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Shipwright September
I’d like to take a moment to tell you about Shipwright September, a very casual event of necessity in which I will be posting literally all the Amanda Holliday content I can possibly churn out. I would like to cordially invite anyone who would like to participate to write, or draw, or celebrate our brave shipwright and favorite pilot. If you need prompts or want to talk about ideas, feel free to dm me!
Little Bird chapter 4
pt 1 | pt 2| pt 3
Ao3 Link
-/
Eva Levante meets a remorseful Amanda while Zavala gets a letter.
-/
Eva Levante has come to visit and thus, the orphanage’s common room is in a state of organised chaos. The Festival of the Lost will be upon them soon so Miss Eva has come to help them get started on decorations. Extra tables have been brought in and they’re already a riot of colour, covered in paper, glitter and foil. A few glue sticks roll off desks and begin to dry out on the floor, casualties of short attention spans and the excitement of an interruption to the usual monotony of their days.
Amanda sits in a corner away from the worst of the ruckus and looks down at the blank papers in front of her with an increasing sense of despondence. She’s not familiar with this celebration at all. Miss Eva had said it was to remember those who had been lost, “with joy and sorrow.” Amanda doesn’t feel like she needs reminding what she’s lost and while she understands the sorrow part, the joy aspect of it seems unattainable to her.
She glances around the room to try to glean some ideas from what the other children are doing. She sees mock candles rendered in cardboard, burning with ‘flames’ of orange tissue paper. Many of them create paper mock ups of some sort of round, orange vegetable she doesn’t recognise, only to then draw leering, grinning faces on them. It’s creepy. Why would anyone want that on their wall?
One of the other children spots her lack of activity and calls out, “Hey New Girl? Why aren’t you making anything?”
New Girl . It’s been months but she’s still “New Girl.” Amanda suspects that barring some major disaster in the City, she’ll always be the New Girl in the orphanage; refugees just aren’t arriving in the City anymore. She hears the stories, how she was the last to pass through the gates, how there’s no one left outside. She hears the jibes and cutting questions. Did you get lost? How could you miss the Traveler, it’s not like it’s tiny . They don’t say that to her face anymore, not since she channeled her frustration at their ignorance into her fists. She’d been put in detention for a week after that but it had been worth it. When her teachers sagely advised that fighting was wrong and asked if she’d learned her lesson, she’d nodded dutifully and said yes but that was a lie. There was nothing to learn, she was right. Those bullies had no idea what it was like out there. They had no right to pass judgement, no right to make fun of Ma and Pa or the rest of the caravan. They’d done their best.
That familiar, yet altogether unpleasant ball of heat starts to build inside her and spread up, through her chest, to her face and behind her eyes. She takes a deep breath and pushes her anger back down. She decides she wants nothing to do with this Festival of the Lost nonsense and opts on engaging in a totally different project. She sifts through her materials and picks out a piece of light yellow paper; not too garish, not too offensive, then picks out a dark blue crayon from a pot on the table. She wanted black but this is closest to that colour she has available to her. She leans over the table, nose nearly to the paper and begins to write, her little brows furrowing in concentration. After a while, she sits up to stretch and think about how to continue. It’s then that she notices Miss Eva standing over her, smiling and inquisitive.
“Do you not want to make decorations, dear?”
Amanda shrugs and covers the paper with her arms.
“Are you drawing a picture?”
She shakes her head. “Writing a letter.”
“Oh,” Eva says, with that exaggerated interest that grown ups always do when they don’t understand something a child is doing. “Who are you writing to, dear?”
She feels her cheeks warm with a blush as she suddenly feels very silly. “Commander Zavala.”
“You know the Commander?” Eva’s interest seems far more genuine now as she pulls up a chair beside her.
“Not really,” Amanda explains in an embarrassed mumble. “I made him mad.”
“Oh, what could you possibly have done to make the Commander angry? I can’t imagine that.”
She lists the all the things she could have possibly done to irritate Zavala and counts them off on her fingers. “Uhhm, I tried to steal from Executor Hideo, I keep running away from the orphanage and I snuck into the hangar and hid under a table.”
“Ah,” Eva tips her head to the side in agreement. “Yes, well. That would probably do it. He didn’t frighten you, did he?”
“A li’l bit, he’s pretty scary. But it’s okay, the monsters are scared of him too.”
Eva threads her fingers together and leans towards Amanda, her expression of quiet amusement switching to one of concern. “What monsters?”
“The ones outside,” she states matter of factly. “Y’know. The bad stuff beyond the walls.”
Eva nods seriously. “I do, dear. I do know.”
Amanda looks up from her writing with saucer-wide eyes. When she speaks it’s a low, conspiratorial whisper. “Have you seen ‘em too?”
“I was a refugee.” She hazards laying a hand over one of Amanda’s and looks gratified when the child doesn’t flinch. “I know exactly what you’re talking about.”
“The others ain’t seen ‘em. They don’t get it.”
“Is that why you run away?”
Amanda pulls back and makes a big production of neatly folding the finished letter in half. “This place gives me a stomach ache,” she finally answers with a shrug.
“Well. Maybe we can do something about your stomach ache,” Eva begins in an indulgent tone. “But you mustn’t run away. It’s not safe, that’s why Zavala gets mad. It’s his job to keep people safe.”
“I know,” Amanda smooths down the paper one last time before scrawling Zavala’s name across it. “That’s why I’m writing him.”
-/
Eva pops her head around Zavala’s office door after knocking. “Are you busy?”
Zavala raises an eyebrow in response. His expression is stony but the amusement is there for those who know where to look. Eva covers her mouth with her hand to stifle the embarrassed giggle that emerges.
“I’m sorry my friend, silly question.”
His expression softens and he beckons her in, “What can I do for you?”
“Nothing for now, all is well in the Bazaar,” she fishes a piece of folded, bright yellow construction paper out of her bag before she takes a seat. “I’m here as a messenger today.”
Zavala accepts the ‘letter’ with a confused frown. “What is - Ah. I see.” He smiles softly to himself as he reads, despite the childish scrawl and the myriad spelling and grammatical errors.
Dear comandur Zavala,
Sorry for trying to steal from exek execkyu Hidayoh. Stealing aint right I know that.
Im sorry I keep running away from the orfanage. I dont mean to worry no one, I just get I just dont like being cooped up. Sorry for creeping into the hangar. I didnt mean no harm. I wanted to see the ships. I like ships. When I grow up I wanna be an enj engani someone who fixes stuff. I hope I didnt get no one into troubble, can you tell the hangar folks that Im real sorry if I did?
Thank you for walking me back,
Amanda Nora Holliday.
Zavala finishes reading and fixes Eva with an incredulous look.
“I haven’t read it,” Eva holds up her hands and shakes her head. “I don’t know what it says, it wasn’t addressed to me.”
“How did you get it?”
“Sometimes I like to pop over the orphanage, for the children. Give them something to do, break up the monotony. Their little lives can be so regimented. Amanda asked me to give this to you. I couldn’t say no, she seemed so earnest and,” she summons her most matronly smile for Zavala, “Very concerned that she had made you mad.”
“Am I really that intimidating?”
“You can come off as rather brusque, I won’t lie.”
“I had no intention of frightening her, I just-”
“You worry,” Eva points out in a gentle interruption. “I know.”
Zavala takes a moment to glance over the letter before speaking again. “How did she seem to you?”
Eva’s smile fades. “A little isolated perhaps? I don’t think the other children understand her. Refugees are a rare thing nowadays. And she said the orphanage gives her a stomach ache.”
