Fifth Iteration (15/15) Mature, xeno

[universe_c]

Fifth Iteration

A fic about a village at the beginning of a Universe

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14



15.

People are talking in the meeting block as you arrive for your first shift keeping watch. You relieve Horuss and Meulin, who are standing watch together until Horuss can determine whether his Void powers actually allow him to detect anything useful. He is always polite to you, but alternates between creepily attentive and subtly pained while in your presence.

“I have already discovered many things by searching the Void within myself,” he tells you, “So, if I can just get the hang of it, there's no reason I shouldn't be able to find things outside of myself as well. I will just allow my Aspect to show me where Lord English is not. In time and with practice I may even be able to locate disruptions in the fabric of space-time itself. Instability always draws us Pages, does it not?”

“I think, maybe, it does,” you say, thinking of Gamzee, of Vriska.

“Is there anything you won't use your silly title as an excuse for, Mr. Silly Hooves?” Meulin teases. “Come on, let little Nitram get to work.”

She takes his arm and drags him off, his protest lost in the low buzz of voices echoing out in the hall. The room designated as the watch-post is one of two small ones built over the winter as a space for feelings jams and other private moments. Now this one is mostly empty except for a couple of chairs and a poorly-tuned piano. Mituna and Latula are living in the other until space opens up in the Dorms for them.

You open the window to let in the night breeze, settle your egg on your lap, and start to relax. Distantly, you can hear Karkat saying something about “overthinking this shit for untold aeons.” Kankri's reply is too low to make out, but you let its monotonous rhythm lull you. The bodies in the meeting block come into focus, their Breaths variously angry, agitated or sleepy. You can feel the heat of the ovens rising from the kitchens, Gamzee's Breath calm and familiar as he works. You let your senses expand past the walls of First House, noting each person's location as you sweep outwards.

You can smell-feel the ozone of psionics and the mass of stones being moved through the air over on the other side of the co-friendleaders' house. A bunch of people are building a little house for Cronus and Kankri, since no one is willing to let them punch a door through the wall between their rooms in the Dorms, especially not now that there are so many people to try and accommodate. As a bonus, their new place is far enough off that no one will have to listen to their bickering or their loud sex.

The forge is cold tonight, but Dirk and Equius are at work in the machine shop, Horuss moving toward them. Jade and Porrim are out in the gardens. The strife-yard is full of harsh Breathing and the zing of projectiles as Meenah directs practice duels. Off in the woods, Rufioh's familiar touch guides the descent of a tree Kanaya just felled.

Watching your friends is engaging, but not at all what you're supposed to be doing. You try to sort of zoom your view out as far as you can, working to hold the whole village as one image in your mind. You stretch out and out, over the beach, bay and cliffs, over the steep sides of the river valley, the scatter of little houses, the waving fields of grain. Your runner-bird flock is a swirl of twitchy activity patrolling the edge of the forest. Further out you sense tree-beasts and fleet-beasts and Damara pacing on the river path, trailing smoke behind her.

You hold the whole valley in your mind, knowing it through the air that surrounds it. Its workings are busy and intricate as an insect colony. How will you know, you wonder, if Lord English arrives? Would his Breath be somehow unnatural, his presence a disruption, raw and obvious as a wound? Or might he somehow slip by you, appearing in the thick of all this life, a presence deceptively familiar until you look closer? You touch Calliope's Breath as she and Roxy putter around the Seafang, noting the peculiarities and rhythms of it. You try to imagine her feel overlaid with the harsh panting roil of Karkat whipping himself into a rage, with a hint of Damara's mocking laughter.

You wonder if he'll want to come to see his baby, and if he feels as bad about killing people as Gamzee or Eridan or Terezi. Even Vriska feels bad about some things, you're pretty sure. You wonder if he has nightmares.

And then you realize that he could be absent from your time not because he's wallowing in remorse somewhere, but because he's busy fucking up the future. Your daughter, all of your children might be the ones who have to fight him next time.

At the center of your bubble of air, your body sits relaxed, your egg exuding its subtle Breath in your lap. You want to make it easy for her to find her strength, much easier than it was for you. You hope you can figure out how.

You come back to yourself, slowly, with Porrim's hand on your arm. Your shift is over. You tell her there was nothing unusual, you don't think. She smiles and thanks you for your hard work. You're not even tired from holding such a deep trance for those few hours. You know you could go for much longer, but it's nice not to have to.

