Private Something So Gleaming

[Ishida Ashina]

There was an unattached focus to his imagined self’s behaviour, and Ishida felt herself regretting not discussing this more openly with Inosuke when she’d had the chance. She never asked why he challenged their father — maybe he’d caught on to the dangers Bernard had indicated and had already tried to reason before striking him down.

The steel of his wakizashi had only regaled the events of the battle itself, not the precursory exchanges.

She spoke through her thoughts again: “I should have asked Inosuke why he challenged father when he did.”

Or maybe he’d been imbued with the same hubris her father had bred into her, and south to claim his Ashina title too early when he wasn’t ready. It was a shame he was dead, and she couldn’t ask.

"Dark Siders can't be left to cause more pain and misery. We're responsible for the darkness we fail to prevent, too."

His last sentence sounded straight from Sardun.

“I know.” Ishida flinched.

Atrisia seemed dauntingly distant at that moment, and the region of Hebo even smaller. And unprotected. She hadn’t returned since she’d left to find Inosuke, to join the Jedi.

"It's been a long time since I was home. Maybe he's changed." Doubtful. "Or maybe I'll just keep missing the obvious."

She shifted to her side to face him. The excitement to see him again had since drained from her eyes, replaced instead with a weariness that seemed tired by the future demands she’d have to one day fulfill. More than a Jedi’s duty, as heir to the family, it was her duty to make sure there was a family to maintain and protect.

"Help in another person?" She asked, moving her forearm to rest beneath her head. "You, maybe? Or would you be biased by my one-sided portrait of a patriarch?"

 

[Bernard]

The tiredness he saw in her eyes mirrored the one he felt deep down. It seemed any place that wasn't firmly in the present came with heavy burdens. Past and future alike seemed so terribly daunting to chart all of a sudden.

"Anyone you picked would have biases of their own, the wisest would admit to theirs. It's more important that you trust them, deeply, and that they know you well, though they should also be aware of what to look out for. Know the signs of the Dark Side."

He considered for a moment. The second party's function extended beyond an advisor. They were insurance, that no harm befell whoever asaked for help. Further, they needed to be willing to walk the danger as well, and keep them both aligned with their ideals. Bending to darkness, especially when it was someone so influential, would be a great risk.

"I would do it if you chose me."

He let go of her hand to brush a stray strand behind her ear.

"You're a lot more receptive to the idea of asking for help," he smiled slightly.

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

"I would do it if you chose me."

She wasn’t sure that was something she’d actually be able to do. It felt unfair somehow, despite his explanation and willingness. But maybe it would be a deserved outcome or responsibility of his to opening her eyes to something so terrible again.

“It was only theoretical.” Ishida dismissed his observation teasingly and managed a small grin. She was eager to move on from this subject, it seemed so unsolvable now. And his fingers against her hair, and the gentle brush to her ear, helped pull her back to the present and less the nebulous tasks of the future.

“But I promised someone very important to me a long time ago that I’d ask for help when I needed it.” She scrunched her shoulders into a sharp shrug to continue playing into the blasé ease of growth.

“Someone who’s good at keeping his own promises. Makes for good competition to match his virtue.”

 

[Bernard]

He couldn't help but chuckle.

"A friend of yours," he stated, with mock-incredulity. "One who's virtuous too? I'd like to meet that miracle some day."

He shifted so the arm that propped up his head became a pillow for it instead, ridding them of the vertical discrepancy. He'd managed to make her smile, he noted. Since she'd surprised him at his doorstep, the burdens of what was and what would come had been all they'd faced since. He felt the inclination to return there, to not neglect that extension of their duty, but when would that end? They could talk of those matters for hours, if not days.

And now there was no X-Wing, with its impending separation, looming over their heads. That seemed to only begin to sink in now. There was no reason to fear that inevitable absence, and the uncertainty of ever finding presence again that came after.

His breaths began to come more easily.

"I missed seeing you smile," he whispered.

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

HOLD ME
​

Laughter hadn’t been shared between them yet, and his foray unlocked memories she’d kept wrapped around her heart in their time apart. Refreshing the reflections with new notes. A sound that had once been a reality, then a memory, then only dreams of memories. Her smile deepened and reached her eyes.