Zavala frowns, while Eva gives a sad smile at his puzzlement.
“‘I have a stomach ache’ is little girl-speak for ‘I’m afraid,’” she explains. “And she was less than enthused about the upcoming festival.”
“I don’t think it has been that long since she lost her parents. It’s likely still very raw for her.” He stares off into space, tapping the letter on the edge of his desk, lost in thought.
“I can keep an eye on her if you’d like?” Eva offers, breaking through his distraction.
“I didn’t ask-”
“I know you didn’t,” Eva chuckles, “You’re obviously worried about her but you’re a busy man. I often call into the orphanage, it would be no trouble for me.”
“You’re very kind, Eva, thank you.”
“Like I said, it’s no trouble,” she assures him, rising from her seat. “Have you considered my suggestion? About bringing the Festival of the Lost to the Tower?”
“You think it advisable to expose Cayde to dress-up games and sugar highs?”
“A small price. It would be good for you. You Guardians were lost once, too.” Eva opens the office door and cocks her head. “Think on it. For old Eva.”
“I will,” he nods indulgently.
Eva makes to leave before turning around to face him again. “Have you been crocheting lately?”
Zavala meets her gaze. There’s warmth and compassion there but Zavala knows it’s so keen and perceptive she could almost be an Awoken. “When I have time.”
“You look stressed.” She wags her finger at him as though he were a truculent child rather than a centuries-old immortal. “Make time!” She insists before showing herself out
Keep On Rising (Until the Sky Knows Your Name) 01
Found Family | Zavala is Tower Dad | Father-Daughter Relationship | Childhood Trauma and Recovery | Canon-Typical Violence | Amputation
A story about how an orphaned Amanda Holliday comes to belong in the Last Safe City and the family she finds along the way.
(Or, the story of how Commander Zavala finds himself responsible for one Amanda Holliday.)
-/
"The poor dear is in her bunk," The matron says with a sad smile. "We've considered moving her to one of our rooms for the time being," She continues, handing him a mug of tea. It's far too strong for his tastes, but he is certain the caretakers here need the added fortitude. He sips at it politely, trying not to grimace at the taste. "Barely comes out for meals, only when someone forces her - and she hides half of what we give her." She frowns. "Every sound she hears makes her jump. Miss Evanliegh found her under her bed after a nightmare, whimpering about Fallen-" She notices he's made a bit of a dent in his tea, pulls the mug from his hand with a surprising amount of force, and tops it off before he can stop her. "Commander, it's probably best if you didn't visit with her."
Zavala nods, trusting her expertise. It's his only free day this cycle. Like his peers, he too had activities - civic duties - he saw to in his downtime. Some, like Cayde, chose a preorganized activity to oversee - he's made it a point to ruin any and all pick-up sports in the city as of late. Meanwhile, Zavala prefers spending his time in the City's many orphanages.
But not just any of them. He focuses on the ones not backed by factions or philanthropists. The ones that children get sent to when they turn up in the Last Safe City unclaimed, when they turn up on the streets without any ties to a community or place. The latter is far more common: the number of refugees has declined in recent years, and the number of orphaned children is very slight. In fact, it's been nearly a century since an orphaned child had made it to the City from beyond the walls. Most of the children here were born on the streets in the slums, found by kind-hearted people ill-equipped to take care of them.
He nods, only half listening to the matron's babbling. Karena, the head housemother, was clearly moved by this child's misfortune. "....they found was toppled over miles away… that she'd walked so far was quite remarkable."
The mug stops halfway to his mouth. "What?"
"Didn't you know?" She turns back to the kettle on the counter, but she rinses it out instead of pouring him more. He says a silent prayer of thanks to the Traveler. "She was the only one of her group to survive. One of your fireteams found the convoy miles back. Looks like they'd been without food for some time, probably fed the girl whatever they could. Never would've stood a chance against the Fallen, rest their souls…" She tsks.
The Commander pushes back his mug and looks to the red and white blanket folded up beside him, patting it once with a firm hand. There is a gravity to his downturned gaze. "It would be for the best if you gave this to her," He admits. "If there is anything I can do…"
"Oh, no, never you mind, Commander." She waves a hand, giving him a gentle smile. "She'll be alright. It just takes a gentle touch."
-/
The children are always happy to see him. Places like these don't often get visitors, especially not the kind that don't require them to market themselves to a prospective adopter. They get to run and holler and simply be, some choosing to follow him around like lost ducklings, others content to wave in a greeting and carry on independently.
Of course, of all the times he's come here, the biggest event of the day is always supper. Even the most standoffish of children fight to sit beside him at the table. Today is no exception.
So, instead of sitting in one place for the duration of the meal, he moves around, making sure to spend time with each of them. Most of the time it involves mild babysitting, making sure no one is stealing anyone else's desert or lobbing unwanted vegetables at their dorm-mates when they think he isn't looking.
If he's to be honest, it's hardly different from Consensus meetings. And the company is far more tolerable, for the most part.
When he's almost to the end of the table, toward the end of the meal, there is a sound, a thump above them like something's fallen to the floor, a muffled scream. Then, more footsteps, like a herd of elephants descending the stairs. One of the caretakers, a man who had been off in the kitchen, sets after them, already yelling.
"We were looking for Hilda," One of the boys responds, defensive without being prompted. "We didn't know she was in there."
The housefather puts both hands on his hips. "You didn't know," He says with a shake of his head. "She's been in the same room since she's got here, and you all visited Hilda in the infirmary this morning." He sighs. "Karena is with her now. She won't like it when I tell her about this."
The three boys pale. The housefather turns them around, ushering them towards the kitchen. "I was going to bring her dinner," He sighs, "But it will have to wait. The three of you will sit with me in the kitchen until the head matron returns. We will be having a discussion about this."
A chorus of downtrodden groans meets him in reply, but the caretaker does not relent. Instances like this were quite common in places like this. Among children in general, really.
The Commander rises from his current seat at the end of the table when the meal recommences, the children quick to discuss the boys' impending punishment and their disdain of the new girl who gets every meal brought up to her. He strides from the dining area to the industrial kitchen, fixing the unruly children with a look he'd too often given a wayward Hunter.
The housefather turns to him immediately, looking a bit surprised to see him there. "Commander, do you need something?"
"You said you were planning on bringing her a meal?"
"I was, but I doubt she'll eat now," He too gives a withering glare toward the children. "It's alright. I'll take her up something a bit later." He rubs the back of his head. "We usually leave it on the dresser. She, uh, doesn't really engage with us."
One of the children sitting at the kitchen counter comments loudly, “Even Miss Karena is fed up with it. I heard her! And she’s been doing this for a million billion years!"
The smooth baritone of the Commander cuts through the exasperated commentary. "I don't mind.”
“Well, she hasn’t eaten all day, that I know of.” The man turns back to the counter, producing a plate with a cover to keep it warm. “If you really don’t-”
“Of course not.”
“Second floor. Third door, on the right,” He hands the Titan the plate on a tray, with a juice-box and cutlery. “Don’t be surprised if you frighten her. It’s not you, she’s just-”
He nods, solemn. “Karena told me.”
“You have my thanks.” With that sorted, the worker regards his charges. “These three will have to wait for their assignment from Miss Karena. Since our new addition is feeling a bit shy, I think we’ll be writing our apologies, wouldn’t you say?”
Their childish grumbling is loud enough for him to hear all the way up the stairs.
