Archive of Our Own

“Put me in.”

Grian looks up from whatever he’s using to procrastinate that day. The rift glows its eerie purple behind him, whispering promises, as unknown as the deep ocean to anyone but them. And maybe Xisuma, she hasn’t bothered to check.

“Pranking Scar?” He looks almost impressed. “Why Gem, if I’d known you wanted t-“

“The games, Grian.”

His cheer vanishes.

“Why?”

“Why does anyone play the games?” Gem counters.

“Pride, naivety, hubris.” He spits.

“Curiosity. Inclusion.” She crosses her arms. “Challenge.”

The rift pulses, purple overtaking their senses. For a moment, she’s got butterfly wings, and a wizard hat, and more if she thinks about it, and he has too many eyes, and too many worries, and they’re both pretending that the other person scares them.

At last, Grian sighs, and keeps fiddling with his distraction, and they’re just in a strange cave again. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I saw enough with Cleo.”

She says it firmly, and yet she wouldn’t believe herself now. It’s different as a real player. But Grian, the softie, lets her believe it then. While looking down at his contraption, he threw out almost off-handedly,

“A lot of them hated you for it.”

Gem stares at him then, and he shrivels. They both know better than to expect anything else than criticism. She’s sympathetic, truly, he faces the most pressure to perform and excel. But this is no different than anything else she takes on.

“A lot of them want you back, too,” He admits.

She presses, “And the players?”

Grian smiles. They both know the answer.

“You’re not going to expect what happens,” He warns. “I’m trying something new this time.”

“Then bring in someone new,” Gem challenges. “Someone who’ll shake up the dynamics. Break old patterns and get things moving.”

“You make a lot of promises.”

She thinks of Pearl, clumsily sunny alongside a more colorful than usual Scott, royal and rejoined, subdued in a way that suits neither of them. Of a night under closer stars, Pearl whispering undestined apologies in her arms, and the weeks it took before she’d talk about why. Of a ticking clock, stone touching the clouds, loaned arms raised against another puppet, and how Scott was still Pearl’s enemy, even on his second try.

Of asking, once, are you happy? Remembers Pearl’s stillness — an awful stagnation for someone who captures sunlight and spins it into cathedrals, who accepts silence and makes it laughter. And the defeat in her sigh, her shrug, are we supposed to be? I don’t want to. Not for him. Not for any of them.

You’ll work it out, Gem said then. When you’re both ready. No matter how long it takes to get there.

“Don’t worry.” She offers her hand to Grian. “I don’t break my promises.”

-

Scott tells her about Double Life, once, after the trapdoor party when nobody’s ready to go sleep in their own cottages and put walls between them again. Impulse had finished regaling all the times he’d fought his way to the end, everyone who tore victory from his bloody grasp, and they both try not to let Scott admit how he really plans to get one of them the win. He runs through all the enemies he’s made, but there’s only so much he can accuse Joel and Jimmy of before he has to be honest.

She’s not supposed to know about it already, so she doesn’t.

“Why did Pearl do it?”

Scott hesitates and it’s guilty, but not enough, not yet. “I think she was lonely.”

Back then she was isolated, primal, untouchable. Now, Pearl is surrounded by love, people calling on her for help and standing with her against the world. She is welcomed and revered, she is watched and feared, she is beautiful. And still, she is lonely.

“Why?” Gem asks, again, again, again.

Scott can’t possibly answer. He doesn’t know, perspective warped by the horrible truth of his experience, any empathy a performance compared to his own hurt. But love doesn’t listen to logic, and so he tries anyway.

“I abandoned her.”

“Was that really all it was?” Now, she turns to Impulse. If anyone should’ve seen things, done something about it sooner, known Pearl better than this, it would be him.

“We all had someone. Despite BDubs and I’s best efforts!” He shakes his fist. Then, quietly — now there’s guilt — he explains, “We called her wicked and unhinged. All of us. I don’t think that ever goes away.”

It doesn’t. Once you’re named something, that’s how the world sees you: either fulfilling or contradicting that image. Even now the other players approach Gem in anticipation, in delight and annoyance — the mystery isn’t what she’ll do but when. Oh they’re all used to that, account for it even, but it’s so much worse with expectations: contradict and you’ll let them down, fulfill and you’re just what they always thought you were.

“No wonder she chopped you up into pieces.“ Gem laughs, not cruelly, but cutting all the same. “Why are you mad at her again?”

Scott wrinkles his nose. “She didn’t exactly do anything to disprove the rumors. Have I mentioned the powdered snow? Or how Etho and Joel went Red?”

“Is that all?” She huffs. “Honestly Scott, I’m worried you don’t have the bloodthirst this team needs.”

“Oh he does,” Impulse backs up proudly. “If he doesn’t wanna talk about his winning season, I sure will.”

“I can talk about it,” Scott insists. “Pearl and I were a great team. I miss her! Just… Pearl made a lot of sacrifices so I could win. But when we were linked, and she focused on her own thing…”

Gem leans against Impulse’s shoulder, watching Scott collapse in on himself. “And you doubled down on your initial reaction until you were both too angry to stop.”

He sighs. “Yeah.”

A cool gust of wind comes through a window, and they shuffle closer together on the floor. The massive cottage, snug between two others, really is too large for just Scott. Gem reaches over and drags a blanket off his bed, and Impulse wraps it around all three of them. Scott smiles and she knows he’s putting this moment on a pedestal, ready to use it as his motivation, remembering it when they’re enemies again.

“What does Martyn think?” Impulse offers. Scott was teamed with Martyn afterward, though Gem doesn’t think they had touchy-feely sleepovers about the past. “Pearl and him seem on good terms.”

“Well, he won, right?”

Scott says it so matter of fact, like it’s really that simple. What an honor to be the last one standing, the one who gets to process everything, to choose how the story ends. Later, Scar will challenge that notion, but for now that’s what most players see. Though, even then Gem thought it was silly. Who plays a game where the only goal is the end?

Impulse frowns, a worried line between his eyebrows. “Yeah… I wish I won. Maybe then I could actually enjoy myself. Things get better as a victor.”

