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Jiaoqiu is asleep, dreaming of waterfalls. The waterfall is a simmering chicken broth, with green onion fish hopping about. Jiaoqiu picks up a rock from the waterbed and takes a bite; it’s tofu. He smiles, content, fanning himself lightly as he listens to the rush of the broth cascading down... the rush of the broth... the rush of water... His world lurches under him, and he blinks awake, startled, as a heavy body slides into bed behind him. It’s Moze, of course; it smells like him, and only Moze could get the drop on Jiaoqiu like this. Moze scoops Jiaoqiu up, holding him tightly, his face pressed into the back of Jiaoqiu’s neck. He breathes deeply, almost as if he wants to confirm that Jiaoqiu is real. Jiaoqiu reaches behind himself to pat Moze’s head, and Moze’s hair is damp. He must have taken a shower, which explains the chicken broth waterfall in Jiaoqiu’s dream: He’d heard the shower running in his sleep.

“I didn’t expect you back this soon.”

Moze says nothing.

“Moze?”

“I’m awake,” Moze says.

Jiaoqiu tries to turn around to face him, but Moze won’t let him move. His brow furrows. “How was your mission?”

Again, Moze is silent. Jiaoqiu sighs and tries to make himself comfortable again, though it’s difficult when he’s trapped in Moze’s grip. Not only is he now in a somewhat awkward position, Moze won't even talk to him. He isn’t awake enough to keep his ear from flicking or his tail from swishing in mild irritation.

“I know you’re mad,” Moze says after a moment. “But if I tell you the details, you’ll get upset. I don’t want you to be upset.”

“Fine, fine,” Jiaoqiu grumbles. “I’ll let you cuddle me till you feel better.”

Jiaoqiu feels the tension leave Moze’s body as he melts against Jiaoqiu’s back, burying his face into Jiaoqiu’s neck. Jiaoqiu runs his fingers gently along Moze’s arm, fond, until he can tell that Moze has fallen asleep from his deep, even breathing.

Jiaoqiu wakes up and is immediately overpowered by the thick, coppery stench of blood. His eyes snap open, and he is transported back to the frontlines, the scent of smoke and rotting corpses and blood, so much blood and death and—he scrambles, terrified, from his bed—but in his haste he gets tangled in the blankets and goes crashing to the floor.

The smoke clogs his lungs, burning his throat and his eyes, he crawls past the bodies, the people he couldn't save, the people he had saved once, twice, a dozen times, reduced to nothing, he is nothing, helpless, worthless.

He drags himself across the floor to lean against the wall, clutching his blanket to his chest. His blanket? His rapid breathing begins to slow, and the memories of the war drift away. He isn’t back there. He’s safe, in his bedroom, with Moze... Jiaoqiu’s thoughts trail off, and then he frowns up at his bed. Moze clearly isn’t in it. He gets shakily to his feet, turns on the light at his bedside, and his heart immediately jumps to his throat. An alarmingly large bloodstain had seeped into the sheets exactly where Moze had lain. “Moze,” he manages to choke out, his voice a hoarse half-whisper. He looks around frantically. “Moze!” His eyes settle on the partially ajar bathroom door, a sliver of light spilling out, at the exact moment that he hears Moze grunt, “In here.”

Jiaoqiu runs across the room and throws the bathroom door open. A trail of blood leads to Moze, who is sitting on the floor and leaning against the tub. His bloodstained shirt is in a heap to one side, and on the other is Jiaoqiu’s first aid kit, its contents strewn about haphazardly. Wads of bloody gauze, uneven, dirty bandages… Beneath the raging sea of concern, fear, and guilt currently overwhelming Jiaoqiu’s senses, he feels the first bubbles of annoyance. Moze surely has a better grasp of field first aid than this.

“Sorry for the mess,” Moze deadpans.