-/
He makes sure to step both lightly but not silently as he approaches the room. With the back of his index and middle fingers, he raps his knuckles gently against the door. After a moment of balancing the tray in a single hand, long enough to hear the sound of rustling on the other side of the door, he edges it open just a small amount.
At this point he realizes that he does not know the child's name. Not that it matters. He steps into the room, leading with the tray. The orphanage has nearly identical rooms for all it's inhabitants. Bunk beds in one corner of the room and twin dressers against the opposite wall. One half of the room is decorated in a child's drawings: some taped to the ceiling and walls by the top bunk. One dresser has a small pile of books and a few plush animals on it.
It doesn't take much to recognize that the more lived-in part of the room belongs to the girl in the infirmary. He sets down the tray atop the empty dresser, casually wondering aloud if she'll be able to reach it.
He goes unanswered. The lower bed she occupies creaks - it's very old - as the child presses herself back against the far corner, all but wedged against the wall in a trembling heap of blankets. He notes with a small sense of pride that the one he'd made - the one he gave to every child upon their arrival - is on top, little fingers threaded between the stitches.
Beach-glass eyes, a kind of green similar to a stormy sea, watch him in wary resignation. When he turns toward her, tray still in his hands, she whimpers and draws the covers around herself further, pressing herself against the corner where the frame meets the wall.
"It's alright," He murmurs, careful not to make eye contact, lest he scare her more. "I just wanted to make sure you could reach your supper."
Against her will, her stomach gurgles loudly. She flushes but doesn't make a move for the tray.
Zavala does his best not to sigh, instead lifting the lid designed to keep the plate hot, moving it away. At first he's surprised about the small portion she's been given, but remembers what the matron had said, about her party suffering from starvation. Though she has the blankets pulled up to her face, he can see the dark circles under her eyes, the gaunt lines of a child who knows hunger far too intimately. It makes his chest ache with an overwhelming sadness.
He reaches for the small juicebox next, looking away, pretending to be disinterested.
She reaches out, snatching the small dinner roll next to a tiny helping of stew, pulling it into her chest, into the relative safety of her nest of blankets. Wide, fearful eyes meet his when he looks back, blinking in surprise, as if his incredible sense of awareness hadn't allowed him to witness the whole thing.
The child blinks back blankly. Panic, an array of mixed fight-or-flight synapses all firing at once... a paralyzing terror is etched into her very being. Though she trembles with it, she does not cry. He smiles at her, a small thing, mostly with his eyes, taking a knee beside the far edge of the bed.
"It's alright to be afraid," Zavala intones, very gently. "This is all very new. There are so many dangers, outside the walls-" She makes a squeak and the Commander immediately shifts gears, "But you are here now. You will be safe in this City. I promise."
She squeezes her eyes shut at that, shaking her head in a tiny negative.
"No?"
For the first time in a long time, his words bring no comfort. None of his attempts to soothe her work, and her dinner is long since gone cold when he takes his leave (though he can tell by her distrust, she won't touch it). It physically pains him to shut the door behind him, to hear the child finally sob brokenly to herself, muffled by blankets, unable to be consoled for anything.
The matron pats his shoulder when she walks him out. "You have a kind heart, Commander. Don't take it too personally. She'll come around."
-/
He doesn't make it back to the orphanage until the fall. It's been nearly three months since his previous visit, and the children are beside themselves, vying for his attention. Three of them have been adopted, another two have gone off, applying for their own housing now that they've grown old enough to secure jobs.
The entire time, he watches for a hint of the little girl from his previous visit. The child had weighed heavily on his mind, even months later. He'd looked into what happened, read the report from the Fireteam that happened on the little girl miles from the overturned vehicle ransacked by the Fallen. Things like these always hit close to home, for reasons he never quite fathomed.
Much later in the day, following an early supper (and the usual carrying on that came with it), he catches sight of a shadow on the staircase that leads to the dormitories. He's reading a book to several of the youngest children, all of whom fight over who gets to turn the page for him. When he looks back again, it's gone.
He says his goodbyes to the houseparents, thanking them, as always, for their dedication to providing a healthy environment for the children. He almost doesn't recognize her, fidgeting slightly, fingers curled around the trim of the door frame.
The caretakers look surprised, all of them watching her carefully. Karena dutifully crouches down half way, looking at her maternally.
"Yes dear, what is it?"
Those eyes find him instead of answering. In the light, he can see how they're almost as blue as they are green. She looks nervous, but not terrified. "I jus'," The girl steps into the room, carefully, making a complete sweep of it with her eyes to assess for danger before continuing. "Jus’ wanted ta' say thank you," She drawls. Her cheeks turn pink, highlighting a sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. "Fer' the blanket."
Karena keeps the surprise from her face, but her cohorts are not nearly as reserved.
He turns slowly toward her and crouches down so that he's only a little taller than she is. "You are very welcome…" He tilts his head, still, after all this time, not knowing her name. It had never made it into the strike reports.
"Amanda," She whispers bashfully. "Amanda Holliday."
The smile he gives her makes her gasp, his bright irises almost twinkling as he regards her. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I am Zavala."
She toes the edges between floorboards with a worn boot. "They say yer in charge ‘round here. ‘N the City," She finishes, between nervous and maybe awed.
He chuckles. "Is that so?"
Amanda nods, looking down.
Despite flinching, she doesn't shrink back when he puts a hand on her head, ruffling her blonde hair. "Next time I come by, I hope you'll visit with me."
"I c'n do that," She whispers.
His voice is warm, and when he withdraws she looks up, almost conflicted. Upset that he'd withdrawn contact. "Good," He tells her. "I look forward to it."
Keep On Rising(Until The Sky Knows Your Name) 17
Found Family | Zavala is Tower Dad | Father-Daughter Relationship | Childhood Trauma and Recovery | Canon-Typical Violence | Amputation
A story about how an orphaned Amanda Holliday comes to belong in the Last Safe City and the family she finds along the way.
(Or, the story of how Commander Zavala finds himself responsible for one Amanda Holliday.)
Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16
This time: Zavala gets flung head-first into being Amanda’s Guardian. Eva stops by to see his charge.
Notes: I’m so sorry for taking a month off on this one! After a lot of consideration I’ve decided to finish this one off with the conclusion of chapter 19(maybe a tiny epilogue, we’ll see). I’d like to write more for them, but I think it would make sense to package each arc of their story neatly. Expect a sequel about them adjusting to life after Amanda’s injury, including the difficulties of Zavala’s work, and those who have to step in and lend a hand.
-/
He swears he only dozes off for a second, but when he wakes, the light of the sunrise is bright in his eyes, and Amanda’s laying the wrong way in the bed, her head near the footboard. “How much longer?” She whines to Shiori, hovering above her.
“Twelve minutes. How’re you holding up?”
She flops face down with an exasperated groan. It’s enough of a reply.
“What are you doing?” Zavala asks, watching her.
“Stretchin’.” She puts a hand on her right hip, but winces when she pushes down.
“By laying on your stomach?”
“I gotta,” She tells him, turning her head to the side, mostly murmuring into her blankets. “Twice a day I gotta lay on my tummy or my hip gets all twisted ‘n angry.”
“Apparently,” Shiori floats over to her Guardian, “If she does this before therapy, it makes things easier.”
“Y’think the same lady will come in to make me do my leg circle-thingies? She was nice.”
“What?” Zavala looks to Shiori, who gives a Ghost’s impression of a shrug.
