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“I can give you a little bit of time. A day at most.”
Returning to Quesadilla was supposed to be the reward for all of Fit’s efforts. After suffering for so long, fighting for so long, focusing every single bit of energy into surviving… he wouldn’t be granted a permanent return home. Instead, it was a short break between two different flavors of hell.
He didn’t have any more strength to fight. In fact, he was on autopilot for the longest time, and just wanted to go home. Home , he thought, as he sat on the iron chair at the weird building in Vacuus Island. Fucking great, going home only to lose it all again.
He cursed his own fate, for a while.
He accepted it the next moment. It was bound to end like that, he knew it.
And, once he accepted it, he then cursed the fact he even allowed himself to call that place home. The fact he formed attachments.
It was his own fucking fault, then. If it hurt, if he was suffering, if he was being forced to say goodbye to what he once believed would be his new life, it was his own damn fault. Nothing that good had the right to last for him. He didn’t deserve it. He was built for one thing and one thing only - and said thing didn’t include a domestic life with friends, family and love.
The thought of cursing his greatest blessing made him want to vomit.
The warp between worlds was uncomfortable, but as soon as he found himself in Quesadilla, he felt his body lighter. He was still exhausted and hungry and feeling pain in his entire body, but warping to the healthier atmosphere of the island made him feel a little better instantly. It was a warm day, and when he left the tower, the sun hit his eyes like a flashbang. After so long, he almost forgot how it looked and felt.
Will I forget it again? As the years pass and I find myself stuck in hell?
Will I forget how silence sounds? How peace feels? How serenity tastes?
Will I forget them? Will I forget you ?
Maybe I shouldn’t have ever known any of it. It would be easier, no?
Guilt came right after. How dare he lament having the chance to live everything he had? When others would kill and die for a day in his place? How would they feel if they imagined he regretted meeting them? And, Fit realized, he didn’t regret any of it. Having no memories from before the wasteland, that year in the weird, dangerous but welcoming island was a blessing.
But it hurt. It hurt so much. It hurt that he only had a few more hours of that, and then he would once again be thrown into senseless violence. He could be just a little selfish and wish he wouldn’t feel that pain, right? For a short while, at least.
But when he tried… all he had in his mind was not resentment. It was something else.
He walked those very well known paths, his legs moving without any input from his mind. The Shit Shack. The tree house. Town of FOBO. These names and places were filled with memories and stories, but they were now empty and quiet. Empty beds, empty halls. He was expecting the usual noise and voices filling the place, but there was none now.
Where did everybody go…? What the fuck happened here?
He tried checking his communicator. No one was there, and he wondered if the damn thing had finally given away after all those months. His prosthetic was ruined, but he wouldn’t waste that one day trying to fix it. It could wait. Still, he went to all the well-known places, hoping to find someone.
Phil’s house. Also nothing. Fit thought about their last meeting, when he saw his friend as something other than himself. He hoped he was alright. He hoped his children were okay. And when he thought about his children, his mind went back to the one thought that never really left him in all that time.
Ramón. Where was he? Was he okay? Was he alone? His bed was empty, he was nowhere to be found. He needed to see his son, to talk to him, to apologize to him, but clearly life wasn’t up to give him even the tiniest bit of slack. He felt so numb and exhausted that he could barely process anything, and the only thing that kept him going was the almost obsessive wish to see them.
But the bed was empty. The houses were empty. The world was empty.
For a second, he considered he could be dead, and that was his personal hell. But Fit wasn’t a man who believed in hell, and he sure as fuck wasn’t willing to start now. So he assumed he was alive… but it still didn’t answer his questions. Still walking, traveling the distance and looking for someone, anyone, he saw the hours pass and his hope vanish.
What did he miss? What happened in those weeks? The Spawn was destroyed. The houses were empty. No signs of anyone, anywhere. His last hope was Mike’s ranch, and if they weren’t there, he wouldn’t know where else to look.
At nightfall, as soon as he reached the farm, the hours passing by, he finally noticed some changes that weren’t caused by mindless destruction like the craters in the Spawn. A statue of a woman with a gentle expression and flowery pink hair. Was that the Goddess he worshiped? Something was telling him there was more, almost like something was calling him to a specific spot.
A garden with a rose-colored wooden fence. The soil had been recently dug up, and when he saw it, he felt his stomach drop. He knew that pattern. He saw it before. And, judging by the number of freshly-dugged up soil spots there… he could have a guess of where everybody had gone.
But still, he held on to hope. Hope that was shattered very shortly after.
The names in the plaques didn’t leave any room for doubt. Walter Bob. Richarlyson. Mike. Pac. Reading those names made him feel weak, and all the last shards of strength he still had vanished, throwing him to the ground on his knees.
Fit was too late. He failed. Whatever happened, he wasn’t there to prevent it.
No tears came out, though. The rational part of his brain pondered that maybe he was so dehydrated he had nothing else to cry out, but the rest of his mind just went blank. It was something even beyond numbness, it felt like he himself had crumbled under the weight of that tragedy. Everything that went unsaid, everything that went unknown… would remain like that forever.