With ease, he transitioned to playfulness. It was subtle, gentle, and less harsh a pivot than they’d somehow managed on Yavin, but his willingness responded with that personality she remembered.

Despite the mocking intent behind his use of the term miracle, she believed him to be. “He is.” She insisted with sincere agreement. “Trust me, I’ve been waiting too.”

"I missed seeing you smile,"

His words were spoken so softly, they felt delicate and precious between them. As though if he spoke too loudly the potential for any more merriment might shatter. Of course he mentioned her smile first, it was one of the things he’d proclaimed had won him over.

Her chest tightened, and her arms felt weakness seep through them hearing the void she’d caused for him. Suddenly, the dreadful conversation they’d just pushed through seemed manageably unimportant next to the sizeable overwhelmedness of seeing him again.

She wanted to apologize for what had been, for making him wait, for denying him that radiance that put to shame even the most brilliant stars, but that would have been a fruitless loop. Their separation had been one of necessity, and that year or so of distance had earned her the right to be back here, shamelessly, with him.

“I missed you making me smile.” She whispered back, the words felt like they were bleeding out.

Words, once again, felt insufficient. How could a year of being haunted by someone still alive be translated into syllables that weren’t even her native tongue?

Less graceless than usual, Ishida wormed herself closer to Bernard — still on their sides — so her knees could fold against his legs and her nose was against his. The arm not on the bedside moved to rest her hand against his chest for the start of its travels, her thumb tripped against the chain of his necklace en route to cradle his cheek. She dropped her arm to loop around his neck, the other managing to poke its way through the pillow arm and the curve of his neck to meet around his shoulders.

“I missed you so much.” Sideways, she pressed herself into a wordless hug against him and let herself soak into closeness that squeezed out all the barriers and spikes that had tried to re-emerge in their conversation of her brother, her father, the dark side. She tightened just thinking about it, forcing out whatever threatened to remain.

“Do you want to re-start this reunion?” She asked after a few seconds of quiet, her voice still low, the curve of her lips still happy enough to let a humorous huff out.

 

[Bernard]

Her radiant warmth was intoxicating. He couldn't help but marvel at how drastically different this was than the snow dunes and ice he was so well familiar with. She lit their shared space up like a sun, brilliant and luminous.

How had he managed a year without this?

A year had been such a long time. He'd worried about her often, even now he felt the guilt over being apart through all that time of strife well up inside him. He didn't want her to feel alone again. Sticking to that promise he made, the one she found so virtuous, was the first step in giving her a space of stability again, after all the chaos of Prosperity, Korriban, her brothers, her father, all the other matters she had yet to talk about, and all the things to come. Except this time they'd face it all together.

He bade a quiet adieu to the X-Wing, and the inevitability it represented. They'd grown through the pain apart enough, it was time for them to start to grow together.

He pulled his arm from under his head and shifted away from the mattress to make room for it, so his hand could navigate their shared space past her waist, locking his elbow to pull her even closer. His other hand moved down the length of her shoulder and back until his forearms met, and he curled it around her side to complete the hug.

"It's hard to find words for how happy I was to see you again," he whispered before his lips met hers for the briefest affirmation of his feelings.

Delighted was a nice match, though too polite. Elated was too jumpy, though close. Enchanted captured only her charm, not the fullness of her being, and glad was altogether too lifeless. Awe came close, perhaps, though it didn't lean into the joy enough.

It was fair to say she'd turned his world upside down when she appeared at that door, at the very least. He only felt like that shock had begun wearing off now. Perhaps a make-over wasn't such a bad idea.

"Let's paint over the first draft."

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

Happy was the best she could hope for. Her ears caught on fire, and the warmth spread quickly to her cheeks. Joy turned her skin pink, and his sweet happiness crashed against her mouth and she was certain he could feel her own delirium in reciprocation.

Their first kiss had unlocked an overwhelming medley of wonder, joy, relief, thrill, longing, and passion. All so much at once, urgent and excited — this time, he felt focused and tender, emphasizing his jubilance with a soft pull that drew her into golden contentment.