Amanda lifts herself up with her arms, shaking slightly. “Ain’t nobody told you anything, have they?” At the Commander’s deer-in-headlights look - which was really funny, she thought - she sighs. “They make me do all sorts a’stuff all day. I take medicine, then I do my exercises, then sometimes the doctor comes to see me. Then,” She stresses, overwhelmed with the thought of all these tasks, “They give me more medicine an’ I nap,” She flushes. “The medicine makes me sleepy.” She sighs. “You really don’t miss nothin’.”
He hums, rising from the rather uncomfortable chair to stretch himself, reaching first to the sky, then down to the floor before using the little en-suite to freshen up.
“When ya leavin’?” She asks after him, around the time when Shiori tells her she’s in the home stretch; Only four more minutes and she can roll back over.
He stands in front of the window on the other side of the room, not returning to the chair. “I am not. Not today. Not unless there is an emergency.”
Amanda absolutely beams at him.
-/
The doctor pulls him out into the hall when he stops to see Amanda towards the end of her physical therapy session. If he’s intimidated by the rank of the man he’s talking to, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he hands Zavala a copy of every medical record they have on the girl, which Shiori immediately transmats it away, scanning and uploading every word to her internal memory and a tablet for Zavala.
“I’m estimating about two, maybe three weeks,” The man says. “The majority of her injuries were minor, leg excluded. Right now, so long as we can keep her eating and she puts on weight, all of her lab values should balance out, and she should be free to go. By then she should be completely mobile on crutches, and in a few months, if not sooner, she’ll be able to start using a prosthesis.”
“I did not expect it to be so soon,” Zavala admits, tucking one fist into the other hand behind his back.
“It’s a traumatic injury,” The doctor muses, “But an amputation is usually pretty clean. Her scarring is not as neat as I had hoped, however, and she will grow. Therapy will be the most important thing. She will compensate with her back and hips for the lack of a knee. Pain will likely be an issue. We’ll get her started on a regimen, but it will be imperative to keep up with it, in order to facilitate a complete recovery. The psychological aspects will be far more intensive. We’ll set you up with someone she can talk with.”
The doctor does not carry on for long before moving on to his next patient. When he goes, Shiori hovers in Zavala’s peripheral. “We have work to do,” She tells him. “A lot of work to do.”
Zavala would agree aloud if she pushed him to, but Shori can already sense he’s overwhelmed, so she opts for a gentler approach. She’s used to reading errant thoughts across their link, well aware that her very stoic, very in-control Commander is actually an anxiety-riddled maelstrom of emotion. He’s very good about not letting it show.
“We knew it would be all hands on deck,” She reminds him mildly. “We’ll take it a day at a time.”
His agreement is silent, between them alone. She shivers out of being in motes of light, her soundless fusion with him like a gentle reassurance, a reminder to breathe.
-/
Two days later, Zavala comes to check in on Amanda mid-morning only to find Eva perched on the edge of the bed. Amanda is standing, holding both of the woman's hands for balance, sweating with the effort. A chair is behind her, to catch her if she falls.
Zavala waits in the doorway, not wanting to spook the girl and ruin her already precarious balance. She forces herself to sit without flopping, putting one hand on the arm of the chair, then the other, then controlling her movement.
"My arms feel like jelly," She grouses.
"New exercise?"
"Zavala!" She tilts her head in the direction of his voice, the cheer his arrival brings visible. Eva smiles.
"Hello, Amanda. I see you have a visitor."
"Eva and I had breakfast," She tells him, looking to Eva. "It was really good."
"I am glad you liked it," Eva tells her, patting the top of her hand. "I'm going to make those pastilleos I told you about. I'll have to bring you some."
She looks to Zavala while Amanda hums an excited mhmm! Zavala's blue gaze meets hers for a beat, giving insight to his gratefulness. When he'd spoken to Eva the day before, she committed herself to helping with keeping the girl's weight up without his prompting, but he was not expecting her to come through so quickly. Really, he should have known better.
"Well, I'm not just here for that," Eva says kindly, retrieving a bag she'd placed on the windowsill. She pulls out a tablet, handing it to the girl. “We have some decorating to do.”
“We do?”
Eva laughs. “My dear, we have to talk about your bedroom! You won’t be in the hospital forever, and when you get home you’ll need a place for-”She breaks off when Amanda’s face crumples. “Oh, don’t cry dear, it’s alright!”
She wipes the tears away from her face with the back of her hand, giving a nervous laugh as the other trembles, propping up the tablet. “I don’ mind whatever,” She says quietly, with a nervous laugh. “It’s fine.”
“Oh, come now, there has to be something you’d like-”
Zavala shakes his head, hardly a gesture at all, really. Amanda doesn’t notice, but it’s enough to silence Eva. He takes the tablet from Amanda without preamble, setting it aside and then leaning down. “Think you can stand again?”
She nods, and he offers her both hands, letting her use them for leverage to pull herself to a single shaking leg. He feels it buckle before she realizes what’s happening and dips, catching her before she’d ever come close to the ground.
“Sorry,” She murmurs, and he shakes his head.
“You aren’t hurt?”
“This happened earlier,” She admits softly. “I’m real weak, they said.”
“You haven’t been feeling well,” He muses, “And your body isn’t used to this. We’ll work on it.” She hums, snuggling into his embrace while he moves aside one blanket and sits in the chair with her in his lap. He reaches for the tablet. “But for now, I think Eva said there were some patterns with ships on them, and we should at least look at them.” He looks down at her, unsurprised by her unwavering gaze. “Did you tell Eva that you want to be a pilot when you’re older?”
“Oh, that’s lovely, dear!” Eva gushes.
“But-” The hurt in her voice cuts the conversation like a knife. They fall silent. She doesn’t have to speak it aloud for the two adults to understand what she’s thinking.
Then, “You have a habit of making the impossible happen,” Zavala tells her softly, whispering the truth against her hair as he searches through Eva’s round up of decorative options. “You made it to the City, fought the Fallen and lived to tell about it. Convinced me-” Her fingers curl over his arm in a pseudo-hug. He kisses her forehead when he cannot continue, waylaid by his emotional transparency. “You’ll fly, Amanda. Believe me.”
She twists to hug him for real, but it doesn’t last for more than a couple seconds. When she settles, she looks over to Eva. “Are there ones with li’l ships?” Her head rests against Zavala’s jaw as she helps him scroll through the images. “I really do wanna fly someday,” She admits quietly.
“There should be,” Eva answers. “And if there’s not one you like, we’ll figure out something different. You leave it to Eva, dear.”
Keep On Rising (Until The Sky Knows Your Name) 06
Found Family | Zavala is Tower Dad | Father-Daughter Relationship | Childhood Trauma and Recovery | Canon-Typical Violence | Amputation
A story about how an orphaned Amanda Holliday comes to belong in the Last Safe City and the family she finds along the way.
(Or, the story of how Commander Zavala finds himself responsible for one Amanda Holliday.)
Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05
This time: The foster family. They’re good people, but they’re not HER people.
-/
They're nice people, Amanda supposes, the first time she meets them. They want to see her do good things, to send her to a nice school for 'gifted' children like her. Wouldn’t make her change her name unless she decided she wants to.
Zavala said she needed to give them a chance. Said he liked them. Said he'd vetted them himself. Whatever that meant.
But she could tell something was wrong, the entire time. He didn't sound like it, didn't look like it, and if somebody asked, she couldn't really give them proof. She just knew. She'd been around enough people trying to convince others of things they didn't wanna believe themselves. Trying to inspire hope in others so they wouldn’t feel so hopeless themselves.
