It wasn't a month after his big battle at Hoover Dam that Sandy had returned to Zion. Joshua had honestly thought he'd been imagining his still-familiar form making its way through the thin vein of the canyon, like some specter borne of his lingering affection.
"Alessandro," he has said, surprised. All his little words abandoned him in the unexpected swell of his chest that would be better suited for an old friend. All he was left with was, "You came back."
"I told you I would," Sandy had said. Like it was the simplest thing in the world. He sat next to Joshua by the campfire, like he had every evening during the months of his first visit to Zion. Like he had never been gone. Joshua felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire, and realized maybe that was indeed the case.
Joshua had always been drawn to the oak-hearted, had a love for those whose fire burned in their blood similar to his own. He could see such a fire in Alessandro upon their meeting, underneath his calm and steady exterior. He spoke little and said much, never saw the need to flash but always commanded attention. But where Joshua's fire had always been burning, consuming, Sandy's was warming. The single flame that could illuminate as much for twenty people as it could for one.
He had spent the remainder of his first day back simply around the camp, greeting everyone who remembered him, making his first clumsy steps into learning the language they spoke through use, his attempts clumsy but ardent, patiently taking in the spare lesson Joshua would offer with a nod and a fresh attempt. He made quiet offers to help with the evening's cooking, moving where he was needed, less of a guest with each passing minute.
"So," he said, seated once again by Joshua, when the company had been thinned by the call of sleep and night had truly settled in, "do you think there could be a place for me here?"
Joshua nodded, scripture forgotten in his lap as he watched the dark amber light of the fire play off the curves of Sandy's proud jaw, shadowing the dip of his cheekbone, illuminating boundless depths in the tawny eye it reached and the one it left shadowed. "Always."
Sandy nodded, a twitch in his right hand where it rested on his knee, the ghost of an aborted movement. Those were never lost on Joshua, and they warmed him even as they brought a twist to his chest.
"Do you need to make a trip back to the Mojave?" Joshua asked as Sandy looked back into the campfire. "Get some of your things?"
Sandy shook his head slightly. "I've got all I need right here."
M!Courier/Joshua Graham - What the Fire Gave Us [1/3]
It wasn't a month after his big battle at Hoover Dam that Sandy had returned to Zion. Joshua had honestly thought he'd been imagining his still-familiar form making its way through the thin vein of the canyon, like some specter borne of his lingering affection.
"Alessandro," he has said, surprised. All his little words abandoned him in the unexpected swell of his chest that would be better suited for an old friend. All he was left with was, "You came back."
"I told you I would," Sandy had said. Like it was the simplest thing in the world. He sat next to Joshua by the campfire, like he had every evening during the months of his first visit to Zion. Like he had never been gone. Joshua felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire, and realized maybe that was indeed the case.
Joshua had always been drawn to the oak-hearted, had a love for those whose fire burned in their blood similar to his own. He could see such a fire in Alessandro upon their meeting, underneath his calm and steady exterior. He spoke little and said much, never saw the need to flash but always commanded attention. But where Joshua's fire had always been burning, consuming, Sandy's was warming. The single flame that could illuminate as much for twenty people as it could for one.
He had spent the remainder of his first day back simply around the camp, greeting everyone who remembered him, making his first clumsy steps into learning the language they spoke through use, his attempts clumsy but ardent, patiently taking in the spare lesson Joshua would offer with a nod and a fresh attempt. He made quiet offers to help with the evening's cooking, moving where he was needed, less of a guest with each passing minute.
"So," he said, seated once again by Joshua, when the company had been thinned by the call of sleep and night had truly settled in, "do you think there could be a place for me here?"
Joshua nodded, scripture forgotten in his lap as he watched the dark amber light of the fire play off the curves of Sandy's proud jaw, shadowing the dip of his cheekbone, illuminating boundless depths in the tawny eye it reached and the one it left shadowed. "Always."
Sandy nodded, a twitch in his right hand where it rested on his knee, the ghost of an aborted movement. Those were never lost on Joshua, and they warmed him even as they brought a twist to his chest.
"Do you need to make a trip back to the Mojave?" Joshua asked as Sandy looked back into the campfire. "Get some of your things?"
Sandy shook his head slightly. "I've got all I need right here."