Jiaoqiu glares at him. Moze is making light of the situation to try to calm Jiaoqiu down, and Jiaoqiu is frustrated with himself because it's working. He steps carefully around the blood and settles himself beside Moze. He removes a pair of gloves from the first aid kit and bats Moze’s hands away from where he is unsuccessfully trying to block Jiaoqiu’s access to his side. “Let me see,” Jiaoqiu snaps. Moze reluctantly drops his hands, and Jiaoqiu gets his first good look at Moze’s injury. There are several deep gashes that had been poorly patched up, and Jiaoqiu can immediately tell that the wounds reopening had caused all this. Jiaoqiu can also immediately tell that these injuries are borisin in nature, but he ignores this fact the same way he ignores Moze’s little grunts and hisses of pain as he cleans and disinfects the area. Most humans wouldn’t be able to hear them, and though Moze knows that Jiaoqiu can, he wouldn't want Jiaoqiu to say anything. Not now, anyway. Not when it's actually serious. Jiaoqiu huffs through his nose.

“Why didn't you wake me up?” he asks.

“Didn't want to bother you,” Moze replies.

“I am a healer,” Jiaoqiu bites out through gritted teeth. “Such matters are exactly my area of expertise and would therefore be no bother at all. Can you lean forward a bit for me?”

Moze eases himself forward so that Jiaoqiu has access to his back and can more easily wrap the bandages. Now that Jiaoqiu can see him better, the huge dark bruises covering Moze’s back are much more apparent. Jiaoqiu’s mouth becomes a thin line. What had happened on that mission?

“You used to come to me for help,” Jiaoqiu continues. “I would have thought that you'd be more willing to ask for help after we got together, not less.”

“I care about you,” Moze says, and Jiaoqiu’s movements slow. “I want you to be happy. Don’t ever want to make you go back there. To that place. And those memories.”

Jiaoqiu swallows. “That is kind of you, Moze,” he says quietly. “But being able to be there for you makes me happy too.”

“Hmph.” Moze leans back against the tub and closes his eyes.

“You can't sleep here,” Jiaoqiu says. He stands and disposes of his bloody gloves. “You need stitches, and I think you might have broken some ribs. We’re going to the apothecary.”

Moze frowns up at Jiaoqiu, but he knows he has no chance to win any argument against going. “All right.”

“Good,” Jiaoqiu says with a smile. “I'll bring you a change of clothes.”

“I'll text the Seat of the Merlin’s Claw, then,” says Moze. “Have them send someone to clean up the mess so you don't have to.”

Jiaoqiu nods, then leaves the bathroom. He doesn't really want random officials in his home, but it would save him a lot of trouble… Never mind that he probably would be drawn back into the memories that Moze (and himself) desperately wants him to avoid. He takes a clean pair of pants out of Moze’s drawer in his dresser, and then he takes a zip-up jacket from his closet. A jacket would be easier for Moze to wear and put less strain on his injury, he thinks. He carries the clothing into the bathroom and watches Moze change to make sure the injury isn't aggravated, and then he helps Moze back into the bedroom. He gets dressed himself (choosing to conveniently overlook the blood that Moze had gotten on him while he'd slept), ties his hair up, and then the two of them head for the Alchemy Commission.

It's very early morning—more like night, really—which means that hardly anyone is out now, so Jiaoqiu takes this chance to hold Moze’s hand. To his delight, Moze doesn't shake him off. Moze usually isn't one for public displays of affection, but he will occasionally humor Jiaoqiu; perhaps he realizes that holding hands will make Jiaoqiu feel more at ease. They walk hand-in-hand into the emergency care center. It’s emptier than usual, so they don't have long to wait before they can speak to the receptionist. Jiaoqiu drops his name, which gets them immediately placed in a vacant room. “Do as you're told,” Jiaoqiu says as he helps Moze sit on the examination table. Moze doesn't care much for doctors, but he nods once and gives Jiaoqiu’s hand a little squeeze. Don't worry, I will. They don't wait long before a doctor arrives, and Jiaoqiu recognizes him as the assistant director of emergency medicine at this apothecary.

“Master Jiaoqiu,” the assistant director greets respectfully, and Jiaoqiu nods in acknowledgment.

“I cleaned and bandaged him, but he needs stitches. I also suspect broken ribs.”

“Right,” the doctor says. He approaches Moze, who removes his jacket slowly. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“Classified,” Moze says. He doesn't meet Jiaoqiu’s eyes, and Jiaoqiu’s ears flatten against his head as his anxiety starts to rise again.

Heavy smoke, charred corpses, blood, so much blood, the tactics classified, heavy smoke, charred corpses, a sea of blood, no one knew it was coming, death everywhere, no one left to help, all for victory, all for victory, all for—

He swallows. He needs to calm down.

