Seraph Sensor Array
Warmind's Avatar Mark
Let him find what he needs.
Datapads are stacked atop handwritten field reports stacked upon leatherbound tomes. They rest in a spot of sunlight spilling through a round window draped with linen curtains dyed sunset hues and framed by crawling ivy and wisteria.
Osiris stoops over the table, half in the beam of afternoon light and half out. An audio log plays on one of the tablets, with subtitles to translate the speaker's tongue of Ulurant:
Osiris clenches one hand into a trembling fist, then scrubs forward in the log.
Cursing, Osiris sweeps the tablet off the table along with the books and notes. A scream rises from his mouth, and as he turns in rage, he locks eyes with Saint. Fury burns away to a cool ember of shame the moment Saint steps from the kitchen doorway. His partner is not dressed in armor, a sight few ever see. Instead, his broad shoulders are concealed by a loose poncho of magenta and lilac bearing embroidered bird patterns spun by Eliksni hands.
Saint approaches and gently cups Osiris's face in his hands. The gesture causes the tension to melt away, and Osiris rests a cheek against Saint's fingers.
"Why are you so angry?" Saint asks, his voice gentle and reassuring. It isn't so much a question as it is an exercise.
"I'm afraid," Osiris whispers into Saint's palm. "That Ikora is right. That I—That I'm—" It takes time for Osiris to make his fear real with words, but Saint gives it to him.
"…That I'm broken."
Saint pulls Osiris to his chest in a firm embrace, then presses a kiss to the top of his head. "You are not a teacup," he he whispers against the shorter man's scalp. "People do not break, and you are not broken." Osiris rests his forehead against Saint's chest, at once feeling humbled and secure.
The embrace lingers for as long as Osiris needs it, and when he finally does lean back enough to look up into Saint's eyes, he asks, "Then what am I?"
To which Saint simply replies, "You are enough."