It left a buzz on her lips, and she tucked them together when she felt his absence. As if to preserve the glow he left in his wake.

"Deal." She agreed. Across his shoulder blades, she mimicked brush strokes with her fingers.

"Bernard, Jedi Knight of Arca — so this is your apartment.

Is now a good time? Not too intrusive to your sanctuary or work?”

 

[Bernard]

"Is now a good—?" He repeated, and gave an amused hm. After a moment, he kissed her again. He leaned into the kiss. Deep and satisfying, it still left him wanting more. One kiss was still only a drop in the pond of missed time, and though it was never fruitful to chase the past, it made for a good excuse for him to express his devotion through action.

"Given our," he grinned lop-sidedly, "circumstances, I'd say that's a silly question."

Denon had been his sanctuary from the war. Though it was plagued with many of the same problems as Coruscant, the corrupt officials, dangerous undercity, and its fair share of corporate despotism, he found being here gave him a sense of normalcy that hearkened back to the brief time he spent working as an Alliance Marshal on...Coruscant. Before the need for Jedi to return their primary allegiance to protecting those who can't do so themselves became clear.

"But yes. Yes it is. I'm due for a break...or a few."

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

Incredulity was recognized, and she grinned knowingly in that brief interval after Bernard found himself unable to parrot the complete sentence back to her. His properness washed away like melting snow with his thinking sound.

Ishida didn’t want more of their time together to be confined parameters of the past and future looming on either side. So far, she’d done a rotten job of honouring her own desires. She hadn’t meant to dash their joy so quickly, she’d just wanted him to know how much she’d missed him and it had soured so, so far beyond her expectations.

Perhaps the best way to truly paint over the first incorrect strokes didn’t belong to any timeline other than the now. As much as it stung to depend on family tenets — they were as much a part of her as the marrow in her bones.

Live in the present lest you squander the temporary.

With mocking emphasis, she mirrored the preposterousness of his hum just before he pressed against the note with his affection. She couldn’t help her shoulders shrugging forward into his kiss, as if her body wanted to fold into his completely. Racing, her heart felt as though it were struggling to leap out from her ribs and seek out his in matched rhythm, unafraid to disappear.

Her silenced hm still lingered in her cheeks when he pulled away and shone his boyish grin into their space instead. With that winsome flash of his teeth, they distanced themselves further and further from their first draft, and the fluttering of her stomach stretched up to her face. The stones in her eyes softened to storm clouds, and she absently thread her fingers through white strands.

"But yes. Yes it is. I'm due for a break...or a few."

She felt bad then, at his subtle signal for help. It was so small she might have missed it if he didn’t have her full attention.

“A few breaks?” She ventured, trying her darnedest not to flinch too deeply at the ache those words suggested.

“You have changed.” It was partly in jest, partly in tragedy that there’d been so many shifts they’d experienced separately. The guilt threatened to be stubborn and pervasive if she didn’t address it —just as it had been for months and months in separation.

She stopped herself from thinking too far down that solemn path and shifted back to the now. In sparkling moments like this where she was heart and blood and lungs and not just a name. Not just heartache.

“Given our circumstances,” she echoed. “You have a choice: Do you want to talk about it? Or do you want to —” she stopped, and chuckled despite herself. “Do you even know how to take a break?”

 

[Bernard]

"You have changed."

Had he? He didn't feel changed. Perhaps he hadn't noticed the change, being both the medium and the force of change.

The changes in Ishida had become apparent fairly quickly. She'd become braver, more comfortable with the world outside her walls, and more ... well, happy, despite the tragedies that befell her. That pain hadn't been shoved aside, like she might have done before, she'd carried it, and now confronted it. In spite of it, or perhaps because she hadn't pushed it aside, she could now be here, smiling and cheerful. It came so easily to her now.

He smiled at that thought.

"Given our circumstances ... you have a choice: Do you want to talk about it? Or do you want to —Do you even know how to take a break?"

Momentary disbelief played across his expression as he realized he couldn't give an easy answer.

In months of campaigning against the Brotherhood and navigating the aftermath of their assault on Coruscant, he'd never felt as close to alright as he did now. There was a draw to that feeling, which made him want to indulge further in it.

