[SWE] It ends in fire

RORY

There was one thing missing: the firecracker, but as Rory had stepped outside with Jigano he hadn't seen her. Confined to the Infirmary, he hadn't had the .. well, guts? Time? Permission? Energy? Something; to go find her. And then he had Amalia in his arms, holding her close, thinking about how she had sat upon her bed in the Infirmary. How much better it was seeing her this way. Closing his eyes, he breathed in her scent.

It had been a long, long time since he had hugged someone like that. Since he had been held.

"Yes," he breathed back at her. They did it.

And then Jigano's arms wrapped loosely around the two of them, his white-haired head leaning against theirs. Rory had no words for what he felt, no real thought of what he was doing. His arms remained around Amalia, but somehow, his balance shifted subtly, to press his side slightly against Jigano.

Family, he thought. It felt like family.

He wanted the moment to last forever: the baker's slender body in his arms, the feeling of holding her as much as he was being held, and Jigano standing so close.

Close enough to touch. And this time, Rory wasn't more unconscious than conscious.

But nothing lasted forever. A voice that was familiar to both him and Amalia had her pulling away from the embrace. He looked past her to see Evie, and gave her a bright grin and a wave. "So, yeah, Long Night is what happened to us," he filled in after Amalia spoke. Without noticing, he drifted closer to Jigano, and took a moment to look around at the those gathered. So many he had never seen before... And among them were Remi, Vervain, Phoebe, Deimos and Melita; Rory tried to catch their eyes and give them little cheery waves.

Then Wessex was there.

Wessex was there: Wessex, who they had left behind at the farmstead. Wessex, who had defied her nature to stay with them. Wessex.. he should've treated her better. Owed it to her, almost; a strange feeling, really. Before the Festival of Lights (and her death after that), she had merely been a customer. But there, in the sea of darkness lit by lanterns, a connection had been made.

Amalia seemed at a loss for what to say and tried to take her hand, but Rory decided that the Ascended's image be damned. "Wessex!" he cried, and unless she physically ran away from him (or punched him in the face, or equally forcefully displayed her displeasure) he would wrap his arms around her in a brief, but forceful, hug—one that spoke volumes of how much he had come to care for her. "I am so, so sorry we left like that. And I'm so, so glad you're okay. And yes, monster talks." He nodded.

But not now. Not here. He wanted to remain afloat on his wave of awe and joy and pride in his companions. He wanted to stay in the moment where he was immortal, invincible; not a hero, but a warrior all the same.

Then Amalia began to sing the Spark Bird Hymn, and Rory joined in, too. He heard other voices rise out of the night too, and as he sang, he once more drifted towards Jigano's side, as if the white-haired man was his anchor in the sea of people.

as if you were on fire from within,
the moon lives in the lining of your skin.