Chapter Text
Ghost sits in the Guardian’s palms, cracked and broken. The blood coating their fingers, spilled over their gloves smears over his shell when they run their thumb over his fins, filling the cracks in his plating with deep red. His optic is dark, and the loss of their Light feels like a jagged, open wound within the Guardian. It pulses with every heartbeat, a shot of agony like a wound spurting blood, like it could kill them in minutes without help.
Their knees hit the ground but the Guardian hardly feels it, too consumed trying to breathe around the agony in their chest, the tightness of their breath as they force air in and out of their lungs. None of it hurts worse than knowing Ghost lies dead and still in their palms.
“No,” the Guardian whispers, “please.”
They lift their eyes, but they’re alone, deep in the Witness’s monolith inside the Pale Heart. Their fireteam is gone, their allies nowhere to be seen, and the longer Ghost lies broken in their palms, the more they can feel their strength failing.
“Bring him back,” they beg, reaching for the Light. It’s everywhere. With the Witness defeated they know it must be everywhere, they could feel the way it breathed in life at the same moment as Ghost’s shell shattered, his life going with it. The Light is supposed to be all around them, in all places and all things, but all they can feel now is that jagged, pulsing wound, a spear of agony in every beat of their frantic heart. Reaching for it is like tearing that wound open, letting out more and more of their lifeblood.
“Bring him back,” they ask again, their voice cracking, tears stinging their eyes. If it weren’t for the hitches in their breathing, their raspy, trembling breaths, they wouldn’t even be sure they were breathing. Their chest aches and burns. It feels like it's collapsing in on itself. “Please.”
“Guardian. Guardian!”
The next thing the Guardian knows, they’re on their bed in their quarters in the HELM, laying on their side and curled around their Ghost. He’s alive, in his brand new shell, reborn from the Traveler’s Light. His optic is bright, his shell pinched with worry and the Guardian looks at him for barely a moment before tears blur their vision. A sob wrenches it’s way out of their chest and then the Guardian is gasping, holding Ghost to their chest as they shut their eyes tight. They cry so roughly their breaths wheeze, choking on the very air as they tremble. They hold tight to Ghost.
“Hey, it’s alright, Guardian.” A hand anchors on their shoulder, squeezing softly and they recognize Crow’s voice, the bed dipping behind them as he seats himself on the edge of it. “You’re safe now, you both are.”
His words can’t quiet the panic and pain raging through the Guardian’s veins. They can’t help the way they sob harder, curling in on themself a little further, drawing their legs up and pulling their arms in, holding Ghost tighter still.
Ghost wreathes their bond in Light, the feel of it so new and bold, almost blinding in its intensity. The gift of the Traveler’s Light from Cayde has been shocking, more powerful than before, like a reaffirmation of their own strength, now combined with Cayde's. The warmth of it pouring down their bond is almost overpowering, and Ghost quickly adjusts, easing off to a soft, reassuring touch. The contact reminds them that he’s alive and well while he shifts his fins against them, shifting against them until he can press himself more comfortably into their collarbone.
Still, it’s not enough to soothe the Guardian’s fears, nor erase the remnants of their nightmare from their mind, even Crow’s hand on their shoulder can’t quite ground them to reality. They can’t stop the sobs that spill out of them, floodgates that can’t be closed, a flow of blood that can’t be staunched.
They can’t help their broken gasp when Crow suddenly pulls them off their side, onto their back. His hand grabs theirs and then he’s hauling them upright, sliding until his hip is pressed to theirs on the narrow bunk and he drags them into a tight hug,
“You’re alright, Guardian,” Crow promises, and they can feel Ghost pressed to their neck to avoid being sandwiched between them, Crow’s hand cradling him in that brand new shell and Glint drifting up to press his fins to their cheek. “Take a deep breath for me.”
Their breath is raspy when they try to do as he says, chopped up by tears and gasps, but Crow coaches them few a few breaths, until their body starts to weaken and they slump into his, remembering the exhaustion of losing their Light like a bone deep, icy wet chill, sapping all their strength. Crow’s hand traces up and down their back, his touch steady and firm.
“I’ve got you,” Crow murmurs, and the Guardian’s fingers curl weakly into his clothes as he holds them, their cries softer now.
Their memories catch back up to them, past the horrifying moment of Ghost’s death, they remember the way Cayde poured his Light into Ghost, the way it wove though their fingers and into Ghost’s shell. They remember returning to the HELM with the Vanguard, the way Queen Mara had searched them with her magic, inspecting their new Light. They remember the way Ikora had wrapped them in her Light like an embrace, feeling Cayde’s parting gift and the surety of Ghost’s resurrection. They remember the way she’d traced her fingers over the new marks on their skin, the scars dark and fresh, everything Ghost hadn’t been strong enough to heal, now permanently marked on their flesh. They remember the way the Vanguard had steadied them when their emotions from the battle had become too much, Ikora’s hands cradling their face, her thumbs wiping away their tears, then Zavala, pulling them into a warm, crushing hug. The Guardian holds tighter to Crow.
He holds them until the Guardian loses track of time, until their breathing has mostly steadied and they draw back from Crow, wiping their tears with their free hand, their other hand holding Ghost. They lean into Glint when he bumps his shell against their forehead softly, and do their best to convey their thanks to Crow with their eyes.
“Did you want to try going back to sleep?” Crow asks, and the Guardian shakes their head. They can’t imagine trying to sleep now, not with Ghost’s death so fresh in their mind.
Crow gives them a sympathetic smile. “I didn’t think so. Why don’t you come with me? Ikora was going to make tea for everyone. It might be ready by now.”
They don’t trust themself to speak, but they know Crow would never fault them for their quiet. They give him a small nod, letting him haul them to their feet. Ghost transmats their favorite sweater into their hands and they pull it on and follow Crow to one of the HELM’s common areas, one with couches and a low coffee table between them. Ikora has a tea set on a wooden tray on the coffee table with three tea cups. A fourth appears before the Guardian can even fully enter the room.
When they enter, Ikora and Zavala don’t comment on their puffy eyes or their breathing that they haven’t quite managed to school back to normal. They find a seat beside Zavala and he wraps them in a blanket before he pulls them into his side, keeping his arm around them. Ikora hands them a cup of tea and she lets her Light flow over them, warm and calm and reassuring. Crow gives them a warm smile when they meet his eyes, and Ghost still rests against their shoulder, alive and with them, after everything. Their hands shake when they lift their tea to their lips, but they know that in time, they'll be alright.