Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Dear Boy,

I dreamed of you last night. We were lying side by side, looking at the moon, and laughing about the way we had met many years ago. It felt so real.

One day when you know my name,
Girl”

War was either terror or tedium, punctuated by moments of remembering the person you used to be.

Small armed figures were fleeing across the sand dunes, dwarfed by the growing shadow of an airship with a painted Atara sunburst.

On board, wind almost tore a letter out of a gloved hand. Avery carefully folded it back into the pink envelope and put it away inside his jacket. Closer to his heart, he thought.

“Your mystery pen pal again, Sir?” asked his fight commander, as always too familiar.

Uncomfortable with both the question and the blinding desert sunset, Avery squinted and chose not to answer. As soon as the ship touched down, he jumped out first, motioning his men to deploy after the fleeing Duvos troops.

“Let’s roll,” he shouted over the engine noise. What was this backwater hole again? Sandrock, he remembered.

Peace was something you had to make—sometimes stepping over your own fears, letting somebody else’s ambition break against the shield of your bloodied hands.

A few miles away, Lizzie was limping across the railway tracks towards the welcome of her workshop. Lined with trees, it seemed homey and quaint after the hot, still air of the metal bowels of the starship ruins.

Had it been a day? It had been a day.

Her head was filled with thoughts and flashbacks. Of huge metallic arms blindly crashing everything. Of someone she had thought was a friend, now in the enemy uniform and laughing in her face. Of the sinking fear that the ridiculous fighting talent Peach gave her might not have been enough to save the day—not without those gruff desert-born strangers who were now friends.

Her mind had so much to sort through, but it was for tomorrow.

Today, she wanted only to fall into someone’s strong arms even if those very specific arms were mostly imaginary. Lizzie opened her stuffed mailbox and rooted through it, almost not hoping for it—but there it was, the new blue envelope from her anonymous writing pal.

Suddenly walking on air, she ran to a bench under the chestnut trees and tore the letter open.

”Darling Girl,

You were the first thing on my mind when I opened my eyes this morning.

You always guess what troubles fill my days, but you can’t know how often I think of you. It's too easy to lose track of self in a world always teetering on the brink of war. The cure is your letters, my constant companions.

I returned home briefly, and among these empty faces I didn't feel at home at all—they were not yours. I find myself strung out from long journeys on horseback or noisy airships, turning the pages of your letters if only in my mind.

Let's go on a date. Let's look at the same constellations at midnight on Sundays: the Soaring Eagle, the Sanctuary. Let's sit together in silence as I imagine that I finally hold your hand in mine.

Patiently yours,
Boy”

It wasn’t Sunday and it was nowhere close to midnight, but Lizzie threw her head back and easily found the circle of the Cog of Time. Her eyes traveled up as she traced the patterns in the stars. Was he watching, too? Were his eyes blue or brown? Was he tall or compact? His arms had to be strong enough with all that army business and she imagined him holding her as she let go the weight of the day.

Lizzie was never one of these people who have a special relationship with luck, but everything about this random pen pal match felt lucky and made to please her, even his way with words.

He turned out to be someone steadfast yet romantic, and most importantly, he chose to be on active duty, trying to do something meaningful for others at a risk to himself. Just like she had done, declining better offers and greener pastures for the hard-on-its-luck Sandrock posting—and it meant everything to her that they saw their life missions alike.

With a smile, she fell asleep right there in an uncomfortable sprawl, under the watchful night sky, not seeing the airship flying overhead towards the hills of the Wandering Y ranch.

Soft diplomatic assignments were the worst.

By the day of the medal ceremony, Avery had his fill of the famous Sandrock “jus’ sayin’ it like it is” attitude.

Two builders, the workaholic one who had all the anxiety, and the combat-capable one who had all the attitude. The sheriff with a tenuous grasp of procedure. The hero monster hunter who kept demanding to be incarcerated while Avery wasn’t even in charge of the prison. The architect with million-gol reconstruction ideas on a ten-gol budget. The scientist who kept testing a war machine within the city perimeter.

The rancher man who wouldn’t stop asking if a single man in possession of such a large airship as Avery’s was in search of a wife. The rancher daughter’s giant duck who was trying to aggressively court Avery’s airship in flight.

Every single one of them either wanted a piece of Avery or wanted him to leave town. Nobody thanked him for leading the fighter lightplanes to chase away the Duvos warship. Or for staying here to keep them safe. It was just what the locals expected from each other in times of need: to lean in.

And the inherent violence of this place. It was hard to get used to the fact that at any given time, most of the civilians, including sweet old grandmas, were armed with everything from throwing rocks to Old World weaponry. They were packing iron both in church and in the saloon. No wonder they all slipped so easily into bloodthirsty rhetoric and smart talk, and had an overcrowded jail. They were so used to living among monsters wandering the desert that adding a few armed and hungry Duvosians didn’t seem to stop the townsfolk from sleeping at night.

No matter, he was there to represent the Alliance’s best interests with the locals and to clean the countryside of hostile fighters.