As you leave, you chance across John and Dave having what looks like a very pale moment on one of the porch swings. Dave's glasses are firmly in place though it's the middle of the night, the waxing crescent of the Big moon hanging in the sky. John is leaning casually against his side.

“Hey, Tavros,” Dave says. “Dude, come chill with us.”

“Oh!” you say, looking them over again, “Do you need an egg? Uh, we can share mine while I whisper someone-”

“No,” John says, “I don't want one.”

“I'm trying to talk some sense into him,” Dave says. “So don't go anywhere until we're ready to take you up on that offer.”

You shrug and sit down on the edge of the porch. You can hear the chirpy cawing of the runner-birds at the edge of the woods.

“I just want to be a good dad,” John says. “Like my dad was. It would be a way to remember him.”

“You can remember him without popping a kid out,” Dave says. “I'm like year older than you, now, what with all the time shenanigans, and I'm still too young for this shit.”

“Come on, it's not like it's going to ruin my career or something,” John says. “The only thing I'm worried about it ruining is our family! Why do you think I'm talking to you about it before I do anything?”

“Yeah, Egbert, you're tearing this family apart! You with your being all heroic and not going off cheating on the clusterfuck n-drangle you didn't trick us into.”

“I don't know why you're the only one hung up on the Sollux thing. I thought you were cool with just taking stuff as it is. That's kind of how polyamory is supposed to work, I thought. I talked about it with Rose and Aradia and Fef a lot on the way back. Everyone but you thinks it's good for them.”

“The way Captor works is not actually how anything else in the universe works, except maybe Captor Senior. And even 'Tuna somehow limits himself to one waifu at a time.” Dave sighs, “I don't actually care who Karkles is banging, dude. If anyone ever needed to relieve some tension it's that guy, and it's not like you were being particularly helpful there. It's just, I thought you and me and 'Rezi had this on lockdown, finally. Is a little goddamn stability in my personal life so much to ask?”

“You're scared,” John says, kissing his temple.

“Oh my god, Egbert, this is about the worst possible time for gay-chicken bro-makeouts you could possibly imagine. Not even ironic, just stupid. And furthermore, I've faced down so much worse than an itch in your alien space vagina this isn't even close to being a thing.”

“I'm not making out with you!” John says, peevishly. “And if I were, it wouldn't be ironically. Jegus, Dave, I'm sitting here trying to ask you to co-father my kid!”

“John,” Dave says, and kind of trails off. John leans the last little bit over and kisses Dave softly on the mouth.

“If we have a daughter we're naming her Casey,” Dave says, sounding a little strangled.

“Oh my GOD shut up,” John says. “I cannot even believe you won't let that go. I deleted it off my laptop while we were still crossing the Yellow Yard. It is not even a thing that exists anymore.”

“How can you say that? Casey may live on in only the most beautiful of memories, but to deny her shitty fifteen minutes of screen time ever happened? That is cold, man. That is undeniably cold. Colder than Hoth after its sun burns out, just hurtling along through the lightless void of a galaxy far far away.”

“Fine, if we have a boy we're naming him Hella Jeff.”

“I'm all right with that.”

“Thirded,” Terezi cackles. “Our offspring must be schoolfed from hatching in the way of all things hella Cool.”

“Oh fuck no,” Karkat says. “I invoke my co-friendleader veto. Naming our kids after any of your terrible inside jokes is hereby banned forever.”

He's got a sheaf of papers in one hand and a deep, tired scowl. Terezi makes a pouty face at him, hanging off his arm. Behind them, Kankri and Rose are moving off down the path toward the gardens, deep in conversation.

“Hi Karkat!” John chirps. He jumps up to throw his arms around Karkat, probably-not-accidentally elbowing Dave and dislodging Terezi in the process.

Karkat allows it, leaning his face against John's hair. Terezi snickers and wanders over to prod Dave with her cane.

“You're actually serious about going through with this, huh,” Karkat says gruffly.

“Yeah,” John says. “Wanna help? You smell good.”

“You guys don't, uh, actually need me here for this, do you?” you ask.

Karkat startles and glares at you over John's shoulder, his posture losing all its softness.

Dave stands and shakes his head. “Thanks anyway, Tavros,” he says. “You can field this one, for now, Vantas. I'mma take this fine, completely psychotic lady on an ironically romantic outing.”

Karkat transfers his glare to Dave, but nods shortly.