And he couldn’t cry over it. It felt like drowning, it felt like dying. But he couldn’t cry.
His eyes lingered at first at Richarlyson’s tombstone. Fucking chaotic kid . He was in a league of his own, the life of the party, a menace to society, and a genuinely kind boy who loved his family and everybody around it. And he was so young… whatever happened, he didn’t deserve it. He, like all the other children, deserved to grow and learn and be happy. He didn’t have the chance to get closer to Richas, but it was safe to say he loved the boy. Hell, who didn’t love Richas in the island? It was a given.
Walter Bob… did they ever learn of what happened to him? Fit doubted he appeared again, so maybe it was just something to remember the poor Federation worker? He let out a bitter chuckle, it was so fitting to these two idiots to befriend a Fed worker and change the course of his life forever! They were a force of nature, and nothing went untouched and unchanged with them around. He only hoped Walter Bob had found happiness somewhere.
Mike and Pac. Two halves of the same brain cell , some would say. They were brothers in the most important sense of the word, and would run to hell and back for each other. They actually did it, more than once. Their bond was something Fit always found endearing and beautiful, that level of trust and camaraderie went beyond friendship. Sure, most of the time they used it to cause mischief, and maybe that’s what made their presence so pervasive in Quesadilla. Their blue and green chairs scattered everywhere, their pranks, their beautiful buildings. They were a joy to have around, the perfect parents for Richas. The memories made him smile, a little less bitterly this time. How could he not be grateful for being around them? And even now, their graves were side by side, under the gentle watchful eyes of the Goddess of Creation, as they should be.
And thinking of them slowly shifted to thinking of him . Pac.
He bulldozed into his defenses like they were nothing. He had a charming smile, an adorable accent, the most out of pocket plans and ideas, a lot of self-loathing and even more love for the people around him. Knowing more about him was an adventure everyday. He was strong, and fragile, earnest, and deceiving, a walking contradiction that was still, somehow, the kindest person he’s ever met.
And he loved him. He’d loved him for a long time. And yet, he never said the word.
Fit sat by Pac’s grave. The idea of him lying down cold and static under the dirt felt simply wrong. In no world he could die, in no world it would make sense. And yet, in that world, the one he was granted a “blessing” of staying one last day… he did. The veteran indulged in the memories for a while, trying to picture every detail of his. The melodious laughter, the voice, the accent, the gestures, the waves in his dark hair, the perfume of his clothes. And, more than that, he tied them all together so they would form one single image.
He was a historian, after all. Remembering, collecting and registering were his entire mission ever since he remembered. If he lost his own history, what good would it be?
As the memories kept coming, he felt compelled to say something, but it also felt very silly. No matter what anyone believed in, Pac wasn’t there anymore. He was either gone, or in Heaven, or in another life, but definitely he was not in that cold spot in the ground. Still… the unsaid words left the most bitter taste in his mouth. At that point, Fit needed to say whatever words he had… not for Pac, not for anyone else, but for himself.
After all… there was no one left to hear his words. And no one left to remember them. It was up to him to carry that memory, and he learned that saying things out loud made them real.
“So… I guess I was too late, huh”. Fit opened a bitter smile, his eyes wandering around the ranch. Mike did a fantastic job on the place, it felt very cozy and welcoming. Perfect for retirement. But his words went against that realization. He was late, and they would never retire in a place like that, they would never have peaceful days and cozy nights with no danger or worries anymore. Instinctively, his fingers started digging the soil by his side, as he struggled to come up with the right thing to say. “I’m so sorry, Pac. I have no idea what happened, but… I guess I have a few theories. Richas is here, and… well, you wouldn’t want to go on without him anymore, right? I can understand that. If something happened to Ramón, I-”
Fit stopped, suddenly choking up. Once again, the words where the fuck is Ramón popped in his mind. He didn’t find him, but he had raised his boy well. He was the smartest, strongest child he could ever ask for, so he was sure he was okay somewhere. But still, the what ifs were there, loud and cruel. He tried not to give them too much attention for now.
“Anyway”, he continued, with a sigh. “I know we didn’t say everything we wanted to before we parted. But I thought about you everyday. Saw your face everyday. A good thing of having all that player data on me, right? Yours was the first file in the list. And… I think it was one of the things that kept me going in that pit.”
I missed you so much. I still do. I think I’ll miss you forever. These were the words he truly wanted to say, but they were so painful, so… final . He knew this was a farewell, but he realized, too late, that he wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Nothing prepared him for that. In fact, nothing in his life prepared him for having something to miss, something he wouldn’t ever want to say goodbye to.
His eyes were so dry they hurt, like they were trying to externalize the pain inside, to no avail. He closed them, feeling like they’d start bleeding at any moment. But touching the damp soil of that grave made him feel grounded, as ironic as it was. It wasn’t Vacuus, or 2B2T. It was Quesadilla, and even though that island took so much from him, it also gave him much more than he could ever dream of.
