Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Agent Cherri Cola,” Poison smirks, feeling the way the name rolls off their artificial tongue. “Long time, no see.”

Cherri just laughs, the clear sound ringing out into the quiet of the desert. The sun is setting, and the faint sounds of Girlie and C.A.T. come from inside. It feels like home, for a moment, and Poison’s veins turn to ice. Home. 

Cherri doesn’t notice them freeze, or doesn’t care, and chatters on as Poison clambers off their bike and quickly hugs him. 

“You know, Girlie came up with two whole new names since you’ve been gone. Two whole new names for herself in a few hours, Pois! It took me weeks to get Cherri Cola.”

Poison doesn’t reply, still thinking about the implications of what they just thought. Home. They don’t have a home, they haven’t had one for years, ever since Mama died. The Diner seemed like home for a while, but that was torn away from them like most things were. To be entirely honest with themself, something they rarely do, a place to truly call home terrifies them in a strangely soothing way. The sand crunches under their feet, and they force themself to focus on Cherri.

“...Paper Explosion and--” Cherri stops. “Pois?” 

Poison doesn’t answer, and Cherri doesn’t either, just gently hugs them in the way only Cherri can, not too overbearing but just enough to let Poison know he’s there. 

“Rough day?”

“Yeah,” Poison lies. “It went well, but it was as exhausting as always.” That part is true, at least. 

“The great Party Poison admitting they get tired?” Cherri teases, and Poison knows he saw through the lie, as simple as it was. Cherri had always seen through them, like a gentle-eyed x-ray machine lovingly watching the inner workings of their soul. 

But Poison doesn’t say what’s really on their mind because that would be too easy, and they fall into a simple conversation about Girlie’s names, still standing outside of the radio shack where Poison and the Girl moved to after...well. It’s no use thinking about it, not when Cherri looks so happy. 

The new names are The Explosive and Andromeda, to go alongside Sodapop and Tiger-eye and so many more. She really likes one-word names, apparently. 

“Andromeda, huh? Suits her, I like it,” Poison says, and it hits them that that’s going to be the name she chooses, for sure. And they do like it. No matter that it reminds them of Jet Star, who was always Girlie’s favourite. No matter that their clockwork heart is searing with grief again. They would endure it for her. She and the revolution are their only priority. (And maybe Cherri, but they weren’t ready to admit that.)

Cherri knows what they’re thinking, and he moves in closer again. Poison presses their head between Cherri’s shoulder and his neck, leaning into his soft embrace.

“I do like it,” they say decisively and they can feel Cherri’s sad smile. “I don’t care, and if you do anything about it I’ll call you Pepsi for a month.”

“I just want you to be happy,” Cherri mutters. 

“And I want Girlie to be happy. And I do like it.” 

“I want Girlie to be happy too,” Cherri sighs. “I guess it’s my duty to not let her name herself The Explosive, anyway.”

“It’s a good name!” Poison argues, and they realise how warm they feel. Happy. It’s strange. 

The thing is, Cherri knows what it’s like. He knows what it’s like to lose friends, body parts, a purpose, and yet he’s still so damn happy. He wears his heart on his sleeve, not even bothering to put up his brave face in front of most people anymore. Most Zoneborn people change a lot over the years, and not just in their flesh-to-metal ratio. Poison knew Cherri as a kid for a brief while, when their families crossed paths. He remained Cherri Cola, poet and sharpshooter extraordinaire after all these years when Jet put everyone in front of herself and became resident caretaker wherever she went, and Poison locked themself away under a thick wall that only a few people ever managed to break through. Make no mistake, the fire burns strong on either side, but it’s mellower, more hollow than it seems. 

Of course, Poison hears it when Cherri wakes up screaming Newsie’s or some other fallen friend’s name, sees him lying on the shack’s roof at night instead of day, staring at the stars instead of the sun because old habits die hard. They see him cry, and they see him shoot at Jump Juice tins closed-eyed and hitting every one to this day. They know he’s not perfect, that the years left more of a mark on him than an arm and an eye and Witch knows how many other smaller pieces, but it’s hard to remember sometimes. 

They wonder briefly if Cherri thinks of them like this, too. If he ever sees the fake revolutionary instead of...well, whoever they are, because ‘Party Poison’ sure doesn’t feel like it.

The realisation that one of the reasons why they love being around Cherri… love Cherri so much is because he doesn’t see Party Poison, he sees them isn’t a new one, but it still feels strange. 

Saying ‘I love you’ is easy in the Zones. Short lives don’t leave too much space for circling each other. And yet Poison is terrified, they realise. Terrified of losing the two people they care about, more than being scared of losing anyone ever before. Terrified of losing the place that is their home, yes, home. 

And Cherri is still standing there, talking to them about something unimportant, and Poison is melted into his embrace, and Poison can’t bring themself to move. 

And then Girlie comes outside, wondering what took them so long, and the reprogrammed C.A.T. is running after her. She’s still growing into whoever she might turn out one day and the sun has set, and everything isn’t good because Poison loves Cherri and it scares them and Girlie is still so small and doesn’t even have a name yet, but she takes a look at them and worms herself into the hug and Poison feels like their metal heart is about to burst from happiness.