“I have to make a few calls,” Jiaoqiu announces. “I'll be in the lobby. Just keep me updated.”

“Of course, Master Jiaoqiu.”

Jiaoqiu feels Moze’s gaze burning a hole in his back as he leaves the room, but he doesn't turn around. Why does it bother him so much that Moze insists on keeping him in the dark? He leans against the wall outside the room and breathes, counting slowly in his mind until his ears perk back up and his tail unwinds from where it had slipped between his legs and curled around his calf. He swallows and texts Feixiao.

Moze showed up injured at my place
We’re at emergency care in alch com
What happened?

He stares at their messages for a few minutes before shaking his head and scolding himself. Why would Feixiao be looking at her phone at nearly four o’clock in the morning? She might be an early riser, but certainly (hopefully) not this early, and she has better things to do with her time anyway. He buys himself a cup of tea from the cafeteria then sits in the lobby, trying to clear his head. Moze is fine. He'll be fine. So what if he doesn't give Jiaoqiu the whole story? At least he's okay… Jiaoqiu’s mind wanders, though, mercifully, it doesn't wander back to the frontlines. He's so wrapped up in his thoughts, however, that it takes until Feixiao is right in front of him to notice her presence. Now that she's here, the completely cleared out area around himself, the four conspicuously inconspicuous Cloud Knights, and the soft, vaguely minty scent of Feixiao herself seem overwhelmingly obvious. He blinks at her, suddenly exhausted, and she slides into the seat next to him. She's dressed in gym clothes, probably going to work out after dealing with him. She gives him a small smile, and he shifts in his chair.

“Have you had breakfast?”

Feixiao snorts. “Of course that’s the first thing you say to me.”

“Well, have you?”

“Had my usual pre-gym snack, don't worry. And before you ask, yes, I took my medicine.”

“Good.” Jiaoqiu glances down the hall toward all the hospital rooms. “He has several deep gashes along his right flank, significant bruising all over his torso, and, I suspect, broken ribs.”

Feixiao nods. “I've heard the worst of it. He contacted me on his way back, after the mission went south.”

“What exactly happened?” Jiaoqiu asks, turning fully toward her. “He won't tell me.”

“Ah, Jiaoqiu…” She hesitates, and Jiaoqiu’s frustration boils over.

“Do the two of you really think me so fragile that knowing the details of this attack will break me?”

“No,” Feixiao says as she gives him a sad look. “No, neither of us thinks you’re fragile. I feel the effects of thirty years ago too, you know.”

Jiaoqiu deflates and hangs his head in shame. “Of course. I apologize for my outburst.”

“It's all right.” Feixiao rubs her face and sighs. “Moze was on a recon mission to get us intel on the Bloodwind Pack. We got a tip with a small window of opportunity, so we had to take it. You know how good he is, and he's the only one I trusted enough to do it, so I sent him. But our tip was bad, and he ended up ambushed and captured.”

Jiaoqiu stops breathing. They get tips about the Bloodwind Pack all the time, but the majority are hardly actionable. And when Moze had said he was going on a mission, he'd never said he was going behind enemy lines, alone, on a shaky tip about one of their most dangerous adversaries. Feixiao gently touches Jiaoqiu’s arm.

“I told him to brief you,” she says quietly. “I guess he didn't want you to worry.”

“He's an idiot,” Jiaoqiu mutters. His voice is thick. “He did come to see me before he left, but he never…”

And how many of those knights’ loved ones hadn't known anything either? How many of them had said goodbye flippantly, hadn't known it would be the last time, hadn't said I love you, more than anything, no matter what, for all the long life I have left?

“I should have briefed you myself.” Feixiao’s voice interrupts Jiaoqiu’s thoughts. “But anyway, we got him out, and I had healers and everything ready to meet him when he got back last night. But he gave them the slip, went straight to you.”

“To me?” Jiaoqiu echoes.

Feixiao nods. “I assumed that was where he had gone, but I didn't send anyone after him because I thought it would be like all the other times he ran away from the healers to seek help from you instead.” She chuckles and gives Jiaoqiu a mischievous grin. “I suspect he used to do that just for an excuse to spend more time with you back then, though.”