“I… I hope you know how special you are to me. Were. No, fuck this, are .” The words kept coming, lower and more confusing this time. “What we have is special, you changed me. I… I wanna believe you made me a better man. And I hope I could do the same for you, but you’re already pretty great for starters.” Another bitter chuckle, as he remembered how flustered the other got with every compliment. “What I really mean is… you made these past months very happy. The happiest of my life, I think. I hope I made you happy as well, and I hope you’re happy now. I’m not exactly a believer, but… well, your best friend is literally married to a Goddess, this must count for something, right?”
From the place he was, he could see the statue, looking in the distance with her kind, immovable eyes. He wanted to believe. He needed to, he needed to believe there was somewhere with no pain or loneliness, somewhere they could all be together. Even if the veteran himself wasn’t worthy of this place at the end of the road, he knew they were. And that was enough for him.
“You and Ramón taught me many things.” Fit looked again at the grave, the name in the tombstone burning a mark in his mind. “How to relax, and have fun. How to see things in a new perspective. There’s more to life than just living another day. And wishing for another day, having a reason to do so, is something I’ll be forever grateful for. I don’t know what the future holds for me, it doesn’t really look good, but I don’t plan on forgetting what you taught me. You two made my life so beautiful, if I can make myself sure at least a part of it carries on, then I’ll be glad.”
The survivalist thinking about legacy and purpose. Maybe a year ago, it would sound like a joke, but now it was the most important commitment he had ever made in his life. Going against Madagio’s instructions was something he would never allow himself to regret. Of course the raw wound hurt so much more, but he had a whole year of color and beauty in his life! And even if it was only a month, or a day, he wouldn’t change it a single bit.
He was, after all, a changed man. And it wouldn’t be his downfall, but his salvation rope.
“And… know that my only regret was not being able to stay with you until the end. I don’t know what will happen now, but I don’t think it’s the end for us. Maybe not here, maybe not in this life, but something tells me we will meet again.” When Fit said that, he was surprised that he truly believed in it, somehow. Pac’s willpower would be enough for him to overcome the barriers of life and death, while smirking and saying that no escape was truly impossible. That was the kind of man Pac was. And that was the kind of man Fit aimed to be. Nothing was impossible, and that included escaping the wastelands for good and living to tell the tale. “So, I will not ask you to wait for me, but please, wherever you are, be happy, be at peace, and take care of yourself. This is all I can ask from you.”
A single tear ran down his face. Saying those things out loud felt strangely cathartic, and a part of him truly believed Pac knew it all already. But he had been trying to say things out loud, and make them real. Just as real as the diaries he kept of all his travels and stories. All of that was real, all he lived was real, all he saw and experienced was real.
And his love, all of it… was real as well.
“Okay, maybe I was wrong; I have a couple other regrets.” He wiped the tear with the back of his hand. “Mostly not having kissed you that day. God knows I wanted to! You were so handsome. So radiant . I wanted to kiss you so badly, but I chickened out, and then you chickened out, and… yeah. Pretty on brand with us, I guess.” One more laughter, this time reminiscent and bittersweet. While they had a lot of awkward moments, Fit looked back at all of them with fondness and pride. It was all on their terms, on their time, and it was just enough for them. “But for the records, I did want to kiss you. And I wanted to say much more, but time was against me.”
Just as it is now.
“And this might be the most important thing I’ve ever told you. Sorry for being so late, you deserved to hear it much earlier.” And then, he got very serious, almost solemn, as if the entire universe was his witness at that moment. “ I love you . And I think I loved you for the longest time, even before I realized it. And I’ll always love you. This will not change. Until my last breath, you’ll be with me. I hope I make you proud of me in the meantime.”
Saying that was equally blissful and painful. He would never know Pac’s reaction to those words. He would never hear his reply. He knew the other loved him too, but Pac was a man of many layers and facets, and now Fit would never get to know all of them. They simply didn’t have enough time.
Fit felt silent for a while, his own words echoing in his mind. By now, it was already nighttime, and his time in Quesadilla was almost over. Soon, the connection would be cut, and he would be returned to the wastelands. He did have time to do one more thing, though, and one more person who needed to hear from him. So he stood up, looking one last time to the graves and seeing, for a second, the image of a smiling, carefree man with black hair and dark eyes looking right back at him.
You’ll be with me, won’t you? In your own way. Thank you.
And as he completed his final task - leaving his baby boy Ramón a letter, the very thing he once disliked for being so permanent, but that he now loved and cherished for the same reason - and was warped back to 2B2T, being greeted by the sound of explosions and bubbling lava pools… he had his new mission, close to his heart.
To tell those stories. His, theirs, his own. To never forget any of it.
To keep his faith, even in the dark.
And to see that year not as a fleeting dream that would never truly be his… but as something that mattered and changed the course of his life for the better.
And one day, someday… that too would end. And a new dream would take place. A new life, a new reality. And in this one, maybe, just maybe… he could find the ones he loved the most again.