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Tennant thought about that midnight conversation often, Ta’via said he ran forwards rather than away, but weren’t they one and the same? Maybe it was better to look ahead instead of to the past, especially for Tennant when all his past offered were murky memories of a war through a child's eyes. When he tried, the future was somehow more depressing. Tennant imagined the rain and crows, Reva’s mission reports, it only made the hollow pit in their chest heavier. Because how could the future ever be anything but those things? Tennant wouldn’t leave his family.
Meanwhile, Ta’via was very quickly becoming a part of his family. You didn’t just heal someone through their most vulnerable time without forming attachments, not to mention when they save your life. Green hair and witty retorts wove themselves into every part of Tennant’s world, even their dreams. Some days this was good, he woke with the energy someone their age should always feel and was much friendlier to everyone for it. In fact Ruby made a very pointed remark one Sunday dinner that perhaps he should see a doctor in case something was wrong.
Other dreams featuring Ta’via wrecked Tennant to his core. He saw himself waking on that terrible night after the explosion, charred but fine, and stumbling to find Ta’via cold and lifeless amongst the rubble. After these dreams they would wake, slowly fighting his way to consciousness, stiff but with heart pounding and immediately searching for Ta’via beside him. They would always be somehow gracefully drooling, lanky arms thrown in a way which surely couldn’t be comfortable. Those were the nights Tennant wanted to run away together the most.
It was like Ta’via had planted a seed of an idea in their brain and it gnawed away daily. It was slow at first, every time Reva sent them an especially cold look or hinted that he really should be healed enough to start work again. Then the thoughts of escape came more often: every time he woke to rain, every time Ta’via told a story from his travels and eventually, every time Tennant so much as looked out towards the docks. With the itch to travel came an overwhelming guilt. Nadette wasn’t even 18 yet, and with Tennant gone Reva’s focus would surely move to Ruby. So much so was this internal conflict that Tennant somehow missed it, the same itch growing in Ta’via. Where Tennant had a few foggy ideas in his brain about how to leave, Ta’via had been spiralling towards it since what felt like that first Sunday dinner, and finally they couldn’t stand it any longer.
The day had been good, fun even. Ta’via watched every time something he said made Tennant laugh, memorising the way their eyes glinted a little warmer. Everything seemed to be moving too quickly and their chest ached with knowing that tomorrow he wouldn’t get to hear that laugh. At the same time the day couldn’t go fast enough, it was going smoothly, breaking into the vault had been laughably easy. Rich people and their egos. Ta’via was musing on how likely it was that Reva might find him and murder him for stealing and breaking her son’s heart when they heard Tennant rouse.
“What are you doing?” Shit.
“Ah, sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up. You can go back to sleep, it's okay.” Ta’via begged whichever gods were listening to make Tennant sleep.
“Okay, are you coming back to sleep?”
“I just gotta run out and do something real quick,” a truly terrible excuse, “but you go back to sleep.” Ta’via had stopped packing, listening to hear what Tennant decided to do. They sat up more. Well fuck.
“What? Where are you going- what?” Sleep was slipping further from Tennant’s mind and Ta’via felt a knot grow in their stomach. “Okay, what are we doing?”
“Oh, it's okay, it's fine. I just remembered I left a line loose on the ship and there’s supposed to be a storm tonight and I don’t want the sails to get ruined. But I’ve got it, I’m handling it. You just go back to sleep.” Was the sick feeling in his stomach showing on his face?
“Okay, or I can come with you?” Stubborn bastard.
“It’s fine, it’s really ok.”
“Well I’m up now anyway, it’s fine.”
“Yeah but your rib is still-”
The conversation just kept going. Ta’via felt every reassurance leave their tongue coated in lies, and the dread grew. Tennant was going to find out and Ta’via would see the heartbreak on his face. Would they be angry? Would they try to stop him? Ta’via’s foot hit their bag. Tennant was realising, he was realising and he was serious now and their hands were… on his face?
Ta’via let out a breath they didn’t know they’d been holding. It didn’t fix the anxiety, guilt and grief roiling in his gut, but Tennant wasn’t trying to stop him. The sorry they gave him couldn’t hold enough.
Then they were out. Cool night air hitting their skin as he raced down crow lane for the last time. Each heavy footfall chipped that tension away, and Ta’via cried with relief. Running to this boat felt more like coming home than climbing into Tennant’s house ever had, and as Ta’via settled into the familiar strokes of untying rigging panic slipped to the back of their churning emotions. His tears of relief mingled with those of a heavy sadness from leaving so much love behind. Despite this Ta’via felt more grounded now than he had in weeks, aware of each breath, each wave lapping against the hull of Tennant’s boat. The Astral was ready to welcome him home.