Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

King sat still and silent, leaning over the bottom bunk of a small bunk bed, watching a chest rise and fall to reassure herself it was still moving.

It didn’t help that Missy already looked like she was laid out for a funeral.

Dioses. Weeks up at the Spire hadn’t broken King, but this might. Ms. Mitternacht looked so worn. So… human. She’d been soaked through and barely standing when they’d found her, voice cracked and small in that desperate, hoarse “Here!” that led the group to her. When Missy had collapsed, deadweight in King’s arms, King felt her heart stop; a horrible electricity had run up her spine, and only the desperate, mad certainty that she could not let Missy fall had kept her own legs from buckling.

Her memory felt off from that point, like trying to make sense of a movie she'd only watched in fast-forward. King knew her face had been an ugly mess of tears already by the time the rest of the group caught up, that she’d keened Missy’s name like a wounded animal. She- she had asked, had made sure they didn’t need her there with the search party, hadn't simply abandoned the group. Even so, the world had narrowed around her to a single livewire goal: Ms. Mitternacht's safety. Nothing outside that goal existed; she was barely aware even of her own struggle with exhaustion and the weight of the limp body she cradled to her chest. She couldn't remember what she'd said to Bibo and Porgie (old casual followers of Missy's like most folks in the Cove, surely they'd help) when she found them sitting out on the pier, staring up at the crack in the world. She supposed she must have said something intelligible and convincing, given how quickly they'd shifted from stiff, quietly hostile suspicion (she should have expected it. she hadn't) to opening up the old hostel near the docks for her. Inside, she’d gotten Missy warmed up and dry, too focused and terrified to be shy about stripping off the sodden shroud and burial clothes. Practically re-entombing the fallen goddess in blankets (the last clean blankets the hostel had, the linen closet had flooded along with the whole first floor, because Missy couldn't stop crying over those drained lies with King's name on them), King had carried her to a bed, then glued herself like a barnacle next to it. Patchie showed up- later- King had no idea how much later, time seemed to have broken somehow- with Patience come all the way from HobbyHoo to act as a medic, and a spare dress of Lulu's because Lulu had the sense to know it'd be needed, bless her. (Patience used to work in the ER, King remembered hearing that story one night at the bar, and that was good but did they not have anyone who was currently practicing medicine?) At that point King knew there wasn't much she could help with anymore, but still she refused to be removed from the room. Thankfully no one had forced the issue, though Patience had insisted on checking her out as well, fussing over a bruised-up whole right side she hadn't even noticed till then. King had disappointed her by, for once, not being able to follow what she was saying.

Others had come in and out since then, checking on their goddess, trying to help, trying to make sense of anything. King, the Eloquent God-To-Be, the one who was always ready with just the right words for any situation, hadn't said one word to any of them.

At no point in all of that time did King think she had been clever, or calm, or reassuring and encouraging, or any of the things she normally was without having to think about it. She wasn't who she knew she was supposed to be, had a reputation for being, especially at a time like this. King was pretty sure she’d scared some folks who'd been scared enough already, people who had only ever seen her composed, even when she was facing down good odds on her own death.

Drain it, she was allowed this one break in composure.

King lifted a delicate brown hand from the cot. Kissed its knuckles. Felt for a familiar pulse. Reassured herself that this was a warm, living body in front of her. There was a density to this woman whom, technically, King had never seen before: a soft, rounded solidity, like a river rock. But like a skipping stone, this was a body that could move with an easy grace. King could see in the lines of its frame that it could dance through the world as a celestial body danced through the heavens, even with the marks of age it bore. The face still looked familiar too, something in the oval shape of it still right, even if it wasn’t quite what King would have guessed. She had the same slightly darker cheeks, the long lashes, even her little beauty mark. Her many small locs- still strange to think of her having hair at all, but of course it suited her, these elegant little winding ropes that must have taken days of patient work- had still been at least halfway in the shape of a high bun when they’d found her, a sort of curly silver-streaked dark cloud from an illustration in a children’s book. (It had fallen the rest of the way apart when Patience had been making sure she wasn’t dying of hypothermia or a concussion or whatever else a newly fallen god might be dying of.) She'd been wearing a wooden mask in the shape of a bird's skull, but King couldn't work out how it was supposed to go back on; for now it sat on the side table, a second new variation on a familiar face.

Strange, that Missy could look so different and still be so undeniably herself.

Everyone who'd had an opinion to share said Ms. Mitternacht would be fine. She was only exhausted. In dry clothes, in a warm, safe place, with rest, she’d be right as rain soon enough. It was what King would have said to someone else in her shoes, and anyway it was true. Most likely. But there was no precedent for this, for the oldest god in the Grove- the architect of the world, as it now existed- to be torn from her perch and hurtled into the sea.

King also knew something that most others only suspected or debated, something historians and theologians only theorized about, that gave her extra cause for concern.

Ms. Mitternacht had been dead when she ascended.

Dead but not gone, Missy had said. A confused ghost, tethered like a balloon to her body, watching herself from outside as the very first Rift cracked wider and wider until it tipped body and soul both into its maw. That body still remained, in fact, a relic in her holy place; King had seen it on the way here. Was this one, then, some direct manifestation of her spirit? An entirely new replacement, made from memory? If that was the case, maybe everything really would be fine. If not…

King remembered when they found Bauhauzzo last night, almost immediately after the fall. Traces of godhood seemed to cling to him for just a little while after. Mostly he was disoriented, here and elsewhere in patches, the last of the world’s memory still leaking out of a suddenly too small vessel that had cracked trying to hold it. It could, honestly, have been ordinary mortal disorientation after a horrible shock, had there not been that prophetic weight to his words, a presence in him like the kind one felt standing in ancient places. It had faded though, and when it had, his new mortality had seemed to catch up to him all at once. (The last King had heard, he'd mostly been sleeping off and on since then himself. Maybe that was normal. Maybe it was fine.)

Ms. Mitternacht, too, had the barest echo of an uncanny gravity still clinging to her, a little something of the gleaming moon and the velvet night. Nearly gone now. Nearly. What if, once it faded…

Even if the worst didn’t come to pass, this body was flesh and blood like any other. It didn’t look ancient, but it certainly wasn’t young. Mortal bodies gave out all the time for stupid, unexpected reasons. It was a miracle she’d survived the fall, that she hadn’t cracked her skull or drowned or just had her heart give out. So much could have gone wrong. So much had gone wrong. So much still could. Here in this hostel for tourists and pilgrims, a place never meant to be hidden or defensible, how long would they be safe?

Were they even safe now?

The bulk of the Resistance as it currently stood was in BuzzHuzz. BuzzHuzz was a known center of resistance- the only one, really, since elsewhere people hadn’t known there was something to resist yet- and close to the Spire to boot. It was too obvious, too unprotected, sure to be raided sooner rather than later and not big enough for a group their size to slip through the cracks. They were looking for somewhere else to go right now. Maybe the Cove could be that place; it made sense to stay close to shore when it looked like all the fallen gods had landed in the ocean. (That was a good thing; surely they were more likely to survive the fall that way. Don't think too hard about how both gods recovered thus far had passed out not long after. Don't wonder which of them had known how to swim as mortals.) But the Cove was built for withstanding floods, not power-mad gods. No place was built for withstanding deliberate attacks from gods, because the gods of the Grove had no interest in attacking anyone. (Except one, one she'd thought was a friend, thought she could reach, one she'd still been trying to talk down right up until her Missy-) Anyway they physically couldn't attack directly, outside the world-bending influence of a Rift allowed to open too far. (Much, much too far, and even if they all got back could they close it? Could it still be closed?) The Cove didn't provide much in the way of cover either, at least in town. Folks could possibly hide in the crypts, but those were mostly flooded, and anyway as a place sacred to Ms. Mitternacht they'd be a target in their own right. No, if everyone moved to the Cove, sooner or later they'd be noticed and struck. At best they might be able to flee by boat, but then the question would be how to get back. If they couldn't get back…

Nobody could hold against the pull of the Rift forever.

For the first time since she’d gotten there, King really looked around the room. It was one of a series of long, narrow rooms. Each one was just big enough to hold four sets of wooden bunkbeds, two along each of the longer walls. (The rooms were arranged in a rectangle around the center of the building, with a long hall connecting the whole perimeter; being able to look down a side of that hall through the open door made King feel like some small animal trapped in its own burrow.) In this one, small side tables were wedged between the bunkbeds along each wall, so tightly that one of the tables was held slightly off the ground at an angle. The window at one narrow end of the room was partially blocked by an eclectic collection of stools and chairs, which were probably there because there was nowhere else to put them. The other narrow end bore a mural of Ms. Mitternacht, the goddess, heart bared and arms held out in welcome or an offering of embrace, under a starlit sky; it was the type of thing that was popular among tourists and pilgrims both. Looking at it made King's chest tighten.

Overall the room was a cramped, utilitarian space, but it was a real room, and not an uncomfortable one. King looked back down at the sleeping figure in front of her. Would Missy have the chance to rest and wake in a warm bed? Or would they be carrying her out into some sea cave, or a fishing boat, or the nearby wetlands, or the middle of the woods, or who knew where else?

“...I was supposed to protect you,” King whispered, still holding that hand. “I’m sorry, Missy. I’m so, so sorry.”

She felt a hand on her (thankfully less bruised) shoulder.

“Dioses mio, King. You look awful. Not that I blame you.”

King looked up to see Razzma already dragging a chair over from the mismatched selection against the wall, awkwardly, with his foot, so that he didn’t have to walk away for the two seconds it’d take to pick it up and move it. She snickered, surprising herself.

"Yeah, yeah, araña patas largas bobita, laugh it up.”

“I’m touched, but I won’t float away if you let go for a sec.”

“Nope. I’m doing this. I’m committed now. Not losing to a chair.” At last she hooked it under himself and sat down. "So you want the news?"

"Is any of it good?"

"Well, we got everybody out of BuzzHuzz before it got closed off. All of our people, anyway. We're not getting back in any time soon though. Capo and his crew were pretty lax. Maybe even on purpose. But then Hec- Inspekta took over directly, with those horrible floating hands of his. All the roads are blocked or busted up. Extraño says to regroup at the Cove for now and figure things out from there. Lucky thing you already found us a place to stay, eh?"

"Heh. Yeah, lucky. What about the other gods? Any sign of them?"

"Not that I heard yet, but I ran ahead after I found the Godpoke. The new one, I mean. Vaquerito's pretty shaken up, but they're in one piece, and so's Meg. They were looking to help out, so I left em with one of the search parties we passed."

"…I really owe that kid. Rescuing Megapon, stepping up the way they did… bad as things are, they always could be worse, huh?" King ran a thumb over Ms. Mitternacht's knuckles again. Razzma followed the movement.

“So… how is she?” Razzma asked.

“She’s… alright." King took a deep breath, willing herself to believe that. "Just needs rest, they said.”

“You look like you need rest too.”

“Probably.” King didn’t move from her own chair.

Razzma gave a long-suffering sigh. “Yeah, alright. Day and night vigil it is.”

“You don’t have to stay with me, Razzma. Go help the others, or get some rest yourself.”

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that on account of your delicate emotional state.” Razzma offered King a bandanna. “Here. Might wanna clean yourself up a bit. And yours is so caked in Spire dust it looks like you’re wearing a rock around your neck.”

“Dioses, yeah. I must be a sight. Gonna scare poor Missy when she wakes up.” King wiped her face off. “Better?”

“As dashing as always,” Razzma teased. “Truly the face that even gods fell for.”

King shoved him with a laugh, and Razzma laughed and shoved back. It felt like a ghost of old times. But King never let go of that hand, and her expression turned somber again fast enough.

“Thank you, Razzma. It means a lot to me, you being here.”

“Yeah, well, this way if I start crying about this mess you’ll be the only witness.”

“Unless Missy wakes up.”

“Hm. Maybe I should leave after all.”

After that, Razzma didn’t really know what to say, and for once in her life King didn’t either. They sat in silence, not comfortable, but companionable. There was nothing to do but wait, watch, and hope.

Hours passed. More people trickled into the hostel bit by bit, the increasingly frantic activity past the hall outside muted through the walls to an almost soothing white noise. Then…there. That last wisp of midnight was gone. King felt it unwind from Ms. Mitternacht, like a strand of spider silk plucked off by the wind. It was a truly mortal, human woman lying on that cot now.

She looked so small.

But she was still breathing. Her heart still carried a steady beat.

King gasped a single, quiet sob of relief.

