Just a Dream

[Amz]

From inside one of the numerous cafes lining the coast of Amfars beaches, Lenna waited. It had been so long since she had seen [member=Ordon Trozky]: six years, six years fighting and hunting down the enemies of the Republic, battling in their wars. Six years ago, the Republic had seemed to be so secure, and so in control. Six years ago, she had walked out on her fiance. The same man who she had sent an anonymous holo to the day before. Lenna had longed to leave the battlefield where she'd been left to die, but had secretly longed even more for the taste of Ordon; to feel the strength of his hands again. She had seen so much death and darkness, that his was a memory she had clung onto.

The humble cafe was filled with at least a dozen people, but toward the back of the crowd and near the door, Lenna saw Ordon. She turned her gaze away, and tugged the hood down over her face some more. Instructions on how to find her had been left for him, she could only wait and try not to reveal herself too early. The reason for such secrecy was a fault on the media. They surrounded Ordon like a pesky horde of bloodthirsty msqitos. It was easy to imagine the backup crews with their cameras and equipment, trying to sneak in for a shot to try and capture Ordon in some link to a scandal, or otherwise report on the latest fashion he was sporting.

A life that she didn't miss. Truly.

Reaching into her pocket Lenna removed a small silver box and left it open on top of the table. Inside were the ornate hair combs he had given her, made from sapphire and opal that had been mined on Naboo prior to her leaving for the Academy. Something to remind her of home, to remind her of what they had.

Suddenly there was a dark foreboding shadow that loomed overhead, and her throat became dry. Crystal blue eyes fluttered up to his. "Take a seat, Ordon."

 

[Ilias Nytrau]

It was hardly an opportunity he could turn down. The missive was somewhat obscure, but its feel was genuine, its intent, genuine. Normally he did not go so far out of his own way to meet with a buyer, particularly when he could send someone else, and especially considering what was on the table, for sale. Several of the corporation's large shipping and small delivery vessels were reaching the end of their useful life, and as they were replaced, the old models were sold off. These were ships that were well maintained, and scrubbed clean of any trace of their legal cargo, ready to be sold off to any buyer for any purpose.

It was not often that a buyer at this modest level sought to meet and make their transaction on a world such as Amfar. It was rare. Rarer still, was the likelihood of his visiting the world of his own volition. Though the family had holdings here, there were memories here, as well. Memories that, years later, he did much to avoid recalling for the matter of their reminding him of... but that was another story, for another time. He spent some time wandering the beach, having opted to, for once and for all, to turn the planet into a place he could find enjoyment in once again, as far as his psyche was concerned. Thus, he had decided to take a couple days, and leave the beating back of the holo-hounds to his personal detail, avoiding any and all contact with them, as much as he could manage.

When the time for the meeting came, he headed out in thong sandals, khaki shorts, and a loose, white linen shirt, sunglasses perched on his nose to keep the bright rays of the sun at bay. The weather was warm, the air fresh with the scent-notes of the ocean, and he knew that he could very well spend the rest of this day after the meeting soaking in the warmth. He came to the door of the designated café, and let himself in, looking back one last time before he entered, and feeling pleased that not a single holo-hound was in sight. He passed through the doorway, and set the sunglasses atop his head, looking towards the other end of the café, where the buyer indicated they would be sitting, and he wove through the gathered in the little establishment to reach... what he could guess was either a woman, or a skinny man, for the vague build under the hood.

He came to the table and stopped. Ordon almost spoke, but she... she did first, and when he heard that voice, he could be certain his heart stopped then and there. Then there were the eyes, that dug into what remained of his soul, for confirmation within a half of a moment from when his mind began to spin doubt, but... but the box on the table sealed it. The memory of that day, one of the last few in which he could truly claim he had been happy, was the day he had given that gift to her. He willed himself to not say what was going through his mind, then, and his teeth ground shut, his hands balling into fists at the high waves of conflicting emotions - grief and anger amongst them - that, in the face of which, his own strength of will had difficulty maintaining control. He released a shuddering breath he did not even realise he had been holding.

He looked to the door behind her, the exit, and took measured, steely steps towards that door, to leave [member="Lenna Praxon"] and this planet behind and never return.

