Silence had never frightened Cybelle…And tonight? It entertained her.
She stood before the great windows of their home with one hand lazily wrapped around a coffee mug that was filled with wine. Cybelle didn’t drink wine unless there was a special occasion, but tonight was actually quite special. She swirled the liquid in slow circles before taking a sip. It was good, surprisingly. She watched the rain slide down the panes, and every so often her reflection caught her attention.
She was a little pale…But she had the same dark hair and the same gentle face. The same topaz eyes that everyone would expect to fill with kindness. Cybelle smiled at herself.
The expression looked wrong.
Not because it became cruel, but because it lingered a heartbeat too long. It was someone testing an expression that should have come naturally, play-acting, pretending to be something it was not. She bit her lip, and a low growl rolled in the back of her throat that swiftly melted into a purr—The sound drowned out by the weather. Brandyn would be home soon.
Her gaze drifted toward the entrance, then back again, as if imagining the sound of his footsteps. She wondered if he would notice. She wondered whether husbands truly knew the women they loved or if it was all just make-believe. It would be so hard for him. So hard for her sweet, gentle, murderous beloved. She was still his wife, after all.
The last thought made her laugh beneath her breath.
Her husband could not be trusted, not as he was, but there was a chance that could change. A chance that she could have everything she wanted. Both husband and child. She just needed to make him see, make him understand, that she was the only one for him. The only Cybelle he would ever want or need. She missed him. She was sick of only being satisfied by glimpses and exchanges so brief that he never suspected a thing.
What she felt was not the aching restraint that had always defined Cybelle, forever worrying if she was asking too much or whether the need for an embrace could make her an inconvenience. No…This longing was wonderfully uncomplicated. She wanted him beside her, craved the warmth of his hands. Cybelle wanted to steal every moment of his attention simply because he was hers. Her, husband.
A pleasant possessiveness settled comfortably in her chest. Gianna wouldn’t wake up for hours…Cybelle wouldn’t be home for hours. She had all the time in the world. When the front door finally opened, she had to hide her dark delight behind a simpering mask.
“There you are…”
Her clothing was some ugly nightgown she had procured with a silk robe wrapped on top of it. Pretty little flowers in the corner. It must have been from Velda…Cybelle did not have taste this expensive. “Are you all right? I was beginning to think you got lost.”, The words that fell from her were warm honey, rich, but touched with appropriate levels of sadness. Her eyes were soft when she stepped away from the window. Wounded.
Even her touch mirrored what she had witnessed from afar. She reached for his arm first to help take his coat away before reaching up to brush the rainwater from his hair. She would appear the doe he had wed, soft, but the lingering want within her bordered on ravenous.
He belonged to her. He was meant to be with her. Not, her.
Her arms came up to slip around his neck.
Supportive…Possessive.
“Hug me back. You’re freezing.”
____
The errand had only been intended to take an hour. That hour had become three once Brandyn happened upon one of the Jedi that he had worked alongside as a Shadow. Their conversation had quickly fallen away from reminiscing and catching up, to a long debrief on the state of the Republic and the Order.
Brandyn had made a critical mistake by admitting alignment with the Vanguard, a rogue Jedi group his associate loathed. Doing so before gauging the other Jedi's stance had ruined their friendship instantly. The whole encounter had only served to sour his mood.
His mood darkened further when he saw the lack of shelter. Though only a tiny fraction of the concourse was open to the elements, the brief dash from his speeder to the door left him completely drenched.
The pause at the door was intentional. When he stepped inside, Cybelle would not need his angst, nor his bitterness. She would need his warmth. Ironic, he thought as his teeth began to chatter.
He stepped across the warm hearth even before the door was fully open. His eyes widened a little at seeing Cybelle in the smallish room.
“Here I am…” he said softly, his words carrying the faint hesitation of a man who hadn't expected such an eager welcome.
“Yes,” he said. His coat was already being discarded into the drier receptacle. "Ran into Ethin. Ended up talking longer than I meant to."
When he turned into her embrace, his instinct was to pull away due his…well…being soaking wet, and not wanting her to suffer the same fate. But, the damage was done.
“I…as you wish.” His arms wrapped about Cybelle as they had done many times. Her embrace was firmer, seemingly needier. But he understood why.
The “why” was always Gianna.
____
She noticed his hesitation where most would have missed it. Wife privilege. The pause before he accepted her arms wrapping around him. The instinct to retreat before duty overrode desire. To anyone else it would have looked considerate…A husband unwilling to soak his wife with rainwater, unwilling to ruin her nightclothes and let her catch a chill.
Cybelle knew better.
Her smile never faltered but something sharp unfurled behind topaz eyes, cutting through the warmth, and she pulled him closer as her face pressed into his wet neck. "It's been such a long time since you've seen each other…"
It had been a long time since they had seen one another and she took her time to breathe him in. The spiced clean scent of light cologne and soap. Her fingers slowly spread across the broad planes of his back, unconcerned with the water seeping into her clothing. "I don't mind…It's only water."