Chapter Text

Eventually everything that’d happened that night and day- the past few weeks, really- finally caught up with King. She passed out in her seat, curled around that hand she refused to let go of.

Even at her best, King was a sentimental sort who didn’t have a great head for practical matters. Or, no, that wasn’t true, but she was selective about the practicalities she’d consider, and most of them didn’t involve herself. In this state, King was definitely going to forget about food as a concept, nevermind eating. Razzma watched her for a bit, decided she’d be out for a while, and left to get another blanket and whatever kind of meal he could rustle up.

Blankets per se were not forthcoming- some problem with the recent flooding- but Pua had a spare ruana, which they claimed to know Razzma would need because it had been foretold in the paintings below BuzzHuzz. Razzma would have liked to know if the paintings foretold all the other nightmares that had been going on around here lately, and if so, why Pua hadn’t brought them that prophecy, but that seemed like the opening to a fight and fighting was the last thing anyone here needed. Instead she thanked them and accepted the dense, warm wool garment, along with three bowls of a thin fish and clam stock soup and an apology from Porgie to pass on to King.

It was a lot to juggle on the way back.

Outside the door to Ms. Mitternacht’s room, she found Lulu. Or. Colonel Extraño. Extraño was leaning against the doorframe, looking in. It seemed a moment frozen in time. The lighting was dramatic in its mundanity, dark in the corner of the hall and a warm yellow in the lit room within. Extraño’s concerned and watchful pose subtly communicated a wealth of emotion, constrained within the sharp, stark lines of the open door. Razzma couldn’t help imagining the scene as a painting, mentally sketching out the framing.

“Ma’am,” Razzma said, not sure how formal to be towards an old friend with a new rank. (Even if, strictly speaking, there wasn’t a real army for her to be a colonel in, Extraño had stepped up and organized when most people were just waiting and hoping the whole situation would blow over. That made her colonel enough as far as Razzma was concerned. Also, she really was a monster with a paintball gun.)

“It’s still Lulu to you, Razzma. At least, so long as we’re not in front of the recruits.” She didn’t turn from the scene inside. “…I can’t believe that's my god in there.”

“Yeah. It’s… weird. Gonna be a lot to process later. But uh, for now I need to deliver soup.”

Lulu finally turned towards Razzma, her eyes widening at the juggling act. Razzma could see her switching modes before she spoke, the rigid affectation of a revolutionary leader washing away from her stance as she swooped in to grab a bowl.

“Oh, that’s too many things sweetie. Let me help, okay?” she said in that responsible-for-children voice that would have sounded condescending coming out of anyone else. “Why three bowls?”

“Well, one of em’s for me,” said Razzma, setting one of the remaining two bowls on the little table between the bunks and hanging on to the last one for herself. “One’s for King. We don’t know when Miss Midnight's waking up, so there’s one for her too if she does."

“You'll need to talk to the medic before giving anything to Mitternacht,” Lulu said as she set the last bowl on the small table as well. “We’re still not sure what effect… this has on someone. We want to be certain we don’t aggravate her condition.” She looked away. "Also, it's… currently believed unlikely that she'll wake up soon. Soon enough for that soup to be good anyway."

"…Oh." Razzma looked down at the two sleeping figures. "Is it that bad?"

Extraño sighed in frustration. "We don't know. This is entirely uncharted territory. At first we thought it was just exhaustion, like it was with Bauhauzzo, but she's been unconscious for approximately 18 hours and completely unresponsive to stimuli for at least 12. The latter fact is the more concerning one. Whatever's happening here, it's gotten worse since we recovered her, not better. We're trying to source medical equipment and supplies right now, to test some things and keep her afloat if she remains comatose."

Razzma threw the ruana over King’s shoulders. He debated waking her, then decided she probably needed the rest more and sat down with his soup instead. Bad news could wait.

“Did you get something to drink too?" Lulu asked, back in teacher mode. "It’s important to stay hydrated, especially with all the running around you've been doing!”

Razzma started to say she wasn’t one of Lulu’s paintball kids, but he had not, in fact, gotten anything to drink. And she should have. His primary activities today, and King's too if she had to guess, had been hiking and crying.

“I’ll get it," Lulu said, taking Razzma's silence as an answer. "You just eat your soup, okay?” Lulu left the room. A little while later, Razzma could hear distantly barked orders. She’d finished about half the soup before Lulu came back, looking just a little more tired, with a pitcher shaped like a fish and a stack of glasses.

“If Mitternacht does wake up, getting some water into her should be your top priority,” Lulu said as she set the pitcher and glasses down on the last square inches of side table space. "Slowly, though. And get the medic immediately. Actually, that should be your top priority."

"Got it." If Ms. Mitternacht woke up on Razzma's watch, he wouldn't fail her.

It felt weird to see ordinary kitchen items here. It made sense, of course, because they were in a free hostel stocked mostly with donations. But it was a jarring reminder that their current base of operations was, functionally, just a place where people lived and worked. The sky was falling and here they all were, trying to figure out how to fight back against a power-mad god and fix the things he was breaking, with the bowls and the glasses and the water pitchers shaped like fish.

It also felt weird to see Lulu swapping back and forth so much. Or, maybe it was the way she was doing it. That military persona was something she’d always played with, but it was play, a little over the top on purpose. Kids at the paintball park thought it was fun. If they did get nervous about it, she’d break character to reassure them that it was only a game. Not that it was strictly a work thing; it was a Lulu thing, something she did for Lulu reasons. She joked sometimes that she was just living up to the family name. Razzma had talked about it with her before though, and her more serious answer was that she just liked being both kinds of people: someone soft, silly, and approachable, and someone strong, certain, and competent. Both were good at making other people feel safe, and that was what Lulu wanted to do.

Razzma supposed that was what Lulu was trying to do now: make people feel safe. But that was a tall order, and Colonel Extraño wasn’t playing anymore.

“…There’s other chairs if you want one,” Razzma said, gesturing at Lulu with a spoon. Lulu looked surprised, but pulled one over.

“You eat anything?” Razzma asked.

“Not recently. I’ve been extremely busy.”

“Go grab the bonus soup, then, if you really don't think Ms. Mitternacht can eat it. Shouldn't let it go to waste.”

She did, and Razzma handed her another spoon. He watched her continue to stare at Ms. Mitternacht.

"This soup… isn't very good," Razzma said.

Lulu laughed, a short huff. "Sure you're not just nursing a grudge? We all heard about Porgie's initial response to King approaching him for help." She sipped at her own soup. "Hm. I think he's doing his best to feed a lot of people he didn't expect. But I admit, this does make me wish Mess Officer Bayker were present."

"I don't have a grudge," Razzma said firmly. "He apologized. And he's hardly the only one who believed those letters. Where is Bayker anyway?"

"Returned to Milldread when it looked like the world was about to end. Can't blame them." Lulu frowned. "We dispatched an agent to try retrieving them, and possibly pick up some additional recruits, but all roads in are already blocked. Which also leaves us in a precarious position here."

They both continued eating.

“...So this is fucked, right?”

“Language, private. But yes.”

Razzma considered. Took a deep breath. Stared intently at her soup.

“You uh… wanna talk about it?”

Lulu raised an eyebrow, setting her own epty bowl aside. “Since when does Razzma V. Tazz want to talk about feelings?” she asked.

“Since I’m King’s first follower,” Razzma grouched. “I’m trying, alright?”

“Fair point.” Lulu went quiet for a moment. “I never imagined my goddess would be placed in such a vulnerable position. I want to be here, on standby for any support she might require. But I feel…” She gestured at King and Mitternacht. “Extraneous.”

“…Like you’re intruding? In the way?”

“Yes. Exactly.”

Razzma thought, using the last of his soup as an excuse not to talk for a bit. “I know the feeling,” she said at last.

“That surprises me. You and King are close.”

“Sure, but when it comes to Ms. M I’ve always been a bit of a third wheel. Those two… they have something special. And I’m not part of it.” Razzma tipped his hat, hopefully hiding her face from view. He hated this not-quite-crying feeling, stuck between stoicism and genuine expression, failing at both.

“You know, there’s this part of me that thinks this is all my fault. Because I… I didn’t want her to go. She deserves it, and I’m proud as Mug she got this far, but… I know I’m losing her, when she gets up there.” Razzma set her shoulders into a hard line. “And it is when, not if, because there’s no way I’m letting Inspekta win this. She belongs up there, with her Missy. But… I got my stupid wish, right? For now, she’s still here.” It was both an embarrassment and a relief when tears actually started flowing. Drain take him though, why’d it have to be in front of Lulu? And he’d given away his only clean bandanna. This was a mistake. Every part of this interaction was a mistake. She couldn’t just leave after promising King he’d be there. He couldn’t kick Lulu out of the room. She needed a sinkhole to open up under him right now. It was the only way out.

“Quit that nonsense, Private. You know drained well this isn’t your doing.”

“Lulu, we have known each other for thirty six years. I better be at least a lieutenant. Also, what was that about language earlier?”

“Lieutenants don’t try to pin blame on themselves for events they actively opposed. Though I must commend your creativity. And colonels are allowed to swear.”

Razzma chuckled. The smile Lulu offered in return was reserved, but it was there.

“At least you actually know King,” Lulu said. “I’ve barely spoken with Ms. Mitternacht directly, and only in an official capacity. After King arrived. The Cove… It’s changed a great deal since King’s arrival. When I was a child, it was understood that you kept a certain distance, out of respect and for safety. Mitternacht caused some terrible floods in the past. She thought she could prevent them in the future by avoiding attachments.” Lulu’s military facade thawed away again. She shifted her gaze from the person in the bed to the painting on the wall. “That’s so sad, isn’t it? No friends, no family… a loving mother to everyone, but only from far away. I was meant to be her priestess at one point. Maybe if I had been, I would have noticed how lonely she was. We wouldn’t have needed an outsider to break her shell.” Lulu glanced over at Razzma. “Though I am glad King came, either way. Especially since she brought you with her.”

Razzma felt heat rush to his face. She hoped it wasn’t visible. “Well, I… I’m glad I came along. To. Here. Where you are.” He coughed and looked in the other direction, suddenly developing an intense interest in a spot on the wall. “Anyway, you’re doing plenty now. Basically running this whole show on your own. I don’t think we’d be here without you.”

“Yes, well, time will tell. Speaking of, I have other duties. We still have groups coming in, and our position is far from secure.” Lulu stood up, shuffling her empty bowl to her off hand. “I should go.”

“…Alright. I know you’re busy. But you’re welcome back if you get a minute.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

When Lulu was at the door, Razzma spoke up one last time.

“Lulu? I know we both feel out of place. But when I showed up here today, King was glad to have me. Just because those two have each other doesn’t mean they don’t want us around. …I want you around, if nothing else.”

Lulu paused. Then she smiled, not the bright instructor smile or the small half-grim one, but something tired and genuine.

“I’ll try to stop back in soon, then. Look after them for me.”

Chapter Text

King muzzily pulled herself upright. Her back was killing her- actually her everything was killing her- but otherwise she felt… cozy. It took her a moment to work out that the warm fabric wrapped around her was clothing, not a blanket, but once she did, she popped her head through it. The Cove was warm, even this time of year, but something of the Spire's chill seemed to linger in King's bones. She was grateful for the extra layer.

Missy was still sleeping soundly.

The glow of the Rift made it hard to tell just at a glance, but actually looking outside, it was night. (There was a moon, but it looked… off. Was it because of the riftlight? Or because the moon’s soul was down here sleeping?) On the nearest side table was a bowl with another bowl flipped over the top of it, two glasses, and a fish-shaped water pitcher. There was also a note.

I’m just outside the door. Come get me if you need me. Lulu said to get the medic if Ms. Mitternacht woke up, and to get her to drink some water. You should also drink some water. Soup's for you too. Eat something. I mean it.

-Razzma

There was a doodle of a stern little Razzma face below that.

King checked, and sure enough there was Razzma just outside, sprawled over his chair. Another glass sat on the floor next to her. Neither of them were spring chickens anymore, but Razzma could still fall asleep anywhere, it seemed. It looked uncomfortable, and King worried Razzma’s back was going to wind up complaining the way hers was now. She shook his shoulder.

“Hzmmh?”

“Hey. Go pick a real bed to sleep in. Or at least a horizontal surface.”

“…M’good.”

"There are unused beds in this room right now, Razzma."

