Chapter Text
Eris sat across from Ikora at the latter’s dining table. She reached for her fork. It was rare the Warlock found time to sit down for meals at home; frankly this could’ve been a meeting in her office, but she seemed to want to be a bit more personal. It was no matter to Eris - ensuring they both got a proper meal was worth the informal venue. Especially since she wasn’t planning on returning to Tharsis that night.
The thin fingerless gloves Starmine gave her to keep the scarred skin of her hands covered while displaying her fingertips did not impede her efforts to eat. She looked at her glistening green nails. The color shifted from lime to a deep emerald depending on the angle. A silly thing to do, when the paint would chip in a few days’ time. Still, what was an hour or so of her time, now that she was immortal again? And, as she discovered, the act of sitting to get one’s nails done was a front to both pick up intel from those in the City, and discuss pressing matters.
“So,” Ikora began, delicately cutting her porkchop, “How are things going?”
“The Conductor has not been seen since her efforts with the Warsats. I believe, as her Echo’s strength continues to dwindle, she is becoming much more cautious. A cornered animal, sticking to the shadows. I am sure you have heard of my work with Lodi from him, in more detail than I care to provide. IX is an unpleasant, petulant creature. Its irreverence despite deifying itself makes for an unpalatable combination.” Eris’s fork clinked against her plate with some emphasis.
The other woman’s hand stopped midair, then she set her silverware down with a sigh. “I meant with you.” Her lips pulled tighter than Eris was used to, lacking their usual fond-but-exasperated smile about the former Hunter’s penchant for ignoring self-care.
“Oh. Quite well, thank you. And yourself?” She busied herself with eating while she waited for Ikora’s response. Her nails kept catching her eye. The paint was unfamiliar. So were the perfectly-rounded edges, filed even instead of left rough to snag because who really had time for such things?
“I-” Whatever words Ikora wanted to say at first choked her, and then they spilled out. “Look, I’m worried. About you.”
Her three eyelids shut in sequence, confounded. What could possibly trouble her friend about her? “I… cannot guess as to why.”
Ikora dropped her fork and pointed to Eris’s fingertips. “That. Not just that. Not just the nails. The rugball league. That stupid video of you learning that stupid dance with… with the Vex. The matching jackets at the Dawning gala. Entertaining this whole Ghost-in-law nonsense with that shrew. Five and seven-month anniversaries. Running off to Tharsis all the time to… make out in the middle of a bar. None of this is like you.”
Stunned. Eris found herself positively stunned. Certainly that idiotic dance was not something she would ever want to do, but it did bring the fireteam closer to the Tharsis Reformation. A noble sacrifice of her dignity. The nails, the rugball, the jackets - all things those close to her wanted. Things she would not elect to do on her own, or request of them. She asked to sit in shared silence, drinking tea while they read, then discussing. They obliged her, she obliged them. Tharsis itself was an important strategic position with a blossoming collective of individualized Vex severed from the hive mind. Of course she would be there.
“Do you not like the color? Starmine claimed it would go with my eyes-”
“Her, too! You used to hate her! She, she’s Asher’s dopey little runt, how-”
“She has been by the Guardian’s side for each raid. I should think you would show a little more respect for ‘the girl on every poster,’ especially since she remains one of the most popular Vanguard figures amidst the prophecy discourse.” Eris bristled, the hairs on her neck standing up under her cowl. It’d been a long time since Starmine was her cousin’s weak research assistant. She’d grown - exponentially. Maybe that’s what the issue was. “Are you envious of her public perception’s resilience? Or perhaps that her talents have expanded at an almost-alarming rate? Yours are plateaued at the same height she approaches, if she is not already your equal.”
Ikora’s mouth hung open, aghast. “She- no, Eris, no. She herself is irrelevant to my concerns.”
“What are you concerned about?” This still made no sense. Truly, what was there to be bothered by? Eris felt she was, dare she say, flourishing. She couldn’t be misreading her own life this badly, could she?
“You. All of this, Eris, it’s not you. I’m worried. Is he forcing you-”
Eris laughed. She had to. The idea was ludicrous. “He cannot force me to do a single thing. He knows this good and well and does not even try.”
“Is he manipulating you, then, into going along with all this bull-”
She sucked in her cheeks, eyes narrowing in warning. She understood now. And she couldn’t believe that, of all people, Ikora would not support her in this. One of her dearest, closest friends. A woman Eris would’ve given her life to help.
“Do you presume I am a monolith encased in ice, never to change? Am I to be stuck dwelling in the past forever to appease your fantasy of me?” She snapped, tone harsh. Far harsher than she’d used with Ikora in years.
Ikora groaned, shaking her head. “No, it’s not like that. I just… I know you, Eris. You’re pragmatic. You devote all your time to helping keep Sol safe. You don’t waste time doing stupid things like arguing about who misses who more.”
