Private Something So Heavy

[Ishida Ashina]

Squeezing her eyes shut, she nodded in agreement. A knowing simper spread from one corner of her mouth to the other.

He was probably right that they take some time to recuperate.

She hadn’t really considered what her plans would be after making the suggestion. She was operating out of something close to desperation, the need to stay close and not separate on terms that would feel hurtful in their upcoming timeline.

Going through a series of firsts, all in one day, was exhausting. And it was one of the longest of Ishida’s life, and keeping up with momentum would sap away the strength she required to reflect on it. On what it all meant. And now that she’d acted on all those unsaid things between them, on what he meant to her.

I'm starting to feel the repercussions of, well, everything settling in.

Even now, when he said the words emotional she saw only glimpses of everything that had happened. The torment of Alliance soldiers, the bloodshed, the fury she’d felt at his hesitation, the overwhelming devastation of the acolyte’s reality, the urgency of their exodus from the collapsing academy, the discomfort of the squashed cockpit, the burden he bore, her painful and teary release, their agreement to separate, their kiss that seemed to re-establish a link that had been so close to shattering.

She’d never really spent time imagining what a first kiss would have been like, but she never would have considered it would be one of the last ones for a long time. Or what that even meant.

“That’s probably wise.” Ishida admitted, and reached up to tuck a loose strand behind her ear and she moved her hands from her side-hold on him to his arm only, pausing before she made the choice to fully step away and start figuring out sleeping arrangements.

“There was...is..a lot of everything. How are your repercussions? Are you...feeling alright?”

 

[Bernard]

After Ishida stepped away, he leaned into the cockpit to reach for the seat. He fidgeted with a lever, pushing the backrest down as far as it would go. Inclined as far as it could, the seat made for a decent sleeping place.

"I'm fine, just a bit tired."

The experience on Korriban, beyond the inexplicable sword vision, had rattled him a good deal. It wasn't so much returning to a place of great tragedy, he'd been prepared for that, as it had been the moments before. Fighting alongside Ishida, witnessing the bloodthirsty hatred in her first-hand like that through the Force, and subsequently opening himself to all the sensations within the invisible field of energy had been rather overwhelming.

Tapping the padded cushioning, he looked over the seat as he dwelled in his thoughts. The military design had offered little in the way of comfort at first, but over the years the X-Wing's interior had been modified extensively. A steeper incline for the backrest, additional cushioning, more legroom, and the steady heating from internal life support systems turned the starfighter's control cabin into makeshift sleeping quarters at a whim. Thinking on the backpain he'd known after the X-Wing was lost to Korriban, he regretted not rescuing this X-Wing sooner.

Korriban seemed to be the centre of all the galaxy's tragedies. While they'd been there he'd opened himself to the Force and felt the tidal waves of anger, grief, and pain. They'd nearly been so overwhelming as to rob him of his better judgement as a Jedi. And, all those sensations still lingered somewhere deep within him. Echoes of tormented souls, tearing and clawing at him as he fought to bring light to the galaxy.

He felt himself stiffen as he worked at the pilot's seat, involuntarily responding to the memories, so he turned his thoughts away from the past and toward the present. The echoes of a wordless conversation became the focus of his attention instead and, slowly, ease returned to his motions. He paused his efforts briefly, turning to say something, and caught a glance of Ishida's eyes. The words became tangled on their way out and he stayed silent for a few heartbeats, caught in a spell as what had happened moments prior actually, consciously sank in, before he realized what he was doing and turned away again to bashfully continue his work.

"Better than fine," he murmured.

After a few more adjustments to the X-Wing's interior, a long enough pause for his heart rate to return to normal, he reached for the clasps keeping his cape fastened at his shoulders. He opened both with quiet clicks and pulled the cloth over and in front of him, to hold it out to Ishida.

"Alright, here. It won't be the best sleeping experience, but it certainly won't be the worst either. I'll take one of the wings. Should keep us safe from any ground-roaming nuisances, and," he tapped the canopy's glasteel with a smile, "can't beat that view."

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

Bernard seemed to be in a constant sleepless state, but tired was probably one of the aptest descriptors for their shared situation.

But fine seemed like such an underwhelming response. The sort that you’d give when you didn’t want to go into a more articulate dialogue. The sort that she’d given several times, offhandedly. It invoked an unconscious smallness to her mouth, and it turned into a disquieted frown.

She gave a thoughtful hm and looked away from him working away at the cockpit, back toward the pointed tops of the temples. Physical remnants of Force Secrets, but moreso legacy. Rocks on top of rocks planted on top of a larger rock, and all those hands had gone into placing those rocks there. The legacy of the builders was lost, but their purpose remained.

Perhaps purpose was the most permanent of legacies –– whether achieved or not.

"Better than fine,"

Blinking back to the now, she looked back in time to see him rising to meet her with his cape presented in his grip.

Better than fine might have been as much as either of them could articulate at this juncture, and she let the warmth of that suggested improvement settle. It was not something to be pressed.

"Alright, here. It won't be the best sleeping experience, but it certainly won't be the worst either. I'll take one of the wings.."

What she might have pressed, however, was his decision for sleeping arrangements. All the comfort seemed to be in her favour, and he would sprawl on the wing. Exposed.

“Oh,” She sounded surprised, glancing at the rich blue fabric stretched between his hands. Like an inverted toreador. He was pretty literally offering the shirt off his back, and she tilted her head to the side to gesture appreciation.

“Thank you.” Tentatively, she reached for it and let her hands linger a little longer near his than she might have otherwise. This was care and respect. Care for her wellbeing, respect for her privacy. They’d crossed boundaries already, but keeping some meant their inevitable separation might stave some of the impending doom on their hearts.

He smiled again, and she felt her neutral expression involuntarily mirror his amiable look.

" Should keep us safe from any ground-roaming nuisances, and, can't beat that view."

Her brow furrowed. What did a view matter?

“My eyes will be closed.” Ishida countered with a small shake of her head, and that’s as far as she went in the negotiations. She didn’t have any other solutions for setting up some sort of camp –– and he’d finagled the cockpit to be a temporary nap chamber; which worked well enough for her. And if she just asked if he was sure, his response would be predictable.

Besides, she’d already negotiated her way out of their immediate separation. She shouldn’t try her chances any longer. She brought her hands together, the heels of her palms touching with only the cape between them and she felt like she was lingering too long.

He was used to Arkanian winters, something that sounded like it bit at the bones and took forever to recover from –– Yavin IV by contrast, was quite temperate. Despite his exposed self being on the wing of the starfighter.

The amount of time she was putting into thinking about his sleeping arrangement was startling, and again, not something she’d had to consider before. Even when they were together almost day in and day out on Prosperity, he’d had his own room.