Razzma managed to half roll over on the chair without tumbling off of it, and fell the rest of the way back asleep. King debated trying again, or physically picking Razzma up and dropping her on a bed, but admitted to herself that she wouldn’t win this one. The two of them had had this exact argument too many times before. Instead, King rifled through her bag till she found a little bottle of aspirin, took two herself, and set the bottle and a refilled glass next to Razzma’s chair. Then she drank another glass herself, surprised on some level that her body still knew how to be thirsty. The sweetness of water on a parched throat cut through the numb haze that nothing else had touched.

King wouldn’t say she was feeling enthusiastic about eating right now, but wrath of Razzma aside, whoever worked hard to make this deserved to have their work appreciated. Also, if Missy woke up and King passed out on her, it’d be a drain of a mess for everyone. Worry still dulled her tastebuds and knotted her stomach; she couldn't focus enough to tell if the soup was any good or not. She threw the last of it back like a shot.

She could tell it was fish, though. That tracked. Before the tourism got to be more of a thing, the Cove was as much a fishing town as a holy site, if not more so. Whether fishing, crabbing, gathering oysters or digging for clams, even hunting for crawdads and mussels in the muddy red creeks nearby, there was always enough to go around; it even earned Ms. Mitternacht an unofficial extra domain as the god of the water's bounty. When Missy got something edible as an offering, it was usually fresh seafood. Missy liked seafood, but she'd enjoyed the variety when King had brought her other things, like sweets, recipes from home, and these odd little fancy sandwiches Missy described to her once.

What would Ms. Mitternacht like now, if she was awake? Maybe it'd be different as a mortal. Gods got hungry, but they didn't consume offerings the way regular people ate food. (Certainly, humans didn't often eat a whole raw fish fins and all, or oysters with the shells still on.) For them, hungry was a close cousin to lonely, and an offering was more about connection than sustenance. King wondered if regular mortal hunger might be a bit of a shock to someone who didn't remember what it felt like at all.

King knew what hunger felt like. She'd even had a recent reminder, running out of emergency travel supplies while stuck for weeks up on the Spire. Her Missy wasn't going to know that feeling if she could help it.

King caught herself almost asking a small, rote blessing of Cobigail to ward off hunger, before remembering that Cobigail wasn't in a position to grant blessings at the moment. Cobigail, Click Clack, Huzzle Mug… where were they? Were her friends in the same state as her beloved? Or worse? Would she ever see any of them again?

Who was going to suffer because she’d failed to talk Inspekta down?

When this was all over, who was she going to lose?

This train of thought was interrupted by the sound of the door opening behind her. King turned around to see an old man, large-framed even in his venerable age, dark-skinned and darker-scarred, with intelligent, soulful eyes. He was struggling to get through the doorway in an extraordinary-looking wheelchair.

King leapt up. “Bauhauzzo! When did you get here? How are you feeling?” She stopped to register what she was looking at, and laughed. "Well, that's a BuzzHuzz chair if I ever saw one."

The chair had cartoonishly large, puffy wheels, which were the source of the difficulties with the door. There were two smaller extra ones in the back, and one in the front. A set of robot arms came out of a box in the back of it, currently helping to hold the door open. The controls for the chair were set in a plastic snap case, which had clearly been hand-cut with some kind of craft knife to make the holes for several joysticks and switches, and the whole thing appeared to be cobbled together from junkyard parts and PVC pipe. It was painted in bands of sandstone hues, mostly the oranges and reds of the rock around BuzzHuzz and the Spire, but there were also bands of pink, blue, and white. In sharp contrast to its naturalistic background, a striking geometrically stylized lizard in bright primary colors sunned itself on a side panel that looked to have been repurposed from an antique motorbike.

Bauhauzzo laughed. "It is! It is a BuzzHuzz chair indeed. Creative. Innovative. Colorful. Perhaps mildly impractical, yes, but it performs its function admirably. I am very fond of it, I am. Though I am told it is incomplete. It was made to traverse the roads here, and requires adjustments to easily navigate buildings. I believe the young engineers did not expect me to bring it indoors, no. Did not anticipate my refusal to be parted from it." His bright, proud smile dimmed to something more melancholy. "It is hasty work, yes, and amateur. But it reminds me of my Huzzle Mug. My Huzzle will be proud of them, it will be. When it sees. Yes." He patted the chair fondly, and the hands clapped in apparent delight. Given both the BuzzHuzzian taste for whimsy and the tendency for things in the Grove to take on a life of their own, it was difficult to say whether that was a clever bit of programming or the chair actually being pleased with the praise.

"Now, to answer your earlier question. How am I feeling. Yes." He looked down at his hands. “I feel… so very strange. Old. Exhausted. Mortal. It was a difficult journey here.” Looking past King to the sleeping figure behind her, his eyes widened. “Is that-” he said, and caught on the sentence, as if daring to speak the name might make that figure disappear.

King nodded. “It’s her.”

Bauhauzzo rushed forward, as much as he could with such a tight fit. King moved to give him space, flicking back the bedsheet edges that threatened to entangle him as he ran up against them.

“Oh… Oh, dear Ms. Mitternacht.” Bauhauzzo held his hand to his mouth, eyes glistening. “In my long life, I have beheld the mortal faces of every god to pass that treacherous threshold. To join our family. All save one, my only elder. And now… I have seen hers as well. I wish that I had not, I do. How does she fare?”

“…We don’t really know yet.” King felt her own eyes start to water. “We found her on the beach, early this morning. Yesterday morning at this point. She ran up to me, I caught her… then she just collapsed. Hasn’t woken up since.” She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Everyone I talked to said she just needs rest. I’ve been sitting here, waiting for her to wake up. I- I ought to be out there helping-”

“No, King, you should not. You will stay here. It is good that you do not leave her. It is right.” Bauhauzzo dropped his fist against his open palm, in emphatic agreement with himself, then gripped her better shoulder. (She didn't flinch, though an unpleasant sharpness radiated from the pressure. She guessed it wasn't just her right side that was banged up, but Bauhauzzo didn't need to know that.) “King. You were absent for so long. Weeks. That entire time… you were trapped atop the Spire?”

“…I was.” She shivered, remembering the cold, the wind, and the searing glare of the Rift.

“Then you, too, are recovering. Stay with her. I entrust our Lady to your care.” He let go and leaned back. “Have the others been found?”

King shook her head. “Just you two so far.” King debated her next words. What she ought to say was something reassuring. What she wanted to say wasn’t. (Though a large man objectively, Bauhauzzo too was small, human, vulnerable compared to the slab of stone the God of Memory had been, and heavily carved with the lines of old age; King hated how that scared her, though she knew that fear was something even gods weren’t exempt from.) But looking at Bauhauzzo’s face, grim but softened with both a fear and a love he wouldn’t hide from himself, she thought maybe reassurance wasn’t what he was looking for anyway.

“I’m gonna be honest, Bau. I’m scared.”

“Yes. Of course. I am as well. How could we not be?”

They sat together for a while. Contemplative silence was usually more Razzma’s thing than hers, but… somehow it helped. Two people afraid of the same things together made the fears more real, but by the same token, those more substantial fears felt less overwhelmingly, infinitely formless.

Eventually, Bauhauzzo broke the silence by scooting himself out of the wedge of beds.

“I will join the search parties," he announced matter-of-factly. "I know places in the Grove that others do not. Yes, places they will not have looked. I will locate our missing compatriots, our fallen friends. I will find my Huzzle Mug.”

King's eyes widened. “It’s the middle of the night and you just got smuggled clear across the Grove. You sure roaming the beaches right this minute is a good idea?”

“I must go," he said implacably. "You understand why I must, you do. You would do the same, in my place.”

"Wait, please." King half-tumbled forward, reaching out to catch his shoulder before she'd finished standing. She caught the waver in her voice, and calmed it. "It's understandable to feel powerless in this situation. Of course you want to do something, anything, that might actually help. But we can't lose you, Bauhauzzo."

Bauhauzzo's happiness and sadness could be effusive, but his anger was almost never loud. It began as a stillness, hardening into an impenetrable wall with an earthquake's rumbling underneath.

"King. This is my family. Our family."

He slipped out of her reach. King felt the wall going up.

"Then let me go." King hesitated, tense, feeling as though she would choke on the words she said next. Her eyes met his through cracked rose-colored glasses. "What… what matters is that someone familiar is here when Missy wakes up. Of the two of us, I'm in better shape for roaming around, and I've been everywhere in the Grove. I'll find these places you want to check. We can make a map together. Then I'll join the next search party."

Her voice was even now, but she couldn't quite keep out the pleading undercurrent. "I know being gods together is different. You only had each other for such a long time. I'm new here, and I've never been in the position you all were in. I can't understand what that was like, not really. But until Missy wakes up, you're the eldest. When we find the others, they're going to need their rock, aren't they?" She managed a brief smile to go with her pun. "In the meantime, half of BuzzHuzz just fled the only home they know. They couldn't carry the city with them, but they could bring you. You are family. Theirs. Mine. We need you safe. I can do this, just so long as you can promise me Missy won't be alone when she wakes up."

Bauhauzzo looked away from her. Her voice caught in her throat.

"…How foolish I was, to mistake another's words for yours." He shook his head. "I am sorry, King. I cannot sit idle, no. This human body has many inconveniences. Many troubles. Too many, yes. However. It also has one great virtue. It permits me to move freely through the world. I have been bound to the heavens. Removed from the world beyond, yes. I do not regret this. Now, however, I am free to act as I have not been in millenia. I ask you to stay, not only for your own sake, but for our Lady. Your beloved. My dear friend. It is not my face she will wish to see when she wakes. You know this. No such duty binds me, no, not yet at least. And so, I will go."

“Sálvenme de estos dioses locos, both of you stay here.” Razzma called, sticking his head through the doorframe. "They have enough people out looking. The last thing we need is to lose track of either of you."

“Dioses,” King breathed. “Razzma, deja ya de merodear el pasillo, at least get in here if you’re not going to sleep. No eres un perro guardián.”

“I was sleeping,” said Razzma, “until you two started making all that racket.” She stood in the door and tossed the bottle of aspirin back to King.

“You were sleeping on a chair. Not even a comfortable chair,” King griped, catching it.

"Hey, you fell asleep in a chair too," Razzma countered, falling into a familiar rhythm.

"By accident! You did it on purpose." Despite the lingering tension with Bauhauzzo, she couldn't help smiling a little. "Just sprawled over a bar stool with delusions of grandeur out there in the hall. Looked like a scarecrow had one too many at the Soul Cricket.”

“You sure you wanna start comparing people to scarecrows?” Razzma said, actively trying not to smile back.

“I am aware that I have been blessed with an overabundance of limbs,” King drolled theatrically. “If I stand still too long in Milldread the runner beans will start trying to climb me. Tourists have mistaken me for the Spire. I accept this about myself. I’m just asking you to sleep somewhere a little more conducive to a good night's rest.”

“Yeah, well…" Razzma stuttered to a halt, remembering why she'd come in, and dropped the bit. "Look, where I choose to sleep isn't important right now. What's important is making sure neither of you get yourselves kidnapped or dead in a ditch somewhere."

"No," said Bauhauzzo, now successfully angled at the doorway. "What is important is that you move."

Razzma and Bauhauzzo stared each other down.

“You will not stop me,” said Bauhauzzo.

“I could,” countered Razzma.

“You could. But you will not. You respect your elders, yes, and your gods. You do.”

Razzma's eyes flicked to the ground, and she lowered his shoulders. He looked like she was about to give way. But what he said was, "I'm not moving."

"…Razzma?" King stood, noting the way Razzma's shoulders began to shake.

"I'm not. I'm not doing this. Again. With anyone." Still staring resolutely at the floor, she gripped the doorframe. "You were gone for a month, King. Nobody knew where you were. Nobody knew what was going on. Nobody knew if you were…" Razzma hesitated. "Hurt."

Everyone in the room knew what Razzma meant by "hurt".

"…I'm sorry, Razzma," King said softly.

"I don't want you to be sorry. I want you to be safe." Razzma took a ragged breath. "Both of you."

Bauhauzzo looked from one to the other, contemplative.

"The two of you remind me of myself and my Huzzle Mug. You do, yes. This has been so since first we met. One bright, social, expressive, exuberant. One quiet, reserved, yet often overwhelmed by emotion. And yet, ultimately, not so different from one another. Thus are we. Thus are you. Yes." He nodded to himself. "Did you know that once, there was a commandment forbidding entry into, or exit from, the city of BuzzHuzz? Though it was not yet BuzzHuzz, no."

