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News travels quickly in the Last City, in the Tower especially; Guardians are incorrigible gossips after all. Which is why it takes all of five minutes for Lord Shaxx to hear about a ship docking in the hangar.
Normally that would not be news. It’s what the hangar is for after all. But the Titan who tells him is nearly breathless with excitement, stumbling over their words until their Hunter companion has to drag them away to calm down. Shaxx makes out enough though. A ship decorated in purple ribbons. Carrying someone who is apparently a bit of a celebrity.
He does not let himself lose his dignity. He does not let himself believe, not yet. Instead, he leaves Arcite in charge of running the remaining Crucible matches, shuts down entry, and very sedately walks to the hangar.
This cannot be true. Perhaps someone just recovered the ship and Osiris finally allowed it to be brought back to the Tower. Because the other option… no, it can’t be real. Osiris had said it was impossible. He’d found the Warlock with a gun to his head, shattered by his attempts to change the past and the realisation that it could not be done, and Osiris would not have given up if it was possible.
It cannot be true.
There are crowds gathering when he enters the hangar, congregating around a ship. The sight of it, the tattered ribbons and the familiar design makes Shaxx’s chest tight. He navigates his way around the gathered mass to climb the steps up to one of the gangways. Now above the crowd, he has a better view of the ship.
And the Titan standing there in familiar armour and crested helmet, purple lights gleaming brightly.
Saint-14.
How?
He watches as people approach Saint; some old faces, many new, Guardians too young to have ever met him, and Saint greets them all like friends. Hugs and handshakes, a few slaps on the back for Guardians who have been around for a long time. Shaxx can see tears and awe.
Saint is a legend; the Hero of Six Fronts, the Kellbreaker, someone who had made an indelible mark on the City right from its inception. And here he is, returned from the dead in a way that even Guardians cannot manage.
He sends a quick message to Osiris.
[WHAT DID YOU DO?]
And then, a moment later:
[AND WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?]
They’ve discussed this before of course, and Shaxx doubts that this will make any more of an impact on Osiris’s thick skull, but he has to try. He’ll probably never stop trying. When has Shaxx ever given up when he has set his mind to something?
He doesn’t expect a response any time soon; Osiris’s concept of time is completely removed from the rest of the universe. If he one day receives a message from an Osiris who lives several centuries in the future, it will only be a mild surprise.
And then he turns back to Saint. What else can he do when his friend is back in the Tower after so long?
There’s an ache in his chest looking at him, like there’s a missing part of himself that had suddenly slid back into place with Saint’s return. He has always managed being solitary; Warlords did not have friends, they had subjects. And then there’d been Felwinter. The Iron Lords for a time. They were all gone now. Saladin is a bitter hurt that could only be born out of a deeply important relationship.
He’d thought Saint was gone too, and Osiris for a time, away in his own world that Shaxx had no place in. And now?
There are so many things to discuss, he’s sure, so much messiness. But he gets them back.
The crowd doesn’t seem to be thinning after a while, but Shaxx can see the slight slump to Saint’s shoulders now. Tiredness, or maybe just overwhelmed. He’ll keep going until he has spoken to everyone, Shaxx knows he will. He always gave so much to the people of the City, even when it left him so few reserves for himself.
Which is why Shaxx descends the steps as loudly as possible. “SAINT-14! I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD!”
That gets the crowd moving; they step aside to let him past. Ahead of him, he sees Saint straighten up, the slight duck of his head that Shaxx has come to recognise over the centuries as gratitude.
“Warlord Shaxx!” Saint raises his arms in welcome, and then clasps arms with Shaxx. His grip has certainly not slackened over the years of his… Shaxx doesn’t even know what to think yet. He just knows that Saint is here. “My friend, it is good to see you.”
“And you,” Shaxx replies. He looks the other Titan over. He looks a little the worse for wear; his armour is dented in places, dusty and streaked with the burns that Shaxx recognises as Radiolaria damage. “You are a sight for sore eyes.”