He had asked her to agree to it for herself. To give herself the best chance. It won't be permanent right away, he'd said. Not until you're ready.
Amanda knew she would never be ready, but she knew she had to give him - and Matron Karena and the houseparents who kept telling her this was what was best option she had - proof. That would be the only way to show them she was better off not adopted at all. So, reluctantly - but far easier than Zavala had been expecting, she could tell - she agreed.
-/
Mr and Mrs Baumsol - her foster parents - were kind enough. The mom was far less stern than Ma ever was, and the dad was a City worker who had long hours and was mostly tired and subdued when he was home. Their son, Benji, was their pride and joy. The two of them had lots of structured play time, but also had their fair share of chores.
Really, Amanda didn't mind doing the work. Kept her busy and out of the way. Mrs Baumsol kept asking questions about her Ma and Pa when she was in the same room, so she'd trade Benji for garbage duty, tending the garden and sweeping the walkways. He seemed to enjoy cleaning things better than being outside anyway.
He was a quiet boy, not mean like the boys at the orphanage, but not particularly nice, either. He didn't seem to mind her, so long as she didn't hog too much attention. Which was fine. It didn't feel right when they - her foster parents - showed their affection for her. It didn't feel warm or safe.
Didn’t feel like… well, no use thinking about that. That wouldn’t happen. Couldn’t. He’d been sure to remind her of that, the last time they’d seen each other. Sometimes, late at night, she curls up in a ball and thinks about what safe feels like to try and fall asleep. Tries to think of Ma and Pa, but it’s not the same. It’s not real. She can’t have that. But, when she lets herself think about kind blue eyes and a gentle voice, and pillows the blanket he’d given her under her head like it’s his sweater…
It was difficult trying to sleep at night. With her bedroom near the front garden, she could hear everything that happened at night. Vehicles, people walking home or exercising their pets. She's always been a light sleeper. That was sometimes the difference between life and death.
Some nights, she heard things. The sound of old shows playing too loud in their neighbor’s living room: they’d fallen asleep on the couch again. Sometimes it was quieter, almost cricket-like chirping that reminded her of the wilds, of…
… Fallen, in the distance.
She started staying up, listening. Sure, she was tired, but there was no way she’d sleep easy without knowing. Kept an eye out during the day, listened, when she and Benji walked back from their primary school together. About a week into it, she’d heard a sound she couldn’t unhear: arc pulses.
Benji yells at her, flapping his arms when she drops to a crouch next to the storm grate, eyes narrowed on the pavement and both hands cupped around her ears. This was just outside the Baumsol’s house. No wonder she could hear it at night. She wasn’t wrong, she thought, the touch of pride at being right overshadowed by sudden fear that came with it.
Rising quickly, she clings onto his arm, dragging him away. “Is your mom home,” She asks him, when they’re a few meters away from the grate.
“She went shopping, she sent me a message on my tablet.” Amanda didn’t have one of those. Benji was three years older than her, and he’d saved up for his communications device all on his own. Amanda might be able to have one when she got older, they said.
Honestly, Amanda had been done with these people since the first time she met them. She knew they were nice and good, but they weren’t her people. “Look, there’s Fallen down there, in the sewer.”
“That’s insane.”
“There is!” She tells him, defensively.
Benji laughs. “Momma says you’re not sleeping at night. I think you’re losing your marbles.” He drops to his knees in front of the vent. “Helloooo, Fallen? Anyone in there?”
Amanda squeals and yanks him up, hard. “Don’t do that! They understan’ common-speak!”
His sandy brown hair sways as he laughs. “Oh, please. There aren’t any Fallen in the sewers.”
“I can hear them at night, too!” She continues dragging him along, face pinched in frustration. “They’re definitely down there. I know that sound.”
“Is that why you’re not sleeping?” Benji looks a bit sad, almost. “If you’ll sleep better, you can have my room.”
“No, I - You don’t get it!”
“No,” Benji answers, exasperatedly, “You don’t get it. I’ve lived in this City my entire life. Momma and Dad, too. We’re safe here. I heard them say that you’ve never been safe before. But this is how it is. We’ve always been safe. We’ll always be safe.”
That doesn’t stop her from telling both of her foster parents, the very moment they return home. She explains the sounds in the night, tells them to come with her, quietly, they’ll be able to hear the movement in the drains. But both of them have the same kind of mindset. She can hear her Pa’s voice, soft but honest, his lessons loud and clear in her mind.
That kinda thinkin’s what gets people killed.
Those aren’t rats in the gutters, or the sounds of fruit bats that must be nesting in the rafters of some house nearby. She’s not just some ‘cutie’ with an ‘overactive imagination,’ like they say at first, or, weeks later, when she still won’t let it drop, ‘a poor, tortured soul,’ and ‘a troubled girl.’
She is Amanda Holliday and she did not survive this long by ignoring clear warning signs.
Keep On Rising (Until The Sky Knows Your Name) 16
Found Family | Zavala is Tower Dad | Father-Daughter Relationship | Childhood Trauma and Recovery | Canon-Typical Violence | Amputation
A story about how an orphaned Amanda Holliday comes to belong in the Last Safe City and the family she finds along the way.
(Or, the story of how Commander Zavala finds himself responsible for one Amanda Holliday.)
Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15
This time: The conversation.
-/
Her eyes focus on the clock above the door first. 02:18, it says, projected in pale blue. She feels heavy, limp, and sore. Hollow, like there’s no point in moving. There’s no sound, the screen that’s mounted up in the corner turned off. It takes a moment to remember, her mind fuzzy and dark like the edges of her vision, not fully awake. She lets her eyes flutter closed.
Karena. Matron Karen was there. She said they were going… back. They were going back.
Still in a haze, her head lolls to the right when she tries to look in that direction, her half-lidded eyes meeting the gaze of the dark haired nurse from before, the one that almost always checked in on her at night. The woman smiles gently down at her, fixing one of the many tubes that are attached to her arm. She doesn’t say anything, which is a little strange. Her eyes seem to light up though. Happy.
That’s when she feels it.
There’s a warmth, a weight around her fingers. A hand cradling hers. A thumb running over her knuckles, steady and sure.
Amanda carefully tilts her head the other way. Slowly, she coaches herself, feeling very much like a rag doll. She knows it’s him immediately. His eyes are so gentle, like one of his blankets. Like she could curl up and go back to sleep and know he’d keep her safe.
“Hello,” He whispers, the left corner of his lips curling up in a half smile as her eyes clear.
“‘Lo,” She whispers back, her voice small. Her throat is scratchy. Not enough to make her want water though. She yawns, feeling floaty and heavy, all at once.
His hand traces over her knuckles some more, and her clenched fist relaxes. “It’s late,” He says, when she tries to keep her eyes open. He hasn’t looked away from her face, even though it’s dark. “You can go back to sleep.”
She sighs, letting her eyes fall closed. It feels like hours pass, but she just cannot fall back asleep. She peeks open an eye at him. Only one. His eyes are still trained on her face. “Yer lookin’ at me funny,” She drawls. “D’I do somethin’ wrong?”
“No,” He answers, sounding amused.
“Wanted to,” She tells him. He should be able to figure things out. “Was real bad there.”
“You won’t go back.”
“Good,” She says, both eyes focusing on him now. “No fosters, either.”
“No,” He agrees. “No fosters.”
She squirms, getting more comfortable. She’s propped up by all manner of pillows. “Miss Karena will take me back, right? When I'm better?"
