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There is something strange, almost deja vu, to see Osiris striding across the hangar towards him. Saint leans back against the hull of the Gray Pigeon, arms folded, and watches as the Warlock approaches. He is all determined purpose, and oblivious to the looks that people give him. It is not every day that an infamous exiled heretic walks through the Tower after all. Yet Osiris looks as though he owns the place.
For a moment, Saint can almost believe that it is centuries ago – Osiris coming to see him before he leaves on a mission from his Father.
Saint is not certain if that is a comfort or not. It had been a time when he was certain of his place, and had not yet broken himself in the Infinite Forest, but it had been a time when there had been much strife between himself and Osiris, a thread stretched almost to breaking point.
He is certain, however, that it is a comfort to know that the man approaching him is flesh and blood, rather than one of the gilded facsimiles he had encountered, the ones which had drawn him further into the Vex network.
"I have something for you," Osiris says bluntly when he reaches him.
"Hello, Osiris," Saint says, drawing out all of the cheer that he can muster, "it is good to see you again. How are you today?"
Osiris stares at him for a moment, and then drops his gaze, even looking a little embarrassed. His Phoenix has never been good at the pleasantries around human interaction. Once it had frsutarted him, but now, after so long apart, it fills his chest with a fond ache.
"Hello, Saint," Osiris says. "I am as well as can be expected given the circumstances." His his expression softens, and Saint can tell that he is smiling behind his scarf from the way the lines around his eyes crinkle. "How are you?"
Saint inclines his head and nods. "I walk the City streets, I feed my birds, I run Trials. It is… strange," he admits. Even after several months, he cannot entirely adjust to being here in the marvel that his City has become… to being free of the Infinite Forest and its simulations. "But it is good."
"It will take time," Osiris says gently. "I still find myself uncomfortable in the crowds here, and I am far less approachable than you. My exile made a hermit of me."
"You did not like crowds even before your exile," Saint points out, though he does not try to hide the fond note in his voice. "But come, sit. I can see that you are eager to show me something." It is in the way that Osiris tries to keep his hands still and fails. He is far more expressive than he likes to think he is.
"You will need to come with me," Osiris says.
"Oh?"
"It is not something that I can show you here," Osiris explains, "but it should be of use to you."
"Where is it?" Saint asks, because he would not put it past Osiris to try to whisk him away to Venus or Mer– no, not Mercury. Not Mars or Io or Titan either. Not anymore.
"It is in the Tower," Osiris replies. "I would not surprise you by insisting that we leave the City's borders without notice." He must catch Saint's expression because he grimaces. "Not this time, at least."
Saint snorts and then claps his hand against Osiris' shoulder. "Show me then, this thing which you are so excited about."
"It is not excitement, Saint," Osiris protests as they begin walking. "I am keen to give you a useful tool for the days ahead."
Saint makes a noncomittal noise.
"The disappearance of Mercury means that the Lighthouse is now inaccessible to us," Osiris continues as they navigate the halls of the Tower, heading downwards. "As are many other locations, including Crucible arenas."
"I have heard Shaxx rant about it. Loudly," Saint says. Shaxx's indignance, as though it is of the same consequence as someone taking his seat at a cafe, is reassuring at a time when most people are filled with dread. Not that he can blame them. The world is a far more terrifying place now than it was when he entered the Infinite Forest.
Perhaps it had always been so terrifying, but only Osiris had truly seen it.
"I have no doubt of that," Osiris says. He smiles again. "When I was on Mercury, I returned from one of my research trips to find fireteams blowing each other up with scorch cannons."
Saint laughs at that. "You should be glad! You always thought that Crucible was good training."
"I still do. But a little warning would not have gone amiss."
They turn onto a floor and Osiris leads him to a large set of doors. The hallway is full of crates and equipment for moving them. A strange place for Osiris to bring him certainly.
The Warlock opens the doors and Saint follows him inside. The room is massive, obviously originally meant for storage, but every surface has been covered in glossy black panels of some material that Saint is not certain of. In the centre is a plinth and a console.
"Here," Osiris says, spreading his arms to encompass the entire room.
"It is… very shiny," Saint says. "What is it?"
Osiris ruffles like one of Saint's birds when they are flustered by something. He turns to the console and taps something into it.
The room dissolves, and suddenly they are standing beneath a bright sun that is far too close, heat pressing down on them. Saint turns to take in the expanse of the familiar terrain. "This is a Lighthouse."
"A simulation of one, yes," Osiris says. He moves to stand by Saint's side, staring out over the Mercurian landscape. "I created a simulation engine and the Vanguard agreed that it could be used to facilitate Crucible matches in locations that have been… lost."
"Is it safe?" Saint asks. "The Vex simulations were–"
"They are my simulations," Osiris says quickly, earnestly. "I would not set up unmodified Vex technology or Vex code in the Tower." He meets Saint's eyes squarely. "I would not ask you to enter a Vex simulation again."