“Everything here is a sight for sore eyes,” Saint replies, looking around the hangar with wonder. “I will speak with you soon, though.” He turns back towards the gathered people, obviously intending to get back to speaking to them.
“No,” Shaxx says. He puts himself in between Saint and the remaining Guardians who have gathered. “That’s enough for today,” he says to the crowd. “I’m sure you all have jobs to do, and if not, then I expect to see you all lining up for Crucible matches and training.”
There are a few protests, but Shaxx is an intimidating enough figure that they start to disperse. He’s sure they’ll be back later, probably more of them as the rumours spread.
When they’re mostly alone, apart from the stares of some of the hangar crews and Guardians who have lingered, Saint clasps his shoulder. “Brother, you did not need to do that.”
“You’d be here all day,” Shaxx replies.
“I have time,” Saint says. “They are my people. They deserve my attention!”
Shaxx gives him a look. “Saint, until about an hour ago, weren’t you dead?”
Saint goes still for a second, and then shrugs. “Not from my perspective, but from what I gather… yes. I was in Infinite Forest for a very long time.”
“You can go on your return tour of the City later, Saint. No-one will begrudge you. You can rest now.” Shaxx can’t imagine what it was like in the Infinite Forest; he’s heard bits from Osiris, but Saint had been trapped there and he looks exhausted. He’s certain that Saint got little enough good rest in a place infested by the Vex. “Where are you staying?”
Saint looks confused. “I- I will stay on ship?”
“I’m not letting you sleep on your dropship for your first night back,” Shaxx says. Or at all for that matter.
“It is fine,” Saint says. “It is practically luxury after- after everything.”
“You can stay with me,” Shaxx says firmly. It’s hardly the first time Saint has stayed with him. “Tomorrow we can speak to Utilities and get you an apartment assigned, at least to tide you over.”
Saint shakes his head. “No. That- that is too much. I will be fine.”
“I insist,” Shaxx says. “My friend has returned home after years fighting hard battles. He deserves a bed and food and companionship.” He can’t abide the thought of Saint curling up in that ship of his, alone, when he’s just got back.
“Then I thank you,” Saint replies. “In truth, it would be good to not be alone. Forest was… it was just me and Geppetto for a long time.”
His heart aches for Saint. He has always been gregarious, delighting in meeting people, in walking the streets to see how the city was growing. He has always had time for everyone. Being alone for so long…
“Well, I’m sure you’ll have no shortage of admirers and people wanting your time as word gets around about your return. Have you spoken to the Vanguard?”
“I think Guardian sent them message,” Saint replies. “I got clearance to land in Tower at least. But I am sure they are busy. I do not want to disturb them.”
“Nonsense,” Shaxx replies, although he cannot deny that Zavala and Ikora have been stretched thin since Cayde- well, many things have changed. “I’ll make sure they make time. It is what you deserve.”
Saint gives a soft, disbelieving laugh. “I am not so special. It is the City that is special.”
Shaxx rests a hand on his shoulder. “I think you underestimate yourself, my friend.” He knows that he does. Saint’s legend has only grown over the years of his absence. Shaxx has heard some truly wild stories about his supposed feats. “Now, do you have anywhere specific you want to go? Or I can transmat us to my home.”
“Ah, the transmat grid is working?” Saint asks. “When I left, it was restricted to unloading cargo, and short distances.”
“Yes, it’s City-wide now. Very convenient. Although I am sometimes concerned that it’s making us complacent.” One of those remnants of the Dark Ages in him, he supposes. He is glad that people do not have to suffer through it, but he cannot help but worry.
“That is what we fight for, is it not?” Saint asks. “We are soldiers, warriors, we sacrifice so that our people can live a life of safety and comfort.”
Shaxx shakes his head. “You always manage to make it sound so noble.”
That’s always been Saint’s strength; the ability to make people believe in something, to follow him. He’d have been devastatingly dangerous if he’d become a Warlord, or had chosen a darker path.