His smile waned slightly, a shade lesser than it had been, and his expression slowly lost that playful edge as he glanced away, falling into silent consideration. That feeling, it was what he should have done for her as well. Instead he'd pushed, again. He felt suddenly guilty for it. He'd done the opposite of what she'd managed to do now. Rather than bringing them to the present, he'd pushed them to stay rooted in the past, then carry the burden of future responsibility in place of the current moment. The opposite of now, where his thoughts all gravitated around the idea of her.

"I—" he began only to cut himself off abruptly.

A small shock ran up his back, and his shoulders drew together, his arms around her tighter, as he tensed up in response. He'd nearly spoken of that guilt, and dragged them away from this fragile moment of joy.

He shifted his attention back to her eyes, felt that small tension fade from his face and muscles.

"I don't," he said, and it surprised him just how true this was. He'd vigilant, constantly on edge, for as long as he could remember.

"Would you teach me?" His realization bled into his voice through a measure of sincerity he hadn't expected in the question.

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

There Bernard went again, off into some private consciousness where all his thoughts lay bare for him to travel through their peaks and valleys. Wondering about his travels was harmless, and she was content to observe the subtle inflections in the lines of his face. When the saturation of his happiness waned, she felt hers mirror that subtle drop as well.

And then he was back, breaking the silence with the admission she could have foretold and she felt her expression fold into something complex and wistful. His relegation back to a student’s role was charming, but she was an inadequate teacher.

“We can learn together.” She half-committed to her advisory role, uncertain herself how to fully lend herself to desires. Strictness and duty were as much a way of life as they were distractions. There was a comfort to be found in requirement and expectation, and breaks were ––

Exactly that. Breaking routine.

“I hope you put a marker in your readings.” She slipped an arm back, enough to brush some loose strands back to their rightful place. His hair was longer than it had been on Yavin, more intentional with its styling than the messiness of wartorn tresses. It looked good. Taking a few extra seconds to smooth the rogue chunk of white, she made a face at herself, realizing that she had the benefit of telling him now. “I like your hair.”

Her hand dropped, and she offered a small inclination of her head in association with the semi-out-of-the-blue comment before she transitioned back to teaching. Sort of.

“It probably has to do with connection and awareness.” Ishida continued on their original venture, keeping her voice low and thoughtful.
She might have been mixing some of her considerations with the initial stages of meditation, but there was probably some sensible overlap.

"And deep breaths to find where to start,” she inhaled to demonstrate, feeling a little ridiculous at drawing in so much air that her shoulders lifted slightly, and then exhaling enough to actually feel a collapse in her chest.

She let her fingers trace the points that she spoke about, keeping her touch feathery-light. As they travelled, her fingertips recalibrated year-old memories with the present.

First, her hand moved to his chest to encourage mimicry. “The awareness comes into play here, to see where your body sends that breath. What needs attention.”

When she touched his temple, she recalled the way it had tensed so tightly during their final kiss goodbye on Coruscant, like he’d drained himself and given her all his emotion. And left on empty. Now, it was more relaxed and full. “Something that doesn’t require so much thinking, probably."

 

[Bernard]

The idea of learning together was nice. It held the promise of a process of curiosity they could share. They'd chart out a path through undiscovered territory together. Begin to make new memories there, and unlike on Yavin or this draft they'd decided to paint over, he wanted there to be no looming reminders of all the hardships that were or would be. No X-Wings, no duties, or inevitable hurt or sorrow. Just them and the present moment.

It began with her compliment. Though it was unrelated, it helped him ease up a little more. Her touch forced him out of his thoughts. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. His chest expanded under her touch. The air was filled with a pleasant, fragrant scent he hadn't noticed until then. Her hand travelled upward, and he felt shivers pass over his skin. They brought an even deeper awareness to his senses, pushed him into that more thoughtless living that existed entirely in the moment.

He stretched out against the mattress, taking advantage of the comfort it provided. His back muscles stretched with a satisfying pull and his spine began to feel lighter and more sturdy at once. Groaning with contentment, he brushed his hand over the blanket. Its velvet surface seemed softer than before somehow, more real against his fingertips.

