the water is warm [Wander | Day Five]

[WT]

many thousand miles behind us
many thousand miles before
ancient ocean have to waft us
to the well-remembered shore

The look in Temple's eyes, more than the click of Bette's gun or the venom in everyone's voices or even the searing pain, tells Wander what ve needs to know. In the ringing silence after Quest's machine shuts off and other group's footsteps fade, as Wander's ears settle to let the soft hiss of the waves slide back in, they could almost think themselves at peace—but Wander looks up at the shopping cart with their supplies, and Temple looks down at Wander on vis knees, and they know.

Do what you gotta. Fine.

"Earthquakes—ocean—shit," Wander gets out before ve stops long enough to catch vis breath a little. "There was a tsunami, right before Cadenza was born. Something about earthquakes." Nate would know the mechanics, but none of that matters now. What matters is a smashed home and missing family friends and Bette and Wander and Eve washed out to sea when they still had a chance, picked at by whatever mutts the Capitol saw fit to throw into their toy box ocean for flavor. "You need to go inland for a while. Just in case."

Eve says nothing, but draws her face, confused. Somewhere deep in vis gut Wander finds a smile to offer her as Temple nods, tugging Eve's shoulder reluctantly but resolutely.

Getting to vis feet takes the javelin, planted firmly in the rocks, the last—the first—useful thing it will ever do for ver. "I'm staying."

Bette—Bette who Wander expected to decline the invitation, all those days ago, how has it barely been a week—meets vis eyes and asks, "Wander, are you sure?"

Wander glances away, toward the water none of them can see. "They might not do it." That's not all she's asking, though, and when their eyes meet again ve answers both questions. "But... yeah."

And she says, with all the softness of the quiet morning the four of them didn't get to have, "Okay."

They don't like it—of course they don't, Wander would scream if one of them told ver to leave them—but they've trusted each other this far. They go, as they have to, after hugs that Wander wants to lean into for far longer than ve worries they can afford, after ve kisses Eve's head and murmurs "Look after yourselves" and "I love you," after Bette presses one of yesterday's tiny whales into the hand not clenched around a javelin for support and Wander steals a second to choose the right photo—not the one ve wants, but Temple has one of these from another angle, and there's only one from that exhausted, anxious, shining evening at the sea cliffs.

Ve watches until the fog swallows them, and then ve turns the other way.

It's a longer walk than it should be, past diluted blood into rising noise, but Wander is stubborn and the javelin is sturdy as ve jams it into pools and fissures, an anchor and a counterweight. On a better day ve would take vis time, would splash around in the pools (splash at Eve, try to make her laugh, she doesn't laugh enough—) and poke at crabs brighter than the pins whose purpose ve never figured out—but this is the last day, and in more ways than one ve doesn't know much time ve has. And there's something soothing, now, about only needing to put one foot in front of the other. There's no room for worry or anger or even regret as long as the world is pain and waves and the clack of the spearhead against rock and keep moving, keep moving, almost there—until ve is there, suddenly, crashing back down to vis knees, crying out as saltwater hits vis legs but letting the burn fade into the background radiation of pain while relief rushes into its place.

The javelin splashes down beside ver at an angle and starts sloshing away, bit by bit, as waves erode the sand before it. Good riddance.

Water laps at Wander's folded knees, tugging tattered lace to and fro as the blood billows out and washes away. Wander watches that for a while, aimlessly burying and unburying vis right hand's fingers in soft dirt that doesn't quite feel like sand, occasionally pausing to spin the ring with vis thumb. (Dolphins for luck—) The hand not propping ver up clumsily cradles the photo and the whale against vis lap, just above the slow wash, and Wander does nothing to move them further out of reach as it becomes apparent that the tide is slowly rising. This can only be a disembodied fake, no more joined to the real ocean than a mug of coffee in adrenaline-addled hands, but so was that lake in the Training Center, and Ripred—Ripred, we all want to go home.