“Not for Pearl.”

They both flinch. Even Gem is surprised by the edge in her voice. Scott’s eyes ice over, puzzle pieces clicking into place. She missed the beat: they’re moving on from Pearl now, why is she still challenging him? Why else — she’s taking Pearl’s side.

Impulse hasn’t noticed her slip-up yet, or maybe he unconsciously knew all along. They were never truly comfortable, this alliance. Oh sure, they were fully loyal, none of them would ever betray the rest — it wouldn’t make sense. But that security wasn’t earned through trust. Maybe that’s what binds people together. Maybe the closest ties need the choice to break it off and get hurt.

Maybe a betrayal is what’s best for each other.

“Pearl hurt me too,” Scott starts. “And I know that isn’t an excuse. But she’s also had every chance to apologize since then.”

“Why hasn’t she?” Gem counters. Belatedly, Impulse leans back a little. Scott grimaces. Fine.

“I was mad at first. I lashed out, and she fought back,” Then, the smallest smile pulls at his lips. Ruefully, yet with the tiniest bit of hope. “But I think I’ve forgiven her, for everything.”

When she talks again, the room goes silent.

“Does she forgive you?”

Silence implies inaction. But a lot happens in that moment. Scott swallows, jaw unbearably tight, as Impulse looks down with the regret of a man too focused on himself. Gem doesn’t let Scott have the same reprieve, staring him down with a predator’s patience. There will be no lies, no deflections, not with her.

“I hope so,” Scott says at last.

Eventually, he will try again, on a different field and with a point to prove. Unfortunately, this time Gem’s plan doesn’t leave Scott any room to befriend other teams (though Cleo doesn’t seem to care) and certainly not with Pearl. So they tiptoe around each other, nipping at each other's heels, and flinching when they start to bleed.

Gem lets the tension rest after that. She burrows deeper in the blanket, immersing herself in the shared heat, their mutual dreams. It’s the least she can do to open up to them in return. While she obliges them with her visions of a sweeping victory: she covets her own work. They expect her whispered plans, grand displays of power, even the underlying challenge to seek what she’s hiding underneath the bravado. They don’t care to answer her taunt, content to serve her blindly. They don’t care, and that’s okay, because she’ll handle it herself anyway.

-

Gem was new to the games, a sore disadvantage, but she’s a fast learner and pays attention. Everyone was a beginner once: their every action a case study in methodology, every word an essay on interaction.

The Third Life players know experimentation, unafraid to test boundaries and forge bonds designed to break. That who decides the narrative matters more than who follows it. And they know the best laid betrayals are tossed aside in the face of love.

The Last Life players know paranoia, impermanence, never hesitate and always move first. Fortresses of lies holding their fears. Except Pearl, always cosmically separate, who learned choice. Love is a decision, a commitment, a source of power, and its the only thing worth fighting for. How cruel that was tossed in her face.

But Gem? She knows the game. Everyone has an ulterior motive, hidden beneath the surface at varying depths. Some want it to be uncovered and acted on, others protect it at all costs, and others still choose to defy it. Love is knowing ones secret and keeping it, helping without letting them know, sacrificing lives and all chances at winning just to give them to another.

She understands these three lessons by the time her corpse hits the dirt, as Scar turns to Pearl with bowstring already taut, and she wakes up in her citadel laughing.

-

Joel notices first. He’s single minded and carefree and she’s so proud of him, really, for letting himself act on what he notices instead of what he feels. They’re finishing up the walls and the paths around the base, before any of it was blown up or snailed, when he asks.

“Are we really that mad at Pearl?”

And she’s ready to retort, carry on as usual and dismiss Pearl as unrepentant and evil. But he uses we and he’s a Mounder and friends with them both, usually, and while he has his rivalry with Scott he has no reason to take on hers too.

“I want to see her angry,” Gem confesses, and it's as close to the truth as she can get. Joel understands enough of course. He grins, leaning against a fencepost, spreading out his arms and flexing.

“That can be arranged.”

Gem rolls her eyes. “Yeah, you can be pretty annoying.”

“Hey!” Joel protests. He walks over to stand at her side. “I’ve got quite the intelligence, actually. Enough to help you out with somethin’.”

“If I wanted brainless muscle, I’d go to the Tuff Guys,” She reassures. Warmer, genuine, Gem adds, “But I’d rather bother Pearl myself.”

He grumbles something under his breath, she caught the words ‘Etho’ and TNT,’ and splits off again to keep digging. The walls go up smoothly after that. Gem balances on top, and Joel reinforces the bottom, and they toss materials back and forth along with banter. They’re in sync, no hesitation or obvious weakness, just how she likes it. 

“Y’know, I tried to kill her dog once.”

Joel says it offhandedly, like he isn’t weighing every word just as narrowly as she is, like it isn’t an admission of something greater than each other.

She huffs a laugh. “Why?”

“‘Killed me. In Double Life.”

“Did you deserve it?”

He shoots her a sly, boastful smirk. All the ego of a thunderous god. Then, he falls into a rare rumination. “I was a bit awful towards ‘er. We all were. Glad she seems better now.”

They reach the end of the wall. Gem hops down, fixing the messy path. She pauses.

“You’re lucky she forgave you.”

Joel sighs heavily. It’s refreshing to see someone accept the full weight of their responsibility at once. “Well, I’ll try to be nicer now. Helps that you like ‘er.”

“Careful now,” She warns.

Joel chuckles and goes back to his work. He tears down ugly temporary cobblestone and replaces it with spruce, marks proper paths around his building, muttering about potential traps.

He’s taking things so seriously this time. Is it her fault? That he only does his best when someone else has put their trust in him? Because of that, he will make it to the end, so long as no-one else wants it more than him. It’s her responsibility to create that stage for him: demoralize the competition, minimize their dreams, defeat them before they ever reach his sword.

Gem is an expert at that. So Joel knows that if — when, really — it was just them at the end, she would still be the greatest threat to his victory. She should want the win more than him. And maybe that’s why he realizes her priorities are elsewhere. That she’s resigned, but not surrendered.