 

[Amz]

Lenna’s breathing hitched in her throat, and not until his presence had vanished from her line of vision, did she realize her own body trembling. Ordon had always possessed the ability to easily unnerve Lenna, who was - to anyone else - an impassable emotional fortress. Her inner self protection mechanism didn't want to allow the crawling sensation of him under her skin again, but there he was. Ignited by that look on Ordon’s face… it was heartbreak, betrayal, it was a complete myriad of conflicting emotional response in a flash of seconds, and she had kindled all of it. A feeling of shame settled, the enormity of what she had done hitting her in waves.

Then… gone.

Her body flipped around, nearly falling out of the booth. The wounds reopened were pouring devastation and Lenna was a young woman again, on the threshold of losing everything, and utterly broken - and all of it was her doing.

Crystal eyes stared despondently at the retreating backside of Trozky. She had half a mind to not go after him, trying to keep her emotions banked and at bay. Lenna couldn't give Ordon what he had wanted, they had conflicting interests, but she had always... well. The past was in the past, wasn't it? And with their last messy farewell, it was well within his right to never look back and leave forever, but did she have the strength to let go? The short answer, was no, but all the same - she couldn’t move, frozen with fear.

“O-ordon, please.” her small voice unintentionally reflected her twisting heart, and Lenna tried to compose herself. But, she was - in vague hope - imagining him coming back, and didn’t want to wrench away from the idea.


[member="Ordon Trozky"]

 

[Ilias Nytrau]

If he could get past what no other could, simply in his way, the same could be said for her, as to her effect on him in that moment. He had his hand on the door, about to step through the threshold when the words, laden with the history, the years, and all that had twisted him inside came from her small and pleading, and hooked into him like some unknown force, as if the will of a wielder of the Force were there to enact it. He froze in his tracks, his jaw working slowly to loosen itself, breath coming out shallow, fists unfurling. She hadn't had this unwitting control in years past, but the years and the circumstances had their ways of working on a man.

Dskeyala Ordon Trozkenpfylyat III, heir of a Brentaalan noble house, and its corporation, did not change his mind for anyone once it was set. It seemed, now, that there was an exception, and it threatened to unravel the control he had over himself, hard-won in the now. Releasing his hold on the bar-style door handle, he swallowed, and turned back as if the control over the motions he was now taking was not his own - in fact, it was a hope, and as broken as that hope was, it existed even after he believed he had finally laid it all to rest in the aftermath of his grief.

Passing her by once again, he put on hand on the tabletop, and slipped into the booth, his other hand joining it, intertwining with it, his thumbs steepled together. He breathed short, shallow, and shaking for a full minute as he sat there, his eyes wound tightly shut as he sought to calm the racing thoughts, clamouring for his attention and the chance at being first in his words. Slower, longer breaths started to become his, again, and when they did, his eyes rose, blue as her own, and anchored on her face.

"You..."

You what? So many words and accusations could tail that one identifier, that one word of singling out. He breathed in and out, long and rattled, out with a sigh that had one hand going to his forehead, his eyes, resting there before lowering to his mouth as his brow knit. His face rose above that hand in another minute, and the tail of his words came with it.

"...you died..."

...Lenna. But he couldn't say her name, then. Not for what it might do if he dared.

"...you're dead. You're..."

His head, his face snapped away, to look nowhere, the window seeming unable to come into focus. Words came again in a choke.

"...I thought you were dead."

[member="Lenna Praxon"]

 

[Amz]

The thought of not seeing him again was practically choking, and when he faltered that moment at the door, she caught her breath in hope. Then... He’s coming back. Lenna thought dumbfoundedly, convinced that her expression had betrayed her with looks of complete bewilderment smeared over her features.

Every step he took was counted. Measured in moments of time, until they finally sat only inches from one and other. The look on his face was one of anguish and confusion. Lenna felt distraught, unable to form words and feeling like she'd forgotten how to speak. All of the thoughts in her head were haywired and jumbled, bouncing off the walls on the inside of her skull.