"I didn't know this bed could be this comfortable."

A faint sensation pulled his awareness back to his own body. He brought his hand up to trace a scar that ran down his chin. It burned faintly. He'd felt it before, occasionally. It was usually faint enough that he didn't notice, but now that his attention had turned to his senses, it appeared again, spreading along the complex networks that converged at the centre of his chest. It didn't feel comfortable, but neither was it painful. Soft enough to push aside and ignore in favour of other aspects of the present.

"Awareness," he repeated. Awareness without so much though.

He drew his hand to her hip, shifting so he could see where his fingertips rested against her. They'd been this close before, a year ago, but he felt as though every sensation was an entirely novel experience. His fingers moved down the curve of her hip, traced slowly along her side, and over her shoulder to the space above her heart, mirroring her gesture. An awareness that could extend to both of them.

"This is nice," he settled into a warm feeling that spread through his chest, drowning out the discomfort of his scars. He felt the beat of his heart slowly quickening and the rush of joy that accompanied it.

"Next comes . . . connection? I think I know what to . . ." Calm and full breaths came and went, and he began to open himself up to the Force, the same way he used to for meditation. He hadn't done that since . . . since Krayiss.

A Jedi could open themselves to the Force, or close themselves off from it. He'd done the latter so frequently in recent times that it had become second nature. To not have to sense, feel, the world around him in the deeper ways that manifested in the Force. On a battlefield this disconnection was invaluable. It limited the information assaulting his senses in an already chaotic environment, but here, in the privacy of his own home, that limit itself became an obstacle.

He opened himself up to that connection, to the Force and the world around him, and immersed himself in it. His heartbeat quickened, and a thrill surged up his spine. He felt that awareness become sharper, felt the echo of the energy that permeated all living things resonate within himself, a vibrant reminder that he also was connected to life on that deepest of levels.

He'd missed this. Been too busy with matters of war or of the Jedi to take a moment to simply immerse himself in the living Force and feel the profound tranquility that accompanied it.

Then he frowned, his face twisted with unease.

A biting cold came over him suddenly. His heart beat faster, frantic. Echoes called out at the edge of his senses, impossibly quiet and yet loud at once. They seemed agitated, disturbed, perhaps distressed, he couldn't discern anything about them. Then searing ice touched the skin of his arms while a deeper chill swept over his chest. He tensed suddenly, his entire body locking up. Instinctively, he withdrew from the Force, to shut away that terrible cold, and the winter began to abate, but a terrible hollowness remained.

He pushed away from her. A shivering breath escaped him as a tremor ran through his shoulders. The last few icy knives drew over his skin and he pulled his hand close to his heart, closed it into a tight fist.

"Maybe . . ." his jaw still felt tight, his words came out strained, "I'm not cut out . . . for this."

He managed a stiff laugh and started to slow his breathing. His senses numbed and ease returned to his muscles. Or, at least, he couldn't feel the tension anymore. He uncurled his hand from a fist and used it to prop himself up.

He gave a weak, apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

She ha-humm’d at his absent observation, and her wondering smile deepened. A bed he must have slept in a thousand times had somehow managed to be unremarkable until now. It was almost too baffling to believe, but she was happy to hear it nevertheless.

Silver remained unwavering on him, watching his movements and the unhurried motions he conducted — fully lending himself to the kinesthetic studies of a break. There were thoughts there, in another world beyond his movements. Considerations and notions that belonged just to him, and as curious as she was, she felt being a silent companion, content in observation, was a more fitting role for their mutual exploration of disconnecting from duty.

It was subtle, the way Bernard moved. Stretching and shifting, tapping his chin in thought — and she wondered briefly how active his pain was. Most of her scars, the deep ones, were ignorable unless something touched them. Were her hands harmful when she meant to heal?

If that was the case, he didn’t say. His attention to the physical shifted from himself to her, and she selfishly welcomed it.