“Protecting people, it is noble,” Saint says. “And I- I think I would like to see the City, but mainly at moment I would like to eat. And be clean.”
“We’ll go to my home then,” Shaxx replies. Easy enough to transmat them to his apartment in the Tower. He’s given some perks as Crucible handler, and one is having a decent amount of space close to where he works. It’s comfortable, although some of the furnishings are perhaps archaic; he’d salvaged some things from the castle he’d held as a Warlord, furniture that had been around longer than he had. A couple of chairs, a small cabinet, and the coffee table had been made from a door. He’d liked the carved pattern of leaves and vines and it was better here than rotting in an abandoned building. Other than that, it’s fairly standard. He has a holoscreen, and a small kitchen space, though like much of the city he tends to buy from the many stalls and vendors rather than cook often.
It’s the floor-to-ceiling windows that draw Saint’s attention though. He practically presses himself up against them, looking out over the dark City. “There are so many lights! So many buildings. Those fields and greenhouses… they were barren scrub when I was last here, I am sure!”
The sheer awe in Saint’s voice is- it makes him feel like for all of the problems, they’ve been doing something right. “Yes, the power grid covers the whole City now, though some areas still light lanterns. They’re more for tradition than necessity these days, although after the Red War people were glad to have them.”
Saint turns to look at him. “The Red War… I read about this on my way back from Mercury. I- I was not here when my people needed me.”
“Don’t,” Shaxx says, because he can hear the guilt in Saint’s voice already. “It’s not your fault. None of us knew it was coming.”
“Still…” Saint says, “so many things I should have been helping with. And I was not here.”
“You didn’t choose to get trapped there.”
“I chose to go,” Saint replies.
“As I recall, you were told to go,” Shaxx replies. He tries to keep his bitterness and dislike of the Speaker from seeping into the words, but he’s not sure if he’s successful.
The Speaker… there’s another thing that will need to be dealt with.
“Someone had to,” Saint replies.
“No, they didn’t,” Shaxx says “Osiris has-”
He sees the flinch from Saint. Ah. Minefield territory. Wonderful.
“But things can be dealt with later,” he says, pushing on as he so often has. “Why don’t you take a shower? I’ll get us some food.”
The relieved slump of his shoulders makes it clear that the distraction is appreciated. “I will,” Saint agrees. “Thank you, Shaxx.”
“You are very welcome, Saint. It is good to have you back.”
Before he shows Saint to the bathroom, he pulls the other Titan in close, an arm wrapped around him. He bumps his helmet lightly against Saint’s and then rests there. Saint goes tense for a moment, and then relaxes, leaning against Shaxx’s body. Saint wraps an arm around him in return, and they just breathe for a moment. It is comfort and reassurance, and trust built up over centuries of having each others’ back.
It’s hard to let go, as though Saint will vanish into thin air if he does, a phantom that his mind made up. With the way Saint clings to him, he feels the same, but probably a hundred times more intense.
“I-” Saint begins as he slowly pulls away, “I…” He trails off, gaze drifting back to the window.
“Go and shower, Saint,” Shaxx says gently.
“Yes. Yes, I will do that.”
He shows Saint to the bathroom, makes sure he has what he needs and- ah, there. Some of Shaxx’s clothes should fit the other Titan well enough. Shaxx’s mind is a litany of things that they need to sort out; accommodation, speaking to Ikora and Zavala, finding out where the Speaker had stored Saint’s possessions when it had become clear he wasn’t coming back. Shaxx supposes that is one thing in the man’s favour at least; he hadn’t got rid of anything after Saint left. Hopefully they survived the Red War.
One thing at a time.
He orders food. Enough to feed a Guardian who hasn’t eaten for… he dreads to think, and to leave leftovers for tomorrow. And he slips an enthusiastic young Crucible devotee glimmer to go and fetch it for him. Another perk of being the Crucible handler.