When he had first joined the guard, Avery used to dream of medals and distinction. Now that he knew their bloody price, he barely wanted to handle his own decorations or the popular recognition that came with them. Today, he placed a medal in each person’s hands, with firm ceremony and courteous words, but he knew he had no idea of the personal price they had paid, except that it hadn’t come for free.

Looking at their disorderly lineup, he had to wonder how this ragtag group of individualists could win against a trained military, a war machine, and a real knight. When he reached the last person in line, the builder with the attitude, the question remained.

How did this girl end up being an essential part of it all? Surely not just because everybody seemed to like her.

She was Avery’s type to like, too. Quite perfectly his type, in fact. Petite and lively, with a curious spark in her eyes and long cascading hair.

Now that he was standing close enough to reach out and touch her, he became quite aware of that and he blanked. Was he supposed to hand her the medal or to pin it? Avery honestly couldn’t remember. He was becoming aware of the alarming passage of seconds while he was just standing in front of the builder, liking her.

Meanwhile, his hands weren’t as confused as his mind. Without his supervision, they seemed to be drawn forward until Avery felt the thin fabric of her shirt and her chest under it. The builder—Lizzie—blushed a little, and in the corner of his eye he noticed some scandalized eyebrows.

Avery pinned the medal and yanked himself away. The thrum of her heartbeat was still on the tips of his fingers. Having somehow seeped through the shield of his gloves, it spread deeper until his cheeks and the tips of his ears were still flushed a whole five minutes later.

After the formalities were thankfully over and Avery could flee, Ernest took full advantage of his old school-friend privileges and waltzed into the Alliance temporary upstairs town-hall office before Avery could shut the door in his face.

“So, you noticed our fearless builder?” asked Ernest, sitting down in the best chair and crossing his legs. “You could do worse in the outback.”

“She’s not half bad, I suppose.” Perhaps more than that, but Avery knew Ernest well enough not to pour more fuel to the already spreading fire of gossip. “A little wild looking.”

She had fine eyes, and a beautiful curve of lips, and plenty of other smooth curves—Avery was mortified he had noticed it in a few awkward seconds.

He started pulling off his gloves. “Are you asking as an interested party?”

Ernest had good manners to back down and even look flustered. “I happen to have my eye on someone even less appropriate.”

Avery thought about his anonymous pen pal romance and how with every letter, his intentions were getting more serious. As they should be. He threw his gloves on the desk, fighting guilt. It wasn’t like he had meant to get into the builder’s good-looking personal space.

“I’m already involved with someone,” he volunteered. It seemed safer to talk about someone less—so physically present.

“Do tell,” Ernest said. “My sister would lose her mind and write another album about the one who got away. Why didn’t it work out between you again?”

Avery suddenly got fascinated with a small potted cactus on his desk.

“Wait, don’t tell me,” said Ernest. “I heard about it many times on the radio. In ‘My Soldier Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys’ and ‘Dear A’. If nothing else, your fear of intimacy and commitment gave Luna endless inspiration. Weeks on top of the charts. I can assure you, nobody can become this independently rich as a songwriter and still be mad with their muse. Even with you and your unique talent to aggravate people.”

“I am in an intimate relationship,” Avery protested. “We just never meet face to face.”

Ernest rested his chin on his hands. “I’m beginning to feel that you don’t know what this word means.”

“We have been writing to each other through the Pen Pals Anonymous^{note #1} program for the past year. You know, the matchmaking service?” Avery loosened his tunic, took out a small neat stack of stamped pink letters, and easily avoided Ernest’s grab for them. “You don’t need to get physical to be close to another person. It’s a meeting of the minds. She’s well-read and she’s funny.”

He simply couldn’t tell Ernest that it was so much more than that.

That for the first time, Avery was starting to grasp what it was like to have feelings. For someone who was trying to lead a meaningful life, not just talking about finding abstract purpose from a comfortable tea room in a city, far away from where help was needed and a difference could be made. His anonymous girl’s risk-taking streak was something that both startled and stirred him. It made him want to keep her attention by putting to paper hopes and aspirations that he usually hid. Now that he knew he was able to feel such connection to another person, Avery couldn’t imagine going without.

“Ataran? What kind of family is she from?” Ernest interrupted his thoughts with the dreaded question that had driven Avery out of the big city’s dating scene.

“We have agreed not to discuss particulars. Not even names or locations. So there are no assumptions or prejudice. It’s just us, getting to know each other’s innermost thoughts. I find it liberating.” There he was, sounding defensive.

A genuine interest flickered in Ernest’s quick face.

“We can discuss anything in the world, from philosophy to the last book we read. Instead of gossiping about who had hooked up last night—or reminiscing about high school and who got drunk, then rode naked on a horse into a public fountain on the parade square.”

“It was you,” Ernest twirled on the chair.

“In another lifetime.” Avery smoothed his cuffs. “The point is, I met someone who shares my dreams. Someone who can talk about the bigger picture. I’m finally in love, with her mind.”

“What about closer to home, like physical urges?” Ernest asked innocently. “Cute perky builders.”

“Don’t be crude,” Avery groaned. Had he been quite this obvious? He leaned back in his chair, and slid his service cap down to cover his growing blush.