His travelling touch left a burning wake behind it, plumes of anticipation that journeyed from her hips to her upper body. She did her best to keep still and lend to the hunt for calm rather than the budding emotion that thrilled within. But her control was tenuous by the time he reached her chest. And beneath his hand, her heartbeat quickened. She could feel it skipping intervals behind her ribs, and it made her breaths shallower.

In contrast, his heartbeat instead seemed to bloom for her with a resonance beyond just visible emotion, something deeper. After Krayiss, when he’d visited her on Prosperity, it had been the first time she’d felt his signature within The Force. It had been uniformed, slight as a shadow in midday, but existent. Now, that underlying foundation seemed to expand in multiples. Fast and uncensored, shifting that blooming beat to unrhythmic battering.

And then it was over. Gone as if it had never been. All that remained was the tightened hero, closing in on himself. As if his body were a prison to terrible danger, and his mind the ceaseless warden.

Without a thought, she flinched after him. Her hands moved to chase and connect again when he withdrew. It was hasty, and just before she touched him she constrained her greediness to just rest on his knee.

He was taller than her again, and she looked up at the lines of his neck and jaw and the faint thrum of golden vein-like synth flesh. His apology sat between them, small and awkward. She wanted to flick it away. Instead, she pushed herself up to rest on her hip in a half-sit, half-lean.

His expansion had been impactful. A side of him she hadn’t been privy to, even in the throes of Korriban. Now, it was like a sliver she couldn’t figure out how to pinch out. One of those things where she didn’t realize what she’d been missing until she caught a glimpse of it.

That had been so sudden, so contrarian to the poise he usually maintained. So counterintuitive to what he’d meant to do.

“Maybe.” She offered back. Refuting him was what she wanted to do, but perhaps there was merit to his words. “But we’re learning together, we can stay smaller, more careful” Ishida reassured and snuck her hand back to cover his. Her fingers threaded into his to offer herself as an anchor to the now. In his doorway, she’d promised she was here. Now she’d prove it. He did so tenfold with her.

It seemed so surprising for him to suggest himself incapable after one attempt. He was tireless when it came to others, to her — and she wanted to ask what happened. To intrude further to his private problems, to be the knife she could be and cut them open to make them shared.

Her mind twisted from thought to thought, through the fast-budding questions until it stalled on the one that stood out. It was that yearning to hear what he had not said. “Where were you trying to go?”

 

[Bernard]

"Maybe. But we're learning together, we can stay smaller, more careful."

Her hand felt comforting against his own. It made him feel as though that possibility was real. Perhaps it was.

"Where were you trying to go?"

"I wanted to be here. With you. Fully," he looked away.

"I wanted to connect with you by opening myself to the Force, and to you," he met her eyes again, a small smile playing across his lips. "It—I guess it worked for a moment, but then . . ."

A small shiver ran through his spine and his hand tensed between her fingers.

"Then the cold came, and I had to close myself off from it. I . . ." his brows furrowed in thought. "I could almost feel the world, the living beings here around us, like I used to before I lost the Force. Something changed when it was returned to me."

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

Bernard wasn’t trying to go anywhere, just be more deeply present. An attempt to prioritize feeling before thinking. The subtleties that made her expression seem concerned softened. He sounded genuinely inspired by the seconds of tranquillity he’d managed to establish, and bewildered by their evasiveness. It was a pity, then, to see the smallness of his smile wane so quickly and slip below a struggling horizon.

This was a new shock, Ishida realized. He’d easily spoken before of his intentions with The Force, his duty as a Jedi, how to live, but opening himself up to it seemed to some with a distant, unsaid consequence. She did her best not to let her comprehensions play across her face and focused instead on hoping to see that small smile return.

Ishida considered his intentions — to fully connect with the moment and her — and looked down at the velvety space between them. Her lips pressed together and tightened upward to look smaller and more thoughtful.

The notion of the Force changing after his experience on Krayiss was troubling. Involuntarily, she felt a tug behind her ribs. Or a shift in her gut. Krayiss had been an almost unsurvivable dance with darkness. He’d bested it, defeated their allure and been rewarded with the restoration of his connection to The Force.

“Changed how?”

 

[Bernard]

"Changed how?"

"I don't know. With the war, the Jedi, my duties, there hasn't been much time for me to practice," he said.