“Alright,” she agreed with herself not to counter the arrangement or efforts he’d invested so far. She pulled the cape toward her, keeping her hands over his and propped up to the tips of her toes to give herself some height, and pressed her lips against his cheek in a fleeting token of affectionate appreciation. It felt strange, foreign. Like someone else had taken over her motor skills and was bleeding kindness through her otherwise cruel façade.

Her smile was small, tight, sheepish: “Be safe out there, and sleep soundly. I still need you to get back to Coruscant.” Home. She almost said to get back home.

But that wasn't where she was going. Home was planets away, far beyond the Daragon trail.

Too tired, numb, overwhelmed, to continue the exchange, the little Ashina moved from their shared space and into the little cocoon she was meant to spend the night in. Folding her legs and situating, she unhooked the strap of her katana around her body first and rest it beside her.
For a long moment, her finger traced the strands of ribbon on the hilt. And when she had no further thoughts to share with the weapon, she set it down beside her and collapsed into the makeshift bed, drawing the cape over her shoulders.

It smelled coppery at first, and faintly like the X-Wing’s cockpit. Some freshness from Yavin’s breeze, woody. But the closer she got to ease into sleep, and the longer it stayed near her face, she realized it wasn’t just a combination of easily defined scents. There was an indistinctness of him that had her all wrapped up in sapphire.

As much as she wanted to stay up, think, sort through her thoughts, push through the fatigue, maybe try and talk to Bernard again through tired phrases, exhaustion was the victor in this battle for consciousness and vanquished any thoughts of coherence she might have hoped to retain. And she fell asleep contentedly embraced with that intangible version of him.

 

[Bernard]

When she rose up to him with her display of affection he was caught off guard, uncertain how to respond. Now, after those moments of pragmatic distraction from their emotionally charged proximity, it threw him out of familiarity and back into the unknown. Thankfully, she gave him words to concentrate on instead.

"You too," he returned her smile. "We'll see after tomorrow's expeditions."

The wing wasn't as uncomfortable as it initially appeared. A small raised panel made for a decent pillow, and the cold night air was more than excellent at coaxing a wakeful mind to sleep. Besides, sleeping alone beneath a sea of stars would give him the time to think he'd desired. The day had been long and had left him much to think on.

He sat down on the wing and gave their surroundings one last cursory glance. Within the Force, there was nothing that presented itself other than the verdant richness of Yavin's biosphere. The treelines at the edges of the clearing didn't offer much in the way of sights either, crowded with trees as they were. He reclined until he lay on his back, arms crossed behind his head as he stared up into Yavin's fast approaching night, allowing his mind to wander and revisit the events of the day a final time. It seemed like so much had happened. He felt tired, yet, at the same time, a restlessness still occupied a space deep in his bones.

His expression tensed, and a frown settled on his features as the memories began to come back to him. He focused intently on recalling them. The significance of the day to him, to her, was occasion enough to sort through the jumble of sensations and events to form a cohesive whole. That something would have to begin with their arrival on Korriban, when the air between them had carried that tense friendship, taut as a harp string.

It wasn't clear just where they would be heading as they'd tread the dusty path to the Academy. The future, as it so often was, seemed uncertain, much like it did now, but back then there had seemed to be an urgency to that uncertainty. Some nebulous danger loomed over them, like an ax blade hanging by a thread in the dusty fog just above. Anticipation, or trepidation, had been a companion building its strength with each step they took, growing in size at the impending resolution to their shared question. What awaited them, in those dark corridors of the Academy? They hadn't known.

But once they stood at the precipice into that darkness, when she'd stopped him to ask whether he was ready, the darkness had become less dangerous somehow. She'd likely doubted him, she'd had her reservations ever since Krayiss, but the gesture of concern, or perhaps what followed it, her hand placed on his in reassurance, had dispelled doubt and worry and placed in its stead connection. A promise of friendship, trust, and support. Whatever awaited them in the darkness, he'd been more at ease because it seemed like they'd face whatever would come together.

And, they had. Even if he'd hesitated at first to follow her bloodthirsty instinct to rush head-first into battle, he'd chosen support over the fear of losing his place with the Jedi once again. Igniting that lightsabre, charging into the fray to support a friend, had been a decision he'd make again in a heartbeat, he realized, even if it had cost him the Force a second time. Though, he couldn't quite explain why.

He didn't linger on the thought, moving to the moments standing over the fear-stricken acolyte instead. They'd clashed over her fate. She'd been the catalyst for whatever conflict had awaited them there in the dark. She held the answers to that question that had wedged itself between them. The unanswered something would decide whether their bond grew stronger or shattered. He hadn't expected what happened when Ishida's blade hovered over the acolyte's neck. He'd been caught unprepared by the fear in her eyes. Had she heard his words to her then? Did she know he'd tried to make good on his promise even then?

He couldn't know. The memories blurred together and became hazy there. He still wasn't entirely sure what had happened then. A flood of sensations, feelings, images, all overwhelming his mind. It had felt so vivid, as though he'd lived through moments that weren't his own. Ishida had evidently done the same, as her reaction had betrayed moments after the world had returned to normal. She'd seemed so defeated then. It had caught him off-guard to see her like that. Even on Prosperity she'd retained a composed air about her despite the humiliation and blows against her pride she'd suffeed, but this had been different. It had hurt to see her like that.

It had hurt even more when she'd broken down after their escape from Korriban. Even though these memories were the most recent, he had the most trouble recalling the moments there. There were fragmented bits and pieces, imprints of worry, hope, hurt, and comfort. But most of all what he recalled was the embrace they'd shared. The closeness, the warmth, that shared space where it seemed they could let go of all hurt that clung to them. Where it had seemed that everything disappeared, everything save for the two of them.

They had begun the day with a question wedged between them. A dangerous blade that threatened to drop on the thread connecting them, and ended the day wrapped in one another's arms. Their friendship had shifted, transformed into something new, something different.

Changed to what?

Bernard watched the sky, aware again of that restless something in his bones. Clouds, purple from the final rays of light still cresting the horizon, had made way for the true night sky that now sat filled with stars above them. They were unfamiliar stars, different from the ones he was used to. Used to. When had he last sat down to stare into the night sky like this? He remembered the times he'd snuck out at night to watch them as a child. Climbing the brief path up the mountainside to lay in the snow and watch the stars where no light reached him. Those moments felt so distant now, as though they came from another life or they'd been someone else's memories entirely.

He turned on his side and squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to lay still. The wind rolled over the clearing, gently rustling leaves in the distance. Cold air wrapped his body and passed, leaving a cool sensation in its wake. A few strands of hair brushed his forehead, swaying as the wind passed by. Yavin's night had a refreshing chill to it. A calming coldness that staved off any desire to move with infectious inertia that lulled the mind into a restful slumber.

But sleep didn't come. He opened his eyes again, watching the hillside for a few moments. Still nothing, still safe. He shifted to look to the pilot's compartment. Ishida's silhouette, wrapped in his cape and mostly obscured, was resting there in the X-Wing's seat. He wasn't sure why seeing her there put him at ease, but for some reason it made the restlessness abate. Perhaps he'd believed it had been little more than a dream, everything after she'd ... after she'd kissed him. He lingered on that for a moment.