"Yeah, that was one of the old rules the Bizzyboys brought back," Razzma huffed. "Who came up with such a stupid law, anyway?"

"I did."

Razzma blinked. "Well uh- I mean-"

"It was, indeed, a stupid law. An absurdity. Cities cannot function in this way, they cannot. It was my Huzzle Mug who opened my eyes. Its words. Its ideas. These allowed me to see how I was harming my people, yes, harming them. Of course, my intention was not to cause harm, but to safeguard against it. My influence is limited in many ways, it is." He frowned. "Was. Now, my influence is even less. Far, far less. But even a god struggles to influence that which falls outside their domain, and my domain was restricted to that which has already occurred. My city, however. My city was my own, even in the now. My people could be safe, so long as they did not leave. So long as no unpredictable outside elements interfered, yes. This was my reasoning. Foolish. I am ever a foolish creature without my Huzzle Mug, my conceptual sibling. Fear inspires such terrible asininity, when one is overcome by it."

"…And all of us are acting out of fear right now," said King, slowly. "We're all afraid of losing the people we love. We're afraid of finding out that we've already lost them. We're not sure what's happening now, and we're scared of what might happen next." She allowed herself a glance down at Missy's still, solemn face, and squeezed her beloved's hand. "It's awful. And all of us just want to keep each other safe, because right now we're all we know for sure we have left."

King wasn't the godpoke anymore. She wasn't a god either. But she still had a job to do, didn't she?

Deep breath. Focus. Be the calm, reasonable center that smooths out choppy waters in a conversation. Be the voice people need to hear, the model to follow, the compass they can orient their own thoughts and feelings by.

No, simpler than that. Be honest. Be a friend. Let them be friends to you.

It'll be okay.

"Bau, I'm afraid of something happening to you. I worry you could get separated from the group, or fall and get stuck, or hurt yourself. I worry you could wear yourself out and not be able to get back. I worry Inspekta or the Bizzyboys could find you and you wouldn't be able to get away. I don't like not knowing where three of you are. Not knowing where four of you are would be even worse."

"Us, King. Three of us." Grudgingly, Bauhauzzo added, "Or four. Either way, you will count yourself among our number now. You will do this."

King nodded with a grateful, watery smile. Then she turned to her oldest, dearest, and often most frustrating friend. "Razzma, I worry you're not looking after yourself. I'm afraid you'll burn yourself out. I'm so glad you're here, but it feels like you're so focused on being here for me that you're not leaving anything for you. It'd help me out if I knew you were alright." That, too, was an old argument.

"I'm fine, King. Let me worry about myself, okay?" Razzma replied in a tone like a door slamming shut. It was, unfortunately, the expected response. Then, more gently, "Is there anything else? You know we're here for you, vaquera."

A panicky little critter in my brain has been screaming for Missy to come back to me since the fight, King almost said. Since before the fight. It just got louder and grew sharper claws after the fall. She's right here beside me and it feels like she's still missing. I don't know what to do with that. I don't want to be alone with it.

Sharing those fears wouldn't help anyone. Not right now, at least. She shook her head.

"Well then, I think I made my position clear already," said Razzma, crossing her arms. "Three gods. Not kidnapped. Not dead in a ditch. That's my goal here. Whatever accomplishes that? I'm game."

King wasn't thrilled with that response, but Bauhauzzo considered Razzma's words.

"You share King's fears for my wellbeing. Injury. Attack. Mortal frailty in all its many forms. It would be a lie to say I do not share these concerns. Yes, it would. Perhaps I require an attendant. A bodyguard." He thumped his palm with his fist. "Someone our dear King would trust with her life, yes, and certainly could trust with mine. One who will ensure that I am not 'dead in a ditch'. Of course, if my companion was careless with their own welfare, they might find themselves unable to prevent my furrow-fallen demise. It would be wise for me to watch them as well, yes, to ensure they also do not expire in some lonely trench."

"You want me to go with you?" Razzma said, eyebrows lifting in surprise. "…and King won't run off if you're not here, because you're the only other person she's willing to leave with Miss Midnight."

"What, am I being corralled now?" King said, only half joking. "Am I a cow you think is gonna wander off from the herd?"

"Ehhh, more like a horse. A smart horse." Razzma grinned, her tone implying that "smart" was not necessarily a good thing for a horse to be.

King groaned. "Yeah, and you're a burro. You both need rest. In an actual bed, Razzma, or at least a pallet on the floor. I- I've been selfish. I should be doing something useful instead of just sitting here.”

Bauhauzzo and Razzma both looked at a crumpled, battered, miserable King, who had been firmly glued to Ms. Mitternacht's side for a full day and night and clearly would prefer to remain so, then at each other in silent negotiation.

“Okay," Razzma said at last. "Is there a clock in here?"

King pointed to the side table, where there was in fact a bright green alarm clock. Razzma squinted at it. "Right. It's 2:45. There's a schedule for the search parties, and the next one's supposed to check in at 7. We can get packed, grab some breakfast, fill Lu- Colonel Extraño in on these places you want to check, and wait up for them. If they've found the other gods already, great, we don't need to do anything. If they haven't, we go out with the next group. Then we both come back and try to rest up in a way that won’t give King heart palpitations.”

“Let it be so.”

King groaned again, theatrically, the hands over her face pushing her sunglasses up till they became a headband. "Alright. Fine. I was hoping you'd come to your senses when you saw the time, but I know when I'm beat. I just have one request.

Razzma, I know exactly how long it takes you to pack up and eat, and it's not four hours. Bauhauzzo, again, you've been travelling all night, and last time I saw you before now you were too tired to get from one end of a sentence to the other. If Lulu's also not asleep at this ungodly hour I think I'm just gonna start screaming and throwing pillows at people till they put me away. Can you please. For the love of little birds. At least take a nap."

…

For the next three hours, everyone was in bed. King included.

It was a small win, but a win nonetheless. She just hoped the quiet, even breathing she heard meant that Razzma and Bauhauzzo were having better luck sleeping than she was. Inevitably, King found herself rolled on her side, staring at the bed across from her.

…Missy would be scared too, when she woke up. For all her reputation as the sensitive, weeping god of the Cove, Ms. Mitternacht took her responsibilities as the eldest deity seriously, and no wilting wallflower could have pieced the whole world together from the bloody fragments of the last one’s remains; she would rise to the occasion, King was sure, and the rest of them would be grateful for her support. Even so, she’d wake to this nightmare and have the same vicious snake gnawing at her belly as all the rest of them, those unanswered questions, that uncertain future. That was half the reason King couldn’t leave her to wake up alone, or among strangers, however friendly. Maybe it was for the best that she was sleeping through at least some of this. Maybe things would be better by the time she woke.

Please let them find something, King thought, in the cadence of a prayer, though there were precious few options left to pray to. Please let everyone come back with the next search party. Let my missing friends be safe. Let the ones who are found stay found. Let my gods go home together, and me with them if they’ll still have me. Before it’s too late.

Let us not lose anyone.

Please.

Chapter Text

King never did get back to sleep that night. She sat up, watching and listening to the peculiar rustling of people preparing to leave before the sun was up.

"You sure about this?" she asked once, the sound of her voice a profane interruption of a quiet somehow deeper than true silence.

They were sure.

King wondered what the right words to make them stay would have been. Maybe she'd just lost the knack of talking people down from bad ideas. It'd explain what happened at the Spire.

When goodbyes were said and the door clicked shut, King picked herself up and settled next to Ms. Mitternacht again. "Morning, Missy. Looks like it's gonna be just the two of us today." She looked out the window, where it would have still been dark if not for the blinding cracks crazing the sky. "Getting an early start. Too early for you, I think, though I don't know how anyone sleeps through a sky like that. …It's a shame I can't show you a proper sunrise while you're down here. You haven't seen one in person in a long time, have you?"

King shifted in her seat, settling into a casual sprawl across her chair that left her facing Ms. Mitternacht more, the window less. "Hey I was wondering earlier, what do you want to eat when you're up? Don't think we'd be able to pull off a full tea service, so I hope you don't have your heart set on that. We're in the Cove though, so you should have plenty of options for seafood. Or uh, maybe something sweet? You know, to celebrate the world not ending yet."

She leaned forward, elbows on knees. "You liked the tajadas that one time, right? Can't imagine why. The plantains took forever to get through Earthside customs, and they were just barely still food by the time they got here. And then I happened to them. I'm not sure I ever told you, you know who talked me into bringing them to you anyway? Jacqueline. As I recall she threatened to snap me like a twig if I chickened out. The lady can be surprisingly supportive when she wants." King frowned. "Not that tajadas are an option at the moment. If customs was bad before, can't imagine what they'd be like right now. Though I heard someone in HobbyHoo's figured out how to grow plantains there? Thought it'd be too cold. Maybe they put stage lights on it. Swear you could fry an egg under a HobbyHoo stage light. Anyway, from what Patience was telling me before, sounds like you might have a bit of a delicate stomach at first. Maybe we'll stick to broths and teas."

The morning passed hour by hour. Porgie came in with fresh sheets and blankets, awkwardly avoiding conversation despite King's best efforts even as she helped him with the beds. He muttered an apology as he left.

King watched him go, then leaned towards Ms. Mitternacht conspiratorially. "So when do you think he's gonna figure out that I don't remember a word he said yesterday?" she whispered. "Think he'll be relieved, or mad he made that little of an impression?"

Outside the window, the Cove grew foggy past the point of distinct shapes, the riftlight an eerie soft-edged glow spiderwebbing through a gray-white plane of wet void. The air held the uncanny, open heaviness of a sudden drop in pressure.

"It's strange weather out now," King said. "Makes me wonder if, despite everything, the Cove is still reflecting you. You think it could? Or maybe it's worried about you, like the rest of us are. I've been feeling pretty foggy myself. Of course, we might just have a storm moving in on top of everything else. That's all we need, isn't it?" She sighed. "Might keep the bizzyboys out of our hair though. Did you see this coming? Because I sure didn't. Not this bad. Not from Hector. We both had our concerns, knew that business with the names and all wasn't right, but… no, if you thought something like this could happen, you would have said. But I should have seen it. Should have nipped it before it got this bad."

Ms. Mitternacht still didn't stir. A one-sided conversation felt strange. King was always talking, but she was also always listening in turn. She talked to herself on the road sometimes when Razzma wasn't there, but that was different, intentionally solitary; this was a dance meant for two, but only one was tracing the steps. How long could a person sleep before it became dangerous? Shouldn't they be trying to get some food and water into her?

"Ruptura llévame, what am I supposed to do here?" King muttered to herself. "Don't suppose you have any thoughts?" Though of course there wasn't an answer, King waited a polite moment before continuing. "There's no gift you could give me more precious than your heart, mi linda luna lluviosa, but right now I sure would appreciate it if you could loan me your mind for a bit. Folks keep saying I have all the good ideas, but you know I got my best ones talking things out with you. And that's hardly surprising, now is it? Of course the oldest god in the Grove has wisdom I don't. Perspectives I don't, too. Especially when it comes to things that take a little patience." She sighed again.

"Hey, you talking about me in here?" came a cheery voice from the door. "All good things, I hope!"

Patience walked through the door, pushing a purloined shopping cart of various tubes sealed in plastic, little off-white or beige electronic devices, and sealed cardboard boxes, which King supposed must be medical supplies.

"Must be, because I can't think of any bad things!" King laughed. She cocked her head, not concerned exactly, but… "So I notice you still are Patience at the moment."

Patience, who had swapped to pink scrubs when they became available but was still in full makeup and a remarkably well-secured wig, offered King a strained smile. "Honestly? Don't spread this around, but I think if I stop now the reality of the whole situation's gonna catch up with me and I'm gonna snap like the heel on Puss Y. Boots' DIY cowgirl stilettos at last year's Sunset Strip Drag-A-Thon. But don't worry! This is nothing Patience Zero can't handle!"

"Alright. I trust you. I mean, how can I not have confidence in a lady with such perfect winged eyeliner?"

"Hands of a surgeon, ma'am~"

Despite the reassurances, King knew something was really wrong when Patience didn't try to casually chat while working. Instead the Resistance's only doctor at the moment stayed almost painfully on topic. She explained the difference between ordinary sleep, a coma, and a vegetative state. She went over the usual causes, the purpose of various tubes and monitors she was going to set up, the moving and stretching that would prevent bed sores and muscle contractions, and an overwhelming amount of other information. King listened carefully to an optimistic list of things that, between the examinations, King's own recollection of finding Ms. Mitternacht, and the medical supplies Patchie'd just recently been able to smuggle in, were almost certainly not the problem; these included blood sugar, certain toxins, several kinds of horrifying infections, and at least a few types of head trauma. In practical terms though, it just meant they still didn't actually know what was happening.