Awfully presumptuous, in multiple ways. “While I recovered, physically, from the Hellmouth, I counted the hours until I met my final death. I thought my dwindling life remaining best used bleeding myself dry. It took far longer for me to recover emotionally. I realize I have spent more time in the company of the Hive than those I call my friends. No longer. You call these activities a ‘waste’ - to you, they are. To me, they were. I regained my immortality. Now I have the time to ‘waste’ on getting my nails done, playing rugball… making out in bars. I shall enjoy these moments, and the companionship they bring.”
Again, her answer displeased the other woman. She sniffed in annoyance that Eris just wasn’t getting it. “This whole family tree that idiot Warlock and her fireteam have concocted is ridiculous. It’s not you. You’re a Hunter, for the Traveler’s sake. You’re allergic to being tied down. It’s not any of us. We’re Guardians. We have our Ghosts and our friends, we don’t have Ghosts-in-law and nieces and nephews.”
“I suppose our brothers-in-arms are fabrications, then.” Ridiculous. What did it matter to Ikora how a cluster of people chose to relate to each other? Yes, the actual familial connections were either nonexistent or tenuous at best - Asher was never Starmine’s father, nor her father figure. He was a, frankly, shitty mentor who unintentionally taught her a very important lesson - how to survive. Alone. And now he was gone and the Warlock clung to his only known family because despite his prickly personality, she loved him anyway.
Traveler’s Light, she loved everyone for what was in their heart, no matter how hard they tried to hide it.
Blue was eccentric in seeing her chosen as her son - and she was about as awful of a mother as Asher was a father. The fireteam viewing each other as siblings who dove into the deepest pits of hell together and climbed back up the other side was completely within reason. A fireteam was someone you needed because you knew they would always have your back. Were the titles they chose to use for each other lacking in gravitas and austerity? Certainly, but:
“Who are you to dictate how two other people view each other, Ikora? How they relate to those around them? Each dynamic is its own.”
The Warlock rolled her eyes with a scowl. “Do you know how many jokes I’ve heard in the Bazaar about you having a mother-in-law?”
“I do not care what feckless Risen in the Tower have to say about the ways Blue attempts to show her acceptance of me into their lives.” She could pontificate for days about how strange the Ghost was, how different from Brya, how many things she’d fucked up emotionally for her chosen. What good would that do? Blue was an inseparable aspect of life with Drifter. She was trying, in her own way.
Ikora stood, moved from her seat across the table to come closer to Eris. The Warlock reached for her hand, but she pulled her freshly-painted nails away.
“That- she isn’t your Ghost. She’s not Brya, she never can be, she’s a screw-up masquerading as a better Ghost.”
“Am I to eternally mourn Brya’s sacrifice and never grow close to another Ghost? Does my relationship with Blue somehow shame her memory? Have you considered, Ikora, that the emphasis is on the ‘in-law’ portion of the ‘Ghost-in-law’ title to show her reverence for my loss? Her acknowledgement she is not my Ghost, and, as you point out with all the delicacy of a point-blank Nova Warp, she never can be?” She had to presume this was not something Ikora discussed with Ophiuchus or the pondering Ghost would’ve corrected her foolishness.
“That’s even worse! You play house with them! You, a Hunter, who refuses the domesticity of life in the City. You play make-believe of it in a crime-ridden cesspool on Mars with that belly-dragger. It, it’s beneath you!”
Perhaps this wasn’t fully about Eris, then. Reading between the lines was often insightful.
“You are upset the Guardian and his fireteam remain on Tharsis willingly. That they no longer submit to your authority without question. You feel you’re losing power over them and perceive Drifter as a rival, one they bestow with a title that gives him standing in their lives. You, too, could be considered an ‘auntie’ through Asher, yet they do not hold you in the same regard.”
Ikora drew back like she’d been bit. “I don’t want to be anyone’s ‘auntie,’ Eris. I’m the Warlock Vanguard. I’m going to be the Vanguard Commander. Zavala- he- it, it’s only a matter of time. He’s losing his faith in himself, his resolve to do this job. He wants out. He’s wanted out since his wife died but he’s never found the door. If I’m honest.” She paused, her shoulders slumping. “I don’t want nieces and nephews. I need Guardians at the ready.”
“You realize I did not even need to ask them to run Solo Ops today? Aunor and Eido set up a comm system so they could all be ‘together in spirit’ while they were worlds apart. They chose to do so, because they saw the need. Do you want Guardians prepared to do what it takes or do you want despondent, obedient servants? They are at the ready but they do not wish to be ordered into misery. They are all young, the Guardian especially, coming of age where they wish to define themselves more. I am honored to be a part of that world, even if it comes with whimsical titles.”
Eris softened, recognizing the immense turmoil within her friend. “They will do what is needed. Never question that. But, as the Traveler has never spoken out of a hope we would do what is right inherently, you cannot demand their subservience. They need room to blossom, however those flowers look. We shall speak more on Zavala another time, when tensions are not so high.”
The Warlock practically melted in guilt. “Oh, Eris, you’re always so understanding. What are you doing with that guy?”