He felt himself blush slightly and looked away again. It was undeniable that all of it hadn't been a dream, after all, he knew, the notion had been silly in the first place. Yet, as he lay there on the wing of the starfighter, watching the leaves and branches sway in the distance, he couldn't help but feel a hint of disbelief. Some part of him still puzzled over it. Just why had she done that? He, of course, had been glad, was still glad that she had, but, as his exhausted mind thought through the moment, again and again, it couldn't quite make sense of it, not entirely.

Why, Ashina? What is it that you see in me?

He glanced back to the pilot's compartment, a guilty hope to find answers to the questions that now lingered on his mind. The small part of the silhouette's side that wasn't obscured by the starfighter's plating gently rose and fell. It was likely that she'd already drifted off to sleep. She'd had it worse between the two of them today, by far. She needed that rest. It would do her good, he thought. He turned over onto his back again, staring into the starry sky. Part of him felt more at ease again, knowing she was most likely sleeping safe and sound. The other part of him felt fatigue finally settle. His eyelids finally grew heavy, and soon he had no more fight left in him. As the leaves rustled one last time, he drifted off to find his own restful slumber.

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

BATTLED MYSELF SO MANY TIMES
​

Low-pitched calls were the first thing she heard, unconsciously. It started with one, close, and a second and then a third that sounded further away. A group of the local fauna communicating back and forth amidst the treetops. The conversation of the birds penetrated her dreamlike state and filled the mouths of the human silhouettes of her dreams, replacing their words with caw-sounds and eventually everything from her mind faded back to the corporeal, temporary bedroom she found herself in.

It was small, compact, tight, but roomier than it had been when she’d first shoved into it alongside the tall Arkanian. It had been stifling then, too close with too much built between them, too much blame, hurt, anger, pain. Too many questions. Too much intangible pressure taking up space that didn’t exist.

Those questions had been answered, the ones that had passengered with them all the way from Korriban. Refreshed with new questions, departures from Yavin.

It was these new questions that kept her from falling back asleep.

Her mouth buzzed with a groan, and she covered her face with her hands. The back of her head pressed firmly into the cushioning and she tensed entirely –– pushing herself deeper into the containment of the cockpit. Maybe it would eat her up, and spit her out back on Coruscant and she could skip through the entire digestion phase where she had to face the outcomes of her impulses. But she regretted it less than if she would have just listened to him, just separated.

All she knew was she didn’t want to part on bad terms, where they both felt broken and hurt. She couldn’t do that to him, she couldn’t be the reason for his strife.

She had, at least –– or so she thought –– managed to circumvent that outcome.

Shoving harder against the seat, Ishida drew in a deep, stabilizing breath and filled her lungs with recycled air. Inhaling the atmosphere, she again noticed the smell of the cockpit and copper, probably remnants of her and..definitely remnants of him.

Bernard was still outside. She knew it. And when she prodded through The Force, she could feel it. He was outside, resting up after agreeing to spend more time with her and her out-of-character-searching-for-any-reason answer exploration of ancient temples. She would have been content to spend the rest of their time together in silence, dwelling in their shared solitude and all wrapped up in his arms.

They could have done that in the starfighter back to Coruscant. Maybe long enough to give answers to the questions that were currently preparing for departure from Yavin.

Sleepily, she imagined it and pulled the makeshift blanket up and over her face to tuck herself into the illusion.

"We'll see after tomorrow's expeditions."

Reflecting on their last exchange made her frown, even though he’d given that handsome smile.

What had he meant by that? Was he already reconsidering going back with her? Maybe he said he’d wait for her because he felt they were poignant last words, and last words only.

Was he -– In her cocoon of solitude and overthinking, she pulled her hands away from her eyes and covered her mouth in abject horror. Was he reconsidering more than that? Had he seen through her compulsive, Ashina-driven actions?

She’d almost not given into the pull to kiss him. But she had, she’d kissed him so they didn’t part on bad terms. Because she didn’t know how to use words to accomplish what she needed done, she'd used actions. And then he’d used words back at her, he’d said he had love for her, and it was blinding him. And she’d not used words back. No words of that magnitude, anyway. That blindness, the way he felt about her, the way she felt about him, was part of the reason they had to separate. Because they both knew how wrapped up in ignorance she was, and how much potential her damning perception had on them. On him, specifically.

It had been a calm relief for a few wonderful seconds and then became agonizingly confusing again, and she’d managed to extend their time together but now she didn’t know what to do with it. A whole new day for them, not amidst the throes of tumult.

Was he sleeping? When she peered over the side of the cockpit, it looked like he was sleeping. She hummed to herself in thought, rationalizing that it wouldn’t be conducive for him to wake him, just to talk through their exhaustion again. Or act through their fatigue.

Daylight hadn’t quite broken yet. The sky was still transitioning between the night’s blackness and the morning’s delicate blue, swirling into gentle indigo from the piquing sunlight.

The new day, the new sky, the far-off water and the land they parked on, it wasn’t really new was it? It was just changing - ever the same and ever-evolving - the embodiment of the moment and the eternal entwined.

Maybe the Arkanian and the Atrisian weren’t so different from the planet’s cycles.

There was soundness of mind that came with that parallel. Enough peace to let her fall back asleep again for a few more comfortable hours.

The Whisper birds navigated closer to the edge of the forest, driven by curiosity of the large winged ship parked on the grassy ledge. Their chattering to one another was what stirred Ishida awake once again. This time, daylight had established itself and a bright blue dominated the skies; leaving no trace of the shadows from the night.

She couldn’t avoid the start of the day forever, but she could learn from the mistakes of yesterday. A day where her actions had thrust them into unknown territory.

Today, she’d try to depend on words instead.

But he looked so peaceful, somehow, on that wing. Smiling to herself, Ishida realized she didn't need to use words straightaway. Instead, she soundlessly moved to her knees to carefully re-strew his cape around him. At least to stave off some of the initial morning chill.

 

[Bernard]

A shadow passed over him, he could make it out by the sudden lack of brightness coming to him as he lay in the last moments of his sleep. He frowned, the feeling in his body, and with it the soreness, slowly returning. With a groan he sat up, opening his eyes to a bright day and a sight of trees. The cape pooled around his stomach, and for a moment he wondered why it was there instead of with—Ishida, he finally noticed she'd been the shadow, standing over him. He looked up at her, resting on his elbows and tilting his head back. She seemed to stand upside down to him. He stayed quiet for a moment, just looking at her.

"It wasn't a dream then," he said quietly, closing his eyes, and let himself fall back onto the X-wing with a slight smile. "Good morning," he almost added an affectionate nickname but decided against it at the last moment.