"She will not. She has the other children to attend to."
"I won't cause any trouble," She grouses. "I tried, like y'all wanted. Should be enough proof."
One eyebrow rises in a question. "Proof of what?"
Amanda sighs, tapping his palm. "I don't need to be adopted. I don't want another ma or dad. I can stay in the orphanage and grow up jus' fine."
"They moved you because of your injury, I was told."
"Yeah, and I'll get better."
"It will be an adjustment, getting used to your new situation."
"But I'll get better, Zavala," She argues. “I seen people - old people,” She stresses, like it makes a difference, “With bionic legs ‘n arms. They got on well enough, should be the same for me.”
“You will,” He agrees. “But you need more attention than a matron can provide. Someone who is looking out for you first, without other children-”
“I won’t go back to another family.” Both eyes open, their blue-green gaze holding his without backing down.
“I know. You’d need to be placed with someone who understood you. Who you wanted to be with.”
“You said no fosters.”
“Something permanent,” He elaborates.
“No.” She sits up, ignoring the twinge of pain in her hip and the way her leg desperately thinks there’s still a knee and foot attached. It’s been doing that lately. “I don’t wanna go with anyone. No more people.”
Zavala watches her adjust herself, turning to face him, good leg dangling off the bed, her stump making it almost to the edge in its wrap, the pant leg of her pajamas ripped and rolled up to mind the swelling. There’s something terribly brave about her, her hands balled into fists at her sides, her eyes bright with determination, the will to fight.
She opens her mouth, and he expects it to come out in a yell. “Please don’t make me,” She says instead, levelly. It’s not a whisper, nor a flashbang of sound. Tears glimmer in her eyes.
“A man came to see you yesterday,” He begins instead, and she tilts her head at the sudden conversation change. “Someone I work with.”
“Yeah,” She agrees, confused.
“He came to tell me how you were doing, after. And to help me make sure you would not stay in the home you’d been sent to, the one attached to the other hospital.”
“But, why-”
“No one told me where you were being taken. Even Karena did not know until afterwards.” He leans forward as he speaks, invested. “We called the hospital. I tried to come see you. They would not allow it. I was beside myself.” His eyes shine in that honest way, the one that tells her he doesn’t know how to do anything but tell her the truth.
He takes both of her hands in his. “I missed you too,” She admits softly.
Shiori shimmers into place beside them, casting a delicate beam of light on the small tray-table that Amanda usually uses for meals. The child’s eyes are drawn to it, watching as a small pile of paperwork appears beside them both.
“What’s that?”
“A lot of it is legal jargon,” He tells her. “City laws and ordinances designed to protect the rights of a child. But,” He lifts the page Shiori placed on top, “I think this might be the page that would interest you most.”
She handles it delicately, little fingers curling around the edges of the paper. “This is-” She inhales sharply, her eyes scanning it quick, seeing the flourish of the ‘Z', a signature that’s almost artistic in heavy black ink. She rakes her gaze back up the paper.
Her name is on it, in perfect type. The seal on the bottom corner is signed and raised. She runs her finger over his signature, feels the indent from the pressure he’d put on the paper.
“I wanted to ask you first,” He admits, softly. Maybe for the first time, she hears something quiver in his voice, the truth tumbling from his lips nervously. It’s not unlike the shakiness of her hands, the way her eyes dart across the paper, not believing…
In conjunction with City Ordinance 052.8.26.3, the below signed designates themselves as the legal guardian of the above mentioned youth, who has been recognized as a ward of the City. Until such time as they reach the age of majority, the below signed does so swear to provide for the youth’s needs and to uphold all responsibilities befitting a parent of any child of the City. Sworn this day-
“You-”
“I was meeting with Karena when they moved you to the other hospital," He murmurs, perfectly enunciating each word despite the way his speech speeds up. "I was going to come back and tell you that night, to make sure you would not turn me away, that my intention-”
“Turn ya away?” She thrusts the paper back onto the table, crying but not bothering to wipe the tears from her face. “Don’t you know that’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted since I got here?”
“But you’ve said-”
“You ain’t tryin’ replace my Ma or Pa,” She tells him, serious, her eyes never leaving his. “You’re Zavala,” She continues, like that explains everything. “Just Zavala.” Her expression crumples, voice cracking like a wave cresting against tall cliffs, sharp and broken. “Ya just… care, an’ ya wanna see me be happy, an-”
The nurse enters the room with a sense of urgency, hearing the alarm go off from the nurses’ station down the hall. One of the child’s IV lines has been pulled from her arm, the fluid slowly dripping into the bed. She has a mild rebuke on her tongue, ready to ask what’s happened, but stops before she makes a sound.
“It’s alright to cry,” The Commander says, in what might be the most soothing register the nurse has ever heard. “I know it is a lot.”
The woman keeps her head down, not wanting to draw attention to herself as she pulls back the ruined line, coiling it up before throwing it away and shutting off the alarms. She removes the saturated pad beneath the sheets from the IV solution and replaces it.
“You’re gonna take care of me?” The girl whimpers into his chest. “Y’promise? No take backs?”
“Absolutely none,” He agrees.
Instead of leaving, the nurse rounds the bed, reaching between them carefully. Amanda looks up at her, half of her tear-streaked face pushed into the familiar red sweater the Commander wears beneath his armor. She makes a sound of concern when the nurse carefully moves her arm, not wanting to be pulled away.
“Shh,” The nurse consoles, looking first to Zavala with an easy smile before turning her attention to Amanda with a warm blink. “I’m just disconnecting the rest of your lines, sweetheart.” She works quickly, detangling the mess of medication cables until the child is unbound, swiping at the remnants of the one she’d pulled out with a cotton pad. “There we go,” She coos. “Hug away.”
Zavala pulls the child into his arms with ease, not speaking to the nurse, but giving her a thankful glance. The nurse nods, stepping away. “I’ll come back in the morning. Let me know if you need anything.”
“‘M good,” The little one whispers, well after her nurse has gone. “I have everything.”
Zavala can’t help but hold her tighter.
Keep On Rising (Until The Sky Knows Your Name) 09
Found Family | Zavala is Tower Dad | Father-Daughter Relationship | Childhood Trauma and Recovery | Canon-Typical Violence | Amputation
A story about how an orphaned Amanda Holliday comes to belong in the Last Safe City and the family she finds along the way.
(Or, the story of how Commander Zavala finds himself responsible for one Amanda Holliday.)
Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08
This time: Wants and needs and waking up.
-/
The Speaker chooses his words carefully, thus they sit in a momentary silence before he begins. The ambient noise of the room - puffs of air from the nasal cannula that helps her get enough oxygen, monitors that check blood pressure, gentle beeps of the monitors, the idle drip of medication into IV lines all blend together in a strange symphony. Zavala does not find it anything but anxiety inducing, though he keeps still and does not act in a way that would readily flag him as such.
Not that it matters, the Speaker knows him well. “I would presume,” He says, slow and quiet, mindful of the child sleeping in the bed an arm’s length away, “That you have spoken to your Ghost about this?”
“Shiori has made her opinions known,” Zavala admits, after a moment’s thought. Likely, also that he’s spoken to said partner, through the link that Guardians share with their Ghosts.
He hums in reply, leaning back in a gesture that isn’t quite relaxed, but appears more casual than official. “And your opinions do not line up?”
Amanda stirs beside them, a frown cutting through her features, but shifts and resettles without waking. Zavala sighs in relief, having been immediately distracted by it. “Wants and needs are two different things," He offers, instead of answering the question.