"…I see," said King. "That's a lot to take in."

"Don't I know it," said Patience. "You need a minute?"

"No, I'll be fine. Can I help?"

"Normally I'd say no, but I am a little short-handed right now. Can you lift her head for me?"

King handled the body of her beloved with a gentle reverence, cradling Missy's head carefully against her chest.

"Oh wow, her pulse just jumped."

"Is that bad?" Hearts doing weird things was usually bad, right? "Is there something wrong?"

"Well, the good news is, she probably noticed us moving her, and that means she can notice us moving her."

Oh. That… that was great, actually.

"The bad news is, we might have spooked her. No telling what she thinks is happening right now. Mind, she might be fine too. I know if I had a gorgeous god-dyke girlfriend and she was holding me like that, my heart'd be pounding too." Patience grinned playfully, then noticed King's expression. It wasn't angry, or even disapproving, just… a face that made you reconsider whatever you just said.

"Aw Clack, that was out of line, wasn't it?" said Patience. "Was that sacrilege? I think that was sacrilege."

"It wasn't sacrilege," King reassured her. Honestly, under better circumstances it would have been a breakthrough. The less precious mortals of the Grove were about godhood, the more likely they'd talk to the gods like the people they were, which was something god and human alike desperately needed. And Missy would probably think it was funny, if a mite embarrassing. But if she couldn't understand what was going on, and she was scared…

Was there anything King could do about it?

"Don't worry, moonbeam," she whispered. "Patience is here to help. We both are. You trust me, right?"

King couldn't detect any sign of a reaction on Ms. Mitternacht's face, but the pulse meter showed a slowing heartbeat again. Maybe she'd just calmed down on her own.

But… maybe she could hear.

"Okay. Let's do this. I won't let anything happen to you."

King mostly helped with the lifting, realizing too late that her bones felt like they were made of thumbtacks and plywood and about as securely attached. Her focus shifted to not shaking, and not showing visible distress at the necessary indignities of medical care. (For all King had dedicated decades of her life to convincing the Grove's citizens that the gods were still just people, she still felt, on a gut level, that Ms. Mitternacht ought to be above these things.)

"I'm sorry, Missy, but it's important," she murmured.

Patience peered at Ms. Mitternacht's eyes with a flashlight, then let a few drops of water fall from a syringe to her face. "Hey, we have eye movement this time!" Patience cheered.

"That good?"

"It's a lot better than not having it. Last time, uh… well, that handsome lady with the kicky boots and the bandolier said there was no sense in worrying you till we could do something about it, but. It didn't look great."

Patience must have seen something in King's face, because for a moment she looked more worried about King than Mitternacht.

"This is a good sign though!" Patience insisted just a little too cheerily. "We're not out of the woods, but we're headed in the right direction. The direction of functioning brainstems."

"So now what?"

"We wait and see. That's all we can do."

King nodded wearily. "I'm getting to be well versed in that." She pulled the blanket back over Ms. Mitternacht. "Well that was about as much fun as getting a tooth pulled," she joked as she tucked Ms. Mitternacht back in, smoothing the worn-soft starry blankets over her. "What do you think, Missy? Better or worse than the lost chair date?"

Patience perked up. "Oh I meant to tell you before, you should keep doing that. You were talking to her when I came in too, right? Makes sense, being the Eloquent… well. Yeah. Anyway. Familiar, friendly voices can help people feel safe. She might even be able to hear what you're saying!" Patience smiled brightly, then pulled a chair over and plopped herself down.

"You know what, storytime: back when I was doing my residency they used to stick me with the coma patients sometimes, especially if they weren't getting a lot of visitors, because well you know me I can talk the ears off an elephant, not literally of course though I feel like you have to specify these things especially in the Grove, I mean I bet there's someone out there who could literally talk the ears off an elephant and all I can say is I hope they're using their powers for good though I'm not sure how you'd use elephant ear removal for good, maybe as a novel method of emergency amputation? But anyway some of those folks woke up and told me they had some crazy dreams about my stories- well not dreams exactly it's a little different from real REM sleep but you get what I mean- and unfortunately I can't share the best one I heard because it'd be a HIPAA violation but here's one I have permission to share-"

Comforted by the sound of Patience acting like herself again, and a story in which someone who'd been out much longer than Missy went on to make a full recovery, King found it a little easier to cope with the rest of the visit. At least King finally had some useful tasks, once their medic was convinced she could handle a few things that would normally be left to nursing assistants they didn't have.

When Patience left, King felt a strong, unexpected urge to punch a wall. She didn't, of course. That wasn't really how she worked, as a person.

But she did sit with the feeling for a while.

"Hey, you're gonna be okay. Alright? Worst comes to worst, I'll carry you through the Rift myself and you can sort yourself out on the other side. Can't be harder than your first time. In the meantime, if talking can help? That's something I can do."

She described the room, the eclectic collection of chairs by the window, the bunk beds with their moon phase carvings and star-patterned blankets, the mural on the wall.

"Not a bad likeness, but you look so sad."

She wondered aloud about how Razzma and Bauhauzzo were doing.

"At least we know they're both too stubborn to die on us."

She told stories: personal anecdotes, campfire tales, ancient myths, urban legends, history, the plots of novels and movies and TV shows. She did radio-play style retellings of a whole season of Ultra Red, using the furniture and whatever she could find lying around the room for sound effects.

Bam! Crash! Tink!
"Sono hidiona Kaiju mo ULTRA-RED no chikara wa hitoshii! Ikidzumarioda!!!!"
"Hotondo TIME UP da! Mite! Akai denkyuu ga meimeitsushiteiru!"

She mused on stationery, and their respective preferences. (Missy mostly carved her writings onto slips of bone or clay, but liked subdued and formal-looking journals, and had opinions about paper weight. She also had a fondness for cheap, cute novelty pens and pencil toppers. King would write miniature novels on the backs of old package slips with the stubby pencils and ballpoint pens that seemed to manifest, miraculously endless, in her bags.)

"Suppose all that matters in the end is what works. That's gonna be different for different people. Your drafts are a lot less likely to get mistaken for garbage though."

She talked about old memories, about meeting, about listening to poetry and music, about reveling in wordplay and just plain awful punning, about fumbling and fears and how awkward they both had been. She talked about the time she'd fallen off the organ Missy played sometimes, and Missy had caught her so gently and held her like she was something precious and fragile: that oh no moment as she realized she'd fallen head over heels for the literal creator of the world.

"I was confident, especially as a young buck, but I wasn't that full of myself."

She talked about the bureaucratic and often absurd trials and tribulations of the time she pushed for infrastructure updates to the Cove, getting storm drains added and ditches dug, and how it'd been beyond worth it just to see the way Missy'd opened up like a desert flower after rain when the goddess realized she was allowed to shed a few tears without it becoming a newsworthy disaster. She talked about the time she'd been new at the job and hopelessly lost up among the cliffs around BuzzHuzz, trying to deliver a letter to a rock because if someone wanted to write a rock a letter she was drained well gonna deliver it, and how despite the heavy clouds she noticed the moon always peeked out enough to light the path just ahead so she wouldn't fall and break her neck. She talked about the first poem Missy ever wrote her, how she kept it in a special little inside pocket she'd sewn, badly, into her jacket, how she'd taken it out to read again so many times the paper was starting to fall apart.

"You can't see all the words anymore, but I have them memorized now anyway."

She told jokes, mostly bad ones. She sang songs, competently, and talked about the lessons she'd gotten from Cobigail so her voice wouldn't embarrass her.

"Yo sé que piensas que todo es mentira, puras promesas, solo falsedad
Borra en tu mente esa tontería, y verás que todito es verdad~"

King talked about anything and everything nearly nonstop till evening, which brought some good news for once. Not only did Razzma and Bauhauzzo come back safe and sound, they brought Cobigail and Click Clack with them. Click Clack was moving under his own power, if a little unsteadily. Cobigail, dripping wet, was slung over a long-suffering Razzma's shoulder. King rushed them with a cry that turned to a wild laugh, hugging Click Clack first- a chest-crushing scoop that lifted him off the ground- then Cobigail and Razzma at the same time, accidentally cracking Cobigail's back in the process. Bauhauzzo, behind the rest of the group, had enough warning to return the embrace.

"You're alright." King looked to each of them, friends recovered and friends returned. "You're all here, and you're alright."

"Oof! Just dandy, aside from that bear hug of yours turning me into cracked corn!" Cobigail laughed, then winced as Razzma handed her off and King sat her down on one of the beds. "Though honestly, if anything it mighta helped. Are bones supposed to feel like this? I don't think I remember em being this bad."

"I seem to recall them being exactly this bad," Click Clack said, a little too dull to be a proper grumble, as he rolled himself out onto another empty bed. "Nevertheless, our heroes have reached the promised safe haven after a harrowing journey."

"We got stuck in a sea cave runnin' from the law!" Cobigail crowed.

"Yes, you did. Please, do not do this again." Bauhauzzo snugged himself into the small space next to the door and promptly began to nod off.

"Is that why you're soaking wet?" King asked, now soaked down the front and side herself, throwing a blanket over Cobigail's shoulders in lieu of a towel. "I was worried you'd only just now fished yourself out of the ocean somehow."

"Hah! Nah, Clicks found me yesterday. But we both got, uh… distracted. Didn't notice we had company till they was right on top of us. You shoulda seen it! Clicks wound up carryin' me bridal style 'cept I'm about six times as long as he is, so I'm hangin' on like a big ol spider and- Oh, you headed out, Razzberry?"

Razzma, who had already been halfway out the door, did not grimace at the nickname "Razzberry", which he considered a heroic effort on her own part. "Yeah… gotta… make sure Extraño knows you all got here in one piece. Debrief, you know. …Bye."

"Well come back soon and help me tell the story!" Cobigail cheered after him. She grinned at King. "That Razzma's a peach. Bit shy though."

"She doesn't like being called Razzberry, Cobigail," said King.

"Eh? Naw, I asked and he said it was fine! Said she was sure, even!"

"Razzma has a tendency to say things are fine when they aren't, especially when it's a god asking," King sighed. "You remember that talk we had about the Paint Water Incident?"

"Er… refresh my memory?"

"Ah. I recall this event, I do," said Bauhauzzo, surprising everyone by still being awake after all.

As Bauhauzzo took over the recounting of the Paint Water Incident, King sat by Ms. Mitternacht again, leaning in towards her. "Click Clack and Cobigail are here now," she said. "They're safe. That's almost everyone accounted for. We're still waiting on Huzzle Mug, but it'll show up soon, I'm sure. Can't imagine we'll miss whatever fireworks it sets off when it does. In the meantime, the rest of us… we're all waiting for you. So… so please, don't keep us waiting too long, alright? I don't mean to rush you, but-"

Her voice hitched, and she could feel a wet, itchy heat behind her eyes. Drain it, now was not the time. She wasn't alone in the room anymore. The others were going to need her, and they weren't going to be comfortable leaning on her if she looked about to crack herself. Bauhauzzo would be devastated that Huzzle Mug still hadn't been found yet. He might need to talk through his fears, get some reassurance without the insult of platitudes. Cobigail always thought the sky would fall if there were five minutes where she wasn't the "Milldread tough" trickster whose carefree laughter carried into every dark corner and grim moment. King didn't think Cobigail's rowdy cheer was false, but even so, she was probably hurting more than she let on. Click Clack… oh, Click Clack. Every one of them loved Thespius of course, but nobody knew and loved him like Click Clack did, for all the two talked at cross purposes about it for centuries. Even after all King's years of God-wrangling, it was always a roll of the dice whether he'd let her in or deflect and deny every inconvenient emotion he had even to himself, which made it all the more important to be available when he was ready to talk.

King heard an indignant spluttering and looked back up to see Cobigail had swung herself over to Click Clack's bed, where she was now deliberately dripping on him.

"Oh, to survive such trials and torments, only for the poor, venerably aged editor to face such cruel betrayal at the hands of their most trusted companion! Would there be no rest for our fallen god? No kind, soft, dry sanctuary to be had?"

"Aw c'mon Clicks, you looked so droopy! Can ya blame me for thinkin' you needed a watering?"