Logically he'd known it wasn't a dream. He'd dismissed the notion, he recalled, sometime during the fatigued ruminations he'd indulged in before he'd faded into sleep. Yet, most of the previous day continued to meld together into a continuous blur of excitement, emotion, and uncertainty. It would take time to untangle that kind of disorder, he knew, as it always did with such days. Still, he felt a fondness when he recalled it, something that made him want to take that time and untangle it.

He opened his eyes again, taking the first step toward that goal. Ishida's white hair and grey eyes greeted him again. He felt the smile deepen, and then fade into a concerned frown. The blood from yesterday was still there, small bits still sticking to her hair, while others had trickled onto her robe. Red dust further blemished the white fabric, staining the robes in messy holdovers of boot prints. They hadn't taken the time to tend to her wounds yesterday, or even clean them at the very least.

"Your wounds...in the dark I hadn't noticed how—we should-" he started, already rising from his prone position, but was cut off before he could finish the sentence.

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

For some reason, she hasn’t expected to wake him. At first, she felt a flash of abashment swell in her chest and her hand snapped back; curling her fingers in and drawing in a sharp inhale that refilled her anxiety with peace when Bernard smiled tiredly up at her. Calm, relaxed, sleepy, patient.

“Hi.” She greeted, hushed with the smallest possible word sailing out on her tight, surprised exhale while he remained silent. Adjusting to the morning light and her presence, no doubt.

A dream? An amused breath slipped from her nose and she felt her already soft expression melt into the happy curl of her smile. “Good morning to you.” She recited back, pleased to match his welcoming salutations.

“My..” She looked down, doing her best to follow his upside-down gaze and she frowned once he started articulating what he was seeing. Fingers that had been limp by her side unfurled to brush against her cheek. The gentle touch confirmed his sight and she frowned. Immediately, she shifted her palm to face outward to stop him, and she shook her head, involuntarily recoiling away from any attempt to touch and soothe.

“— shouldn’t worry about it.” She finished for him, dismissing the concern.

Ideally, she should have been unscathed. No matter the odds. She was the granddaughter of Ashina the Undefeated, daughter to Ashina the Invincible and sister to Ashina the Manslayer. Noticing faults and harm done by others was just a painful reminder on how she’d failed to secure her own Ashina title. Ashina the Wounded was a pathetic insult.

“I’m fine."As sour as she felt about it, she tried to make it more amiable. While he rose to meet her, she stopped him, putting a hand on his arm to coax him back down as she too took a seat next to him, setting the pattern for fineness. Fine. She was fine, despite the colour that had changed on her face overnight, adding blotches of violent purple and black around her eye and cheek. The pain was distant if she didn’t think about it, same with the space at the small of her back and shoulder.

"Don’t forget I had the comfier sleeping arrangement, basically as effective as any of the healing hall’s mattresses.” Her free hand wiped along the wing, seeking the morning’s condensation to smear against the blood-stained fabric and eliminate some of the visual triggers. There wasn’t enough, and it just sort of moved the redness around pathetically. She ticked her tongue against the roof of her mouth annoyedly.

And changed the subject.

“How was your rest.. out here?”

 

[Bernard]

Instead of standing, he sat up next to Ishida as she settled in next to him on the wing. The wounds were obviously not fine, but they seemed to run deeper than he'd initially expected. He watched her with some curiosity, as she tried to wipe away the dried blood from her hand, but didn't comment further, even when she equated a makeshift pilot's seat to a proper bed.

“How was your rest.. out here?”

"Restful, for the most part. In my fatigue I'd neglected to take the armour off before I fell asleep, and I'm paying for that now," he went with her conversational manoeuvring, starting to roll his shoulder to ease the soreness he felt, then noticed that meant he would still be wearing the armour the next morning, meaning now. He shook his head once to help the waking up process along.

"Speaking of, I should probably..."

He stopped rolling the shoulder and instead turned to reach for the fastenings that kept his armour together at his sides to begin taking it off. Now that they were no longer in an active combat area, the need for protection from blaster fire and shrapnel had practically become superfluous, and the armour would only weigh him down unnecessarily. He preferred to go with only the bare necessities nowadays, as far as armour was concerned. Even the lighter variant of the Jedi's battle suits was still noticeable when compared to his usual overcoat or poncho made of blaster resistant fabrics.

After a few practiced motions the the chestplate came off, revealing a light blue undershirt. It was worn, but bore no stains. He set the plate down behind him and continued on to the armour around his legs.

"I didn't sleep too long, though. Turns out I had more energy left than I'd thought, so it took some time before I finally fell to sleep," he said with a hint of amusement in his tone, then he paused as he undid one of his greaves, his smile fading slowly.

"A lot happened yesterday," he began again in a more subdued tone, picking at the armour straps on the back of his thigh. He sat leaning forward, giving the task of removing his armour seemingly as much attention and care as repairing delicate machinery would require.

"Are you—do you still feel the same as you did last night?"

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

I'M PROBABLY GOING TO THINK ABOUT YOU ALL THE TIME​

In contrast, Ishida had been so exhausted she’d fallen asleep instantly. Whether or not she’d wanted to. She sniffed a ‘heh’ at the comparison and observed quietly the meticulous chore that was ridding himself of the protective panoply.

Maybe it was time she started to treat the idea of protective gear a little more seriously. As it was, she only donned shoulder protection and layers around her hips, down her thighs. Her major strike zone, torso, was largely unprotected. Taunting hubris, beckoning strikes there to prove how unscratchable she was. Dancing in and out of harm’s way.

One more thing to her plate to trial and test, see how it all fit.

"A lot happened yesterday,"

Pressing her fingers against her temple, and circled with some pressure to massage out the anxious thoughts that threatened to make a home in her head. An ache started to build at the base of her chest, and she forced herself not to look away. Just drop a leg over the edge of the wing and draw a knee up, rubbing her thumb against her index finger nervously.

"Are you—do you still feel the same as you did last night?"

Last night had been more emotional than Ishida had ever experienced, and it had motivated her to act more compulsively than usual. Would she do it again? Is that what he was asking? She’d show him, she’d prove it. Her body tightened, wanting to not use words, to show him she did, but she remained steadfast in her seat. Today she would use words. She wouldn’t add more to their confused state with silent affections. After all, she’d kissed him goodnight and he’d returned it with questioning going back to Coruscant with her.

She sucked in her bottom lip and bit down, stopping herself from speaking out before she thought through her response. Her first reaction was to leave the question unanswered, and flip it back to him. Do you?

Or, was he asking beyond the two of them? Maybe he thought she regret not killing the acolyte, or maybe he was simply checking in on if she still wanted to skulk around Yavin and buy themselves more time together.

“Are you asking how I feel about you?” She coaxed, shifting to lean on the fleshy part of her hip instead of looking straight out and away from the ship and transfixed on him.

"Or something else."