It arrives before Saint is out of the shower. Shaxx cannot blame him for wanting to luxuriate in hot water after what he’s been through. He spreads it out on the kitchen counter ready for him, and sets in on his own while he waits.
He hears the water shurt off, and then a few minutes later, Saint emerges, dressed in one of Shaxx’s old T-shirts and jogging gear. The shirt is a little tight; Saint is shorter, but also broader, but he’s glad to see that it fits.
Exo faces are relatively expressive, but do lack the obvious physical signs that humans or Awoken would. Even with that, Saint looks exhausted and worn thin. The dimness of his optical lights, the stiff way he moves, the slump in his posture. Still, he smiles when he sees Shaxx, and heads over.
“This is so much food,” he says looking down at the spread. “I feel like I am taking it from someone who needs it.”
“Not at all,” Shaxx promises. “You’re in the City, not on Crusade or in the wilds. We’ve become a lot more efficient in food production even since you left.”
Saint sits down heavily onto one of the stools and grabs a plate, beginning to fill it. “It smells amazing.”
Shaxx is fairly sure that anything other than rations would smell amazing to Saint right now. “I’m sure that as soon as you get out and about, you won’t be able to go ten metres without some babushka who knew you in her youth is saying you look too skinny and trying to push food onto you.”
Saint laughs at that, and it’s good to see him smile.
They lapse into a companionable silence while Saint eats. He keeps looking towards the window, staring at it with a mixture of disbelief and longing.
“I keep feeling like this is dream,” Saint says quietly. “I stepped out of the Forest with help of Guardian.” He gives Shaxx a smug look which is much more like his usual self. “I was right, by the way. Guardian who inspired me is very special. I have heard of things they have done.”
Shaxx sighs and shakes his head. “You never change. They aren’t a saviour. They’re just… very good.”
Good enough that they had apparently been able to do something that Osiris had nearly destroyed himself attempting. That must be burrowing into the Warlock’s mind right now.
“You are wrong, but I forgive you,” Saint replies. “They saved me. And now I am here, and…” He pauses, staring down at his plate. “I worry that I will find this is a dream. Or that I will turn a corner and realise that it is another simulation and I am still stuck there.”
He sounds fragile. Saint never sounds fragile. It tears at Shaxx’s heart to hear him like that. It feels wrong.
“You aren’t. You are here in the Last City, I promise. If there’s any way to prove it…” He doesn’t know how accurate the Vex simulations can be. Probably extremely.
“Your Light,” Saint says quickly. “They cannot simulate Light. Sometimes it was only way to tell that I was real.” There is a depth of fear there that Shaxx can hardly fathom.
Thankfully this seems easy enough to remedy. He calls solar Light to his hand, lets it settle across his gauntlet and then holds his hand out towards Saint across the table. Saint stares at it for a moment, and slowly reaches out, a wariness to him like he’s expecting it to be snatched away… or be proven to be a falsehood. He rests his hand against Shaxx’s, and then lets out a heavy breath, everything about him relaxing.
“Thank you, brother,” he says. He keeps his hand there, and Shaxx closes his fingers around it, letting his Light be felt for as long as Saint needs it.
“Of course,” Shaxx replies. “You know you only need to ask.”
“You are a true friend. Even when I return after many years without contact.”
“I’m friends with Osiris. I had to get used to that.”
That flinch again. Shaxx knows, of course, that Saint and Osiris’s last conversations before Osiris was exiled had been… loud and angry. Bitter with hurt and feelings of betrayal on both sides. But he also knows that Saint had wanted to find Osiris badly. And Osiris had never stopped being utterly in love. So what-
No. Not a question to deal with now. Saint needs rest.
Saint gives a strained smile. “I am still very grateful. And I will have much to learn about City, I believe. So many new faces. And… absence of some old.”