"Yes," The other man agrees. "Unless your want and her need aligns."
"It does not. My lifestyle is not conducive to raising a child, regardless of whether I would consider it or not," Zavala replies.
"And yet you're here," The Speaker answers. Though his expression is covered by a mask, the inflection of his voice gives away his feelings on the matter. He tips his head to the left, evaluating.
"She calls for me when she wakes," He tells the Speaker, just as he had Ikora, but it feels inadequate as a defense. Flimsy.
"Could the matron not fulfill her needs?" He asks gently, yet there's something blunt in his tone. "She could sit with the girl."
"Yes," Zavala agrees morosely, "I just-"
"But the matron cannot console the girl when she's in the throws of panic, certainly not when she's altered by medication and plagued by fever dreams. The trust is not intrinsic, subconscious." The Speaker crosses his arms. "Nor can she give the girl favor, even if she wanted to. She has other duties, other children she is responsible for."
The child whines in her sleep from discomfort, and as if to prove his point, Zavala is at her side, gently adjusting the sheets tangled around her lower half, mindful of her injuries.
"I want to help her," The Commander admits, wistfully, looking down at the girl’s face.
Circling back, the Speaker reminds him, "And being at her bedside when she wakes, then withdrawing will help her how? The child trusts you. It would crush her."
"Then what do I do? I could not possibly forsake my duties."
"You could do both." Zavala stares, slack-jawed at the other man's masked face. "She will need therapies and treatments… A hospital stay like this requires rehabilitation, according to the matron. It will be months at least."
"It's impossible. There is no way I could take care of a child."
The Speaker ignores him. "Plenty of time to get your affairs in order, and this would not be easy, certainly not. This one hasn't hit her teenage years, and from what I've been told by others, it is rather taxing."
"I can't do this on my own," Zavala hedges. "There is no way. The Vanguard, my Titans, I-"
"Think, Zavala." The Speaker's voice cuts through his argument, firm and blunt, yet not unkind. "I never said you should raise her on your own." He rises. "I’m merely suggesting you consider that it may not be as impossible as you think." As he passes the Titan Vanguard, he squeezes his shoulder in a show of support, speaking softer. "A reminder of why we do what we do would not be remiss around here."
The Speaker leaves. Once alone, Zavala brings the chair he'd been sitting in to rest almost against the bed. Silently, he evaluates her: the wrinkle of her brow and nose while she sleeps, the way her fingers curls over the blankets before she pulls them against her chest.
"He's right, you know."
"He always is," Zavala answers, watching his Ghost shimmer into being on the other side of the room.
She sighs. "You really want this, though."
"Yes," He admits, after a time.
"So we ask for help. Like he said, they don't plan on releasing her any time soon."
"Shiori-"
His Ghost continues, speaking over him in that soothing mezzo-soprano of hers. "She hasn't been awake for more than twenty minutes and even that was debatable." Her white shell orbits her core slowly. "I don't think it's wrong to be happy, Zavala. And I don't think you're going to blow off your responsibilities to everyone and everything else because of her."
"But is it fair to her?"
That gives her pause. "Well, I would suspect she'd agree."
"That is not the question. She's a child. I have doubt that she knows what is best for herself."
"Well-"
He frowns. "She's been harmed because our efforts to keep the City safe failed her. I cannot tell if I feel guilty of if it's just that I somehow feel a connection-"
"You're doing it again, always overthinking," She tuts. "Listen to me, Zavala. You wanted to take Amanda home with us the first time we met her. You were beside yourself that you upset her." She drifts closer. "And when she came around, you spent an entire visit holding onto her. I teased you about it for a week. You remember what Karena called her?"
Zavala closes his eyes. Shiori takes it as a yes.
"You were furious with me when I told you we should at least consider taking her. You gave me every reason I'm sure you're thinking of now. But you forget: I know you, Guardian. I know you're going to make the right choice. You always do."
Scrubbing a hand down the side of his face, he regards his partner warily. "That transparent, am I?"
Shiori bumps his hand away from his face. "No. You just don't do things in half measures," She says fondly, her single eye meeting both of his. "You never have."
“I just want to be sure,” He says in reply. “I need some time.”
-/
Amanda wakes when midnight and morning bleed into each other. Unlike other times, the muzzy fading feeling seems to burn off, leaving her licking her chapped lips and squirming. She feels uncomfortable. Something isn't right.
The only sound in the room is a not unpleasant timed click, an easy shuffle, and the muted sound of a monitor. She exhales long and loud, taking stock. Only three extremities respond to her. The fourth tingles in an angry buzz of pain and numbness. Trying to move it makes her whimper, the conscious thought put into moving her knee ends in a furious confusion of synapses that don't have anywhere to go.
With her muffled cry, the cadence of clack-shuffling stops. She takes a few more breaths, forcing them to stay even, her eyelashes beating against her cheeks as she tries to make sense of the strange new feelings she’s confronted with.
Instead of speaking, he watches as her stormy eyes open and clear, adjusting to the fluorescent lighting. She looks down and bites her lip, but does not make any more noise. Her eyes water but she doesn’t make any more sound, other than the tiny groan of adjusting herself. She’s already propped up between pillows and the angle of the hospital bed.
She almost topples over reaching for her bad leg, but her left arm manages to keep her upright while she regards the lumpy bed linens. It hurts, but she flips back one end of the covers to see what her leg looks like and immediately flinches back.
It’s a large bandage that starts almost where her leg meets her trunk, but it goes down to just short of where her knee should be - and stops. She closes her eyes, squeezing them shut and then braves another look. On the second inspection, she notes that there’s blood leaking through the dressings, faded and iron-brown. No knee. No foot. Gone.
The hand that touches her head makes her freeze, and only then does she realize Zavala’s watching her evaluate herself. She looks to him with something like panic twisted by despair.
"'m not dreaming, am I?" She asks softly.
The edge of the bed dips as he sits, perched on the edge facing toward her. "No," He answers.
She closes her eyes and leans back against the pillows. "E'ryone else's okay?"
"They are," He answers. "Do-" His voice catches on the prospect that perhaps she'd rather be consoled by her foster family, though they'd withdrawn rather easily - too easily, Karen's said, though she'd never been planning to allow Amanda to return to them. His stomach lurches at the thought that her calls for him were simply hallucinations, that maybe he has this completely wrong. "Do you want to see them?"
There is no hesitation in her reply. She shakes her head in the negative. "It had me by this leg," She points to the wrapped stump. "Did you get it?"
"The Guardian who found you killed it. It won't hurt you or anyone else."
"But you said they go through you." She doesn't look at him, still eyeing the bulge of gauze.
"I am the Commander. The Guardians answer to me." He sighs, trying to explain it in a way she’ll understand. "I was in command all night, making sure everyone that was in trouble was seen to." Selfish as it may be, he’s grateful he didn’t know. It would have ate away at him all night while he was trying to organize relief efforts, the way it had while he had sat with the matron what felt like the longest day he’d had in years.
"I thought it was you," She admits. "They - It was like lightnin' but… Th'same blue as yer eyes," She drawls.
They sit quietly for a few moments.
Her resolve crumbles with a mumble of, "I really wanted t’see you." She reaches for him and he obliges, letting her press her face into his chest, feeling her lip curl and her shoulders shake through his sweater as she cries. It’s muffled against his sweater, but he hears her confessions. The fear of what she’d surely though was her death. That she should have tried harder to make them believe her, that she knew and it was all her fault.