And he talks to her about it.

Not like Scott, or Impulse, or even Grian, who let Gem quietly pretend, isolated in her schemes, alone in her mission. Joel takes on whatever she’s carrying, because he refuses to ignore her struggling, because family’s not about winning but getting there together.

The night is well and truly dark now, silver stars filling up the obsidian sky. Joel finishes cramming materials into an overflow chest, wishes her a grunted goodnight, and climbs up to go rest. She eyes her beautiful, envied, empty barn. And follows him up into the car.

“You were Mounders,” Gem offers. “Tell me about that.”

Joel looks back at her, not quite surprised. She waits expectantly, nowhere to sit, knowing he won’t kick her out but anxious anyway at intruding. Without another thought, he places down a bed just for her, and it's like the first night crammed in their stone shelter, except instead of necessity their closeness is by choice. They settle in, and Gem knows she’s smiling despite the hour, and she doesn’t even mind when his embellished stories last late into the night.

“Well, the first thing you need to know is that we were independent, and that made us antsy. As our leader, Pearl…”

-

Things were too quiet, too impersonal, too easy. Gem had a reason to kill everyone, because they had no reason to keep trying to kill her. Eventually, either the illusion would fall and the game would be up, or it’d be too late to enjoy the spoils. The latter happens anyway, but Gem didn’t go down without a fight. Exploding Cleo was a good start.

Scar doesn’t even try pretending he masterminded anything. He whoops, high fives her and Joel, and runs off to celebrate with his team. Hopefully, this maneuver would divert their attention to other targets for at least a little while. Gem snickers to herself and counts the minutes until she sees the G’s approaching again.

It’s the first time anyone’s intentionally set her house on fire. Apparently, the event is enough to draw an audience. Cleo’s polite enough to skip any demands or peace talks. It’s not that Gem likes seeing her hard work reduced to smoke and spectacle, but then again, it’s not really wasted is it?

Despite the best efforts of Scott, she might add. Ever the diplomat, proposing that they’re even now, not quite scared of her but of a changed status quo. Cleo leans back, used to the procedure, flipping the flint and steel between their fingers and admiring their handiwork. Every now and then, they’ll check on Impulse and Pearl, nudging them here and there into proper threatening formation. Neither need the help. Gem lets her disappointment show, raising an eyebrow as Impulse shrinks back, counting the tools in his inventory instead of looking for an opportunity to use them. ( She always prepared chances for him, so he had the choice to take it.)

Pearl matches his detachment purposefully, expending effort to stay a background threat. Always what he wants, never what he needs. Never what she wants. When their eyes meet, Gem smirks, was she going to let Scott move past the incident without taking any revenge herself?

Remind you of anything?

She loves the red dripping along her sleeves, the golden eye tracking her from across the circle, a beacon of defiance as Scott argues their trust and unity. How when Gem laughs, when she refuses to apologize, Pearl takes a step closer, rising to the challenge. Closer to the burning barn, the promise of a dangerous, wonderful ignition, burning dead weight to ash.

The fireball engulfing her so-called allies behind her, shockwave pushing her over the threshold.

“MARTYN!”

His cackling fades into the background as Joel chases after him with a manic grin. She’s not paying attention though, why bother? Instead, her own smile twists as Pearl scrambles to her feet, clawing through the smoke with a snarl. Barely outside of the end crystal blast radius, her aggression had saved her life. Now it would sustain it.

Like blood soaking through fabric, Pearl realizes what happened, rising to her full height and fury. She yells back and forth with BigB, though his panic is only met with her suppressed irritation finally having a deserving target. Without even glancing back at the barn — at Gem laughing in front of the crater — Pearl takes out her bow and sets off for the Renwood.

Martyn dies. His trees burn soon after, the G’s are thorough after all, and Gem can’t help but feel a kinship with someone equally committed to tearing them apart. Though when Pearl appears before her again afterward, properly red and rabid, Gem’s fondness dies. She’s not fighting for herself. Killing to stay in the game, a threat for her allies to use, assassination an excuse to trail after Gem all lost and sad. Pearl’s dormant again.

But not unbroken, no, there was honesty for a moment there. A vicious mockery that walls and words could keep her out. The magnitude of a snowstorm, a force of nature, of a victor. And once more Gem pushes down her resentment at whatever robbed Pearl of her laughter, of her own decisions, because this is what she’s been fighting for.

-

The question eats away at her. Oh she tries to let things work themselves out, but they’re moving slow, too slow, time is running out. Since then, Pearl hasn’t even tried to hurt anyone but Gem. So she goes to the expert on facing Pearl’s misdirected anger.

Asking mid-pickaxe swing wasn’t very classy, but she had a lot on her mind.

“Has Pearl forgiven you?”

Unexpectedly, Cleo laughs — a surprised, sharp bark. “Forgive me? I’m far from the top of her list.”

The diorite crumbles under their next strike. A mountain stripped for its ugliest parts. This was the first time Gem caught Cleo alone, separated not only from the G’s but also any other player. That kind of uptime was exhausting.

Gem shrugs. “You’re allies now. Maybe she skipped a couple entries. Lucky you.”

“Or her real enemies aren’t open enough with her to try, so she’s stalling. After all… this,” They twirl their hand around, gesturing to Gem. “I’d be surprised if you weren’t number 2.”

“There’s good reasons for my behavior,” Gem defends, burying the assortment of nerves and regrets Cleo unearthed with that single comment. “Nobody’s innocent here.”

Cleo stops swinging and turns to face her head on. They put a hand on their cocked hip and raise an eyebrow.

“You’re telling me.”

Axe scars that never fully heal, canine bite marks indented into bone, creeping guilt following every shivering breath. Burning homes, grieving the person standing right next to you. She didn’t need to possess Cleo herself to know that. Scott is closed off, inactive, letting himself bear her disdain as a punishment. But Cleo gets their hands dirty just as much as Gem, finally, at least this time. There is no high ground here. Gem withers beneath her assumed superiority, Cleo stands taller in defiance, the air trembles.