“Yes. The Great disaster took many of the older crowd,” Shaxx says. For him it is an old grief, scarred over, although he will probably never truly let go of the anger he feels about it. Many of those who had suffered their final death had been his friends, people he had fought beside. All because the Consensus wouldn’t listen to reason. But that was a pattern with them, wasn’t it? “The Taken War, the Red War, what happened with the Awoken Prince…”
Saint nods slowly. “I read a little. Not much. I will need to catch up.”
“You don’t have to do it all once,” Shaxx replies. “You don’t need to throw yourself back into the fray immediately.”
“This is my City, Lord Shaxx. How can I not? Vanguard may have need of me.”
Shaxx isn’t surprised to hear that. Saint had always given too much of himself to the City. “The Vanguard can wait a few days at least.”
They’d better, or he will be having words. Loud ones.
“I heard-” Saint begins, and then trails off. His fingers tighten against Shaxx’s. “I hear in Red War… my Father…”
Shaxx rests his other hand on top of Saint’s, and leans forward. For all his dislike of the Speaker, Saint had loved him, and this is not easy news to hear. “I’m sorry, Saint.”
Saint’s optics go dark for a moment, and then he nods. “I had hoped- ah, foolish really. I should have been here. Not chasing… reflections.”
He could argue, part of him wants to. Saint had been a dutiful son, and it was what had led him to Mercury, following the Speaker’s vendetta. But- no, now is not the time. “I believe Zavala recovered as many of your Father’s possessions as he could. I’m sure when you speak to him, he’ll be able to make sure that you receive them.”
“Yes. That would be good. I would like to get chance to say goodbye.” He sits up taller then, eyes brighter than before with forced cheer. “But this is becoming maudlin. I should not dwell on such things. You should tell me about triumphs! There is so much that has been built.”
Shaxx tries to remember the words of his therapist, that not everything has to be dealt with immediately. It is hard, to see his friend deal with so much, but it’s only been a few hours since Saint arrived. “Well, there is a lot to tell. The Young Wolf, your Guardian, has pulled off some remarkable feats of courage and skills. And there’s a very good brewery that got started a couple of decades ago and-”
Saint listens intently, brightening up, especially at the small things Shaxx mentions. He finds the news of a swimming pool being built as much a cause for celebration as any number of Guardian victories against enemies. It’s good to be focusing on those triumphs, instead of the losses.
A message arrives partway through recounting the tale of a fireteam who had been exploring some ruins in what had been called Iceland, who’d discovered a whole building full of preserved penises. He finishes the story, one which has Saint laughing, and checks what he’s received.
Osiris.
[I’m glad he has arrived back in the City. He will need help adjusting to the changes.
Take care of him.]
“Oh for the love of…” Shaxx stares at the message for a moment, frustration flaring. He knows what this means. He’s pulling away, cutting himself off. That ridiculous, bloody-minded-
[DON’T YOU DARE. I WILL COME TO MERCURY AND DRAG YOU BACK I SWEAR IT.]
“That is- it is message from Osiris, yes?” Saint asks quietly. Shaxx glances over at him, a questioning look, and Saint shrugs. “You have that look about you that you only get when he has said something very foolish.”
Is he really that easy to read?
“It is,” Shaxx admits.
There is a bitterness to the set of Saint’s mouth, and oh… something has happened hasn’t it?
“You could send him message from me?” Saint says.
“Of course. I thought you would have spoken on Mercury.” Surely Osiris would have been there? The man had broken time across the planet attempting to bring Saint back.
Saint shakes his head. “No. He- I could feel his Light when I emerged. But he did not come to find me. I lingered with my ship for many hours. But-”
Shaxx is going to murder his friend. Lifetimes spent trying to right a wrong, to save the man he loves, and Osiris won’t even go to see him. Why is he friends with this idiot?
“You can tell him,” Saint begins, a sourness to his voice, “tell him thank you. And that he can now return to his important work unburdened by guilt.”
Correction: Shaxx is going to murder two of his friends.
“Don’t you start,” he says, giving Saint a warning look.
“I am not starting anything. Maybe I am ending something I should have done long ago.” There is grief in his voice, hurt. And a longing makes Shaxx ache to hear.