Likewise, her heart was beating wildly inside her chest, Lenna’s stomach was full of knots, and she was feeling the full force of her decisions hitting her in rapid succession. Pains of regret filled her, and she inwardly battled against buried emotions, going through conflicting sessions of self doubt with her conscious. Everything was so confusing, and nothing had even been said… yet. She wanted to tell him everything. But where did she begin, and where did she end?

Unbidden tears loomed, but she wiped them clean with the backside of her hand long before anyone had a chance to see; refusing to acknowledge the swelling pain that continued to build inside her. Finally, Lenna found the courage to open her mouth, but he was the first to speak. She sighed in relief inwardly, but simultaneously winced at his words.

“I thought I was dead…” she whispered in reply, staring blankly down at the table and analyzing fully what he had just said. Was he regretting that she came back? Or was he relieved? For thinking she knew someone so well, Lenna found it impossible to accurately read him. “... but somehow I survived.”

"... I didn't know where else to go. I..." missed you.

That was what she wanted to say, but wouldn't dare. "... won't be in your hair for long. I promise."

[member="Ordon Trozky"]

 

[Ilias Nytrau]

"I won't be in your hair for long. I promise."

It would make sense that those words should bring relief. When she had left, when she was gone from his life, yet still amongst the living, his thoughts had amounted to her being too blind to see what she was throwing away. The blame for it squarely on her shoulders.

"I thought I was dead..."

I thought I had believed you dead, and he had lied to himself, in that. The news of her passing made the blame shift, in his mind. 'What have I done?' he asked himself, then, and 'Where did I go wrong?', a change of vision that still gripped his thoughts to this day. The clear belief that, had he done things differently, had he been different, would she have stayed, and by extension, would she not have died? The line his mouth assumed was the sum of civil stability in him, in the here and now, but the remainder up to his moist eyes told more. Everything.

No, those words hurt.

"I couldn't bear it, Lenna," and there it was. The name said, the matter of regret or relief laid out clear, his voice cracking hard over the words. Eyes, an ocean of blue for the grief that wet them, pulled away from the blinded window, shifting to the face of the one woman, the one individual in the entirety of this life that could tear down his image of control, of a man so put-together. "Do you think I..."

He swallowed, and lowered his hands from his face, laying palms flat-yet-shaken on the tabletop.

"...is that what you really want?"

A small sliver. Control given over where control had always been taken.

[member="Lenna Praxon"]

 

[Amz]

"I couldn't bear it, Lenna...is that what you really want?""

Lenna stared at him, the hollow inside her chest feeling a little less void in that moment.

The first few years following their separation, even thinking about Ordon had been too painful to bear. Not even in her dreams could she escape him. Now she realized the error of her ways, that she had been too bull-headed to admit her faults before him. Seemingly, it was a problem they both shared in.

Seeing him now in front of her though, with his blue eyes burning, that lost look on his face, and his shaken demeanor absolutely haunting, Lenna didn't want to run anywhere else but to him.

"Ordon... I-" Her gaze broke from his and glimpsed out the window, teeth biting down into her lower lip.

Surviving alone for two years did something to a person, and she wasn't so sure she could come back from that ravaged, war-torn land, where nothing grew and the horizons were bleak. The road that lead to home was unending. But could she have both worlds, truly? Or was it just a twisted, far-fetched fantasy?

Lenna finally looked back at Ordon, trying to keep the tears from swimming to her eyes. "...I'm not the woman I used to be. Even if I wanted to, I can't come back. I have no choice."



[member="Ordon Trozky"]

 

[Ilias Nytrau]

If he could fly apart, seams ripping in an ugly tear... but there were no seams to a man. No buttons to pop off.

"I'm not the woman I used to be."

A breath he was holding, unrealized. It would be natural, scrabbling at the strings, to profess how he too had changed. Was it at all apparent? Could she see it, even now? Wasn't it obvious? How much had he, in truth? The mind begged. He stared, mouth wresting free of the line.

"Even if I wanted to, I can't come back."

He blinked, eyelashes catching in tear-logged waterlines, dragging out. But do you want to? was left unasked, the ache to know etching into his visage.

"I have no choice."