That she didn’t want to die without seeing him again.
It felt like he’d never be able to walk out of the room. Part of that might have been the tiny fingers that threaded through his own with a surprising strength, but… There was more to it than that. It was like his bond with Ghost but not quite, a natural connection so wholly different from any he’d forged before and it was plain and obvious, terrifying and yet comforting all at once.
The morning comes too soon, and with it, the realization that he would have to leave. She seemed to know it too, her tiny grip growing exponentially.
“I’ll be okay,” She tells him, her voice faint against his side. Her fingers twitch and pull away from him. He doesn’t miss the way they wrap around herself as he rises. “It’s fine.”
He’s never been more certain that it is anything but. “Karena will come sit with you, or one of the houseparents,” He says. “Someone you know.”
“Would-” She squeezes her eyes shut, as if looking at him - seeing the truth on his face - would upset her. “Would you come back sometime?” She asks meekly.
It’s only after he rises, patting her head, that she sees the folded blanket in progress - a shade of red far brighter than the one she’d left behind at the Baumsol’s. He removes it carefully from the chair at her bedside and opens one of the drawers in the small half-dresser beside her bed, tucking it and the rest of his knitting supplies inside.
He smiles at her, she knows it not because of his lips - those are set in a firm line. His eyes spark, almost. Bright and good and true. “I’ll come back as soon as I am able,” He tells her. “You have my word.”
Keep On Rising (Until the Sky Knows Your Name) 02
Found Family | Zavala is Tower Dad | Father-Daughter Relationship | Childhood Trauma and Recovery | Canon-Typical Violence | Amputation
A story about how an orphaned Amanda Holliday comes to belong in the Last Safe City and the family she finds along the way.
(Or, the story of how Commander Zavala finds himself responsible for one Amanda Holliday.)
Chapters: 01 |
-/
The completion of a successful campaign on Mars leaves him with an excess of time. It's less than a month before he returns to the small orphanage on the outskirts of the Rich District. More children have come and gone, but to his dismay it's not this that he's concerned about.
While he certainly takes time to meet each new arrival, bestowing them with their own blanket that he'd made himself, he's keeping an eye out for the little one he'd spoken to last time. Children are fickle, prone to forgetting things, their minds moving a mile a minute. But this one doesn't seem like that type.
He sees the mop of blonde hair, lazy ringlets bouncing as she descends the stairs at a clip. Her face is red, like she's out of breath, which explains her ragged breathing. Upon inspection, he notes that she finger-combs her hair, frowning as she tears apart a few tangles. It sounds unpleasant and she grimaces.
Not for the first time, he's grateful for his lack of hair. Certainly makes things easy.
"Hello, Amanda."
She heaves another few breaths before exhaling long and slow. "'lo, Zavala."
Like a whip-crack from behind them both, a girl shrieks, "It's Commander Zavala, you dummy!"
For a moment, he wonders if the older girl has just ruined the whole thing. Amanda squeezes her fists so tight he can see the fight or flight senses kick in.
"If you're gonna talk, at least talk right," The older girl finishes, primly, flouncing away before Zavala - who would normally have a soft rebuke waiting - can tell Amanda it's alright, that he isn't here to be anyone's Commander.
"'S how you introduced yerself," She murmurs in a quiet defense.
"It is," He agrees. "I would not have done so if I didn't want you to address me as such." He offers her his hand. She looks at it tentatively, then up to meet his glowing eyes. "Shall we find somewhere a bit less trafficked to visit?"
She nods, but she does not take his hand, following along at his elbow. He leads her to a small sitting room, up toward the administrative offices in the front of the compound-like building. He moves toward the couch and is pleasantly surprised when she clambers up beside him.
The silence is comfortable. Still, she squirms after a few moments. "Is this what you meant by visiting?"
He chuckles, patting the top of her head once. She looks up to him curiously. "It can be," He muses. "We could also talk, if you are agreeable."
Her nose crinkles when she thinks. It's terribly endearing. "'bout what?" Her voice rises at the end of her question, confused.
"Anything you'd like."
She ponders some more, seeming to rack her brain on what to think about. "There's a lotta people here," She murmurs.
"At the orphanage?"
"In the City."
"Ah. It's a big adjustment," He affirms. "Do you not like it?"
"It's loud."
He nods. "It certainly is. Especially when you've been taught to keep quiet to prevent detection by your enemies."
Her eyes shock open wide.
"You've seen-" She clamps both hands over her mouth.
Prying them away, he looks at her, with her trembling lip. "It is my job to keep this City safe. That is what the Vanguard is designed to do. It's why people from across the planet try to get to the City. The walls keep our enemies out, Amanda."
"But what if they don't?" She whispers, looking up at him. "There's lotsa baddies out there."
"There are," He agrees. His eyes flash almost purple, so fast she thinks she's seeing things. She knows that the Guardians have powers. They’re special. Maybe he has eye-beams he fires at their enemies. It would explain the fancy glow. "But if anyone ever gets through the walls? Then they go through me."
She tucks her knees under herself and looks up at him, and for the first time in their short acquaintance, he sees hope bleeding into her eyes. "Really?"
"Really."
There's hardly anything to her. He feels the warmth of her when she shifts against him more than anything. "Ya promise it's safe?"
"I do," He confirms.
It seems that's compelling enough to convince her, because she falls silent. More than that, she leans against him, fingers eventually curling into his sweater. She jerks against him a short while later, and his hand moves from the top of the couch to her back without thought, gently rubbing her back. Her fingers tighten on his shirt.
"You are not sleeping at night," He comments mildly.
"Try to," She huffs, yawning. "But-"
"Take a nap," He interrupts. "I'll keep watch for a little while."
"You don't gotta," See insists, though he can feel her leaning incrementally harder. Blinking sleepily, she slurs, "Don'tcha gotta play with the other kids?"
"Later," He overrides her, with a hint of finality. His hand smooths back the hair falling into her face before making another gentle circle on her back. She’s asleep in seconds.
-/
The matron finds them in the front room an hour and a half later. He has a data pad propped between the arm of the couch and his right hand. Amanda is curled against him, her head pillowed on his thigh, knees up to her chest. His left hand rests on her back, thumb gently moving.
"She's a little cuddlebug, isn't she," Karena comments mildly, crossing her arms as she rests against the doorway. "Poor thing. And you, not even taking a break despite it. I envy your work ethic, Commander. How go those logs?"
Zavala regards her, albeit sheepishly. "Actually, it's poetry."
"Ah! Well, if anyone deserves the reprieve, it's you," She answers, with a smile. "Want me to take her up to her room?"
Shaking his head, he answers, “I'm keeping watch." He tilts his head when Karena shakes hers as well, because of course he is. "If I can give her at least a little comfort…"
"She still won't speak to half the houseparents in complete sentences. I'd say you're doing marvelously." Karena sighs. "She's a difficult case."
"The children are not kind."
"Not at all. I told them you had to take a break for some important business. Best not to let them know she's hogging you."
"Thank you."
"Thank you," She parrots, sincerely. "You being here always cheers them up. Glad it works for this one, too."
Zavala doesn't know that he'd call this cheering up. If anything, it's barely consolation. And yet, when she blinks her eyes open a while later and clambers into his lap, he dedicates himself to holding her. He certainly wouldn't use a word like 'cuddlebug,' but even he can admit there is some merit, a clear consolation to being held close. She isn't the first child to cling to him, nor does he imagine she'll be the last.
Really, he never sees it coming.