“Don’t you have a book to write?” He started crumpling a sheet of paper to relieve some stress from this never-ending and pointed conversation about his feelings, of all things. The f-word, indeed.

“I feel like the story is right here,” Ernest declared. “Between your torrid love affair with the stationery and Logan’s roguish charms, I’m set here for months. Besides, I love being a sidekick. Does your girl have any clue you’re the Eagle of Atara?”

Avery threw a well-aimed balled up piece of paper at his head. “Out.”

This wasn’t a request.

Ernest walked out, not feeling guilty in the slightest that he was the one who had come up with the tabloid nickname that was clearly making Avery want to shoot things with live bullets.

“So, Commander Avery?” asked Amirah at the round table in the Blue Moon. No one could stir the pot with this much poise.

“Tripped and fell into ya bosoms,” confidently declared Elsie.

“Oh no, he’s not the kind.” Lizzie was preoccupied because she was imagining a blueprint for paper umbrellas in large and fruity drinks like hers. “He’s just a big city boy who thinks he knows better than everybody else. He was probably so bored with us that he fell asleep and literally tripped.”

“A handsome big-city boy in uniform,” Mi-an sang dreamily.

“Last time you called somebody handsome,” Lizzie said fondly, “it was a clown and you almost ran away with the circus because their tent needed a lot of fixing. Anyway, I’ll give it to Avery, he’s tall.” She thought about it for a moment and giggled. “Though I bet he can really unbutton that tight jacket.”

Elsie dramatically loosened up her shirt. Mi-an pretended to be shot by the imaginary buttons ricocheting and collapsed onto Amirah, who pretended to swoon and so fell into Lizzie.

“I already have a boy,” Lizzie said in a squished voice. “It’s the Boy, from Pen Pals Anonymous. I got another letter, I think he’s being sent to the Peripheries. Nobody who writes like him can be anything but dreamy.”

Heidi was looking at them with a twinkle in her eyes. “Fleeting Youth Tea Society?” she asked. “More like Never Getting Any society. Meanwhile, I got a real date.”

There were excited gasps and the conversation changed to that. Commander Avery’s inadvertently straying hands were forgotten by everyone but Lizzie, who remembered that for a few heartbeats, she had also been lost in the haughty gold of his eyes and hair.

Avery was determined to be extra professional when dealing with Lizzie from now on. It was best to think of her as the Builder. Clad in a triple layer of pure Ataran resolve, he accepted her request for a meeting.

“We need to talk about Stev.” The Builder turned up in a cute and shockingly short skirt and sat herself in the chair in a proper knees-together finishing school way that reminded him that she wasn’t a local but a Highwinder.

Having no idea who or what ‘stev’ was, Avery just stared. And not at her crossed ankles.

“Stev isn’t like other Duvos soldiers.” She launched into a clearly rehearsed speech. “During the occupation, he was assigned to me as my minder. Not only was he not harming or looting anyone, he had interesting views on the treatment of the opposing side. He advocated for us.”

“Stev as in Commander Lefu’s aide-de-camp?” Avery belatedly remembered the file. “You must realize he was promoted to lieutenant from the rank and file because he wasn’t always polite to people he minded.”

She bristled. “Stev was a perfect gentleman.”

Avery leaned back and crossed his arms. Then his legs. He was getting no backup from the part of him that insisted on being attracted to the Builder’s fine eyes. Damn it if he was going to let this interfere with his work.

“He was a soldier.” At least, his words were cool and measured. “With everything that comes with it. When we enlist, we know what we sign up for.”

“I am not sure your enlistments can be compared, considering that you obviously chose and enjoy your vocation while he was pushed into it by a lack of all other choices. Look, can’t you just release Stev into our care?” The Builder began to look exasperated. “He is really just a very nice guy. We could use some help on the Civil Corps after you’re gone.”

“I can’t make it happen.” Avery was just stating the facts, absolutely and positively not distracted by the delicately rising flush in her cheeks. “He is a mid-ranking enemy combatant, so he’s going to Atara to be traded in a prisoner swap. It’s on the books now.”

“Stev doesn’t even want to go back to Duvos.” She waved her hands like she was trying to move something immovable. “Don’t you believe in second chances?”

“Surely you don’t expect Duvos to be treating our side with kid gloves, just as you’re demanding of me?”

Avery missed the annoyance slipping into his voice until it was too late. Why did Lizzie care so much about a Duvosian who had spent days in a forced proximity with her? He ran his hand through his hair, trying to get a grip. The obvious and cheap explanation was beneath both of them.

“I suggest you don’t get into any jacuzzis while you’re in Sandrock,” she said drily, standing up. “I hear they spontaneously explode when exposed to a man without a heart.”

The door slammed shut as Lizzie and her angrily swishing hair made their exit.

Avery flung his cap into the door behind her.

He hadn’t felt this thrown off his stride in his whole stay in Sandrock, aware that he was mostly mad at himself for letting his emotions and thoughts go to places they had no business being. Like Lizzie’s affections. His face felt hot.

Failing to act appropriately around the Builder again, this was going splendidly.