And then they both smile.

“Okay, maybe I’m being difficult on purpose,” Gem concedes carefully. She leans against a boulder, arms crossed. “At least I’m honest.”

“‘Bit too honest if you ask me. Drama needs a reason, if you want it to work. Don’t be sloppy.”

Gem huffs petulantly. “I’m working on it. ‘Not usually the ‘conflict starter’ in my groups.”

“What an honor.” Having given a proper scolding, Cleo softens. “You’ve done quite well with the few seasons you’ve got. Enough to keep up with us veterans weighed down by history.”

“Soon to surpass you,” Gem says. “If I’m right about some things.”

“ Are you right, Gem?”

Rock dust settles in the air between them, and yet unwaveringly Cleo stares, all too perceptive. Not that it ever saves them. Hesitating, Gem watches the mountain beneath her feet, reduced to pebbles. She’s afraid to stand by without trying anything.

She doesn’t know what to do if she’s wrong.

Gem meets their eyes again. “You’d know better than I would.”

With that, Cleo sighs, long and heavy.

“Fine. Let’s do this.”

They circle around to a flat outcropping and plop down in a sit, discarding their pickaxe to the side. Gem finds a perch across from them. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, well. You’ll hate to hear this, but it’s complicated.” Cleo rubs their arms, curling inwards, yet even now they refuse to look away. “I was complicit. Hurt Pearl myself even, but pushed Scott further too. That’s its own evil.”

“There seems to be a lot of that in these games,” Gem notes harshly. Aggressive, if she was honest. Yet Cleo doesn’t bite back.

“We’re all trying to be—“ They swallow. “—kind. We can’t be ‘good people,’ not here, but… we can do it with grace.”

Ah. Gem tastes dry ender dust, drowning out metallic blood. This time, she lets Cleo continue.

“I stick with my loved ones. Keep ‘em safe and help them hurt their enemies.” Cleo fidgets with their fingers, soot still under their nails. They grimace. “‘Means choosing them over Pearl again and again.”

And that’s how they got here. Gem’s shoulders lose their tension, and she lets herself wait. She’s gotten Cleo thinking.

“Now someone like Martyn has his own moral code that you and I can’t decipher. Seeking fun, maybe.”

“Martyn?” Gem asks. Left unspoken: why isn’t he part of this mess?

Cleo grins wolfishly. “Martyn and I get along. What we have now works better than ‘friendly’ ever would’ve.”

It would be hypocritical of Gem to comment — not only from Pearl — so she doesn’t. Cleo sobers slightly.

“Him and Pearl have their own thing too. Us three… we’ve figured out how to coexist. We’ll always get under each other’s skin like nothing else, bring out the worst even. But…”

“That’s love,” Gem murmurs softly. Cleo tilts their head, laughing a little in surprise.

“To us, yeah.”

Distantly, beyond their dent in the hillside, someone yelps, and another cackles. Somewhere, Joel strings along another trap, and Ren and Martyn burn another bridge, and the Spanners bicker. Soon, it will get too loud, and then far, far too quiet.

Someone’s missing. “Why not Scott?”

Cleo cranes their head back, admiring the sky. “I don’t need to tell you what Scott’s like,” They breathe.

Gem respects Cleo too much to pretend otherwise. “Well, he’s reaching new levels of denial.” Cleo comes back down, hunching over their knees, exhausted.

“He just— won’t let it go.” They wave a hand. “Worse, he’s convinced himself he’s trying.”

“Sniping at every mistake she makes is him trying?”

“Scott loves a narrative. If Pearl gets her chance to murder everyone, with his blessing and ‘ advice ,’ that’s nearly as good as Double Life, right?”

Gem wrinkles her nose. That’s the difference between them: she wants Pearl to act freely without history and expectations.

“But Pearl doesn’t… want to.” Cleo’s stare lingers. “Not right now, at least.”

Instead of acknowledging that, spiraling on her own later, Gem clings to addressing Scott. “He’s also reluctant to fully commit. That’s why he protested so much at the start, only to switch gears to ‘enabling’ her.”

“Which only makes it harder for either of them to apologize,” Cleo finishes.

She understands clinging to control all too well. They were bandmates first. How much can Gem fault him for, compared to her own storycrafting? But even so…

“Nothing excuses taunting her.” Gem gets to her feet, looming over Cleo. “Pearl needs space.”

They tilt their head. “I could be nicer about it.” Cleo acknowledges, firm. “And so could you.”

Gem breaks a little.

“What can we do to help them?” She whispers.

Cleo stands. “I told you I stick with my loved ones over everyone else.” They’re taller than Gem, now. “This time I’m choosing Pearl.”

Could it really be that simple? Violence tugs at her chest, calling for action she can’t take, and is that how Pearl feels, always?

Except, Pearl is the one holding herself back. She lets Scott stay, doesn’t force him to listen, even defends him to others when he doesn’t do the same. Pearl denies herself happiness.

Cleo reclaims their pickaxe. Gem is stuck in place. They jab a finger into Gem’s chest. “So don’t hurt her.”

As Cleo walks away, they pause, turning for just a moment.

“Not like we do.”

-

Gem is haunted by many things. Unequal finale fights, sacrifices, fairness. Most of all these days: the question “What is Pearl fighting for?” Usually the answers come to her naturally. From a higher vantage point she pieces things together, safely present yet distant. Today that means a camel. Gem watches BDubs fight over his honor, Etho fight for himself, and Tango fight to keep the team together. A horse is involved.

Behind her, Pearl babbles on about traps and totems and what Impulse, her loyal loving replacement teammate, has been up to. One of the saddle straps is wrapped around her forearm: a refusal to be removed. Gem hasn’t tried, not for a while.

“When will you give up?” The words come out harsher than she intended, but Pearl was waiting for her to ask. She leans forward next to Gem’s ear, close enough her breath gets under her shirt collar.

“When you finally tell me what’s wrong.”

Gem rasps, “What?” Pearl pokes her neck. “Hey-!”