Before Krayiss, he'd tried meditation to reconnect with the Force. It had been a routine habit before his connection had been cut off, so it had made sense to continue it. However, after Krayiss, that connection had felt different. He'd been less inclined to meditate, felt an uneasy cold when he tried, and found it exceedingly difficult to establish that feeling of being part of the Force.

It had seemed like a simple side-effect of going without the Force for so long. A barrier that needed him to undergo the right training to regain his old relationship with the energy field that bound all things, similar to how a youngling might have to develop their sense for the Force before they can begin to control it. After a while, however, it had become clear that this unease would be persistent through any such training.

Except, just now, it had worked for a moment, until he'd lost control of it.

"I think, when I tried to immerse myself in it just now, I wasn't ready for how overwhelming it would be to feel it all again," his expression softened and he glanced down to her hand.

She had him when he'd withdrawn, but not entirely. Something had made her keep a distance between them. He met her eyes, the smallest hint of concern in his expression, and gave a gentle squeeze where their fingers were interlocked.

"I was unprepared, I didn't mean to pull away from you," he whispered.

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

Ishida closed her eyes and listened to the list of external forces that provided obstacles to Bernard’s connection with The Force. That thing that had shifted in her gut hardened and twisted, and she inadvertently flinched in response to the internal reaction. They were such huge demands, all-consuming and greater than him, greater than her. In their nebulousness, she recognized how easily time could be lost to them. She'd have to ask about each one before their time together was over which, she realized, was undefined.

That brought a certain measure of delight to her awareness.

She opened her eyes again, specifically to try and watch the expressions that accompanied his words. He didn’t seem overwrought with strife, his face remained unhardened.

When he’d pulled away, her first reaction had been to try and close that space. She hadn’t taken it personally, but if she spent too long thinking about it she might have. Then again, they’d gone a year without having the solace of one another’s company, of course it would be natural to retreat to the safety of self when that’s all one knew after so many traumatic events had occurred.

But it was reassuring to hear he hadn’t meant to do it. If he’d had the ability to override instinct, he would have chosen her. Her heart fluttered. His eyes were tired but trying and in the complex shades of white a wild spectrum of colour that pulled her in and eliminated the rest of their surroundings.

“Unprepared and unaccompanied.” Ishida agreed, and edged herself backward, drawing both her knees up to scooch away from the bed's edge and commit to sitting more comfortably. Cross-legged in the centre. With one hand still over his, she reached for his other to encourage him to stay near her again, but upright. Less dangly. “I should have met you there halfway. Or given you something to connect to. I wasn’t ready either, and something colder found you first.

Would you try again?”

 

[Bernard]

He obliged, shifting so he sat upright as well, moving his legs under him so he knelt in front of her.

"I—" he began, but sighed.

"No. I won't."

He took her hand, regardless of his answer, and brought it close.

"Tapping into the Force like this it's . . . it's dangerous. Painful. I know you want to help me, but, I don't know what might happen if we try again. The first time was already reckless, what if this time you're hurt as well? Because of something I did?" His hand tensed under hers, and he placed it above his heart. It beat faster, his shoulders locked up.

"I can't risk that. I can't risk losing control like that again."

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

A hopeful ripple coursed through her when he rose to meet her, adjusting to sit and delve into a connection they hadn’t made before. A full one, as Bernard described it. Entirely present, entirely them.

And then he said no. Not something he couldn’t do, but something he would not do. For however fulfilling the reward might have been, the risk was too great. Her shoulders slackened and the hopeful curve of her mouth flattened. The disappointment was apparent in her eyes. But that disappointment was mirrored in his, to a different degree. Amidst that spectrum of colour was apprehension as an emotion that saw a future of pain.

He guided her hand to his chest, to his heartbeat. Its heavy pumps pushed through his muscle and the fabric of his shirt and into her hand. Thudding in a rhythm that reminded her of warmth and closeness from a year ago. Part of his hesitation was opening them both up to risk; her harm by his doing. The last time that had happened had been in an exchange of gut-splitting laughter, and the risk was menial. Inconsequential. Gargantuan only because they had made it so.