Jiaoqiu goes as pink as his fur. It’s true that before they got together, Moze would show up at his apartment (sometimes even his office) for treatment and a good meal. It was also on one of these occasions that Moze had asked Jiaoqiu out and kissed him for the first time. A rare pleasant memory. He clears his throat.

“Well, you were right that he came to my house, but he did not ask for my help.”

“Yes,” Feixiao says, frowning thoughtfully. “He texted my secretary about cleaning up your apartment, then he texted me and said he screwed up with you. And that's when I realized what had happened. I’d always assumed you would take him to the apothecary, just not like this.”

“It seems in his attempt to preserve my feelings, he managed to complicate matters for everyone. Trust me, General, he is in for the worst scolding of his life once he's recovered.”

Feixiao laughs, a real, light-hearted laugh. “When you're done with him, send him to me for the second-worst scolding of his life.” Her eyes glitter playfully, and Jiaoqiu smiles in spite of himself. She peers around him to squint down the hall. “How much longer do you think he’ll be?”

“I'm not sure, but probably not much longer. Stitches won't take all that long, nor should x-rays. But I couldn't stay in that room with him looking like that. I just couldn't…” Jiaoqiu’s voice cracks, and he feels ridiculous. He's a medical professional; he should be used to this sort of thing. Feixiao returns her hand to his arm.

“This is the first time he's been hurt like this since you two got together, isn't it?” she asks, and Jiaoqiu nods, not trusting himself to speak. Feixiao pats him, then continues: “I feel like that explains a lot, honestly.”

Jiaoqiu raises his eyebrows. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, just that it explains a lot,” Feixiao says innocently, but her smile is knowing.

Jiaoqiu purses his lips and is about to argue further when the assistant director wheels Moze into the lobby. Moze’s wounds are freshly dressed, and Jiaoqiu can see the gleam of the transparent ointment they'd put on Moze’s skin to help with the bruising. He looks terrible, but still somehow much better, and Jiaoqiu feels so relieved he thinks he could cry. He doesn’t, of course. He smiles instead, but Moze avoids his gaze, or perhaps the general’s gaze; Jiaoqiu isn't sure. Moze had disobeyed her orders. “Master J—General Feixiao!” The assistant director snaps to attention, but Feixiao waves him off. “At ease.” Jiaoqiu glances at her, then stands and approaches the assistant director and Moze. The doctor explains everything: Moze had received his stitches, and he needs to come in again in two weeks to see if they can be taken out. He'd broken one rib and fractured two, and they’d given him some laser treatment and injections to help them heal quicker. They'll check him out at the same time he comes in to have his sutures removed. Jiaoqiu nods along, one hand on Moze’s shoulder, but still Moze doesn't look at him.

“Thank you for your help, doctor,” Feixiao says from behind them. She stands now and beckons Jiaoqiu over. “Let's take him home.”

“Yes, doctor, thank you,” Jiaoqiu says.

“Thanks,” Moze adds.

“You’re welcome, Madame General, Master Jiaoqiu, and Mr. Moze.”

They leave the apothecary for Feixiao’s personal starskiff, parked outside with her secretary sitting at the wheel. She hops into the passenger seat while Moze and Jiaoqiu clamber into the back, and she swivels around to glare at them.

“Now,” she says in her best Arbiter-General voice, “the two of you have the ten-minute skiff ride to sort this out.”

“He started it,” Jiaoqiu complains.

Moze gazes at him, his expression inscrutable. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I should have told you what I was doing.”

“Like my general ordered me to,” Feixiao adds.

“Like my general ordered me to,” Moze repeats. He reaches, almost shyly for Jiaoqiu’s hand sitting between them, and Jiaoqiu lets him take it, his expression soft.

“Just tell me next time,” Jiaoqiu says quietly. “I’ll always worry about you and the general. That's just how it's going to be. I can… handle being reminded of that time, so…” He swallows, fighting with his own memories, willing himself to focus on the familiar scents of Moze and Feixiao instead of the stink of blood and smoke creeping into his nostrils.

“I'm also sorry,” Moze says suddenly, “for getting blood all over your bed and bathroom. It was really hard to move my arms. And I’m sorry for my poor field first aid. I'll buy you a new kit.”