King snorted at the dramatic playfighting. Bauhauzzo also chuckled gently.

"Ah! The fallen god's betrayal is compounded with mockery on all sides! Truly Fate has abandoned- wait a moment, someone's at the door." Click Clack used Cobigail's arm to drag himself upright, blinking at the newcomers in the doorway. "Is that… Patience Zero? From the Soul Cricket?"

Patience lit up. "That's me, Mr. Clack sir! That is you, isn't it? I used to watch your movies as a kid so I probably know the face you have right now better than your regular one except I wasn't expecting you to actually have gray fur you know I always thought that was just because they were black and white films well not always because when I was a real tiny tyke I thought the whole world used to really be black and white and color was some sort of more modern invention like maybe Thespius invented it because that seemed like something he'd do so I guess little me would have expected exactly this but anyway yes I'm Patience Zero from the Soul Cricket! You know I’ve never done this kind of work as Patience before and it’s been an interesting experience, maybe some time I’ll try it the other way around doing bartending in scrubs though mind real scrubs don’t really have that ‘sexy doctor’ chic- or I guess the more common ‘sexy medical professional’ is ‘sexy nurse’ and I can get behind the aesthetic but I do have a doctorate even if I don’t really use it anymore except I'm using it now I guess but this is honestly a less stressful environment than the ER even with the world ending and everything the ER really burned me out and I just don’t think I could go back to that kind of life but I still have a certain professional pride even if I do have the utmost respect for nurses sexy or otherwise so I’d have to be a sexy doctor- point is scrubs are not flattering they’re basically just pajamas you’re expected to get bodily fluids on I mean as you can see because I do finally have scrubs now even if I'm still in Patience Mode otherwise but you know I bet I could make it work with some creative accessorizing- " She froze, then winced. "Oh Clack. I mean- not like your name, except I guess it is, uh- sorry sir, I usually give a little more warning than that before driving everyone straight to Gabsville! Well, not straight, I'm more of a 'gaily forward' kinda gal, but- you know what why don't I just get your blood pressure.”

"Why, no need to apologize, dear doctor!" Click Clack insisted jovially, rolling up his sleeve. "It's a delight to see someone from the Strip. But my goodness, people still watch those old things?"

The elderly fisherfolk accompanying Patience nodded to Cobigail. "Name's Bibo, ma'am," they said. "It's an honor. I'd tip my hat, but my hands are a bit full at the moment." They raised the large cardboard box they were carrying a bit higher to demonstrate, their nose just peeking over the top. "Believe we're here to make sure you don't drop dead."

Bauhauzzo seemed to be no worse for wear, though exhausted and muted. Patience and Bibo checked him over, steered him to bed, and begged him to stay there; this time, he didn't argue. Click Clack complained of aching everything, and their jovial public-facing mask kept slipping into tense, distracted distance, but he was probably in the best physical shape of all the fallen gods thus far. They tolerated the poking and prodding with good humor before lying out flat on their stomach in his still salt-stiffened jacket, sweater and slacks, looking like a stretched pelt in business casual. Meanwhile, Cobigail's trouble walking seemed to be a matter of her having forgotten how legs worked, not any kind of injury or illness. A pair of crutches had her skittering gleefully around the room, putting some weight on her legs but doing all the steering with her arms. If she had some trouble with the current year, or recent events… well, that wasn't new. And she could certainly still follow a conversation. She listened with genuine interest and frequent questions all through Patience's stories while also gleefully yes-and-ing Bibo's tall tales, tangents sprouting wildly from all three of them in a three-way verbal dodgeball game.

"Wait, hotdog fraud?"

"Heh, reminds me of the time I-"

"-and then the blowdryer started oozing-"

"-must've been three times as long as the whole boat!"

Eventually the checkup and chatter were done, and after some tense debate over whether anyone was likely to injure themselves by bathing unsupervised, Cobigail and Click Clack were released to the showers. King realized to her chagrin that the closest she'd come to a bath since heading to the Spire was splashing some water on her face when she had to use the bathroom.

"I should wash up," she said. "Maybe that's the trouble, huh? You got a whiff of me and it knocked you clean out." She shifted uneasily in her seat. “I should be doing a lot of things, but… I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone here, even for a minute. I don’t want you to wake up alone. Especially not to… this. All of this. Of course Lulu’s got a rare talent for organizing, so we’re about as good as we can be in this situation. …She’s worried about you too. Worried enough to not tell me outright how bad things were, apparently, and I do plan to have a talk with her about that."

The set of her shoulders softened. "But maybe that’s my fault. I haven’t been quite myself. Everyone knows I’ve been, uh… worried. I guess I can’t blame her for not wanting to give me more to worry about."

King leaned over, tracing a line over Ms. Mitternacht's forehead with a finger. "You’re going to want to clean up too. I know how much you hate not being put together. I still need to ask about your dress. Need things for your hair… I don’t even know which things. Oils? One of those bonnets for sleeping in? You know me, my haircare routine is a pocket comb and not much else. Don’t even use the pomade anymore, even on special occasions. I know, you hated the pomade. I promise not to grease your poor beak ever again. Though I suppose that’s not an issue at the moment.” The finger lifted, ran down her cheek. “…Would you like it if I preened you for a change? I could work it out. You just tell me what you want.”

King found herself staring at the feeding tube Patience had threaded through Ms. Mitternacht’s nose earlier that day, a reminder that she wasn’t simply asleep. It also looked uncomfortable.

“I’ll get you fixed up. We’ll get you fixed up. Whatever you need, we’ll figure it out. You are so loved, Missy, by so many. You’ve been taking care of the whole world for so long. It’s about time we all took care of you.”

Click Clack came back from the showers first, fluffed up and smelling strongly of "unscented" shampoo and laundry detergent, wearing a far too large black and white flannel shirt like a nightgown. His eyes were a bloodshot pink, and all the cartoonishly jovial energy of his public face had washed away with the sand and salt. They nodded at King silently and crawled into the bed they'd claimed earlier. Cobigail came back some time later, still damp and tapping herself along on her crutches. She had grabbed herself an actual nightgown, powder blue and light but shapeless as a plastic bag, and about three inches too short for her in every dimension. She gave King a sharp smile despite the exhaustion etched into every inch of her, though it faltered as her eyes drifted to Ms. Mitternacht. Then she tossed herself into the bed opposite Click Clack.

Razzma didn't come back, might not for the rest of the night with things getting crowded in here. Everyone else was dead asleep. King supposed she ought to try getting some more sleep herself, but she felt restless.

The room was bright with riftlight, even in the dead of night.

Ms. Mitternacht’s wooden birdskull mask still sat on the table.

King lifted the mask with cautious reverence. For wood it was very light, and carved and painted so skillfully that it really did look like part of a large bird skull until you examined it closely. It looked like it was meant to attach to the silver-blue moon-shaped comb lying beside it, but the links had snapped and the hair ornament had only been saved from the sea because it had caught on the shroud wrapped around Ms. Mitternacht when she was found. The mask had two black silk ribbons to thread through the moon and help tie everything in place, and four- a set on either side in dark silver-star-spotted blue, another set in a lighter dusk blue- that were decorative, hanging down off of it. All of them were sadly looking worse for wear after their soaking the day before. The moon ornament was also wood, painted blue-silver. It reminded King of the way the moon looked in The Midnight.

"I hope it's okay for me to be handling your mask," she said. "I'm being careful with it, I promise." She ran a thumb over the smooth surface, noting the texture and semigloss sheen of a laquer. "…Pretty thing. Not as pretty as your real face of course, either of them. But still, a work of art. Though, it's not what I would have expected, honestly, if I'd had to guess how you dressed as a mortal. I wonder, did folks in the world before this one usually run around in masks, or was this a special occasion kinda thing? Maybe it was just for funerals. That'd make sense, it being a skull and all." King tilted it in the light. There were scuff marks, and wear on the ribbons. "But no, I think you got more use out of it than that. You know, it looks handmade. Did you make it, Missy? I've seen you carve poems, but never something like this. Or did someone make it for you?"

Missy said she didn’t remember anything from her life before, at least not from the part she was actually alive for. She only knew she’d died, been pulled into the Rift, and woken up something new, and in that moment of rebirth she had known in her bones that everything she loved was gone.

"Someone made this. Even if it was you, someone had to put it on you. And someone did your hair, and laid you out in that lace-edged dress you were wearing when we found each other. Gotta find out where that dress wound up. You'll want it back, I'm sure. I'm sorry, I was uh. Distracted. Lulu'll know, though." She flashed a quick, reassuring smile at a person who couldn't see it, then went back to studying the mask. "The shroud, too. There were flower petals still stuck to it, in the folds. Embroidery on the edges. Acts of love. Respect. Grief. All from people who lived before my world was made. For you, moonglow. They must have cared so much about you. It must have hurt to lose you."

This wasn’t the first time King had wondered about Missy’s people, back before she became the creator of King’s whole world. Ever since King learned that Ms. Mitternacht had started out as human as any other god of the Grove, she’d speculated on it now and then. Of course Missy must have had family, friends, something; King couldn’t imagine a world where such an incredible, kind, loving person went unloved herself. But King had never held this mask in her hands before. It felt so much more real. In another world, in another life, who else would be sitting in this room waiting and hoping?

"I wish I could have met them."

There was a large crack down the middle of the mask.

"Now what did that?" King mused, running a finger down the crack. "Did that happen when you fell?" She peered more closely at it, rubbing at something flaky and clear. "Is that… glue? Someone glued it back together? That sure didn't happen after the fall, unless it was while I was asleep. They have superglue before the beginning of the world?"

The crack was mostly clean down the center, but threw small spiderwebbing zigzags out from a spot on the forehead.

"Did something hit it?"

Did something hit you?

King thought of Patience, explaining the different things that could cause a coma. She thought of the headless body revered as a sacred relic in the Cove. She thought of funerals.

She set the mask back down and took Ms. Mitternacht's hand again. Warm skin. Steady pulse.

She took a few deep breaths. Cálmate. It's fine.

…She really should try to sleep.

With all the ground floor beds taken, King swung herself up to the bunk above Ms. Mitternacht's, wincing in spite of herself. Being up top made King feel like a sentry, settled for the night in her tower while her charges slept below.

She peered down and over the edge, despite the awkward angle. A chest rising and falling. A heart beating within it.

"…Buenas noches, mi luna. Te veo mañana."

Chapter Text

It was near midnight, and the sky was crystal clear over the monastery. A sickle moon hung in the sky. A lone figure, silhouetted against a spray of glittering stars, sat fidgeting on the low wall.

She wasn't supposed to be there.

She was young for a nun these days, which was to say she was in grandmotherly territory by any other standard. This sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen to a lady of her age, nevermind her vocation. She hadn't had a choice in this path, or this place, but it had been home for as long as she could remember. She had duties to maintain, oaths to keep… admittedly not much in the way of friends to lose, but… was this really a good idea?

Then the nun heard hoofbeats, closer and more suddenly than she'd expected, and… there she was. An inviting smile in the dark. An outstretched hand.

"You sure about this?"

And just like that, she was.

She slipped from the wall to the horse's back, and they rode.

…

Ms. Mitternacht bobbed to the surface, gasping as she pulled herself up onto a slab of cold, wet black marble. The moon shone below her, in the depths of inky saltwater alive with tiny, lazily swimming dots of light. Around her was a grand circular room, its granite pillars and alcoves hewn from the living rock- and she had the strangest sense that phrase applied in more ways than one. The mouths of tunnels led off into the dark at regular intervals around the smooth circular wall. In the center, where she was now, was the shallowly flooded island of black marble she'd climbed onto, and in the center of that was a miniature mausoleum of some blue-white, translucent stone she didn't recognize, faintly glowing itself. She looked up to a domed ceiling and saw herself, carved and painted, heart framed in the split halves of her face, weeping in the midst of a scarlet storm. She looked down at her reflection in the marble slab and saw a stranger.

"You always were a sucker for those trashy romances," said a voice behind her. "Nobody would have guessed it, reading what you wrote yourself, but you loved them. Even though it was illegal to give them happy endings. You always knew it was coming, but you cried over each one anyway."

She whipped around and saw… someone. They were standing right there, unobscured, leaning against the softly shining tomb, but… somehow, she couldn't make them out. It was like trying to read a word written with an unfamiliar alphabet, sharp and clear but still illegible.

And yet…

"I… know you, don't I?"

The someone laughed, not unkindly. "You did. A long time ago, now."