“Clearly something’s buggin’ you. It’s got you all wrapped up in your own head.”

She guides the camel away from the bickering Tuff Guys and towards quieter ground. Stubbornly, Gem lets the question bleed out and die between them. Let her wonder: feeling lost is something they can do together.

Pearl shrinks back. Unease travels along Gem’s spine even before the first word trembles out.

“Was it something I did…?”

Her heart breaks a little. Fake excuses are for the others.

“It’s not… us, Pearl,” Gem murmurs. “You haven’t hurt me.” Not really. Not yet.

“Oh.” She shifts. Sits a little taller. “Splendid. That means we can team up again.”

“Hurting each other hasn’t stopped you from teammates before,” Gem mutters.

“Exactly.”

Immediately, her stomach twists. I hurt her, I hurt Pearl, I’m no different, what was it for . Then there’s a hand on her waist, two, grounding and restricting, defining her limits. She will miss it soon, phasing through walls and talking to ghosts and feeling cold, so cold.

Gem pulls away, shuffling to the edge of the saddle — too little distance even still. She doesn’t deserve the comfort so long as she commits to helping Pearl, who is still miserable, always will be unless something changes.

Pearl clings to the saddle edge, desperately keeping her hands to herself, but every jostle brushes her knuckles along Gem’s thighs.

“Come on, what’s stopping us?” She prods. “We even have the camel!”

Gem swallows. Fine. She’ll say it.

“It’s not the same, Pearl. We’re not… together.”

Pearl doesn’t even blink. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“You know it’s more than that.” Ahead of them the Tuff Guys bridge ends, and she guides them into the forest. “We’re against each other, there’s no common enemy. It’s weird.”

“…Does it have to be us against the world?”

There’s a strained thread in her voice, a warning, and Gem grabs onto it desperately. A willingness to make enemies for them, to create the conditions she demands. A glimpse of the Pearl she’s fighting to bring to the surface.

“Yeah. It does.”

“Why?”

And Pearl’s so earnest, so caring and concerned, that she nearly cracks.

“Because—because that’s when you’re—!”

Gem snaps her jaw shut.

This is dangerous, she’s supposed to put distance between them. Other people will take care of Pearl: her role is gasoline, not the match. The camel weaves around fallen logs and animal bones. Gem isn’t steering anymore.

“Even so…” Pearl starts, hesitant for the first time since she got on. “Aren’t we already there?”

“What?”

“I’m Red. That’s what you needed last time. And now you’re hunted by the whole server.”

Gem nearly snorts at the absurdity, at the reversal. Oh how she loved her apocalypse. But she loves something else more.

“Is… is it Scott?”

Finally, Gem turns at the waist, looking back to meet her gaze halfway. Pearl smiles — a trembling, hopeful thing. The sunlight scatters golden yellow along them both, shifting through the leaves. You’re a red at heart.

“I know you want me to kill ‘m. Can’t have him scheming against ya?” Her smile dims. “We won’t choose each other in a 2v1, I promise.”

“Can you blame me for worrying?” Gem murmurs. No, loyalty isn’t her top concern, not anymore. Something must show in her face because Pearl sharpens, pouncing on it.

“He doesn’t have my attention,” She growls. “Only yours.”

Suddenly, there’s too little distance between them. Predator and prey. Underneath the wilderness, Pearl smells like iron, gunpowder, the acrid bite of redstone. The years have only made her more deadly.

All, and only, for Gem.

“You still don’t get it.”

Pearl slumps, wet catlike all over again. Gem turns back around sharply. It’s a moment of weakness: challenging her to figure things out. Maybe that’s what doomed them from the start. It’s just…

She’s so irritatingly passive.  

All Pearl knows how to do is attach herself to somebody and hope that’s enough for them to live. Provide them with materials and her presence, but never a plan. Never a problem to fight for. Leaving her feelings unaddressed in the name of protecting her chosen champion. Who, due to that care, protect her in return, splitting their focus and costing them victory.

Not everyone is so sacrificial as Scott.

But Gem knows how Pearl works. She does! And sure, even abandoned, her focus gets split all the same. Maybe the final fight would’ve gone differently if Gem had cared less. Every victor kills a close ally eventually, after all. The closest ally Scar had was Pearl.

(Hadn’t she killed Scott? And yet they’d asked her to take Pearl as well. What an honor to be so dangerous. To so thoroughly lose.)

Atop the camel they’re isolated from the chaos. Suspended above the various critters running between the camel’s tall legs, blanketed in a canopy of leaves that muffles the roars, calls, and hissing of larger creatures. In this peace she feels Pearl wilt, her breathing becoming a sigh.

“Do… do you need to be Red too?” She tries weakly.

Gem ignores her. Of course, because last time Gem brought her down to Red single handedly. The only ones they can trust to try. Even now surely Pearl prepares to kill her — she’ll set traps and hunt her down seriously, once they’re off the camel, once Gem finally pushes her away.

Because all of Pearl’s violence is deeply personal. It’s lashing out to Scott, it’s revenge to Joel, it’s defending her loved ones to Cleo. And so why can’t Gem get her mad? When Pearl killed her so impersonally last time, all for Scar, for her Mounders, for promises.

Was Gem not enough of a reason?

Slowly, Pearl sinks, forehead falling against Gem’s shoulder. There’s no honor in it: the worry that she’s not enough to soothe her righteous anger, spare the individuals and bring the whole server their wrath. Pearl stays because she always does, chasing Gem if she ever tries to change it, and that’s why Gem wants her running alongside instead of behind. Just… she wants her to be fully happy while they hunt.

Gem straightens her shoulders, strong under the weight, and lets Pearl rest.

-

“Why did you do it?”

The cherry mountain was riddled with craters, some of them caused by the Bamboozlers themselves. Above, the sky thundered, roiling angry clouds gathering and splitting apart. Below, Gem matched their rhythm, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

Scar turns to face her lazily. “I’ve a great list of crimes. Most of them by choice.” He blinks, catlike. “Most.”