The words have so much weight to them, decades of grief and guilt. Saint cannot deny that he is relieved. Entering Vex simulations again… it fills him with dread. As strong as he is, he does not think he would survive. Not and remain sane.
He nods slowly. "I know. I know that you would not."
Osiris has never been someone who is intentionally cruel. Harsh, yes, sometimes unthinking, but never intentionally cruel. Saint does not believe that he has changed so much in the time they have been apart.
"Is… is it an exact replica?" he asks after a few moments. "It is a very impressive creation."
"I have made a few modifications to remove personal items that were present in the original references that I had. Much as I find – found – the Cult… frustrating, I see no reason to allow any Guardian to explore their belongings, even in simulation."
No, Osiris is not cruel.
"You should show me around," Saint suggests.
"You already know you way around the Lighthouse," Osiris replies.
"I do. But you wished to show it to me, and I wish to see your work." In the past, much of Osiris' work has been beyond him, but this… this he can appreciate.
Osiris hesitates, and there is a flash of something in his expression, a vulnerability that he does not usually allow anyone to see. Saint reaches out and takes his hand, and after a moment, Osiris' fingers close around his.
"If you truly wish."
"I do."
He is still relearning the look of quiet pleasure on Osiris' face. He thinks that he could look at it for hours.
"You are staring," Osiris says.
"It is a very lovely sight," Saint replies, without taking his eyes off Osiris' face.
Osiris snorts and looks away. "Ridiculous."
He does not let go of Saint's hand when he begins walking again, leading Saint from the landing pad up to the centre of the Lighthouse where there is a large, ornate golden chest, decorated with familiar symbols.
"No roof?" Saint asks, and leans to peer up at the sky. It is a marvel truly! If he did not know better, he would think that they truly were on Mercury.
The thought is not entirely a comfortable one.
"It is a simulated sun. I can adjust the atmospheric settings easily enough to make it more pleasing to you."
"It is no need," Saint replies. "I am sure any Trials winners can withstand for long enough to collect their prizes."
"They certainly flocked to the real Mercury enough for me to believe so."
Osiris is still holding his hand and Saint cannot resist squeezing his fingers gently. Osiris glances at him briefly and squeezes his fingers in return before setting off walking again. Saint lets himself be guided. He wishes this had been his first experience of Mercury – Osiris showing him a place that he loves and is fascinated with – rather than the bloodshed and pain and terror that had marred most of his time there.
"There is plenty of storage," Osiris continues as he guides Saint around the outside of the Lighthouse spire. He has to let go of Saint to hop down to a lower level, and Saint regrets the loss. It feels as though they are back in the early days of their relationship – feelings shown through fleeting touches, private looks, because their positions made it difficult to do anything more openly. Not until they were certain.
Saint had been certain for a very long time.
"You will have to arrange the engram uplink with the foundries yourself." He drags his attention back to Osiris' words, and they enter a shady space filled with crates and sacks. "I am certain that they will be more willing to deal with you than they will with me."
"Your followers did not seem to have any shortage of fancy gifts to give those who prevailed," Saint says.
"They are not quite so distinctive as I am," Osiris replies. He raises a pale eyebrow at Saint. "They are also not exiles, except by their own choice."
He could retort that so much of Osiris' exile was his own stubbornness, his refusal to be flexible, his lack of patience. He could, and Osiris would probably not disagree, but it feels petty now when they have already lost so much time.
"You are very bad at disgusing yourself, my bird," Saint says, gentle teasing, and Osiris' eyes widen at the old pet-name.
"Says the man in silver armour with a crested helmet, who draws crowds wherever he goes," Osiris replies, but the sharpness of it glances off that same armour.
"Not so many as once would have," Saint says. "I am a legend now, and people do not expect their stories to walk among them and buy pastries at little stall." Guardians may travel the system and see all of its strangeness and dangers, but it is their job to shelter the people of the Last City after all.
"Does it bother you?" Osiris asks, that bird-like tilt of his head displaying genuine curiosity.
Saint considers that for a moment. When he had left, he had been a hero, there had been parades in his honour. He had accepted the gratitude of the people with grace and humility. Their joy is his. His life is theirs.He reaches unthinkingly for the ribbons wrapped 'round his pauldron – many of them are faded by now, but he remembers every one. They are a promise that he carries with him and he feels that weight drawn tight by expectation.
"I have never sought to be a figure of worship," he says. "It is enough to be able to defend my people."
"That is not what I asked," Osiris replies, eyes narrowing.
Bah! His phoenix, always too sharp-eyed at the worst times.
"I like that I may find a quiet spot in the City to sit and think alone occasionally," he concedes.
"You deserve that," Osiris says, "everyone does. You would carry the weight of the world on your shoulders if you could. I know you."