 

[Bernard]

His finger trailed along the armourweave webbing of the bottom strap until it found the buckle. The strap ended in an arrowhead-like clip that threaded through a loop that secured it. The sides and the top of the clip had pieces that extended outward to lock it in place once it was through the loop. He carefully pressed in the sides, securing it between his fingers, then depressed the top enough to fit through the loop. Immediately a force pulled on the strap, trying to pull it through the loop, but he held it in place and instead pushed it through slowly, taking the other side of the strap into his free hand and, when the clip was through, let the strap release the tension it had built until it was slack before he pushed the clip through the second loop, after which the lower strap was undone.

“Are you asking how I feel about you?”

He started the same process on the top strap, going about it with the same meticulous care.

"Or something else."

The second strap came undone, and the greave now rested loosely on his shin. He was leaning forward over his leg, holding the armour piece by the strap and loop to keep it from slipping off on its own. He watched the white-coated metal as his heartbeat slowly grew louder in his ears. He realized his hold was tight, tense. Most of his body was, too, had tensed up in preparation for her words, always preparing for everything. Drawing in a quiet breath, he commanded his muscles to loosen up, and they did.

He leaned back, lifting the greave off his leg, and set it down behind him as his eyes locked with Ishida's. He met her gaze with a serious look, not betraying any emotion in his expression.

"I am," he confirmed.

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

I'LL PUT IT ALL ON THE TABLE IF YOU ASK ME TO​

"I am,"

“Why?” Came the quiet, surprisingly shaky single word. It hopped out before she could stop it. Discomfort grew in her limbs and made them slack. It felt weird to have her intentions called into question, and in the court of Bernard she didn’t know the rules.

Ishida’s brow lowered and her mouth rose, squeezing her face into something smaller and thoughtful. Had it not been apparent? What more did she have to give?

Was he insecure, or distrusting of her actions?

Whatever it was, he was busying himself with a distraction that kept him from giving her much more explanation to the root of his query.

“I––” Action begged in her bones, and she wanted to tear out her heart, give it a shake like some mystical magic eight ball so it would give her the right response. Apparently her action hadn’t been enough, and she wasn’t sure if she could find fault with his need to ask. He didn’t want to walk on silt, unstable, uncertain ground when he could run on stone, travel with confidence.

She didn’t look away from him though, and as much as she tried to unpack the way he was looking at her she was met with the same stone-faced expression she so often gave him. But there was still that teeny-tiny something that had changed in his eyes, a different way of looking at her, a different sort of connection.

Part of her wanted to shove in closer to him, put his face in her hands and show him how much she felt again, to consume the questions before they had the chance to take shape. But that didn’t work last time.

And she’d promised herself to try to use words today.

“If you’re concerned that I acted so out of character because of all the emotions that came from..” she exhaled heavily, letting her shoulders slump. “All that happened, I understand.”

With only their memories as their witness, she took the stand and began her testimony.

“It was out of character.” She agreed. He already knew what a lonesome life she lived, how insular it had been. Emotions beyond survival or warrior instinct didn’t necessarily have a home in her psyche.

“But it wasn’t misrepresentation.

It was out of character because I felt like I was losing control, or close to..losing you.

My feelings for you haven’t changed in the few hours of reflection or sleeping. I try not to do things that I will regret later.

That’s why I kissed you.” She admitted.

“I couldn’t see any other way to...say what I wanted to you at that moment.” That wasn’t enough. If he was questioning, if he’d taken time to fall asleep last night, he was probably wrestling with his doubts and disbelief in her.

She sighed and shifted her weight. This was truly uncomfortable. Forming these sentences, trying to put semblance to these foreign feelings within was like licking sandpaper, but finding it strangely sweet. A release she hadn't known she'd needed.

Words were hard, but they were necessary.

“I didn’t know how else to say what I’ve been wanting to say to you. I still..don’t really.” She fiddled with her hands. “But I know why I want to say it.

And I know I’d try to say it again, if you still..if you let me.”

The brain fog of morning was still mystifying around her vocabulary, making this harder than it already was.

“Because you’re the kindest friend I’ve known. That I want to know and keep knowing. Everything I learn about you makes me feel deeper. It’s deeper than just respect..” What was it, Ishida? Her heart was pounding so loudly, she could barely hear the words she was saying; they seemed to match the beat of the thunder behind her breastbone. “You’re patient, good, strong. And maybe it’s selfish, but when I’m around you I want to stay around you, to hear what you have to say, what you’re thinking.`` This was frustrating. Hard to articulate.

"And when you smile.." she simpered on her own, softening her posture slightly and melting into the memory of his most recent upside-down grin. "It's rare, but it's so pure."

“And maybe I don’t deserve those sorts of wants, or to treat you the way I do but..you make me feel like I am deserving. Like all the wrong that I’ve done isn’t permanent. You’ve never tried to tear down my walls, just help me reshape them.”

Her hand moved to cover her mouth, and she quickly glanced away with a small tremble at the vulnerability. Words were hard, incredibly hard. So many of them were dying on her tongue before she got the chance to tell him. Others were tripping up, basic getting knotted up with Atrisian and losing their impact in both languages.

“It’s a lot of feeling.” She admitted. “But through it all, you make me feel better. And I want to do that for you, too.

Which starts with..I guess..you not questioning if I still feel the same as I did last night. Because I do.”

 

[Bernard]

Once she finished, he didn't say anything, sitting in silence as he watched her, until he nodded once, slowly. Her words hadn't fully reached him yet, the many different thoughts demanding time to be untangled and processed. His eyes trailed away from hers, deep in thought, and settled on the distant jungle.

His eyes glossed over the horizon as he took in the entirety of their surroundings. The jungle stretched out in all directions. The stone temples Ishida had pointed out the day before loomed like small rocks in a verdant sea. They were all small shapes, none of structures standing close by their hill, but he recalled reading about them, studying their pictures in some dusty tome. They were ancient temples of the Force filled with secrets hidden beyond sight in the mystical energies that permeated the stones that comprised them. Eyes alone would not unlock their wisdom.

He leaned forward to rest his knees in the crooks of his elbows, locking his hand around his forearm.

"An echani warrior-philosopher once told me that words alone convey only a small fraction of the person who speaks them," he began.

"A true conversation, in their eyes, involves the physical. Their sparring practice isn't mere training, it is said to give them deep insight into their opponent through the idiosyncrasies of their movements. A jab, to them, becomes a question: what do you do when you're threatened? Do they flinch before they blocked? Had they read the attack and answered it with a counter of their own? How firm was their response, how precise, how solid their movements? The answer grants them insight into the truth of that person. Only after sparring, they claim, can one know another person's heart," he said, glancing to Ishida.

"I forget, at times, that words aren't the only means to convey what's inside," he gave a slight, knowing smile, more to himself than anything that had been said. He turned to her, shifting to sit cross-legged at Ishida's side, facing her. "I forget, at times, to listen."