He’s red again, although the last time she faced him like this there was a lot more bloodlust. Sampling bias. Perhaps she’s just used to the predatory stare after so many attempts on her life.

“This is familiar,” She agrees. “We all carry some… unprocessed feelings from other seasons.”

“Why Gem, is this a challenge?” Scar drawls. “And here I thought Pearl had all the fun.”

“She’s stagnant,” Gem bites. “You’re not.”

“Winning does that.” Scar waves a hand. “But neither of you have won yet, not really.”

“‘Doesn’t have to be triumphant to count.”

“Scott handed her the win.”

“And she handed it to you.”

“Ah, but I won that loyalty. I didn’t assume I had it.”

Maybe he’s just as ruthless as always. Maybe it’s Gem who’s run out of steam. He didn’t mean any of that, even if she did.

“Why’d you make up with Grian?” She asks instead. Nothing has worked, and there’s one last avenue to try.

The Bamboozler base sprawls across the whole mountain, yet feels cramped from the tree canopy and various odds and ends added week by week. Scar circles the perimeter, leisurely side-stepping around obstacles, snail trudging along behind him, noose tightening around his neck. Looking back she wonders if he already knew that he was out of time.

Gem starts walking alongside him.

“Well, he was the one who declared us enemies to begin with,” Scar asserts. “That’s how it’s always been.”

“Is he scared of you?”

“Are you scared of me?”

The correct answer is no, but Gem understands him. Scar, who Pearl chose over Gem, who can kill in cold blood, who succeeds in twisting Grian around and around just like in 3rd Life, just like now in Wild Life. Who enabled Pearl from the start, back in Double Life.

Who understands being the one left behind all too well.

“Grian follows rules.” Her honesty earned Gem grace, if not respect. “After a mistake, he tries to make up for it. When wronged, he gets revenge. These decisions become him. His own—” Scar waves his fingers. “Grian logic.”

“He thinks that far ahead?” Gem crosses her arms. “All he does is shenanigans and damage control.”

“That’s what makes him happy. The Grian logic decides how he goes about it.”

Pearl is the same except with less control. She’s terrible at lying and worse at picking up subtlety, and ends up following other people, only to still take the blame when they fall. The only thing she is taking initiative for herself is Gem.

They pass the charred remains of a reputation board. She notes, “Grian hasn’t exactly promised good things for you.”

“Oh I imagine he’ll go for Jimmy too when I’m gone.” Scar laughs. The snail chirps. “Agh! Stay over there!”

Gem stops walking. She realizes,

“You're what holds him back.”

Grian can’t keep fighting as long as Scar is in the way. Yet, he only endures because of Scar. Ahead, the Canary statues tilt dangerously in soft soil. Scar steadies one with a hand, peeking over the slope to watch whatever’s going on below.

“I guess I’ll have to stay alive then.”

He doesn’t even look back. Gem jogs over and tugs him sideways by the elbow, narrowly dodging the snail. There’s no honor in it — he was already defeated before she came up here. Revenge will have to wait. Scar thanks her quietly and resumes his circling.

“What happens if he gives up?” There’s something fragile in her voice. The Scar she remembers would hold it gently. “Without his promise.”

Some stalks of bamboo lose their grip and fall, tumbling down the mountain. Scar is watching her. He grins, familiar, and she relaxes.

“Grian might. But he’s defiant. He’ll take you with him.”

Gem doesn’t walk with Scar this time, turning to leave. There’s something she has to do first.

Something she has to break.

“You know, Gem…” Scar starts. He’s not quite hesitating, but offering her the choice to hear a dissenting opinion. One that might challenge her worldview. She turns back.

“Yeah?”

“You and I kill for the love of the game,” He asserts. “Or hate, I suppose. Spite for the game.”

“May as well try to win in our captivity,” Gem concedes.

Scar nods. Neither of them mean the death game. He takes a wobbly step closer.

“‘G and Pearl… They don’t have that monster in them.”

Gem tilts her chin up. “We’re not heartless, Scar.” The words burn in her lungs. “Other players write that story for us.”

“I’m not talking about roles here.” The snail creeps closer, and he shuffles a little faster. “ They never let the monster in. Never chose to become it.”

“We don’t get a choice! We’re just the ones that accept things instead of rejecting the truth.”

Her words echo, damning her to listen to what she’s saying. Scar stares coldly.

“Someone wrote that story for Pearl, once.”

The mountain is weak, Gem decides. There are no walls holding it up, only holes ripping it apart beneath their feet. A single bed, open chests, the worst hiding spot for an enchanting table she’s seen in her life. The mountain is weak. But it is not lonely.

“Forcing someone to become a monster is cruel.” Scar tips his hat. “Remember that.”

Gem curls her lip. “They deserve revenge then, on the people who made them that way.”

Scar looks sadly at her. He understood self martyrdom. He spent so long alone, villainized, broken. Now he stands surrounded by another home, walking for another’s life. The wind forces Scar to shout, but it feels like a whisper.

“They deserve to be happy.”

-

The sky is falling. Trees shake, yelling and roars and distorted music cut through the wind, monsters tear each other to pieces in the riverbed. Day and night fade in and out like breathing. Gem hasn’t stopped moving since her powers disappeared. A shockwave nearly brings the barn crashing down. She finds her footing in the chaos, and Pearl is there.

She remembers facing Pearl’s Red herself the first time. How she threatened her Scotts, hounded Scar and Etho, cackling and fearless and vibrant. How Gem felt afraid , even regretted bringing Pearl out like this once. Regretted not understanding her enough, when it mattered in that final seven.

This final nine, all she wants is to feel that again.

What’s wrong?

Gem leans in, honey dripping off her tongue, all softness and temptation. Pearl watches her through her lashes, head tilted for a different view, picking her apart for tricks and only finding truth. Like this, Gem can see her jaw moving, throat stuttering as her breath ghosts along her pulse, the shiver when she pulls back just enough to meet Pearl’s eyes again.

Don’t you want this?

