for the inevitable materialization of a familiar specter. Come to haunt her for all her past mistakes– or more likely, the mistakes she was making anew.
Cayde would not be proud of the guardian she had become. Abandoning the tower, seeking the bloodiest of revenge, getting it and then living in a self-made exile of doubt and aching on Earth. It was only the encroaching darkness that made her return and instead of doing battle with it? She had embraced it.
She clutched her fist, heard the crunch of icy dark fractals as she summoned up her “gifts”.
Zavala had asked the guardians to stop utilizing it when their need was gone. She was, as far as she knew, the only one who did not heed him.
H.E.L.M was empty at this hour. The only sounds the faint blips and hums of machinery. Eris’ quiet footfalls would have been inaudible otherwise as she rounded the corner and ascended the stairs. She looked up at the guardian and gave a small, wistful like sigh.
“He is doing better now. Calmer. I spoke to him– but these things one must unravel themselves.”
The guardian nodded, unwilling or unable to risk saying more.
“You should talk to him.”
“And say what?”
“Do not absolve him for this failure. He does not seek it. What he seeks is something such solace can not give him,” Eris said and something in the way she looked at the guardian made her feel… exposed. Bare. As if Eris could see plainly the things hanging unsaid around the pair of them as surely as they saw the ghosts that haunted them.
“You already know what you need to say. Do not dally with pointless questions,” Eris’ voice was not unkind, but it was firm. As she passed, in a rare sign of comfort, she reached out and gently rest her hand upon the guardian's shoulder. Her touch was uncommonly cold– and then it was gone and Eris slipped into the shadows.
The guardian did not know how long she stood there at the top of the stairs. Only that it was long enough that her knees ached when she finally bid them to bend. The quiet was a welcome reprieve from the constant whispers and shrieks of hive within the Leviathan. Out from beneath the oppressive miasma of that place, she truly felt she could breathe again.
It almost made this inevitable conversation less frightening.
Crow sat heavily on the ground, his back against a wall that only a few months ago they had made love against. It was strange– the contrast of things now. How close they had been then and how far they were now despite standing in the same places.
His forearms rested against the tops of his bent knees, his chin against his chest. Some might have mistaken it as sleep that pulled him so firmly to the ground. Glint turned from where he pressed against Crow’s chest and then nudged him to alert her coming. Glint alighted and in half a moment her own Ghost left her side and followed him. They did not need to speak. The two guardians both knew well enough that they meant to give them privacy.
“Come to tell me it’s not my fault?” he asked, bitterness tight in his voice.
“... I know this is on me. You don’t have to feed me any comforting platitudes. I’ve been running from the truth for long enough.”
Even without Eris’ warning, she knew this wasn't some line. Some self-deprecating attempt to gain the comfort he denies himself. He does not want her condolences. He wants her to listen . So she does.
“You know… when I first came to the City, I told these little lies about who I was or where I was from,” he smiled ruefully, “Nothing hurtful. Just a few stories to keep a comfortable distance from the truth– to fill in the blanks.”
His smile vanished.
“When I got my memories back… I remembered Uldren did the same . Thing .”
His voice edged, his head lifted and she could see the snarl fixed upon his lips as he spat out, “He started little rumors, recounted adventures to an audience , planted gossip in Mara’s ear… just to watch those stories spread .”
Crow stood suddenly, the movement making the guardian start. He laughed, a mirthless, heart wrenching gasp of air.
“We’re exactly the same!” Crow’s voice echoed off the halls and then he hushed down to a rasp once more, “Down to the instincts. It’s in my blood .”
He slammed a closed fist against his chest at the word. Drew back his hand and did it again . The loud smack of the impact told her well enough that it hurt. That he did it too hurt. Crow exhaled, his voice a bare tremble now.
“I thought I could do this. I thought I could prove to Zavala and Caiatl and you and everyone else that I was better than him… but lies. They only get us so far.”
It was a silly thing to latch onto out of everything he had poured out to her. A tiny thing in the grand scape of his pain, and yet she could not help but ask.
“‘Everyone else…’? Does she–”
“Yes,” Crow said, stepping back to lean against the wall and sink back down to the floor once again, “Holliday knows too.”
He scoffed, “... she’s sorry of course. They are all so sorry. But what I really see reflected in their eyes isn’t pity or sympathy . It’s shame. Shame that they were misled. That they didn’t know. That they let themselves get close. And why shouldn’t they be? I killed a man they loved! And now here I am masquerading as him as surely as one of those nightmares– a hunter. A gunslinger even. Just. Like. Him.”
