somewhere in time {Druig}

out of time

She feels lost again.

At some point, she had gone from wondering with excitement what the next day would have in store to wondering with anxiety what she is even doing at all in the garden. Up until recently, she had this hope that maybe someday she would get lucky and a morning would arrive on her front steps with all the answers in store, but that morning hasn't come. And maybe it never will. Instead, she lies by Druig's side at night trying not to think about it too hard because if she doesn't, then it's easy to just be content with what she has. But even for a near-god, having a perfect track record is near-impossible so every once in awhile she slips into some ever-present abyss of uncertainty and confusion as to what her place in the universe is supposed to be. And sometimes in the early morning hours, she wakes with tears in her eyes and the abyss gets that much deeper. But a new dawn always means a new day to spend with him, and up until recently, that would be enough. Up until recently, she would just wipe the tears away and stare up at the light at the top of that abyss, pretending that that's where she is with him. If only she'd realized sooner that he is always standing on the edge, wondering what's at the bottom. It's the best and the worst part about him, really: knowing what humanity is capable of yet wanting to save them regardless. She loves the latter about him but isn't traumatized by the former in the same way that he is. And so they are parallel lines through time in the garden, never intersecting in the ways that really matter.

She picks up the portrait of them from the shelf in their house. She remembers warmly the day it was made. Druig couldn't bear to sit still so the painting lacks any real detail, but she loves it all the same. She loves him all the same. She loves him, so why does she want to leave him?

She had hoped that looking at this portrait would somehow change her mind about everything, but it doesn't. She gives it one more lingering glance before walking out the door.

"Isis?"

"Oh, Druig. You're here."

"Dinner's being prepared. Are you hungry?"

"Maybe later," she says. In truth, she'll probably be gone before dinner is ready. She looks at the two rocking chairs and then to him. "Will you sit with me for a bit?"

"Of course," he says and they take their seats, sitting in silence as they sometimes do.

"Druig." She looks at him. "You love this place, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. It's safe. Don't you love it, too?"

"Yes. It's a lovely garden we've made." She's being honest, so he's confused as to why she looks so sad.

"It was many years ago, but do you remember that night in Babylon? During the meteor shower?" she asks.

He nods.

"I asked you what purpose you would create for yourself if you had the chance. I see now your purpose is to look after this place." She pauses before asking her next question. "What do you think my purpose is?"

"What do you mean? We made this place together. My purpose is yours."

"But is that how it's meant to be? To just call someone else's purpose my own? I'm still my own person, aren't I?" she asks not as a rhetorical question but because she is desperate for reassurance.

He reaches across the space between them to take her hand. "Of course you're your own person. You're Isis, the goddess of protection."

But what does it mean to be the goddess of protection? Not even Isis knows. She has no god to believe in, no future to foresee, and no past that she can look back on without wishing things hadn't changed so much. She has Druig and their thousands of years together but despite all that it's worth, she has finally come to realization that something about her is still empty.

"What are you getting at?" he asks with trepidation.

"I think I need to leave," she finally says. "Do you understand why?"

In all honesty, there is and always has been a piece of Druig that knows that their time in the garden would end someday — that it won't just go on for eternity. Despite that, he never let himself wonder when or how or especially why. So, he replies: "Tell me. Why?"

"When we left Babylon," she says, "Ajak told me about a wish that she had for me. For all us, actually."

"What's that?"

"She wished that we would someday have more time." He looks at her, confused. "Time to have lives of our own — lives where we could create a purpose for ourselves, just like how I always wanted. And she said to me that if her wish ever came true, that she would want to hear about all of the things that we had done with that time."

"I wish I could say that I would be happy to tell Ajak about what I've done here. But I don't know if that would be entirely true." She looks into her lap. "I'm out of time, Druig. I'm out of time here."

Their hands hang on to each other, but their gazes drift away. After a long silence, he asks:

"But what if my purpose is to be with you?"

"Druig — "

"Wait." His grip on her hand tightens. "I tried for a long time to keep my faith in Arishem. But he isn't something that I can see or touch or feel. But you are. I have faith in you, Isis. In us." He looks at her with longing eyes.

"I can't be your purpose, Druig," she says quietly, almost in a whisper. "You can't ask so much of me."

He looks away and frowns but only because he knows she is right. A tears falls from his eyes — he loves her, so why does she have to go? All the uncertainty and doubt that he had that night in Tenochtitlan rushes back, as if it never left him in the first place. It's uncertainty and doubt about all different questions, but it's exhausting all the same.

"I can't come with you," he says.

"I know," she answers, rising to her feet. "And I never expected you to."

That only makes him sadder.

An instinct tells him to take off his necklace and offer it to her. "You should take this, then," he says, rising from his seat as well.

She resists at first. "I don't think I should take that from you."

"I want you to," he insists, but his voice is as fragile as glass. "When you gave this to me, you said it looked like it shouldn't be found here. So, maybe you'll find where it does belong."

He takes her hand and gives her the pendant, closing her fingers around it for her. Her free hand reaches up to touch his neck, her thumb tracing his jawline. His hand reaches up too, taking a delicate hold of her wrist. She lowers her gaze and presses her forehead into his chest; he rests his chin on top of her head. His expression is blank, but he has so, so many thoughts on his mind. The two of them stay like this for a while as a cold wind passes between them and as time passes around them. Finally, she pulls away.

She touches the device in her pocket — the one from Phastos. "You can use it to find us, if you ever feel like you need to," she remembers his words.

She's missed her family. She thinks she'll finally go to find them now.