Everyone half-lit by firelight—Denali half-blocked by Wander's clumsy camera arm but visibly gesturing for everyone to put their hearts into it, Temple doing exactly that and Lex following with awkward determination, Bette's shoulders relaxed and Eve's face lit up for once, Wander's own moo broken by laughter—that was home for a little while, too. Just not the one Wander was aiming for.

When ve looks up from the photo not a drone hovers in sight, but then, they never do. It's worth assuming.

"I tried," ve tells vis family, pausing to scrunch vis face against the urge to cry. The moment passes. "I really tried."

What do Parson's and Fiona's lives mean, now? One step forward for whoever goes home eventually, ve guesses. One person who can't kill Bette or Temple or Eve, or Annie or Denali or Lex. Or Carmen.

Annie and Wander could only forgive one another for their own sake, not for Parson or Fiona or anyone left alive, but—it's a start, Annie said, and do what you gotta, Wander told Carmen. It's okay that the final blow was hers—it's not okay that it happened, but it's okay that Carmen's sister still has a chance at welcoming her home. If Quest meant what she said—and they don't know a damn thing about each other, never will now, but if Wander had to take one guess ve would say she doesn't say things she doesn't mean—she has a better shot than a lot of people might. They deserve that chance, the spitfire kid who can watch her friends try to kill each other and still call them both friends and the sister she loved enough to die for.

So do a lot of people. So did a lot of people.

Wander takes a deep breath, ignoring the sharp pain against vis ribs. "Don't get into too much trouble without me." No point in clarifying—Teresa and Nate and Cadenza will know who ve means. Ve presses vis lips together again for a moment, but gives up, ultimately, on working to not cry. It's all saltwater. It's all just saltwater. "Honest? I'm not really worried. You're gonna be—you're—you're gonna do great. You're the best." A second to breathe. "You too, Ma, Dad. I—yeah." There's little to say, to them or anyone else, that ve didn't already offer at the Justice Building (sorry about the ice, boss; let yourself live a little, Vi; someone's always gonna refuse to let you feel unwanted, Nixie). "You all know I love you," ve finishes instead, fighting for both clarity and a smile through a mouthful of blood and snot. "You know."

Ve gives the photo a long look—one last, lingering thought for a moment still bright and alive—before floating it gently atop the water. For a long time after it drifts away ve watches after it, feeling but not seeing the water slosh up over vis hips to kiss the now-bloodstained wooden whale. The tears stop, eventually; the blood doesn't, but it slows until ve can barely see what drifts out and dissipates.

As the sun finally crawls high enough to burn through the fog, exploding dawn into morning, Wander folds into the waves.

and the wild waves cleft behind us
seem to murmur as they flow
there are loving hearts that wait you
in the land to which you go

title song is "Kids"—originally MGMT, but the version on Wander's playlist is Karen Souza's cover. the in-post lyrics are from a sea shanty called "Rolling Home"; two versions of the lyrics to that can be found here and here.

when Wander's name popped up I was taken completely off guard, and when Kay asked if I was happy I garbled out this confused, distraught I don't know, which I mostly remember because I was louder than I meant to be and vaguely embarrassed about it. several weeks later that's a bittersweet but definitive yes. y'all, I couldn't have asked for a better reintroduction to the Games and I'm so grateful. Kay and Nyte have been knocking it out of the park GMing and I know we haven't seen the last of what's in store. from the start everyone was so, so kind about making sure I knew about rules updates and new mechanics. the character dynamics were great and I'm touched to have been a part of that; the surrounding conversation has been, as always, fantastic. it's been a hell of a time.

on a personal and even sappier note: I remember being fifteen, writing Dy's bio to work through a pile of gender feelings I didn't know what else to do with, and being petrified—was that bio too weird for this site, was I too weird for this site, what should I do, so on and so forth. teenage me couldn't have fathomed writing these Games and it's still meaningful now—I treasured every message and kind comment about Wander and the otm noms. thank you so much to this community for being part of that journey for me, for all these years and counting; I hope I'm ever able to give back a fraction of what that's meant. love y'all.