Ishida’d insisted that Bernard should try and be more comfortable, try her position, and he’d argued back that he would crush her. They’d tried to reverse the scenario, laughingly in the evening of day two. It had lasted fifteen or twenty minutes at most until the ridiculousness of their efforts started to crush down on Ishida’s thighs. If they hadn’t been giggling so much they might have been able to manage gravity a bit more intentionally. Especially since Bernard had remarked on his fondness for the reversal.

So much had changed in a year. This time, the way he spoke of risk was far more serious. The ache in his voice turned her inside out.

“That was your first time immersing yourself so deeply since Krayiss?”

Sympathy widened in her heart.

“It sounded like you wanted it.” She closed her eyes again, escaping the painful lines that pulled across his countenance. She wanted more for him. For him to feel that golden joy she’d only felt a brush of before it evaporated.

“I’ve never felt you like that before,” Ishida whispered. Intervals of silence spanned between them, her stormy gaze searching through the gentle curve of his eyes. It wasn’t hesitation that put a pause to her tongue, it was careful patience. That swell of sympathy hadn’t abated, but she wanted it to be constructive. Not just exist within her as a heavy hole.

Her thumb stretched to brush the L-shape between his thumb and pointer finger, emphasizing the glove he wore. He could have created a new containment hilt for his heirloom’s kyber, but he tolerated the biting cold. Found it endearing, and instituted a way to protect himself against it. A similar step as he’d just described with his exposure to The Force’s intimacy.

“Pain from the cold seems to make itself a part of your Jedi life.” Her hand crept to the hem of his glove and stroked it back to roll it closer to the palm and expose thin, golden vein-like scars beneath. Her eyes had dropped to his wrist now as if answers were written in the synth flesh. Her words were careful and quiet.

“I understand not right now.

But is that connection something you want to try for again? Understand the change more, or live within the risk?"

 

[Bernard]

"That was your first time immersing yourself so deeply since Krayiss?"

He nodded.

"It sounded like you wanted it. I've never felt you like that before."

They shared comfort in silence. A few moments during which actions took the place of words that were complicated to find and speak.

"Pain from the cold seems to make itself a part of your Jedi life."

He tilted his head slightly, furrowing his brows for the shortest moment, uncertain how to respond, but she continued.

"I understand not right now. But is that connection something you want to try for again? Understand the change more, or live within the risk?"

"I want to. I really want to, to try again, and to understand it more."

"But, since Krayiss, whenever I meditate to clear my mind there is an inescapable gravity that pulls me to this cold and painful place," he looked to the side, recalling experiences from their year apart.

"When I immerse myself in the Force to find balance I instead feel like I'm caught in some vortex that keeps me in a constant state of imbalance, without anything to hold on to. I've felt adrift in the Force, tried to push it from my awareness, and so I've been devoting my time to more practical pursuits," he glanced to the desk.

Books, holo and bound, stood stacked atop it creating an almost alcove where he worked with stacks of papers and datapads strewn about in a chaos only decipherable to himself. He never bothered to organize it, or clean it up at a day's end. To do so seemed a waste of time when he knew he'd dive right back in after a night's rest.

He scoffed at a thought, "it's as though the Force was given back to me for the sole purpose of making me renounce it again." After a moment his expression turned solemn again and he casts his gaze down.

Sighing, he stood from the bed and walked to the caf machine. On his way he pulled off the glove and tossed it onto the pile of books on the desk, where it landed atop a copy of the second Aionomicum.

At the kitche alcove, Bernard grabbed the counter, leaning on it for support as he stared down at the glowing red 'stimcaf' button on the black housing of the caf machine. The label on it had worn off more than the others.

"I've been researching it, but every lead I pursue ends in a dead end. I haven't managed to find anything, and meanwhile that pull only worsens."

He placed a cup under the caf machine and tapped the stimcaf button. The sound of pouring liquid filled the silence, and thin wisps of steam rose from the cup.

"I wanted to find a solution to it, some way to feel the Force like I used to, before our reunion, so it wouldn't be a barrier between us like this, but, well . . ." he shrugged, closed his eyes, and let his head rest against the cabinet.

Ishida Ashina