He reached out to take her hand, gently placing it in his, palm facing outward. Then he placed his other hand on top of hers, cradling it with a tender firmness. He met her gaze again. There was confidence in his eyes and a soft smile curled his lips slightly.

"You seem uneasy, your heart would stray from its centre," he began, speaking with a calm, warmer tone. "It makes knowing your heart difficult. Breathe in. Empty your mind of thought. Let go of the fears that cloud your judgement. Find peace within yourself and feel what it is that resides inside your heart. Then say that which you meant to tell me. I want to know what it is you feel."

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

Everything she’d just tried to accomplish, to build up, came crashing down. Air slid out of her and she physically deflated. When Bernard took her hand in his, it was limp, heavy with the failure of her inability to communicate what she wanted.

The anecdotal advice wasn’t wrong, it wasn’t inappropriate, but it wasn’t at all what she expected or what she wanted to hear.

Breaths became shrill and wet when he’d meant for them to become calm. Depth of breath evaded her, and when she tried it was more dizzying than stabilizing or grounding.

“I am uneasy.” She validated swiftly, almost snapping above the throbbing that was growing behind her face.

But this felt like an insult. Like backtracking. She thought they’d moved past this doubt.

He was right. He wasn’t listening.

Or, she wasn’t speaking the way he wanted to hear it. She wasn’t sure how much further she could go. He said to release the fear of judgement and with him, she almost could. But the concept of a judgeless world made her head spin. Failure was her greatest reservation, and it was a direct outcome of another’s evaluation. Her pride had been so conditioned to protect itself that even his invitation drew out inclinations of fear.

And the little warrior, who’d only known brutality and cruel expectation, didn’t know how to say anything more resounding than all she’d laid out between them.

Her wilted frame tensed again, and the crisp morning air chilled her exposed skin; reminding her how awake she was. How real this was. How this was the day she'd negotiated for.

“No,” she whispered hoarsely, her voice thin. “I can’t. I just.. I just told you how I feel. Why I feel that way. I asked yesterday to stay with you longer. What more do you —“ her chest collapsed and for a moment she felt she might not be able to breathe. All those looks they’d shared, private connection. It was the evidence of everything she couldn’t say. The words she’d not been told, how could she deliver them to someone else?

Even with the gentleness in his endless gaze, all the safety of their shared proximity, she still felt overwhelmed by the world she’d left behind. Of all those teachers who’d had their influence over her. The very teachers she wanted him to be so disassociated from.

For a flash of an instant, in the opalescent swirls of his eyes, she thought she saw a pitying shake of her mother’s head. The only person who might have said to her what Ishida was suffocating.

"I.." The rest of her sentence dried up, the heir Ashina’s emotional draught taking over. “I can’t.”

Once again, words failed her.

 

[Bernard]

“I am uneasy.”

He flinched, but caught himself before the reaction became obvious, steeling himself against the pang of hurt that spread through his chest and throat. The blow his body had anticipated had come after all, though not in the way he'd expected it to. Instead of finding that the moments they'd shared the day before had simply been a result of extreme exhaustion and overpowering emotion, it had been all but confirmed that it was true, all of it, after all.

And what had he done with that knowledge? Greedily tried to push her more, not satisfied with what had already been given, and in the process wounded the person he cared for most deeply in the galaxy, who also cared deeply for him.

“No, I can’t. I just.. I just told you how I feel. Why I feel that way. I asked yesterday to stay with you longer. What more do you —“

The beat of his heart had quickened. As the sting in his chest continued to pulse his body tensed more. He let go of her hand, reflexively reaching toward her arm as her breath seemed to hitch, but stopped himself and withdrew his hands instead.

He caught the faint colour of red on them at the edge of his perception. Of course, how could those hands console, or heal. They were stained so red, the claws of a killer, only meant to rend and destroy. He had forgotten that truth for a moment, had thought himself capable of more than destruction in the time he'd spent since his arrival on Prosperity, but he couldn't run for the truth forever. He could see that now. He could wash away the colour, but blood would always stain his hands, and he would always find ways to stain them more.

His eyes shifted away from Ishida, fixing some point at the edge of the clearing past her. A deep, unsettling dread struck him, leaving him frozen. His hands clenched into fists and he began to breathe more shallow. Again, he steeled himself against it, and this time his heartbeat slowly faded from his awareness and, soon, the pain began to subside as well.

"Right," he muttered in acknowledgement of her words, then continued in a more resolute tone, "I apologize," he looked back to her, "I hadn't meant to—" but his heartbeat became louder and the pain in his chest returned as he saw her eyes again. He found himself overwhelmed with the urge to leave, before his words twisted the knife deeper.

He exhaled, closing his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he bowed his head, lifted himself half-way to his feet, and moved back to drop off the wing's side, landing on the grass with a quiet thud.

His mind spun, uncertain. He looked around. The X-Wing stood to his left. To his right the hill sloped downward, ending in a patch of dirt overgrown with dried vines that stretched out of the jungles. A part of him wanted to run down there, disappear into the forest and return to the way he'd lived after the first time he'd been to Korriban. That time he spent away from the temple, away from the Jedi, had been difficult, but it had been the most peaceful time he'd known in a decade. He'd spent it doing simple menial work in the few reclusive communities that had survived Sith rule, and had found the work to be honest and fulfilling. Simple acts of creation gave him reprieve, hope that he could atone for the things he'd done.

He could go back to that life, go back to a place where he could actually atone, even if only in small ways. Out here, in the galaxy, all it seemed he could do was rend and ruin. It had been sheer hubris, it seemed, when he'd decided to return to the Jedi, and arrogance when he thought he could rejoin them.

He nodded to himself as he watched the branches swaying in the breeze. Yes, he would go back to that life, return to the edge of the galaxy where he could disappear into obscurity so none could call on him to kill again, and there, wherever he was needed, he would help how he could.

Turning, he looked back to the red dust stained plating of the X-Wing. But he couldn't leave now, not yet. He still had responsibility here, a promise he'd made to fulfill.

Sighing, he moved to the storage compartment and released the magnetic seal. He reached inside, retrieving a pair of ration packs. It had been a few years, the contents were likely stale by now, but there was enough science pumped into them that the food had garnered the reputation that the soldier who carried it would expire before it did. Tucking the packs under his arm, he retrieved some cooking supplies and a pouch that held spices and seasonings. He turned and began to search for a piece of flat enough ground.

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

Maybe there was an unappreciated irony how moments ago he’d wanted to take the time to tend to her wounds, and now he was pouring acid over the ones that were unseen. The ones that ran much deeper. The ones that had been with her much longer than the bruises and cuts from Korriban The ones that had scabbed over in his presence, and were now being picked away.

She shuddered, forcing the tremble of her soul to relax. Bernard broke her like his promise. Apparently now, after a night's rest, he had the strength to let go.