"How did you get here, hon?" She just barely stumbled on the endearment, struck by the feeling that something more specific belonged there.

"The crypts." The someone ducked their head back at one of the tunnel arches. "Wandered in and happened to spot you. The others might be along later. So was that your new girl, or just a dashing fantasy?"

"She's…" Ms. Mitternacht hesitated. "She's my…"

A panic roiled its way up her spine. "I know her name. I- I'd sooner forget my own, I'm certain, so… why…"

"It's okay," said the someone, crouching by her. "You do remember. The memory's just somewhere else. This is a home for forgotten things."

Ms. Mitternacht glanced nervously around herself. "Not that you aren't lovely company, but I'd rather not stay too long. Do you know how to leave?"

"I think you have to swim up."

Ms. Mitternacht stood and looked around the whole room, then peered into the water. As far as she could tell, there was only swimming down.

She leapt into the black and hoped she'd find the way up from there.

…

"Morning, Missy. Looks like it's gonna be just the two of us today."

Ancient floorboards creaked under industriously eager steps. Missy yawned, stretched, and looked out the apartment window. It was just barely dawn outside.

"My dearest darling morning lark, why are you up when it's still dark?"

"Getting an early start. Too early for you, I think, though I don't know how anyone sleeps through a sky like that." Her beloved, already dressed, gestured grandly at the window, where the sky was acquiring some contrast against the jumbled silhouette of old buildings huddling together. There was a hint of pink. It was very pretty. It was not pretty enough to justify this.

"Very easily, I assure you." Her arms wrapped snugly around the lanky torso leaning over the bed and dragged her startled lover back under the sheets, like a kraken dragging ships below the waves. "Lie still a moment, my sweet sun-summoning rooster. I'll teach you."

Her beloved laughed and let herself be swallowed by the embrace. "It's a shame I can't show you a proper sunrise while you're down here," her captive lover lamented. "You haven't seen one in person in a long time, have you?"

"What do I care for dawn's pale charms? My honeyed sun lies in my arms." She nuzzled a back that was honestly a little too thin for comfort under its buckskin jacket, worrying for the thousandth time about too-long workdays and skipped meals. Her "honeyed sun" rolled around to face her, and oh, those cheekbones looked sharper too, but those lips were just as soft where they pressed the back of her hand, comically courtly, utterly sincere.

"Hey I was wondering earlier, what do you want to eat when you're up? Don't think we'd be able to pull off a full tea service, so I hope you don't have your heart set on that."

She giggled. Grown and graying, she giggled. Like a schoolgirl. "I'll carry on somehow."

Her beloved smiled in return, and that was a sunrise worth waking up for. "We're in the Cove though, so you should have plenty of options for seafood. Or uh, maybe something sweet? You know, to celebrate the world not ending yet."

"Oh, don't remind me. Those election results-" She paused. Which election? What were the results? She was always on top of these things. It was bizarre that she couldn't recall… "Well. Something sweet with my sweet sounds heavenly. Did you have anything in particular in mind?"

"You liked the tajadas that one time, right? Can't imagine why. The plantains took forever to get through Earthside customs, and they were just barely still food by the time they got here. And then I happened to them. I'm not sure I ever told you, you know who talked me into bringing them to you anyway? Jacqueline. As I recall she threatened to snap me like a twig if I chickened out. The lady can be surprisingly supportive when she wants."

"…Sweetness, I wouldn't call that supportive. They were good, though."

Her beloved shrugged and turned to face the ceiling. "Not that tajadas are an option at the moment. If customs was bad before, can't imagine what they'd be like right now. Though I heard someone in HobbyHoo's figured out how to grow plantains there? Thought it'd be too cold."

"I would too. Do you think they made a greenhouse?"

"Maybe they put stage lights on it. Swear you could fry an egg under a HobbyHoo stage light."

"True."

"Anyway, from what Patience was telling me before, sounds like you might have a bit of a delicate stomach at first. Maybe we'll stick to broths and teas."

"A delicate stomach? I feel…" She paused, taking stock of herself. "Actually, I do feel a mite under the weather. All the more reason to stay in bed…" She nestled in her darling's arms.

In that old city block and beyond it, she knew horror and bone-crushing weariness haunted the streets. They did so everywhere, after all. There were also things that needed doing, and now, the looming additional hurdle of whatever bug she was on the verge of succumbing to. But for a little while, in this snug, warm bed, there were no battles to be fought or trials to be endured. There was only the heavy sinking warmth of blankets and bodies, of safety, of love.

…

"So what's a HobbyHoo?" a new someone asked as they helped her up onto the black marble again. "Hup. There you go. Is it some kind of theme park? Sounds like a theme park."

"My money's on an artist collective," said the original someone.

“I’m… I’m not certain,” said Ms. Mitternacht. “I knew it a moment ago. A… town, I think? Or… was it a theater? Oh dear…” She braced herself against the mausoleum. “...I have friends who live there. Two sweet young men. Or close enough. Oh, I do hope they're alright,” she said, tears pricking at her eyes.

"There a reason they wouldn't be?" Said the new someone. She got the sense that they were younger; an adult, but from a later generation than her, where the first was her own age. (Which was absurd. No one was her age.)

"There is. I can't- I can't quite remember, but I'm sure there is. Something awful happened." She held herself and shuddered. "Like the end of days."

"Maybe it was," said the first someone. "It's happened before."

Ms. Mitternacht curled further in on herself, expecting the usual uncontrollable waterworks that came with a fear or grief like the one she felt now, but it didn't come.

"…Why can't I cry?" She glanced away from the someones, suddenly self conscious. "Not that I'm complaining, of course. But… I can't recall ever having trouble summoning up some tears. Rather the opposite."

"I couldn't tell you," said the first someone, while the second shrugged. "Maybe you misplaced them too?" the second one added.

"I wasn't aware you could misplace tears."

The second one shrugged again. The first one sat by her, and wrapped an arm around her curled shoulders.

"Your cowgirl seems nice. Does she make you happy?"

"…She does. Oh, she does."

"Good. About time someone did. You gonna try to swim back to her again?"

Ms. Mitternacht nodded.

"Good luck then."

…

She was in a hole.

It was deep, and dark, but she could still hear the wind shrieking and howling above her, and see the unnatural crazed glow of the sky as something twisted and roiled across it. Ms. Mitternacht tucked her long neck in and huddled close to the only other soul in the hole with her, though honestly, given the size of the hole, she didn't have much other choice. Her bones clinked and rattled, quiet hollow notes under the gale's howl.

"Did you see this coming? Because I sure didn't. Not this bad. Not from Hector. We both had our concerns, but…"

"Of course not." Mitternacht gently preened a lock of wind-tangled black hair. It seemed to settle both their nerves. "No one did. If we had, do you think we would have let you stroll into that awful trap he set for you?"

"…No, if you thought something like this could happen, you would have said. But I should have seen it. Should have nipped it before it got this bad."

"My love, you mustn't make that claim. He's one of ours. We share the blame." She stared up as she said it, and felt her heart threaten to tear itself to pieces. She couldn't even tell if it was from fear or sorrow.

Time passed. The air felt heavy.

"Ruptura llévame, what am I supposed to do here?"

"Don't say that, sunbeam. Not even as a joke." Ms. Mitternacht tried to hold her tighter, but she felt unnervingly insubstantial. "The only place the Rift is taking you is home. With me." Ms. Mitternacht leaned against the wall of the hole, staring at the circle of sky above her, and whispered. "Though that is a good question. I'll have no fear if I'm with you… but oh, what are we going to do?"

"Don't suppose you have any thoughts?" The other warm body in the hole shifted to try to face her properly, an earnest look on her face, just barely visible in the gloom.

"…Not at the moment, my sun. Except that, whatever happens, I'm glad it's you here with me." She stared up again, but even as the sight above made the air sit too tight and sharp in her lungs, a warm, callused hand held hers, tethering her to herself. She focused on that warmth. "And if the world must come apart, I pray at least you hold my heart."

"There's no gift you could give me more precious than your heart, mi linda luna lluviosa, but right now I sure would appreciate it if you could loan me your mind for a bit."

"But you're the one who always knows what to do."

"Folks keep saying I have all the good ideas, but you know I got my best ones talking things out with you. And that's hardly surprising, now is it? Of course the oldest god in the Grove has wisdom I don't. Perspectives I don't, too. Especially when it comes to things that take a little patience."

"Hey, you talking about me in here?" said a new voice. A tiny tendril emerged from the wall of the hole, then more tendrils, glossy leaves, and blooms of yellow flowers, until there was a pile of loose earth and pebbles around their ankles and a tunnel lined with dense, faintly luminous jasmine vines leading out. "All good things I hope!" said… the jasmine, as far as Ms. Mitternacht could tell.

Ms. Mitternacht heard a relieved laugh next to her, and saw a wide smile. "Must be, because I can't think of any bad things!"

They fled the hole through the flower-laden breach. The jasmine tunnels sprawled in all directions, branching off at random. The jasmine itself gave them directions to follow, but Mitternacht couldn't make much sense of them, aside from when it overgrew the entrance of some new offshoot to keep them from entering. Her beloved was grasping enough to keep moving, but looking increasingly lost and frustrated.

At the end of another inscrutable set of directions, her love stopped to talk to the jasmine.

"That's a lot to take in," she said.

"Don't I know it," said the jasmine. "You need a minute?"

"No, I'll be fine. Can I help?"

"Normally I'd say no, but I am a little short-handed right now. Can you lift her head for me?"

Ms. Mitternacht startled as the jasmine surged up under her, a sudden bed of glossy leaves and heady fragrance. Leather-decked arms cradled her against a half-bared chest and kept her head above the line where perfume became miasma, a position she was not opposed to but was more than a little flustered by.

"Oh my goodness, what is happening?" she squeaked.

"Oh wow, her pulse just jumped," said the jasmine.

"Is that bad? Is there something wrong?" Ms. Mitternacht felt the words and worry hum in the ribcage she was pressed against.

"Well, the good news is, she probably noticed us moving her, and that means she can notice us moving her. The bad news is, we might have spooked her."

"How in the heavens could I not notice this?!" She tried to right herself and climb down, but she was stuck.

The flowers tittered. "Of course, if I had a gorgeous god-dyke girlfriend and she was holding me like that, my heart'd be pounding too."

"Now that is no way to talk about a lady!" Ms. Mitternacht cried, struggling to remain indignantly dignified through a bubbling up of laughter that might have been from amusement- it was an apt description of King- or from the edge of a barely restrained hysteria.

The jasmine rustled and wilted, at least having the decency to look about as embarrassed as a mass of flowering vines could. "Aw Clack, that was out of line, wasn't it?" it said. "Was that sacrilege? I think that was sacrilege."

"It wasn't sacrilege," said her beloved in a calm, even voice, holding Ms. Mitternacht close. She felt the warmth of a breath on her ear as a whisper dropped like a pebble directly into it. "Don't worry, moonbeam. Patience is here to help. We both are. You trust me, right?"

"…I do."

"Okay. Let's do this. I won't let anything happen to you."

The vines ran up and over her, twining around her bones, turning her this way and that as she helplessly clung to that thin, warm body and trusted as hard as she could. A particularly impertinent new tendril stuck itself up through her beak and wrapped down her neck, a muted but still awful sensation that made her sneeze and gag.

"I'm sorry, Missy," her beloved murmured in her ear again, "but it's important."

The vines suddenly surged down and across, breaking through the ground and into a room filled with blinding light. (Perhaps they'd wrapped so thoroughly around her to keep her from spontaneously disarticulating with the force. Was her beloved alright? She was still holding her at least.)

…Was that the sun? How did they go down and break out into sunlight and blue skies? Where were the horrible cracks, and the wailing, roiling beast? Where was the wind?

No, wait. It was… a light in a blue ceiling? Condensation dripped off of cold painted metal and onto her face. Her love's arms slipped away from her shoulders, but still held her hand. The jasmine, retreating from Mitternacht, spread itself along the wall. She sat up, trying to shake off the general unpleasantness of the whole interaction.

"Hey, we have movement this time!" said the jasmine.

The room lurched, and started moving upward. An elevator?

"That good?"

"It's a lot better than not having it. Last time, uh… well, that handsome lady with the kicky boots and the bandolier said there was no sense in worrying you till we could do something about it, but. It didn't look great."

The hand on hers tightened.

"This is a good sign though! We're not out of the woods, but we're headed in the right direction."