Nope. Just as Eris thought they were making progress in working through what was really bothering Ikora, there she went. Her hackles raised again. “I would ask you to watch your tongue.”
“Do you seriously think Brya would be happy with who you’ve chosen?”
Eris’s eyes flashed in fury, a snarl coming over her face. “How dare you pretend to know what she would’ve wanted. The last thing she told me was to not look back - a request I took literally at the time, but I see now she was telling me to not remain trapped in the past. To move on with my life. She would be elated-”
“Really? That she’s been supplanted by a trollop of a Ghost who screwed her Risen up? That you’re playing house with someone as disreputable and incorrigible as the Drifter?”
They were done here. Eris stood abruptly, glad that her chair scraped harshly against the floor. “I see you believe all of us should be locked in the past, never allowed to grow beyond our misery. Do you still pine for me to be content wallowing in the safety of the Tower, Ikora? Surely you cannot believe I would ever be happy with that path, even if you do not understand how I am happy with the one I am on.
“Yes, she would be elated I have found someone who wants to celebrate monthly anniversaries, because he is that excited to be with me. Ecstatic I have well-meaning friends who draw me off the Moon for an hour to get my nails done, and then happily send me back to my work, reminding me there is room for both. Delighted there is a Ghost who wishes to step into the void her absence leaves, knowing she can never fill it.”
Was it all goofy? Certainly. Did it make those around her happy? Her friends, her fireteam, her loved ones? Nothing like her original fireteam. The one that felled Crota was about as disparate from the one that failed to do so as possible. Drifter was right when he told her to live her life. There was so much to gain from allowing others in, from putting herself out there and tolerating all the ridiculous things her friends wanted to do.
“I- fuck, Eris, I’m sorry. You’re right. I look at you and I don’t see who you are today. What you want today. It seems so incongruent with who you were even ten years ago. But that’s probably for the best, isn’t it?”
It was. The Eris who crawled out of the Hellmouth was resigned to misery. Stifled, dimmed. Modern-day Eris was… still not a huge fan of getting her nails done. But it made her ‘honorary niece’ happy. So it was a worthwhile endeavor. And the color-shift was… visually intriguing, she supposed.
Modern-day Eris wasn’t watching the hourglass of her final life tick away, each grain of sand sliding down in a relentless march to what felt like an inevitable death trying to mean something. She didn’t think her failures and her three eyes made her worthy only of self-sacrifice, not of love. And did modern-day Eris ever have love.
“I would ask that you not speak so poorly of my partner the next time I see you. Or his Ghost. Trying as she may be, she has made a genuine effort. And he treats me with all the adoration in the world. I should think you would be happier for me I found that.” She explicitly did not say ‘again,’ to drive home the point that none of her previous relationships - Ikora included - reached this level of fulfillment.
“No, you’re right. I should be thrilled you’re this happy, instead of letting my doubts consume me. This wasn’t fair of me.”
Eris tipped her head almost imperceptibly. “Thank you for the meal,” that was only half-eaten, but she wasn’t about to sit back down. She trekked to the door of Ikora’s apartment before the Warlock could say anything, and transmatted to the hangar once it shut behind her.
She wasn’t going to the Moon tonight after all.
She didn’t bother calling ahead to announce her unexpected presence on Tharsis. She found Drifter and Blue precisely as she expected: in his workshop, squabbling over how to finetune the SMG he was fiddling with.
He startled when he heard her footsteps and the gun was instantly forgotten. “Moondust! I thought you were comin’ back tomorrow evening. You hungry? I can scrounge somethin’ up.”
“I changed my plans. I would take something small.” She walked towards him, meeting him halfway. He paused as her hands came up to wrap around him, grabbing one from the air to inspect.
“Hey, you got your nails done! Never seen you have ‘em painted before. Ooh, hey, Blue, c’mon and look. They’re that shifty green.” He held her palm, splaying her fingers and tilting them so the color reflected.
His Ghost scurried over, beeping as she checked them out. “Is this that duochrome shit my little grand-niece was hypin’ up? Good taste, sweetie. Must run in the family, eh?”
A ludicrous statement. None of them were biologically related. None of them were in each others’ formative years - Eris was there for an unforgettable hour of Starmine’s, she supposed. But the rest were all their own people by the time life intersected them together.
Still, Eris smiled. “Blue, would you mind going to reheat something for me?”
“Anything for my baby’s baby!” She happily flitted out the door, off to the kitchen.
And with the little light out of the room, Eris took her hands back from Drifter, threaded her fingers into his hair, and tugged him into a deep kiss.
This ridiculous rat man somehow crawled his way into her heart and now she had someone who made a point of wanting to celebrate every single trivial milestone he could think of. Because he was just that enthusiastic about being with her, and crossing every single one together. He loved her that much. And she loved him all the more for it.
Fuck what those idiots in the Tower had to say about her nails or her mother-in-law or her man or her fireteam or her godkillers-turned-family.
She was happy.