"Now you exaggerate," Saint replies. This is not a conversation about him. He looks around, his attention lighting on the pile of sacks against one wall. "But come, what is this that you have so carefully simul–"
He stops when he sees the sacks up close. Inside his chest, his synthetic heart seems to skip a beat.
Every sack is birdseed.
"Osiris–" he begins.
"You like to feed the birds," Osiris says, the most obvious possible response and yet…
"This is simulation," Saint replies. He turns to look at Osiris who has his arms folded across his chest, refusing to meet Saint's optics, a defensive posture that Saint recognises well, even after so long apart. "There are no birds on Mercury. Not anymore."
Not since the Vex came and turned the garden world into a place of lifeless stone and metal.
"I thought that if you will be spending a large amount of time here administering Trials that at least you could have something that you enjoyed to ease the burden," Osiris says. He lets out a sharp breath. "Let me show you."
A patch of stone vanishes revealing another console set into the wall. Osiris taps at it for a few seconds and then…
The sound of wings fills the air, followed by a familiar, well-loved sound of cooing. Saint turns from the sacks and leaves the storage area to find many pigeons perching on the rocks outside as though this is the hangar or one of the city plazas. They are all different too – most might not be able to pick that out beyond colour, but Saint can tell – different banding on their feathers, different lengths of tail or colours of beak. Even some fancier types that he knows have never lived feral in the Last City – ones with curly feathers or grand crests, and one that is coloured pastel green and pink and orange.
This is no simulation made from an existing scan – these have been created individually.
"I may have gone a little overboard," Osiris says from behind him. "I became engrossed in the code and– you can remove them if you find them annoying to deal with or a distraction."
"You made them for me," Saint says, staring at them in wonder. Several of the birds approach him, the braver ones that look like the City birds he knows best, heads bobbing, and they give him an expectant look that makes Saint laugh with sheer delight. "They are perfect!"
When he turns back, Osiris has relaxed, arms loose at his sides. He just looks at Saint, and his eyes are very soft. There are new lines of care around them that were not there before he had been exiled and Saint longs to smooth them away. Despite his demeanour much of the time, Osiris has always had very kind eyes, Saint thinks.
"You are staring," he says.
"You are a very lovely sight," Osiris says. He takes a deep breath. "I thought for so long that I would never see you again."
"I thought the same when I could not find you," Saint replies. "When Martyr Mind drained my Light I–" He shakes his head. "It is no matter. I am here now. You are here now."
"I am still an exile," Osiris says.
"It is only a technicality now, I am certain," Saint replies. "You have spent so much time here since Mercury was… taken."
Vanished. Stolen. What possible word is appropriate for the loss of a planet?
"I would not try saying that to Commander Zavala," Osiris says. He gives a wry smile beneath his scarf, and suddenly Saint cannot take it anymore.
He steps forward, moving closer to Osiris, and his fingers brush against the scarf which covers the Warlock's mouth, a silent question. Osiris' gaze searches his face for a moment, and then he nods.
Saint slides his fingers beneath the scarf and tugs it down, exposing the entirety of Osiris' face, the mouth with a sharp tongue and soft lips that Saint has loved so much in the past. He runs his thumb against them, and then cups Osiris' face. Osiris leans into it, eyes dropping closed.
"One day, you will no longer be an exile," Saint says, and in his mouth it feels like a promise. "One day you will not need to hide, to leave so quickly."
"One day we will see the stars together," Osiris says softly, and it makes Saint ache to hear that old dream of theirs. It seems so distant now, when that terrible force lingers at the edge of the system.
Saint has Geppetto remove his helmet so he can truly look at his beloved without the need for his helmet's display.
He leans in to kiss Osiris softly. They have kissed since he returned from the Infinite Forest, it is true, but still, every one feels like the first, a hesitant, trembling thing that he fears he might crush.
Osiris kisses back, as slow and sweet as sunset.
When they part, Saint strokes his cheek again, wondering at how they have managed to have this second chance. Osiris smiles and Saint could drink the sight in forever.
"I love you, Saint," Osiris says. It makes his chest burn with devotion the same way it had the first time Osiris had said that to him.
"I love you too, my bright phoenix." His Osiris, who had reached through time to bring him home. He grins at his Warlock then, a teasing expression. "When you created simulation, did you perhaps make anywhere that is more comfortable? And private?" A simulation it may be, but he still would prefer the illusion of privacy.
Osiris gives him a look. "You are incorrigible," he says reproachfully. "Of course I did."
Saint laughs. "Then show me the way, my love. Let me make some better associations with this place."
Osiris is the one to take his hand this time, and he laces their fingers together as he leads Saint to whatever hidden place he has created.
From the skies around the Lighthouse, he hears the sound of the birds that Osiris had created for him. But the most precious of all is the man in front of him.