Her heartbeat drowns out the storm. How many days has it been since she started? How many times has she yearned for this exact closeness?  When the only option is doing things her way. Gem tugs at Pearl’s scarlet hood, fixing the positioning. The movement is practiced, familiar. Pearl inhales as her fingers brush her cheek, leaning back the slightest amount, and the distance is too much.

Does it make you angry?

Pearl lifts her chin. There is confusion, and sadness, and not a thin layer of desire. She demands answers, explanations, reasons for why she had to suffer. Why was Gem giving in now? They haven’t resolved anything. Was she even mad at all? Louder, faster, her thoughts form into words that gather as fury.

Will that change anything?

This is the last step. She will accept or kill Gem, she will be honest with her feelings, she’ll be ready to fix things or break them permanently to move on. Gem gives her time, never dropping her stare as Pearl rises, boldly dangerous. Still, she refuses to move the last breath forward.

This is it. The moment where you fight back. When you finally take what you want.

Pearl hesitates, fear and resentment warring with love and relief. The animalistic need to break what hurt you. She doesn’t know if Pearl will kiss her or kill her. And right as the storm surges, Pearl doesn’t break, not raging or crumbling.

She just looks… Scared.

What—?

Pearl takes a step back, and the bridge next to them dips violently as too many zombified players stampede towards them. Thunder crackles too close to her ear along with zipping vexes and bats. The bloodthirst Gem sensed is nothing compared to the surge of activity converging on her as the source.

Cleo, watching the whole time, is grinning as the two G’s vanish into the horde. Gem can’t even catch another glimpse of Pearl, scrambling backwards blindly for safety. Her stronghold is where she’ll die, torn apart by what she defeated and dismissed.

Joel is missing, Pearl is gone, Etho and Scott and Scar want her in pieces. Gem tastes ash, lashes out and runs, and climbs, and the world spins faster and faster and her tears fall like rivers onto the bloody stone and she reaches—

The sky falls.

-

They rush to Joel’s afterwards. He’s central to all their bases, has the space to fit everyone, and all the bragging rights in the world. After a delayed entrance — he was celebrating with Lizzie on their own, of course — the Hermit players swamp him in congratulations, teasing, and a ritual group hug. Later there’ll be a proper party with all 18 of them, relax and retrospect for next time, but tonight things are fresh and bright and a little too real to let go of yet.

The lines between the game and themselves are still far too blurry. It messes with even her head. But some things that stay the same in every universe. Gem loops her arm proudly with Joel’s, delighted every time she can say, “That’s my teammate!” and fondly grinning when he corrects, “This is my family.”

Eventually, the adrenaline wears off, and Hermits start splitting off to take a much needed rest. Gem and a few others stay till the end, Ren and Grian among them, when Joel finally kicks them out so he can go spend more time with his wife. Dork. She ruffles his hair, and he shoos her away laughing, and while it may have been at most only 15 minutes apart they’re both relieved to be together again.

Pearl’s there too, of course, helping clean up the scattered fireworks and shulkers left behind. Through the festivities she’d latched onto Impulse and Cleo, quietly happy if not content, and while the plan may have failed there were still victories to be had.

Gem catches her arm and drags her out of Joel’s city, and Pearl lets her, and Gem doesn’t let go.

They end up wrapped in a pillow and blanket pile in Gem’s storage room, watching the fish and eldritch creatures through the glass wall. With the lights off (she hadn’t bothered to turn them on) the world is muted shades of blue and gray, and the only sound is the muffled hum of machinery deep in the walls. Unorganized shulkers form a perfect ring to lean their pillows on, and neither are picky about any lumpiness.

She has her head on Pearl’s chest, arms wrapped around her waist, completely sprawled out on her front and more comfortable than she’s been in weeks. Even at her best puddle impression, Gem’s feet barely stretch past Pearl’s impossibly long legs, and she can’t be too mad that she’s finally allowed to be less than at something.

Pearl hasn’t fully lied down yet, loosely holding Gem as she looks over her head at the ocean. Now and again her breath will hitch, before she swallows down some thought again. This is exactly the problem, Gem thinks, but she’s done deciding things for Pearl so now she only listens. Neither of them are great at dealing with failure, but the cuddles are helping.

When this happens the tenth (or so, she’s not actually counting) time, Pearl finally whispers against her hair.

“Why’d you do it?”

Gem closes her eyes, pressing deeper into Pearl’s collarbone, rewarded with the arms holding her pulling a little tighter.

“I didn’t want to ignore it.” Her voice is disgustingly soft even to her own ears. “You deserve your own story of what happened. Not theirs.”

Pearl’s displeasure manifests in her shoulders pulling back, accidentally displacing one of their blankets and sending cool air into the pocket of warmth between them.

The even so goes unsaid, as she knows Gem won’t accept any argument there. “You went about it weird.”

Gem huffs. “You weren’t going to listen otherwise.”

“Pushing me away hurt. A lot.”

Gem opens her eyes, forcing her sluggish form up to sit face to face with Pearl. Their legs still bump under the blanket.

“I’m sorry.” She swallows the million things she’s wanted to say since she joined, all the reasons running around in her head, and lets them go. “We’ll do it your way next time.”

Pearl’s eyes dart across her face. There’s hurt, and anger, and grief. After an unbearable moment, she bumps their foreheads together, and Gem breathes again.

“I wanted to,” Pearl admits. “We ran out of time, and I got scared. But I wanted to.”

Stained sleeves, offhand remarks, uneasy protests that are overruled by circumstance. Asking herself a thousand times, is it time yet? The sinking feeling that nothing will work out, and it's all her fault. Drowning in a dying future.

Pearl pulls her down and Gem willingly melts along her front, chin cushioned in her shoulder. She presses her nose into Gem’s hair with a shaky, wet inhale. And slowly, together, the tension bleeds out of them. 

Gem’s base is not warm: it’s rainy and dark and slowly being reclaimed by greedy, scorned nature, but Pearl brings sunlight wherever she goes, she always has, no matter how many worlds Gem drags her storm into. Pearl finds her way through the walls and the characters and the promises Gem builds around herself and taunts, never forces, her to be honest.