Feixiao bursts out laughing, and Jiaoqiu is so shocked by Moze’s random declaration that he forgets that horrible place. “You're forgiven,” Jiaoqiu says with a shake of his head.

Moze searches Jiaoqiu’s face for any lingering signs of discomfort, and when he finds none, he gives Jiaoqiu a tiny, private smile. He scoots closer with a pained grunt, squished against Jiaoqiu, and presses an affectionate kiss to Jiaoqiu’s cheek. Jiaoqiu nuzzles Moze’s neck, and beneath the smell of the ointment is the soothing scent of Moze himself. Jiaoqiu’s ear flicks.

“Not a single word,” he grumbles.

“Absolutely adorable,” Feixiao coos anyway.

Feixiao drops Jiaoqiu and Moze off at Jiaoqiu’s apartment. Moze will need someone to look after him, she had said, so he should stay with Jiaoqiu. It's a reasonable suggestion, and Moze has plenty of his personal belongings stored at Jiaoqiu’s place anyway. “If you two need anything,” Feixiao says privately to Jiaoqiu before she leaves, “just call me.” When they get inside, Moze beelines for the first place he can sit, but Jiaoqiu tugs him off the couch and into the kitchen. “You need to eat,” he chastises. “You haven't eaten since at least coming here last night, and from what little I do know about your mission, I think it's been even longer.” Moze sits wordlessly at Jiaoqiu’s kitchen table and waits to be fed, and Jiaoqiu starts to throw together something that will help Moze heal. He steps out onto his balcony to pick some fresh herbs from his garden and is surprised by a light drizzle. He closes his eyes and looks up, letting the rain wash over his face. It had snowed that fateful day thirty years ago. And today, it rains. He sighs and picks the herbs he needs. The rain is artificial on the ship, but it's still somewhat poetic, he thinks, that it's happening in his area right now. He returns to the kitchen to start cooking and sees that Moze’s head has drooped forward, his eyes closed.

“I'm awake,” he says as if he knows what Jiaoqiu is thinking. “Just resting my eyes.”

“Hm. It's raining,” Jiaoqiu says conversationally. He takes out his cutting board and paring knife and gets to work.

“Oh yeah?” Moze is quiet for a while before he adds, “It rained all day and night on that planet I was just on. It was cold and miserable.”

Cold and miserable.

Jiaoqiu stirs the broth. Moze is still talking, but it's as though Jiaoqiu’s ears are stuffed with cotton.

Cold and miserable.

His empty, battered cauldron blows across the ruined battlefield, bodies everywhere, twisted, decaying, dead, blood seeping into the ground. Cold and miserable. Had that been his friend just now? Hadn't he just treated that young woman, fresh from basic training? Cold and miserable. The smoke burns his eyes and throat, he chokes on it, on the ash mixed with snow flurries, on the stench of the rot and the filth and the pain and the guilt and everyone is dead he couldn't save any of them he—

“Jiaoqiu.” Moze’s voice is low and firm, and when Jiaoqiu comes back to himself, he realizes his hands are shaking. He swallows hard. Moze rubs one hand on the small of Jiaoqiu’s back, just above his tail. “You aren't there,” he says. “You're safe at home with me.” Jiaoqiu stares at his shaking hands. Hadn't he just insisted to Feixiao that he's stronger than this? Isn't he the healer, the one who should be taking care of Moze, not the other way around? Aeons, he really is worthless. A failure of a retainer, healer, and partner. Moze wraps his other arm around Jiaoqiu’s waist and pulls him closer. He makes a small noise of pain but doesn't let Jiaoqiu go.

“I'm not going anywhere,” Moze says.

“But you almost did!” Jiaoqiu shouts

He turns into Moze’s battered chest and lets out a broken wail, a sound so inhuman and from a place so deep and so raw within himself that he isn't even sure that he'd made it. This is it, isn't it? The reason why all those terrible memories have resurfaced so frequently over the past several hours, why Jiaoqiu can barely hold himself together. Moze had almost died. He had nearly been lost, without Jiaoqiu even knowing, for a useless leg up in this pointless, fruitless, endless war. Jiaoqiu would have lost the love of his life, and still it would have rained as scheduled in his part of the delve. What is the point? What is he even trying to do? For the first time in decades, Jiaoqiu cries.