It should be Osiris’s story to tell but… but no. Fuck it. He isn’t going to sit here and let these people he cares about so deeply destroy themselves again.
“You didn’t chase after him for- for however long, just to drive him away now,” Shaxx says. “And Osiris… I don’t know all of the details of what he did to bring you back, but I know that when it didn’t work the first time, it nearly destroyed him.”
Saint doesn’t meet his eyes. Maybe it’s unfair to bring it up now, but- but he can’t watch this play out again.
“Then he should talk to me,” Saint says, exhaustion clear in his voice.
“He should,” Shaxx agrees. “Being mostly alone for the past… I don’t even know how long it’s been for him. A long time. It hasn’t made him any better at dealing with- with anything, if I’m honest.”
“He is very bad at having feelings,” Saint agrees, and there’s at least a touch of humour there.
“Yes, yes he is,” Shaxx agrees. “I just don’t think it’s wise to make a decision now. Things are too raw.” He knows from experience how badly things can go under those circumstances. Hs is, of course, a massive hypocrite considering he and Saladin have barely spoken since Twlight Gap and he has no intention of changing that.
Saint looks at him for a long moment and then sighs. “Yes. Yes, you are right. I am tired. Overwhelmed. And Osiris is-” He shakes his head in frustration. It’s a common emotion when dealing with their Warlock. “Tell him- Tell him I will be here when he wishes to talk.”
That’s something at least. “I will do that. I know he’s still dealing with the Sundial now, so at least he can’t hide himself away entirely.”
“Stubborn man,” Saint says fondly, “both of you.”
“You’d hate it if we weren’t,” Shaxx replies, “We have to keep up with you after all.”
“Lord Shaxx, you say such sweet things,” Saint says, and there’s the Saint that he knows.
“Don’t get ideas. I don’t think my ego could take it if you fell asleep in the middle of sex.”
“I am sure you would find way to keep going. Or to make it very exciting.”
“I’ll put you over my knee,” Shaxx says, a teasing warning.
It just makes Saint grin. “Yes, that is good way to make it exciting, you are right.”
He’d forgotten how easy this was with Saint, the companionship and affection, having each others’ back. “It is so good to have you back, Saint.”
“It is. I am excellent,” Saint says. “I am also getting old. I think I must sleep.”
“I can take the couch,” Shaxx says, “or-” He isn’t sure if he should suggest sharing the bed. It wouldn’t be the first time they have but also… it’s been so long.
Saint looks right at him. “I- I think I would like to not be alone. Please.”
Shaxx nods. “Of course.” He pushes himself up from the table. “Let me clean up here and I’ll show you where the bed is.”
Saint, of course, insists on helping him pack the remaining food away, but eventually they do make it to the bedroom. Thankfully, Shaxx has a very large bed, not that it’s had anyone but him in it for a long time.
“You take the wall,” Shaxx says, and pretends he doesn’t notice the look of absolute gratitude that Saint sends him. How many years has Saint spent catching stolen moments of sleep with his back against a wall? How many times has Shaxx slept that way, even in his own home?
The exo climbs in and presses himself back against the wall. His optics dim. “This is so soft,” he says. “I had forgotten what it was like to sleep in a bed.”
“I’m sure you’ll get used to it again,” Shaxx replies.
He climbs in next to his friend. It’s a little awkward to share space after so long on his own, but Saint quickly awakens long buried feelings of familiarity.
Saint is silent for long enough that Shaxx thinks he’s fallen asleep. But then he shifts, and Shaxx can see the dim violet glow of his eyes. “Could you- could you let me feel your Light again? Just for moment.”
How could Shaxx ever deny him? He holds out his hand on the bed between them, and waits until Saint rests his hand on top. Then he lets his Light seep out of him and over Saint’s hand; soft solar glow, and the brief crackle of Arc. And Saint answers with a brush of void energy.
“Thank you, my friend.”
“Any time, Saint. Welcome home.”