Chapter Text
"Just leave it," the Drifter grunted, shifting his position slightly which sent waves of pain across his abdomen. The cold wall behind him brought some slight relief to his pounding head as he leaned against it.
His Ghost chirped out a stilted reply in a sort of Morse code they had developed to communicate. Alright . It knew better than to put up any argument.
The dark red of his own blood had seeped through the layers of the Drifter's outfit and was now pooling in his hand as he clutched his side, leaking from an obscene amount of bullet holes riddling his chest. His leg bent out beneath him at an odd angle. The pain was past the point of being sharp now, just a dull and throbbing ache all over. He felt wrapped up in it. His breath came raspy and slow, blood dribbling down his chin.
"Hey," he said. His Ghost turned around to face him, the dim red light of its eye unblinking, weary, expectant. "Let me alone for a while this time, will ya? Just a while."
How long? the Ghost clicked, floating back a little ways.
"Let's say a few weeks." Drifter coughed, an awful wet sound. "Go off and do whatever it is you do when I'm not around, have fun. Just let me be, let me… rest."
Guardians will ask after you. Some of them are friends, they will wonder.
"Let 'em wonder. They can't care that much… but hey, I do expect ya back, eventually."
The Ghost blinked at him, giving a slow bob in the air, a nod. I always come back.
Drifter cracked a red smile. "Good. Now get."
The Ghost started off without another word, carrying away its little red light back up through the tunnel that led to the abandoned place that the Drifter now lay dying. He watched the Ghost leave, and once it was out of sight, he shut his eyes and let himself slump to the ground.
This wasn't his worst death, not by any account. In fact, it could almost be called pleasant, compared to some. The dull throb of pain that suffused his body made him warm, enveloped his mind, dulled his senses. He wandered through the mental fog as he headed off into the familiar black, the nothingness between death and the next Rise. He thought of Gambit, of the Guardians who he might call friends, the drinks he shared with them and the warm hands they gripped his shoulders with as they all shook from laughter. He thought of the Derelict, up there in orbit, his home if he could call it one, messy, familiar, cozy. He thought of the Vanguard, who probably wouldn't even notice his absence from the Tower, or if they did, they'd rejoice in being rid of him for a while. This made him smile, forcing a single, choked laugh out of his damaged lungs. His breath was coming shallow now. He thought of the Pyramids, the Darkness, the biting winds of Europa. And then he thought of the three green eyes of Eris Morn. The eyes that didn't see, at least not how he did. A flash of recent memories; the pale reflected light of the Moon through tight ship windows illuminating the fine hairs on her forearm, a dark curl of hair stuck to her forehead damp with sweat, his own fingers tracing over a particularly long, pale scar that ran along her side. He let the vignettes wash through his mind, filling him with a strange comfort. Death was closing in now.
How odd , his last thought floated by, to think of her now.
His body shivered ever so slightly. And he was dead.
In the black there was nothing. It was still. Absolute and complete.
And then he opened his eyes to the familiar red eye of his Ghost. He took in a breath. The memory of the pain in his body before death lingered briefly in his subconscious as he awoke.
"How long's it been?" he asked, his own voice sounding strange to him at first.
The Ghost let out a series of eighteen clicks, scanning over him a few more times before floating up and away. Two and half weeks.
The Drifter sat up and rubbed a hand over his face.
"I miss much?"
His Ghost gave a two-tone buzz in a minor tone. No .
"Hm."
He got up, glancing back down at the dark stain of his own blood still left on the ground as he did. Letting out a groan, he stretched and then began the climb back out of the tunnels, his Ghost silently floating nearby and providing some light. When he emerged outside to a rising sun he paused, looking out at the sky.
Incoming transmission , his Ghost chirped out. From a Guardian.
"Tell 'em to wait. I'll get to it when I get back up to the Derelict."
Two beeps affirmative. Alright.
Drifter stood for another minute just looking at the sky. He felt refreshed, as he always did after being Risen, and his mind felt clear. Clearer than it had in a while. He hated it, but a death was a good reset.
He sniffed and started on his way to his jumpship, which still sat half covered in carefully placed debris. Once inside he grabbed a wrapped bit of rations from a compartment and tore it open, eating it greedily as he started up the ship. His Ghost dutifully tucked itself away in a small space near the back as they flew back up to the Derelict.