Ms. Mitternacht stared up at the ceiling as the strange little room hummed around them, and wondered what lay at the endpoint of the "right direction". She wasn't certain she wanted to be back on the surface, and that seemed to be where they were headed.

"So now what?"

"We wait and see. That's all we can do."

"I'm getting to be well versed in that."

It was all too strange… strange, and uncomfortable, and terribly suspicious. But, Ms. Mitternacht admitted to herself, at least this place wasn't that awful hole. She just had to hope wherever they were headed now was better.

"Well that was about as much fun as getting a tooth pulled," her beloved whispered in her ear, leaning against her. "What do you think, Missy? Better or worse than the lost chair date?"

In spite of everything, Ms. Mitternacht chimed with laughter.

…

She climbed up onto the marble step by herself this time, waving off help, but allowed herself to be wrapped in a shawl and clustered around when she couldn't stop shivering.

There were four someones now.

"A lady of my age should not have to go bobbing around like- like a piece of driftwood in underground lakes," she huffed. (Indignant frustration was easier than… well, anything else she was tempted to let herself feel. She'd gone "up" at the end of that… dream? dive? It had felt like she was getting somewhere, for a moment. Yet here she was, again.)

"A lady of your age, huh princess?" said one of the new someones.

"Oh, hush," said the other new someone. "Bad enough you keep treating a grown woman like a child. Now she's got four digit birthdays. Never saw you get to four digits."

"Five, actually," Ms. Mitternacht weakly corrected. "Last I checked."

"There, see? Ten thousand something plus years and you're still calling her princess."

"And I'll still be doing it in a million years, cause she's our princess."

"If everyone could quit being so familiar for just a moment, I'd be awfully appreciative," said Ms. Mitternacht.

All the someones froze, then backed up enough to give her some space, looking awkward and, in a few cases, hurt. The shawl simply ceased to exist. There was a blessed five or six seconds of quiet, which was unfortunately just long enough for Ms. Mitternacht to develop regrets.

"…Has it really been that long?" It was the young someone who asked, the one who showed up last time she'd surfaced. Their arms were wrapped around themselves, and they looked at her like they weren't sure they wanted to know the answer.

Ms. Mitternacht, without realizing, copied the pose. "I believe so," she said. "It's… it's all a bit hazy at the moment. But it's been an awfully long time. Are you alright, dear?"

"Yeah," the someone said. "Just… that's a lot." They looked away from her, down one of the long tunnels.

The newest two someones ventured back and sat on either side of her. She felt strangely small between them. It wasn't a bad feeling, though.

"It's the oddest thing," she said. "I have this sense that you're both older than me. But nobody's older than me. I'm the oldest thing there is."

"Well there you go," said the one who'd called her Princess. "We must be a couple of nobodies." The other one nodded agreement, then patted her shoulder gently.

"We're glad you have someone looking after you," they said. "It can't always be you looking after everyone else."

"…I'm glad too," Ms. Mitternacht said. "I do need to get back. I don't want to worry her. But… I think I need a moment, before I try that again."

"You take as long as you need. We'll be here. And it looks like she will be too."

…

An older woman and her fiancé were at a thrift store, shopping for furniture for the new home they're moving into together. She found a pretty decent bedframe. Her fiancé threatened to bring home a horrendously tacky and uncomfortable-looking chair. On the way back they run into a little art supply store they hadn't seen before, with a stationery display close to the front. They don't need the new journals or pens, but putting them on the bedside table made the place feel more like home than anything else they'd brought.

…

An English professor agreed to go hiking with a lovely and intimidatingly athletic woman she'd met while out in the park. Her friend from the university library, who'd agreed to come along for moral support, falls back to chat with the hiker's friend instead of keeping up with her. She was going to die of nerves.

…

A crane, its white feathers gleaming silver in the moonlight, pursued an extraordinary bird it has never seen before, a molten gold streak shedding feathers that shine like fragments of noon-day. The sunbird, King of Birds; she'd heard a human prince refer to it as such. She'd also heard his plan to capture it, to hang it in a golden cage in his own mortal king's throneroom and thus win his favor. If she could only reach that streak of sunlight in time, to warn it-

…

The queen of a long-lost kingdom, royalty in name only, a ruler of ghosts, watched a knight inconguously alive in her dead halls approach. The knight knelt, swore fealty with a strength of conviction just barely constrained by the formal language of the oath, bled out sincerity between each word. The queen of old dust-softened memory was overcome by a crashing, drowning wave of emotion; she could not tell whether it was joy or terror.

…

An enormous monster was menacing the Cove. An equally enormous cowpoke was fighting it with theatrical martial arts moves. A tiny figure stood by the dock, far too close to the fight for safety but unwilling to leave. The scene was absurd, and exciting. She cheered for the cowpoke, not afraid at all.

…

A goddess, the goddess, was just catching up with the newly appointed godpoke, chatting pleasantly and casually as they so often did these days. It was dangerous, Ms. Mitternacht told herself, to be so familiar with a mortal. Dangerous and selfish to risk attachment, and invite the terrible destruction that came with a god's grieving. But the new godpoke made it so easy to forget. The godpoke was respectful and kind, terribly sweet even, but had no sense of distance or formality; she loved to talk, loved to listen even more, and seemed to be as much at ease with gods as with everyone else she met along her route. Ms. Mitternacht always meant to warn her off; the poor thing was from Earthside, she couldn't know, and that meant it was Mitternacht's job to set the tone of their relationship. But maybe… maybe this wasn't too close. The godpoke was a chatty, casual sort in general; this was how she talked with everyone, right? So it wasn't as if they were friends. Just friendly.

She pretended not to notice that each visit feels like a sip of cool water, carefully rationed, in a desert.

…

A concerned citizen was at a town hall, watching the most impassioned call for improved drainage systems and flood-resistant development planning that had probably ever been made outside the immediate aftermath of a hurricane. It was, inexplicably, incredibly attractive.

…

A guide held a storm lantern aloft, lighting the way down a dim sandy path. Her companion was glad of both light and company.

…

Two old women danced to the sound of a street musician. They shook off the decades like dust as they whirled, and sang along, laughing.

…

Ms. Mitternacht smoothed a sheet of paper on her desk, the Midnight quiet and warm around her. Terrified, jubilant, reckless, she began to compose a poem.

…

"Did you hear? She said she kept the poem all sewed up right by her heart! That's so romantic!" said a new someone. New someones had shown up with each dive, and the marble platform was getting crowded, but they all eagerly made space for Ms. Mitternacht.

"It's cheesy is what it is. Now that bit about the public works projects, that was real."

"You would think the height of romance was going to town halls and complaining about sewers."

"Hey, I met my boyfriend at a town hall."

"It's true, I saw him holding up his hand drawn posterboard graphs and knew he had to be mine."

Ms. Mitternacht's first someone sat by her. "Still not working, huh?"

"I'm afraid not, butterfly," she said. "I can't find a way up from in there. Only different ways down." She walked around the edge of the marble platform, looking for some clue. Seeing nothing noteworthy, she scanned the archways that surrounded the room, each one leading into the black. "Perhaps I should try exploring elsewhere-"

"Don't do that," said her first someone, backed up by a chorus of emphatic "NO"s and other agreement in different keys of frantic from the others.

"Goodness. I certainly seem to have upset everyone," she said, backing away from the platform edge.

"It's just a good way to get lost," said the first someone. "Best case scenario, you'd wind up back here anyway."

"Yeah you're never getting back if you go down any of those."

"Not that we'd mind having you."

"Assuming you didn't get so lost even we couldn't find you…"

Frustrated nearly to tears (and yet, somehow, still not actually able to cry), she sat on the step of the luminous tomb in the center of the marble platform. She thought it might hold the answer, but she'd circled the four little walls, studying it carefully, and found no interruption in its smooth facade aside from carvings of the moon passing from full to new to full again. No entrance. No exit.

Sitting silent, she listened to the gentle rush of water. Though the pool surrounding her seemed still, the sussuration she heard, in and out like breathing, suggested an ocean. For reasons she couldn't begin to articulate, she found that reassuring.

Then she heard a different murmuring, a pattern of rising and falling that could only be speech. It started as a fading in and out, barely discernable, but came through stronger as she sat and listened.

She knew that voice. She'd heard it in each of her dives. She'd never heard it here before, though. Other voices rose and fell in time with the first, each one heartache-familiar even as she failed to put names or faces to them, and she sobbed with relief to hear them. They were alright. At least, they were alive. Her family.

Still there were no actual tears, and their absence was starting to wear on her. How many times had she wished herself unable to weep, to stop the fear of floods once and for all? Surely this was a good thing, at least if it stuck? And yet… it felt wrong. A piece of her was missing. She felt the hollow space it should have fit in with every tear that didn't come. She felt a sudden urge to call out her own name, to go hunting for herself wherever she might be hiding. Instead she walked up to the mausoleum again, running her fingers over every inch of its surface in desperation, feeling for the tiniest crack, a hidden latch, a clue.

Nothing. Still nothing. She slammed an open palm against the stone, then started at the sound, staring in shock at her own hand.

Well. Losing whatever made her so awfully weepy was one thing, but losing her composure- at least, the part of it not already compromised by her weepiness- was quite another. That wouldn't do at all.

She had to think. There had to be something she hadn't tried, an angle she hadn't considered, a path that didn't lead either back here or into some labyrinthine abyss…

"You are so loved, Missy, by so many. You’ve been taking care of the whole world for so long. It’s about time we all took care of you."

"…She's right, you know," said the very first someone, coming up behind Ms. Mitternacht. "It's alright to just rest for a bit."

Ms. Mitternacht started to protest. Stopped. Considered. She thought she'd done enough useless wallowing lately, but…

…well, that wasn't actually resting, was it?

Gradually, Ms. Mitternacht started to notice… herself, she supposed. A strangely substantial mechanism of soft flesh wrapped around her bones. It wasn't the abstracted, divine manifest-self she was used to. It felt tired. It felt old. It felt very, very tense.

With a deep breath in and out, she let it slacken.

"I hope it's okay for me to be handling your mask. I'm being careful with it, I promise."

The voice washed over her, soothingly level. She could almost feel that familiar hand on her face, her real face, cool polished bone shining with moonlight.

"…Pretty thing. Not as pretty as your real face of course, either of them. But still, a work of art. Though, it's not what I would have expected, honestly, if I'd had to guess how you dressed as a mortal. I wonder, did folks in the world before this one usually run around in masks, or was this a special occasion kinda thing? Maybe it was just for funerals. That'd make sense, it being a skull and all."

One of Ms. Mitternacht's mysterious someones snickered. She looked at them, along with all the other someones now crowding around, and wondered again why she could look at them but not see them, why everything from their features to the sound of their voices was clearly there but impossible to grasp. Who were they?

They were friends. Maybe knowing that much was enough.

"But no, I think you got more use out of it than that. You know, it looks handmade. Did you make it, Missy? I've seen you carve poems, but never something like this. Or did someone make it for you?"

The first one, the one who greeted her when she surfaced and teased her about her taste in romance novels, glanced away from her. She wished they hadn't.

"Someone made this. Even if it was you, someone had to put it on you. And someone did your hair, and laid you out in that lace-edged dress you were wearing when we found each other. Gotta find out where that dress wound up. You'll want it back, I'm sure. I'm sorry, I was uh. Distracted. Lulu'll know, though. The shroud, too. There were flower petals still stuck to it, in the folds. Embroidery on the edges. Acts of love. Respect. Grief. All from people who lived before my world was made. For you, moonglow. They must have cared so much about you. It must have hurt to lose you."

The someones were all listening as closely as she was. A few nodded wordlessly. Something clicked in the back of Ms. Mitternacht's mind, but she chose not to look at it just yet.

"I wish I could have met them."

It was a good wish. Not even the eldest god of the Grove, at the height of her power, could have granted it.


"…Now what did that? Did that happen when you fell?"

A hush, waiting for the next words.

"Is that… glue? Someone glued it back together? That sure didn't happen after the fall, unless it was while I was asleep. They have superglue before the beginning of the world?"

Something tightened again in Ms. Mitternacht's chest.

"Did something hit it?"

Don't, she thought. She didn't know why. Don't ask. It doesn't matter. It was so long ago, it hardly counts as real anymore. She didn't know what that meant, even as she thought it. Some things were too far gone to be remembered, even in a place for forgotten things. She was still relieved when she heard a sigh, and the soft tok of wood against wood.

"…Buenas noches, mi luna. Te veo mañana."

"Goodnight, my love," she whispered back. "I certainly hope so."