“Swoooon!” Terezi exclaims, “And what shall we do on this date, Coolkid? Is irony or romance to be the more prevalent theme?”

“Baby, you know my romance and my irony are inseparable as Nic Cage and his mullet in a certain inside joke that may not be named.”

“You are so lame, sometimes, I swear,” John says, rolling his eyes.

Terezi cackles some more and starts hauling Dave away by the wrist. John snags Dave's shirt before they can walk off.

“See you at home,” John says, and it's more a command than a question.

Dave nods. John lets him go.

*

The door to the kitchen is propped open, letting the cool night air in. You can see Gamzee through it, sitting at the big worktable in a straight-backed wooden chair. As you get closer, you take in the red egg in his lap and the stillness of his unscarred face, and realize it's actually Kurloz. Your stomach sinks.

Gamzee and Jane are both there too, busy washing tubers and cutting up a haunch of some kind of meat. They move around each other in their space with the ease of long practice. The silence, though, is just this side of strained.

“Um, hello?” you say. “Need any more help in here?”

Gamzee looks up at you with such raw relief it makes your heart squeeze.

“Won't never turn away such a fine offer from such a fine motherfucker,” he says.

You take a seat at the table and start peeling the starchy, knotty tubers which have become a staple during the grain-farming project's long experimental phase. Jane presses another paring knife into Kurloz's hand, patting him encouragingly. He works willingly enough, but his presence is like a black hole that draws in all sound.

“Kurloz,” you say. Your heart pounds in your chest. He and Gamzee will always both feel your nervousness no matter how good you get at hiding it. “Can I ask you about – about Lord English?”

He looks at you for the first time since you came in. His mouth pulls up into his weird, blank smile and he gestures for you to go ahead.

“I was just wondering, uh, what he is actually like, now.”

Kurloz's dark gaze bores into you. Like a hand slapped to your forehead, your think-pan is hit with a wave of rage-rage-rage-confusion-frustration-loneliness that trails off into a swell of desperate, ashamed tenderness. You sway on your chair with the force of it, and it's a moment before you remember how to breathe. Gamzee is across the room in a flash, as if his physical body could possibly shield you from the Prince of Rage.

“Motherfucker,” Gamzee says, dangerously. “Keep your motherfucking claws outta his pan.”

HE UP AND ASKED THE QUESTION, MY OTHER SELF

Kurloz's mental voice is like a cold talon tracing your skull from the inside.

“Don't be up and calling me that. I ain't you and you ain't me.”

FOR ONCE YOU SPEAK TRUTH, BETRAYER OF THE RIGHTEOUS MOTHERFUCKING CAUSE

Gamzee's voice is low and harshly controlled. “I up and decided that these here motherfuckers had a better fucking cause, is all. The vast honk came and went, and it turned out to be no kind of thing to get your hope on for.”

THE VAST HONK UP AND USHERED US INTO PARADISE. YOU DANCED YOUR STEPS AS THE MOTHERFUCKING PROPHETS FORETOLD, BROTHER. YOUR CHOICES MEAN NOTHING.

Gamzee slams a hands on the table. The bowls of tubers jump and your discarded knife clatters on the cutting board.

“Wrong, motherfucker,” he says, and walks out.

You hurry after him. He moves just far enough off into the grass to leave the splash of light spilling from from the open door. He squats, leaning his forehead on his crossed arms on his knees. You step up close behind him, reaching down to touch his back. He leans against you, bracing himself against your legs, but doesn't look up.

Jane crouches next to him, the spiral tips of her horns silhouetted against the kitchen's light.

“Up and had to get out of there, chef-sis. Sorry,” Gamzee says.

“No, I'm sorry. I brought him even though I knew you might be uncomfortable. But we have to learn to get along, all of us. I'll handle the rest of breakfast. You never take shifts off, anyway.”

“All this righteous grub ain't gonna up and cook itself. Just like a motherfucker ain't gonna up and make a new thing of himself without some motherfucking strict effort.”

“Well,” Jane says, “All any of us can do is keep trying. But sometimes a little break will let us come back trying even harder.”

Gamzee looks over at her, and you can hear a little curl of a smile in his voice. “Now there's some real motherfucking truth, chef-sis. Knew the moment I up and met you that you had a good head on those shoulders.”

Jane laughs her goofy, hooting laugh. “Really? When I first met you I thought you'd make a terrible guide. But now I think I was wrong.”

