Destiny 2 Short Story: Intermission



“Look, you know I’m game for anything you want to do. But I think people expected you to get back to your old projects. This new thing of yours—” 

“—Of Didi’s.” 

“It feels like it’s taking over your life, Marcus.” 

“Didi’s life.” 

“Fine,” Bast snaps. If this is what it takes to get Marcus to open up, then he’ll play his little game. “It feels like it’s taking over Didi’s life.”

“Well… maybe it is.” Marcus laces his hands behind his neck, eyes on the floor. “I think maybe she feels like it’s the first thing in a long time that makes sense. You know, gives her purpose.”

“I know that… Didi… hasn’t felt like she had a purpose in a long time,” Bast agrees. “All her friends have noticed. It’s just so different from what she’s known for liking.” 

Marcus looks up. “What would that mean for you if this was what really mattered… to Didi?” 

“What would it mean for me?” Bast asks. “Mattered… how? Mattered more than SRL?” 

“I dunno,” Marcus mumbles. “I mean, maybe not more than SRL forever, but…” 

Both of them are silent for a long time. Until now, Bast had been rather dismissive of what Marcus and Didi were calling Ghost Community Theater. Not every one of Marcus’s harebrained ideas was a winner. Bast realizes suddenly that it’s not an issue of Marcus needing a win. If Marcus never got that passion for something ever again, then some part of him really did die the day the Red Legion attacked. 

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing,” Bast jumps in. “Didi’s been through a lot.” 

Marcus stumbles. Bast knows the look: Marcus, waving his hands, is trying to navigate the wild path from his brain to his lips. Today, he’s full of false starts. “The power of something like—” He stops, shakes his head, starts over. “When we lost our Light—” 

“I know,” Bast stops him. He was there. Marcus, in his arms. Bast, carrying him into the night as the City burned. Marcus, shattered and bleeding, clinging to Ghost and Didi and his own life. Bast, pleading for him to hang on. Together, running, hiding, starving. Together, finding others—camping around meager fires, listening for word of the battle that would be humanity’s last stand. Together, sharing stories, reading aloud from datapads. Together, listening to their Ghosts recite pre-Golden Age texts where good always defeated evil, heroes always saved the city, lovers always lived happily ever after. They’d found solace in one another, but stories had given them hope, kept them alive. 

“I get it,” Bast says, only just getting it. “I know.” 

“What, then?” 

“Didi… just seems a little deeply invested, is all.” Bast shifts his weight. Now it’s his turn to find his words. “It’s… her first time doing something like this. If it doesn’t work out, how’s that going to hurt… Didi?” 

Marcus chews his lip. “You don’t think she can do it?” 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“Because the third draft is done. I’m—Didi, I mean, is ready to start auditions by next week.”

“I never doubted you. Her.” Bast corrects himself. “Nobody knows better than me that once she’s got her mind set on something, there’s no stopping her from achieving it.” 

“I think… she just feels…” Marcus swallows. “Like the world’s against her on this. Like there’s something else expected of her. But if she can’t do this, can’t see this through, it’s like… She might as well give up everything.” 

“Well,” Bast says, crossing his arms. “Didi knows I’m on her side, right? Through thick and thin, no matter where the road takes us?” 

Marcus nods. 

“And… Didi knows I love her, right?” 

Marcus meets Bast’s eyes. “She knows.”  

“Hey,” Bast says, moving closer, until Marcus can practically feel the Light shining off him. “Then Didi’s got nothing to worry about.” 

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