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The debate about leaving the Hall — not just stepping outside, testing out existence on solid ground for the first in a long time, but about actually, properly leaving — is not as ferocious as Velasquez would have expected. From the minute the first teams come and explain things, there’s a clear split: those who want to stay, and those who want to go.
He knows right away that he’ll have to talk to Rhys about it. Their chance for that arrives later than he expects, well after most of the other teams have started leaving with more passengers than they had when they arrived. It arrives long after they can see the end of the universe encroaching on the last home they’ve known, the home they’ve known the longest.
“If,” Rhys says, and Velasquez looks at them. They’re outside the Hall, standing on the surface of the sand-not-sand. Both of them are having trouble balancing, but Rhys is steady when they meet his eyes. “If we get the chance. I think we should go.”
Velasquez doesn’t need to ask where they mean they’d go. Layna, so much older and brighter than ze remembers, had explained everything to the two of them and Iggy: black holes and semicentennials and a desert at the end of it all. The Sunbeams are in the desert, of course they are, but there’s no good way to get there from the Hall. A few enterprising folks had suggested stealing the Garages’ ship, but Velasquez doesn’t want to be a part of that.
Ey tilts eir head, looking at Rhys. “Do you really?”
“I do.”
“You know you’ve—”
“Adapted to the Hall,” they finish. Velasquez isn’t sure if they mean adapting in the sense of it being their home for years or Adapting in the sense of the extra hands and gills and bright, clear fish-eyes that they’ve developed over the decades. It doesn’t matter. “I think this is more important.”
Velasquez reaches a hand out; Rhys takes it in two of theirs and lifts it to their mouth, brushing a kiss against the back of eir hand. Ey has led a long life but ey wants so few things, really, few enough that ey can list them off like it’s nothing: Rhys, Sandy, the Sunbeams, a good night’s sleep. Everything else can come after that. And with the Hall open, ey’s been sleeping better. One more thing off the list.
Still, ze isn’t actually expecting the opportunity to leave. It’s a nice fantasy, maybe a little more real than it’s been for the past forty years, but by and large only a fantasy. A way to pass the time as people slowly leave, Lenny with the Garages, the last remaining stripes with the Tigers.
For their part Velasquez goes on walks, enjoying being outside of the Hall. Fresh air: what a novel concept. Sometimes Rhys comes, sometimes Iggy does, sometimes it’s whoever’s closest. Ze’s rarely alone, and that’s a comfort, because it’s unnerving looking out on the horizon and seeing the nothingness encroaching. They adjust, though, to solid ground, to life outside the gates.
They’re not outside the gates the day the new ships come.
He’s with Rhys and Iggy in one of the rarely-used hallways, one of those places that always felt too grand and stuffy to spend much time in. But they don’t have much time now, and so they’re here, walking between statues that they don’t recognize.
When the shouts filter in Velasquez isn’t concerned. There seem to be reunions every day now, people that somehow haven’t seen each other in years, even crammed in the Hall as they all are. And everything sounds joyful enough, so none of them think much of it.
At least, none of them think much of it until Hotbox storms into the statue hall, wild-eyed and gleeful. “You’ve gotta go outside,” it says, “now.”
Iggy blinks. “What—”
“The desert teams are here,” Hotbox says. It’s gone before any of them can ask follow-ups, presumably off to spread the good news.
It’s by silent, anxious agreement that they all rush outside, out to the gates, where there’s no small crowd. The sounds of joyful reunions are getting louder and louder. Velasquez threads vis hand through one of Rhys’s, and they hold on tight as they make their way towards the gate.
It starts out as the three of them, and then Iggy gasps and breathes out, “Howell,” and xe’s off like a shot before Velasquez can ask follow-ups. When ve stands on vis toes and cranes vis neck, ve can see Iggy barrelling towards Howell, the two of them nearly collapsing onto the ground in their embrace.
Ve swallows. “Do you see her?”
“This way,” Rhys says, and starts pushing cautiously through the crowd. still clutching Velasquez’s hand tightly. There’s a nervous thrum to every step. Velasquez takes a dizzy second to be grateful that he’s been practicing walking outside the Hall. The first few times had been full of tripping and falling, but now he doesn’t stumble, and neither does Rhys.
He doesn’t see Sandy until the crowd parts in exactly the right way, and then there’s a flash of sunlight, bright and golden and easy to follow. Velasquez pulls ahead without consciously meaning too, rushing a little, pulling ahead of Rhys and surging forward, until—
“Vela,” Sandy says, and their voice is exactly how ze remembers. Zir hand slips out of Rhys’s as both arms come up to wrap around Sandy’s neck, muscle memory even after decades, force of habit bringing Sandy’s hands up to Velasquez’s shoulder blades even after a lifetime apart.
Velasquez doesn’t sob. It’s a close thing, though.
“God,” Sandy mumbles, and squeezes tight before pulling back. “Look at you. Where’s Rhys?”
“Well,” Velasquez says — croaks, really, voice still choked with tears — and turns. It’s funny, how ze almost can’t remember what Rhys looked like before the Hall. It’s been so long. Only two arms, not quite as tall, just like any other human? That can’t be right.
Sandoval is quiet for a moment. He understands, Velasquez can tell that, but he doesn’t move at first. And then he takes a tentative step forward, hands slipping off of Vela’s shoulders, as he walks with slow, clear purpose towards Rhys. It would be almost funny to see Rhys hand-wringingly nervous, if it were any other circumstance. Not now.
“You Adapted,” Sandy says. Rhys nods, and she continues, “It looks good on you.”
“Thanks,” Rhys answers, still a little guarded. Sandy hasn’t relaxed yet, and so neither have they.
Slowly Sandy lifts a hand, and Rhys lowers their face so she can brush her knuckles along her cheek. When she speaks again, it’s slower, choked with emotion. “Do you have to stay here?”
Velasquez understands all at once. Rhys doesn’t, judging by the way they blink in confusion. “The Hall? I don’t think so.”
“You’ve Adapted.”
Velasquez moves quietly to Sandy’s side, something deep inside zir singing joyfully at how right that feels. “We don’t think we have a Tug here. Nothing is making us stay.”
Sandy looks to zir, something desperate like hope blooming behind her eyes, and then back to Rhys. “So that means…”
“We’d go wherever you are,” Rhys says. No hesitation, no concern, caution falling away with every syllable. “If you want us.”
“Of course I want you,” Sandy says. Velasquez thinks they’re trying for mock offended, but their voice cracks clean in the middle of the sentence. “Both of you, I — always, I never stopped, I never—”
“We know,” Rhys says, and then Sandy is in their arms, clinging tight. Rhys raises another arm, and Velasquez goes into the fold willingly, one arm around each of their waists. “It’s okay, Sandy, we’re here.”
“You’re here,” Sandy repeats, muffled against Rhys’s chest. Velasquez closes their eyes, and listens, and waits, and sure enough they hear the best sound in the world: Sandy takes a breath. “You’re here.”