Moze murmurs soothingly into the top of Jiaoqiu’s head, gently rubbing Jiaoqiu’s back, until Jiaoqiu calms down.

“I’m sorry,” Moze whispers. “But I really—Jiaoqiu, I do everything I can every time to make sure I come back to you.”

“I know,” Jiaoqiu says. His voice is hoarse. “But Moze, if I can't help the general or protect you, then I have nothing left. I lost everything thirty years ago. If I have to lose it all again a second time, I…”

“You won't,” Moze assures him. “You saved the general back then, and you saved me tonight. You.”

Those seem to have been the magic words. Jiaoqiu takes a shuddering breath as his tail uncurls from between his legs and his ears rise from where they'd been pressed tightly against his skull. He had saved Feixiao once, and he is determined to do it again. He won't give up before he cures her. He swallows and wets his lips. And he would do anything to keep Moze safe, even if it meant sacrificing himself. And since he can't sacrifice himself before saving Feixiao, well… he has two very good reasons to keep himself grounded in the present instead of drowning in the horrid memories of the past. Jiaoqiu steps away from Moze and dabs at his eyes.

“I'm all right,” he says. “Really, I am.”

Moze seems unconvinced. Jiaoqiu turns his attention back to cooking. Moze had turned the stove down to simmer, so Jiaoqiu turns it back up.

“This was a bad day,” he goes on. “A lot of things kept bringing me back there, but it was different. Couldn't shake it like usual.” He stirs the pot. “But I feel a bit more normal now, so stop hovering.”

Moze returns somewhat reluctantly to his seat at the table. “All right, all right, if you say so.”

Jiaoqiu finishes cooking in silence. The bubbling of the pot and the pitter-patter of the rain mix together to form a gentle thrum, and beneath it Jiaoqiu hears the comforting rhythm of Moze’s regular breathing. He's here. He’s okay. The fragrance of the spices and ingredients wafts up from the pot, and beneath it Jiaoqiu catches the familiar scent of Moze himself. He's here. He's okay. Jiaoqiu picks up a pepper from the pouch on the counter and bites into it. It sears his tongue and makes his eyes water, burning all the way down his throat and into his stomach. He exhales slowly. Jiaoqiu is still here, and he's still okay.

He pours a bowl of soup for Moze and then for himself, and they eat quietly. Moze’s movements are clumsy because the pain and exertion have finally caught up with him, so Jiaoqiu takes Moze’s spoon and feeds him the last few mouthfuls. The ointment had dried and needs to be reapplied, but after that Jiaoqiu sees no reason why Moze can't rest. He clears away the bowls. “Can I put the ointment on you?” Moze nods and repositions their chairs while Jiaoqiu disappears to the living room to get the medicines from his bag. He uncaps the ointment, dabs it in a few places on Moze’s back, and then begins to carefully, tenderly, rub it into Moze's skin. Moze lets out a soft sigh, content. “Thank you,” he whispers, “for taking care of me.” Jiaoqiu smiles. He taps Moze’s shoulder so Moze will face him and he can put the ointment on Moze’s chest.

Moze turns around, but before Jiaoqiu can do anything, Moze cups his face, leans in, and kisses him. They haven't shared a proper kiss since Jiaoqiu had kissed Moze goodbye before this mission, and such a simple thing now feels so powerful. Moze’s hands move from Jiaoqiu’s face to his waist, and he kisses along Jiaoqiu’s jaw and down his neck before resting his forehead against Jiaoqiu’s shoulder. Jiaoqiu wraps his arms around Moze’s back. He hides his face in the crook of Moze’s neck and breathes in deeply, and beneath the sharp, pungent scent of the ointment is Moze: smoky, but not thick and overpowering like the black death of his memories; it’s more woodsy, like cedar wood over fire. There is a faint sweet undertone, something like love, and Jiaoqiu holds onto Moze just a bit tighter. It reminds Jiaoqiu again that Moze is here and still himself, that Moze still cares for Jiaoqiu, still wants him. Feixiao, too, had gone out of her way to meet them at the hospital, to sit with Jiaoqiu and tell him everything, to assuage his fears and doubts. Both of them are here in front of him, putting their faith and love into him, and burying away the terrible memories and sights and sounds of that war. Moze and Feixiao are still here, and so is Jiaoqiu.

He is still alive, and he still has reasons to live.