Swallowing past the rock in her throat, her expression tightened and became placid, distant, listless. The same stone wall countenance everyone but Bernard was used to. It was safe there, in that expressionless place.

When he left her alone on the wing, she didn’t move. Only wrapped her arms around herself and shrugged into the smallness of her body, drawing her knees up to take up as little space as possible. Tiredness knocked at the door of her clarity once again. The kind of tired that came not from talking too much, but exhaustion at all that there was left to say.

Today she was supposed to use words, not actions. But in doing so, had resulted in the worst action possible; violence against her own heart. And her inability to do more wounded him as well.

Again, he apologized because she couldn’t handle something he’d said. It was a pattern that she couldn’t see a way out of. Not now, not in this condition. Not when she was so unwhole.

Below, she could hear sounds of metal and wrapping, soft footsteps in the grass. He was occupying himself with something practical, something useful. As he had so many times before.

Hollow, she felt hollow now. Emptied of the only words she could say, and receiving nothing to fill her back up. Just empty. She’d poured so much out and received a word she couldn’t remember hearing before, a returned kiss, and then uncertain discomfort back again and again.

How shameful. How indecent she’d been.

What a waste. Angry, half in love with him, and tremendously sorry for their situation, she finally found motion to unfold her legs, stand and peer over the wing’s edge.

Indeed, he was busying himself with something productive. In his grip, he had what looked like food and condiments. Which meant he’d need to spend time preparing it, and they’d need to spend time together eating it, and then cleaning up and then…

There was no way she had the strength for that.

They were foolish to keep prolonging their time together. It had been all she wanted, it was all she wanted. Still, distantly, she believed she wanted to be with him –– but the more immediate side of her reconciled that if she did, they might further squander everything they’d built up.

“I––I should go.” She announced, resolution creeping in long after she spoke. By the time she admitted she had no appetite, her resolve was starting to take a more unshakeable shape. “You set the trajectory for Alliance Space already, yes?”

Despite it being a terrible idea, she spoke beyond her shame. Her fingers curled against the hem of her tunic before she shook them out and rolled her shoulders to straighten: “Are you coming back to Coruscant?”

 

[Bernard]

He stopped in his tracks as Ishida's voice came from above. Her tone seemed decisive, like she'd made up her mind already. The contrast to only moments prior caught him off guard.

"But," he started to protest, quietly, looking out toward the stone shapes protruding from the jungle's verdant ceiling. He shook his head and looked back up to Ishida. "The autopilot has the route stored, yes," he turned around, placing the supplies back into the X-Wing's storage niche.

The storm in her eyes had returned. There would be no room for indecision in her tone, she'd likely have made up her mind the same way she would before jumping into battle. He doubted anything he could have said would have swayed her to stay for the day now that she was determined not to.

However, her question gave him pause. Could he go back to Coruscant? With her? The thought of it made him tense up again. He stared into the open storage niche, where he'd stacked ration packs stacked into a corner tucked neatly next to emergency supplies. His gaze wandered over the items inside as his mind weighed possibilities, practical concerns for her safety contending with immediate concerns from their shared hurt and still greater concerns for the future, their future.

His eyes settled on a crate, strapped to the back wall and half-hidden under a tarp. He heard his heart beat a little louder, could feel the cold ache in his chest blend with the tenseness of worries. A great weight seemed to press down on him, anchoring him to where he stood. Yet, underneath it all, he felt something more. Faintly, in his heart, there was also resolve.

He turned from the storage niche, leaving it open, and ducked under the wing to make his way to the ladder leading up to the cockpit. Climbing up to it, he balanced on its side and moved to the wing, where the pieces of amour still sat. He gathered the pieces, wrapping them in his discarded cape, all the while letting that small flame of resolve grow.

After the pieces were safely wrapped, he stood and faced Ishida. He nodded.

"I'm coming with you."

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

Until he gave his answer, she watched him. By the trajectory of his gaze, it seemed he’d thought their plans from yesterday were unchanged.

That made her mouth draw into an even thinner line.

An agenda was steadfast, but the entirety of her emotions was subject to change after a night’s sleep? It took all of her might to not make a condescending noise at the back of her throat, and instead she picked at some dried blood on her hip.

"I'm coming with you."

She was an unlearning fethwit.

Her molars clenched around sucked-in cheeks, and she chewed the inside of her mouth once before giving a single nod. Hours ago, just before dawn, she'd imagined them returning together and feeling companionship in the safety of his arms. That desire felt distant now, and it made her stomach flutter and her cheeks flush.

His acquiescence was met with silence.

Bernard, carrying his armour so plainly, was not unlike herself just a handful of moments ago. Every single guard she’d had in place she’d unstrapped, unsheathed, undone, and lay herself bare. Trusting the environment, just as he was now in his fatigues. But unlike her, he wasn’t redressing; He didn’t put his armour back on and become brittle and cautious with his movements again.

For half a second, her chest tightened and so did her throat –– threatening to spill more of those terribly inadequate words. But she caught herself and swallowed them down and away, leaning instead into the cockpit to adjust the lean of the seat and undo all the comfort he’d set up from the night before.

Comfort and practicality.

As she mimicked the motions she'd watched him go through yesternight, she considered the other practical task he'd just abandoned. Readily, he'd put away the means for breakfast. Something else he was going to go to the effort of doing for both their benefit.

She had absolutely no appetite, and no desire to fill her body with anything other than reflection. But that was a selfish desire, and as she seat's back straightened and slid forward she paused, and spoke up:

“How long of a trip is it back to the Core?”

The final adjustment was moving Ashla’s Arbiter back out of harm’s way. It hadn’t been comfortable on the way here, she could at least take more time to prepare than the last time they’d shoved themselves into the spacepoor starfighter.

With the adjustments as complete as she could figure from memory, she sat on the edge and cocked her head. Bad. She felt bad denying him basic needs. But she also felt bad about...basically everything else.

It was really hard to discern where the line start and began with all this feeling and she looked down toward the storage compartment that contained the packaging she'd seen him starting to wander with just moments before.

“Your stomach’s not going to growl the whole time if you don’t eat, is it?”

 

[Bernard]

He reconsidered for a moment, if perhaps what he was doing was reckless and foolish, charging headlong into territory that was uncertain, unknown. But he dispelled the considerations as she walked past, to the cockpit. This was right, he couldn't just leave. He'd made a promise and he'd keep it. He felt the resolve in his heart swell.

“How long of a trip is it back to the Core?”

"Three days, roughly," he replied and jumped down the wing.

While Ishida worked on the cockpit, he stowed away the armour in the storage niche. After it was sealed for the journey, he took a moment to steel his resolve, then moved to the other side of the wing. He grabbed the first rung, looking up. At the other end of the ladder Ishida sat waiting. He started climbing.

“Your stomach’s not going to growl the whole time if you don’t eat, is it?”

"Unlikely," he stated simply.

