winter, spring, summer, fall

"Well, not my favorite enforcer." Lora's eyes sparkle with delight as she tastes the merit of having a cadre of companions to choose among. "You couldn't be!"

"Not in this lifetime," Minoth agrees, easily. "I'll never be your sternest stuff."

She has Jin for that. She'll always have Jin for that. Bless the Titans and the Architect, if it's true and if it's real. And Minoth doesn't mind. He's an amiable sort; how could he?

Fall balances, bridges, between summer and winter, just as spring springs her loveliest step. But summer and winter hold onto each other like the sun holds onto the moon, solstice and sanctuary. No easier said than done. It's Jin and Lora, forever.

Haze and Minoth, noble vassals, stand here, by, keeping the peace.

Lora, leading the way, in valiant reds and whites, gilds about her a strand of purple, so royal, regal, so bright to aid the luminence of a dim, indiminished Jin, whose silvers slick saporific wonders from the natural-bearing world, which is tended by Haze, loyal Haze, burgeoning an orange crested by green and that same sumptuous red, helping to wreathe her in an aura of gold, like the armbands Minoth wears over nuanced navy and browned bronze to signify his place as the bracer, the anchor, the satellite star in Lora's intergalactic wanderer world.

An accessory, he is, not trivial but getting there, if only by ambling.

When Lora falls asleep at the dying fire, away from her ratty blanket and groundside comforts, while Jin will sigh at the task, Minoth will smile as he hoists her up, easy as anything, and lays her down to rest tenderly next to a content, somnolent Haze.

When Lora picks a fight she shouldn't, it's Minoth who tosses in an extra round of untraceable gunfire to keep the Aspars at bay, even if he sustains a handful of nasty scratches that take Haze's healing (Jin's unspoken scorn) to smooth over.

When Lora wants hearty, bloody meat in stubborn opposition to her Blades who wish for light, clean vegetables and fish, it's Minoth who overrules them with a plurality and then takes the extra initiative to gather resources for a side dish to the main meal.

As if he's so angelic. The thought has occurred to Minoth himself many a time, when his wakefulness keeps him away from even Jin's keenest watch. Jin lets him go, because Jin's attachment is overwhelmingly for Lora's sake; his respect, he'll deliver to Minoth by way of distance, and discreet boundaries. Jin lets him go, Minoth knows, because Minoth's flaws will be his own undoing, someday, when Lora has wandered on and her Blades have followed her, gently, peacefully.

Never Lora's sternest stuff. Never necessary, even if he does manage to be sufficient, and Minoth the lancer can peel himself off at any time.

He doesn't want to, though. He does want to deserve it, and he will, if he ever figures out how.

It's not that I only do these things because I want them to want me, Minoth tells himself, sternly yet with consolation. I do these things because I like to. I do these things because it is an honor. Because I make a completeness in my transition that can be abided with wholeness. Because I'm just a nice to have, in that way.

Jin, Haze, Lora, Minoth. Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall. A matched set, two sweet and two savory, two light and two dark, two Blade and two...human?

As if, again Minoth reminds himself, Lora only took you because you're like her. She took you because she likes you, because you're different, because you're interesting, because you mean something to her.

They're washing the clothes, a rare bout of chore duty, when Minoth decides to avail them both of this supposed fact.

"I'm glad to be with you, you know, Lora."

The vulnerable admission stops any activity of violently scrubbing out stains. Lora looks at him cheerfully, suds in her hands and splashes of riverwater on her face that make her eyes appear supercharged with emotion. "Well, did you think I didn't know that? Just because you don't call me 'my lady'," she teases.

"Would you like me to?"

She flicks water, thankfully not that riddled with shoots of grass and clumps of mud, at him. "Now you sound like Jin. You haven't been trying to do that this far, so don't start now!"

Up until now, Minoth has rather stopped himself from ever thinking about such a thing, or the reasons that might drive it. But now, with his sleeves rolled up, Minoth wonders if he could ever truly be as saintly as either Jin or Haze, as rigid-fine.

No, no, he's too human for that.

"You like me just the way I am, is that it?"

Lora doesn't answer, instead leaning her head above occupied hands on the edge of Minoth's bulky shoulder. Just like she'd do with--

Well. It doesn't bear comparison. He is he, and they are they, which is to say, we are us.

"Every day with all of you is a treasure," Lora murmurs. "I don't know that I'd be able to manage so well, the way we are, if there were eight of us, ten, more, but someday I'd look forward to that. I hope you won't worry."

Minoth riles his thumb at a spot of blood and watches it turn an unsatisfying smudge of brown. "Me, worry?"

"We're a worrying bunch, when you get down to it, after all!"

We worry because we have so much to lose, Minoth reminds himself. So many unpleasant things to go back to, if we're not careful, or else nothing at all.

He tries not to watch too closely for Jin's quiet smile, Haze's outright elation, when they return to the campsite with the clothes hung, fluttering regalia, within eyesight. Each ribbon a banner, a triumph, a symbol of family.

Yes, it's alright; they'll all wear their symbols, no matter the season.