So why can’t Gem do the same for her?

“It didn’t even work.”

She’s not whining, she’s not, but Pearl still snorts, fond, and now she is whining.

“I died, and you weren’t even mad at me. Just -- mopey.”

“That’s what happened last time, remember?”

“Yeah, but you still gave Scar a good fight.” Gem adjusts to properly pout up at Pearl. “My death should’ve pushed you over the edge, or something.”

Pearl’s fingers brush against her jaw, tucking hair behind her ear and staying to stroke her cheek. “What’s the point if you don’t get to see it?”

She doesn’t say you, Pearl, it’s all for you. Doesn’t explain I’m not like them, I don’t need entertainment, not if it's your misery. Doesn’t admit I want to see you scarlet, I want to see you honest, but I need you to be happy. She doesn’t, because her hearts decided that this is the moment it’ll stop working, and she can’t manage to take a breath that isn’t embarrassingly shaky.

She does realize, dammit, that Pearl knew all along. That Gem is her happiness. And that will always matter more than avenging her team or finding closure with Scott.

“God, we’re pathetic.” Gem says, and kisses her.

Pearl laughs against her mouth, and it’s almost annoying enough that she considers moving away, but then again, this is nice. Pearl’s lips are smooth despite the salty air, soft yet unyielding, warm and endlessly patient even when she pushes too fast. Just in case, Gem memorizes the lines and the sounds for the next time she messes up.

Punished for her line of thought — how predictable is she? — hands find their way behind her neck and pull closer, refusing to let her go anywhere else. Resigned, and grateful more than she could ever say, Gem melts into the next kiss, savoring the pleased hum she earns. Not to be outdone, Pearl draws out a whine, and she’s proud to say it only gets better from there.

After a lot of kissing, and yet not enough, they separate the slightest amount if only to make the heart grow fonder. They’ve gotten good at that lately. Pearl’s glowing now, humor returned in the way she tilts her head teasingly, how when she speaks every syllable has a delighted note underneath, like the words don’t even matter so long as someone’s listening.

“Besides, did you want me to what, rampage over Cleo? Scott was long gone, I couldn’t fight for Impulse, it was over. We tried to get Joel.”

“‘Tried,’” Gem echoes skeptically. Pearl reaches up and starts slowly pulling Gem’s hair out of the two buns she left them in.

Pearl smiles. “You didn’t want it to be too easy for ‘im, right?”

“Oh please. I wanted him to have fun.”

“I’m loads of that. Fun, I mean.”

“Totally.”

That earns her a delightful nibble at her jaw, right under her smirk, and Gem wonders how she ever pretended to be mad at Pearl for something as attractive as completely annihilating her on the field of battle. No doubt knowing exactly what Gem is thinking, Pearl pulls away, defeating her even further. Yet all is forgiven when she returns to attending to Gem’s hair, though she insists on talking. Nerd.

“Y’know, once when I was ‘all mopey’ after you didn’t let me kill you, I found Joel rebuilding his car.”

“Mmm, did you?” It sounds familiar. Pearl’s nails scratch against her scalp, and she closes her eyes. 

“Yeah. I told him there wasn’t a point in rebuilding since it would just be destroyed again. Everything always is.”

“Grim.” Gem shifts, giving Pearl access to a different part of her head. “Didja’ think that would convince him though?”

She shrugs, the movement lifting Gem higher on her chest for a moment. “Nothing lasts forever in there.”

“Well, Joel just won, so his car will be immortalized for every game afterward.”

Silence. She cracks an eye open, as her hair has also been neglected. Pearl grins down at her and oh come on.

“Are you seriously getting me to agree with you through Joel’s car?”

Pearl starts giggling and Gem groans, long and loud, only urging her onward.

“Scott would hate to know he’s the car in this analogy.”

“Our friendship is the car,” Pearl corrects. “It gets blown up, and brings us both joy and pain, and drives a wedge between us and our friends and—happiness.” She kisses Gem’s forehead.

“Still not seeing how this isn’t just Scott,” Gem grumbles. Pearl has long since finished combing her hair out, lamentably, and now she returns to holding Gem’s cheeks and staring deep into her eyes.

“But no matter what, we come back and rebuild it. Never the same, and oftentimes worse, but it’s ugly and patchwork and ours. We decide what happens to it. So it stays with us across the games.”

Gem stares back.

“I can’t believe I still want to kiss you after that.”

“Ooh! I have one more.” Pearl grins, delighted. “We don’t care about what the rest of the server thinks. I’ll be as wicked as I want.”

Gem has to smile at that. “Mmm, I think Scott would like you to murder him,” Pearl tilts her head like a dog.

“Just Scott?” Oh, like a jackal .

“Maybe there’s something behind it if everyone wants Scarlet Pearl.”

“Really.”

Pearl closes her eyes, properly considering the idea. That’s her brilliance: choosing what to accept and reject. And Gem’s lucky enough to chase that attention. Soon, Pearl opens her eyes.

“She’s not… freeing. I put her on to get things out of people.”

The echo is swallowed by the blankets, forcing the statement to stand alone. Gem curls her fingers into Pearl’s postmaster uniform.

“Aren’t you sweet.” Her shaky inhale betrays her. “Giving greedy ol’ me what I asked for.”

“Not this time.” Pearl strokes her cheek. “At the end of the day, it’s my choice. Not yours.”

And that’s enough.

Gem sighs, burying her face in Pearl’s neck.

“Well, where’s the fun in doing the same thing over and over?”

Pearl laughs and kisses her hair, right where her antlers usually sprout, crown sits, and so on. Ultimately, Gem loves change. Just… she gets scared too.

Soon, they slowly drift off. The night is a little darker, their bones sit heavier, mouths drier. A firework goes off near the moon.

“You forgive me, right?” Gem whispers. Pearl hums, a rumble under Gem’s cheek, her whole world in this moment.

“Dunno. Might wanna’ start drama next t’me.”

“I’ll do it with you next time,” Gem murmurs, her tense shoulders giving her away. Pearl tugs her closer.

“‘Always will.”