When he had nearly climbed to the top he stopped. He breathed in deeply, and looked to Ishida. He could feel his heart beating heavy in his chest. As he stood on the ladder, stopped in his tracks, he felt a question bubble up through the resolve he felt. Are you sure?, he wanted to say as he looked to her, but he stopped himself and shook lightly shook his head as though he was shaking off the cold.

He climbed the final few rungs and grabbed the side of the cockpit, steadying himself. Looking directly into Ishida's eyes, he said:

"It's a three day journey. The X-Wing's autopilot can make most of the journey with minimal pilot input, but there's there's a risk of interception by pirates or Sith remnants along the route. It's not great enough to be dangerous, but I'd rather come along to make sure nothing happens to you," he hesitated. He'd told himself he wouldn't, but it felt wrong not to.

"I don't have to come if you don't want it. The risk is small enough that it's likely nothing will happen. Still, I want to make the journey with you, regardless of any threats. I," he paused again, "I didn't want to leave like this either."

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

Grey eyes bulged at the response. Three whole days. Seventy-Two standard hours confined together in that one-man cockpit.

"I don't have to come if you don't want it. The risk is small enough that it's likely nothing will happen. Still, I want to make the journey with you, regardless of any threats. I,"

A large part of her pride bristled overwhelmingly, and challenged his ability to be useful within the confines of the cockpit against attacking enemies. These unfounded doubts slinked back from whence they came when she drew comparisons between their abilities to man a starfighter. He had infinitely more experience and likely had some techniques up his sleeve from evading situations like the ones he suggested were out there.

Still, she could probably do it on her own.

But he paused, there were other reasons to go back with her. Last night, he’d agreed to return to the Alliance Capital with her –– for the same pragmatic reasons as he’d just given. Shortly afterwards, he’d hem-hawed. Seemed he was hem-hawing again, but with a different outcome.

"I didn't want to leave like this either."

Her shoulders drooped and she drew in a deep breath –– the same sort he’d encouraged her to take earlier but she’d been unable. The walls she’d built over years of training, the ones she’d started to conceal herself behind, flexed softly. Just enough for her to peer out at the intruder knocking at the gates again.

“I want you to come with me.” She admitted.

This felt eerily similar to the events the night prior; where they’d come so close to separating on terms that were hurtful and would have filled them with regret. The only differences, really, were this time she would have been so frustrated she wouldn’t have felt remorseful until several days later (maybe by the time she got to Coruscant) and this time he was extending the olive branch. But with words.

Her ability to respond with accuracy was still hampered by the feeling of shortcomings that still clawed at the peripherals of her psyche. She’d never be able to fully speak what it was she wanted him to hear, what he wanted her to say. But she didn’t have to completely divert in the other direction —— there was still so much between them that they’d cultivated through hours and hours of heartfelt companionship.

How did you want to leave, then? She almost challenged, but that felt too similar to the way he’d asked for her to speak from the heart. That wasn’t something she wanted to repeat.

Focusing on pragmatism and finding comfort somewhere in the necessary routine of getting back to homebase was probably the best way forward. The idea of overextending herself with words and actions made her stomach heavy and her muscles ache. Like even her bruises were protesting.

“I still want you to.” She corrected herself. Though, in her imagination, things had been more serene. Moving forward, not taking steps backward and having to retrace paths already travelled because there was doubt linked through the journey.

“Nothing about what I said changed, I just..” She placed her palms together, the same way one would if they were cradling a small bird. But when they separated, there was nothing inside, nothing to reveal. Wordlessly, she looked at him with a measure of reserve behind her eyes. It was a new layer, a defensive depth that was building back up in light of her failure to communicate.

Layers and layers of dimension that were slowly coming to the surface after leaving Atrisia. They usually made her appear intimidating and brooding, like she was made of fire and lightning. Bright, light elements, but untouchable. Smoldering flames, raging winds, the sort that in the end just burned herself down.

She stopped trying to explain how little she had to give, how she’d reached her boundary in laying it all out between them. Instead, she ran her fingers along the strap of her katana and pulled it over her head again, resting it on her lap and reaching for Ashla’s arbiter.

If it had been just her in that cockpit, going back, she would have been fine not eating. She would have tended to her wounds once she left him behind.

“If it’s three days with us both in here again,” she changed the subject, following his lead on pragmatic distractions: “We should try and make it a little more comfortable.” She rolled her hands over the hilts of both her swords. “Like getting these out of the way. And probably finding a med-pack.

The adrenaline that kept our wounds from hurting the first time is long gone.”

 

[Bernard]

The words kicked kindling into the bonfire of resolve he felt deep down. It burned brighter, filling him with an overwhelming sense that what he was doing, that not hesitating in the land of twilight between a world of penance and a world of promise, was indeed the right thing. Yet, as he heard her tone, practical and pragmatic, the same his had been, cold chains wrapped themselves around him again. He felt a faint chill run over him, like the cold morning air was reminding him of the coldness that threatened to envelop him again, envelop them.

But she had a point, there were more immediate, pragmatic concerns they had to address.

"There's a med-pack down here, let me..." he leaned over the cockpit's side, reaching down.

Inside the cockpit were several small storage compartments for various objects a pilot might need in emergencies, when they were unable to reach the proper X-Wing storage. The med-pack was hidden behind a small removable panel at the base of the pilot's chair. Pulling the cover free, he retrieved the pack and began to rise out of the cockpit, but stopped himself part-way.

Deep in his chest he could feel that bonfire struggling, as the cold grew stronger. His mind was preoccupied with emotion. Usually, he would reprimand himself for it, pushing those emotions back down where any idea spawned from them would die before it saw the light of day amid his thoughts, but, this time, he couldn't stand the sudden return of that distance between them. He couldn't stand the way it felt so wrong, so hollow. It twisted his heart every moment that it prolonged. He didn't want this. Not any longer, not after the day before, and certainly not because of that single moment of hesitation.

It was a terrible idea. The worst, no, the dumbest plan he'd probably come up with in his life. But, it felt right. He wanted to do something, anything, to not continue down this current, cold path. He felt the fire of resolve blaze within him and knew that, if he did nothing, there was a chance they might get buried beneath the cold.

He thought it over again, considering just what he wanted to do. It was foolish, but, with luck...yes, with luck it might just work and set them back on the path they'd tread before, together.

Setting the med-pack down on the dashboard, he turned to Ishida. With a hint of levity to his voice, on account of the stupidity of the plan, he called out to her as he would when trying to break someone from their thoughts.

"Hey," he said. "Beautiful," he quickly added.

Yes, that would be sufficiently provoking, and it was distant enough from his usual vocabulary to, hopefully, throw her off guard.

When she turned, he figured she would, inevitably, have to turn after that, he would lean in close, place a hand at her side, just in case, and, in a move that would underline the uncharacteristic brazenness of the manoeuvre, he would close the distance to kiss her, to let his emotions burn.

Ishida Ashina