“Nah, you were motherfucking right. But things change, chef-sis.”

She pats him on the shoulder. “Go on, now. Go do something fun. Want me to hold your egg for a while?”

You unsling it and hand it to her.

“Are you up and sure, Tav-” Gamzee starts.

“An hour here or there shouldn't make a difference,” Jane says. “I'll bring it down to your house if I don't see you at breakfast.”

You grin so wide at Gamzee, you're afraid it will ruin the surprise.

“TAG!” you yell, slapping him on the back and shoving. He goes over with an “Oof,” and you take off running down the path.

“Oh, it's motherfucking ON!” You hear him say.

You use a little Breath to keep your footsteps as light as possible. It really helps you keep your speed up as the dune path turns from packed sand to soft. You can hear Gamzee pant lightly behind you as he sinks in ankle-deep with each step. Down by the water, where the sand turns hard again he inevitably starts to catch up. You dodge a few steps into the warm waves, stop short and sweep a huge kick of water at him, a puff of wind ensuring it stays airborne until it reaches him. He keeps coming, his hair suddenly plastered to his face in dripping curls. You shriek a little as he grabs you around the waist, spins you around and throws you. You snatch a quick Breath as you hit the water, let yourself settle to the bottom and lurk until he stumbles closer. Distantly, you hear him say your name.

“Rrrraagh!” you yell, bursting to your feet to tackle him. He lets out a startled, laughing honk as you both fall.

You are kissing him as his back comes gently to rest on the sand. Making out underwater is maybe not as fun as advertised. The taste of salt is thick. The waves tug at your horns and clothes and your lips keep getting jostled apart. You struggle to your feet, holding him down and noogying him thoroughly. And then you're shoving and splashing and wrestling and chasing like the children you never were on Alternia. His skirt gets all tangled around his legs so he just strips out of it. He gets your wet shirt caught around your horns, and both of you laugh so hard your stomachs hurt.

Exhausted and half-clothed, then unclothed, you float together, washed back and forth by the roll of the bay. His hands ghost over your body, dancing like delicate sea creatures. You kneed the muscles of his neck and shoulders gently.

“We'll up and teach her how to swim soon as we can,” he tells you, dreamily. “Bet she'll want to play on the beach every motherfucking day.”

“That sounds like fun,” you say.

“So much fun. Gonna make our little girl the happiest wiggler in the history of paradox space. Ain't no drop of motherfucking darkness gonna touch her.”

“But in case it does, somehow, we'll make sure she's really smart and brave, too.”

“Of course we motherfucking will,” he murmurs into your hair.

You rest against his chest, feeling the way you sink as your lungs deflate, float as they inflate. You match your breathing to Gamzee's until you're bobbing slow together in unison, as much of your skin pressed against him as you can manage.

“Gamzee,” you say, “I want to take you apart with my tongue.”

He shivers all over against you.

“Motherfuck, Tav,” he grates.

His legs part to let you closer and then your hips are flush, your seedflaps pressed together so you can feel the stir of his bulge-tip. It would be so easy to let go and do terribly indecent things with him right in the middle of the public beach. If your heat weren't so well suppressed by days of continuous contact with your egg, you probably wouldn't be able to help yourself.

Instead you take him home and do terribly indecent things to each other in private.

Jane smiles kindly and only a little knowingly when you answer your door wrapped in a sheet. She hands your egg back to you and says she and Roxy are available to egg-sit anytime. Eridan, though, gives you an incredibly smug and knowing look when he stops by to give back Gamzee's favorite skirt, which he found getting washed out of the bay on the tide. Later, you and Gamzee drop off supplies at the co-friendleaders' house and you somehow manage not laugh at Karkat's amazing bedhead. At least, not to his face.

Cronus throws a housewarming party that everyone agrees is the best party you've had yet. Turntables are set up, ill beats showcased. Equius and Horuss move the piano all the way there from First House so John and Jane can play too, and there is a massive rap battle that mostly ends up with people heckling and laughing over each other. Karkat's burns are voted the sicknastiest even though he wasn't an official participant and none of them rhymed. After that, there is a lot more music around the village, as if everyone suddenly remembered how good it makes them feel.

You feel good about things, which is good because things just keep happening. Drama and domesticity, arguing and camaraderie and work and love jumble together, filling your nights and days.

You find you're definitely okay with that.