Breathing out was a tired sound, and fingers curled up from the surface of the table, brow knit together hard. Choice? Since when had she no choice? It was the hardest of battles with himself, to not demand answers, to not simply take what he wished when it was right in front of him. No choice? Can't come back?

"Lenna, I..." A hand unfurled again, pushing forward a shaking inch across the surface, before hesitating, shrinking back. She could answer whatever way suited. "...why?"

[member="Lenna Praxon"]

 

[Amz]

All of her focus was solely on Ordon and his reaction, brows knit together. A part of him had changed, it was evident in his surprisingly non-domineering question. Grief was bound to do that, and Lenna couldn't help but feel that the majority of the cause laid heavy on her shoulders. He too was locked in that same sorrow, and she wanted to help put aside that hurt and pain, reach across and brush away the years between them. Oh, if it were only so easy.

"... I can't tell you... yet." She'd become unaccustomed to even needing to share that much with anyone - which was basically nothing - , and it left her feeling raw and exposed. Her bubble of isolation cracked open. Her gut twisted, trying to push down the rising wave of emotion trying to overpower her. Lenna dragged in a leveling breath, trying to keep from shaking herself. It pulled at her heart to not tell him the full truth, but Ordon wasn't ready for it and she wasn't ready to show and tell. "Just... trust me. Please?"

Lenna felt her heart stutter inside her chest as her fingers tentatively reached across to grab his, hesitating. The awful sense of him rejecting her was there, and it would only serve to renew the emptiness inside. Flesh touched flesh, sending a shock like electricity through her spine, livening her body with an unexpected responsiveness. Did he feel it too?

"I'm so sorry...for everything." she blurted, the words pouring unbidden from her mouth, tears springing forth. They sounded weak, cheap, but no words could ever express the overpowering regret that hung over her like a dark shadow. The flood gates had opened, there was no way to close them, and all the while fear was taking over. Fear that he would walk away, fear that he would hate her. Which, that would be the natural reaction to all the pain she must have caused him. To all the pain she could cause him, still.

[member="Ordon Trozky"]

 

[Ilias Nytrau]

The very moment physical contact was established he froze as if it were some foreign sensation, and for all intents and purposes it was. That wasn't to say that he had been celibate, but there had been very particular limitations on his contact with the opposite sex, and sex had been all it was when it happened. Hands did not touch hands, no lips were used - strange were the boundaries one imposed on self and others when grief had its hold, and in his life, different flavours of grieving had taken him for so long.

Fingers curled around fingers, capturing them less by violative act than by largely unbidden instinct as his eyes shifted down to the site of contact and an apology came from her, tears following in the wake of the sound. Tears that drew his gaze upward to her face, and in the observance of that visage, he thawed from that freeze. Wordlessly, he reached into a pocket with his free hand and pulled out - of all things - a white handkerchief, clean, pressed, folded, and embroidered with his initials... and held it out to her.

This was delicate, precarious, and he was shaken.

"Lenna..."

His voice came out distorted by the physical manifestations of grief. He cleared his throat, gently, carefully squeezing her fingers.

"...I couldn't see what you needed."

There was more to that sentence, an admittance his pride still couldn't allow him to make, but instead after a moment or two more of silence, as reality slowly edged in that they were not alone, a small laugh came from him.

"To think we both came here about a ship," finally, it was said, and the words just tumbled onward, taking an unexpected turn, "would you have dinner with me tonight?"

Maybe grief could make people crazy.

[member="Lenna Praxon"]

 

[Amz]

The handkerchief was unexpected, but it’s arrival broke up her tears and she accepted the proffered cloth with gratitude, wiping up the wet on her cheeks that began to redden.

Ordon’s consolation was piercing, sincere. Mist-filled eyes glanced at the entwined fingertips, as if she was realizing for the first time that they had established the connection. Her body trembled, overcome. “...Why don’t you hate me?” Asked Lenna, the question so quiet, it was practically breathed.

Compassion would break down her walls. Lenna expected his anger, but she hadn’t expected his genuine care.

Then the rambling sentence came, which ended with an invite to dinner.

Lenna remained still, the tension between them like a loaded spring. She smiled, laughed nervously. What else could be done?

In a soft voice, she asked, “... What time?”

[member=Ordon Trozky]