Crow tilted his head back against the wall, looked up at the guardian. She could see the sheer pain glowing in the sunrise hue of his eyes. The weariness. It was a look she remembered, a look she had seen in Uldren’s eyes before–
“It’d be comical if it wasn’t so cruel ,” Crow said and let out another shaking exhale.
“...And I see it in your eyes too.”
The guardian felt her heart seize.
“That look . Just like that. Shame. Guilt. I saw it that day– it’s why I left. You can’t care for me and be ashamed you care for me. I won’t– I won’t accept that.”
Even now it seemed, neither of them were brave enough to say the stronger word.
“That isn’t it.”
“I don’t believe you,” he breathed, and of all the things he could have said, that was enough. That was enough . She felt her heart creak, splintering, fracturing right down the middle. Her steps were fast as she closed the space between them and came to drop to her knees in front of him. He turned away.
“It isn’t –!” she reached out and took his forearm in her hand– the first touch that had passed between them in so long. They both felt it. There wasn’t any way they couldn’t. Her light all but cried out for him, crackling and surfacing in a sharp jolt of energy like the electricity of arc, the burn of solar, the pull of void.
“... I was afraid you wouldn’t want me anymore,” she forced the words out, because he was right. Lies– they only got you so far.
He still looks uncertain. As if her words are so ridiculous they could not possibly be more than another attempt to sway him and yet– she watches his brow furrow with recognition that there is no lie in her eyes. In her voice.
“I killed you,” she said, a tiny sob stifled in her throat, “I killed you. I’m not afraid of Uldren. I’m not afraid of your memories— except for that one. I knew, and I didn’t tell you. I held you and I touched you– and I didn’t tell you .”
Her grip relented, palm trailing down his arm and nearly falling away until he caught her wrist in his own hand. Kept her anchored. She looked up, their eyes meeting at last on even level and she can’t stop herself from reaching for him. Crow recoiled at first, but once her arms touched him, once her intent was clear– the resistance crumbled. His shoulders fell as quickly as his resolve as he desperately reached for her in turn.
She walked on her knees between his own, let his face fall forward and bury into her middle as he clutched the fabric of her cloak behind her back. He tipped forward so fully and so heavily she has to brace herself back against him to keep from stumbling beneath the weight . Not just of him, but of everything .
“I know. I know you knew ,” Crow’s voice was muffled against your chest, “All this time you knew, and I thought— if you could know and still care for me then maybe…”
“I’m not ashamed of it, Crow!” she sputtered, her touch rougher, “I… I have done so many things wrong. I killed. I betrayed the light. I embraced darkness itself– and Eris was right. She said my nightmare would be Cayde. I’ve used his death to justify it all. Every mistake. ”
The guardian wavered only for a moment.
“Caring about you? Loving you? … Crow, that’s the only thing I’ve done right.”
He pulled back, lips parted, his eyes open and staring at her– searching her face. Trying to tell himself that he really just heard her say it. That she spoke it aloud.
She smiled faintly, lifted her hand to brush his hair from his face and said it again.
“I love you,” her brow furrowed tightly as she said again, “I love you. And I am only sorry that it took me this long to let you know.”
“You–”
“Yes. I love you.”
“I- I heard the first time!” Crow sputtered, his cheek beneath her hand burning hot. She nodded and gave him a moment. His breath was faster, his thoughts spiraling behind the soft orange glow of his eyes.
“I– I just…”
She nodded again.
“You asked for time. I know. It’s okay, you still have it. I’m not asking if–”
“No. Yes–! I mean, no. I do need… need time to…” Crow trailed off, his expression the very definition of thrown .
She couldn’t help but laugh wetly, using the knuckles of her free hand to wipe at her eyes.
“I’m sorry, this is horrible timing. I’m a hot god-damn mess.”
“You’re not,” Crow said, his voice far too low and far too comforting. She should be taking care of him right now. Not the other way around.
“I just wanted you to know that… I’ll be waiting. After. I’ll be here. Whatever you need. I’ll always be here.”
The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable now, but her knees had begun to ache from kneeling upon the floor and she was certain his own arms were tiring holding her like this. They both extricated themselves with an awkward laugh or two before she sat at his side, shoulder pressed to his own.
She turned her palm upward from where it rested on her thigh, an offering. An invitation.
Crow took it.