Her voice carried the same tenderness he had always known, but unlike the woman who was off visiting her parents, she had no intention of letting him go just because an embrace had gone on too long to be considered polite. Her mouse-brown head tilted and she pressed a kiss to the side of his throat. A silence stretched comfortably as she held him greedily, possessively, as his half-wife hadn't done in months. How could she stand it?
When she finally pulled back it was only enough to look at his face. His handsome, perfect face with a glowing eye. Her hand moved up and soft fingertips brushed away a bead of rain before tracing absentmindedly toward his chin. "Ethin…", she started, thoughtfully, innocent doe eyes peering into his, "Did he make you angry?"
She knew the answer, even if it was a little more subtle. Brandyn carried emotions like a light perfume. It was subtle to strangers…But she was not a stranger. Her thumb brushed lightly across the corner of his mouth. "You have that look…"
A small, sympathetic frown found her lips.
"I don't like when people upset my husband."
Ethin would be found dead within a fortnight with the crime pinned on some local thugs. It was easy to shift blame when no one would look at sweet Cybelle. Her words were protective and doting, after all, she had upset him enough with her weepy moping. A light warmth would begin to spread from her hand on his back and slowly that heat would dry them off.
She tilted her head with effortless kindness and a sorrowful expression, while something infinitely colder, hungrier, watched from behind loving eyes. "If he did? He doesn't deserve your time…"
Her fingers slipped down to curl in his collar and pull him just a little closer.
"But I do."
____
Something was off. Even as she spoke, Brandyn felt a vague confusion about what exactly felt wrong.
But the physical closeness of his wife overrode the doubt. As a strange, soothing warmth spread from her hands and began to dry his wet clothes, he let out a heavy sigh and leaned into her. He needed this. After the bitter argument with Ethin, his soul was aching for comfort, and Cybelle’s sudden playfulness was a beautiful surprise. Usually, she was so guarded, always afraid of being an inconvenience to him.
“Ethin is just doing what he thinks is right,” he said quietly, brushing the worry away. He didn't want to talk about the Jedi Order. He just wanted her.
When she tugged his collar, the gravity between them felt impossible to resist. It had been months since they had been together like this, properly. His mind raced with the sudden, intoxicating promise of intimacy. If Cy was finally taking the lead, he wasn’t going to stop her.
Then, as her face tilted up, he caught the heavy, sweet scent of wine on her breath.
A wave of understanding washed over him, and a bittersweet ache settled in his chest. She’s drunk, he realized. It explained everything—the sudden boldness, the growl in her throat, the intense grip on his shirt.
His lips paused a mere inch from hers. Every desperate, lonely part of him wanted to ignore it. He wanted to close his eyes, pretend he hadn't noticed the alcohol, and just let her lose herself in him. He longed to be loved again.
But the logic of their timeline caught up to him, shattering the illusion.
He stared into her topaz eyes, his mind suddenly growing colder.
“I thought you were with your parents?”
____
"I'm sure he was…But I still don't like it."
He was right there…Drawing himself closer. Falling into her arms as he was meant to. Every second that she could feel him melting pleased her all the more…Until something stopped him. Something made him suspicious. Clever, clever boy.
The way he questioned her should have unsettled her but it had the opposite effect. It thrilled her. She didn't express it outwardly of course, nothing so careless, but the faint smile on her lips softened before disappearing. Mild confusion flickered across her features with practiced ease. Her brow knit together ever so slightly as though the question had hurt her in some way. "My parents…", she echoed, ever so softly.
The fingers that were curled in his collar loosened just enough to seem harmless but she made no move to step away. Cybelle preferred him close. Near enough to feel the warmth of his breath, close enough, to watch every thought pass through his beautiful mind.
"I was…But I couldn't stay."
There was no hesitation in her lie. She didn't search for it, there was no pause, just a weariness in her expression that had been there for a long time. "They meant well…Everyone means well these days.", she drew closer again, head tilting, so that she could brush her lips against his chin. Such a delicate and sweet gesture.
"But I…", she trailed off while her fingers began to curl in his collar again, body shifting until there wasn't an inch of space between them. "Couldn't take it. They watch me when I'm not looking…The pity…It's too much."
That at least wasn't a lie. Anytime she crossed someone they knew they wore the same long faces. She shuddered suddenly, as if the memory physically overwhelmed her. "If I have to listen to one more conversation about resting, eating, and how time heals…I'm going to wind up a guest at the funny farm," a faint bitterness crept into the last sentence before she buried it beneath an apologetic smile.
"So…I came home."
Her eyes turned toward his face again and she searched his gaze. She might have had a little wine but she was still his wife, his Cybelle, and he would well know her fears of being rejected. "And…I missed my husband."
There was no embarrassment in admitting it but there was a certain shyness to her that didn't easily leave. She leaned up on her tiptoes and pressed her forehead against his. "I told them I would rather be alone today…And I would. Just, with you."
She reached up once more and smoothed the hair from his forehead with almost reverent care. It was a gesture she'd watched Cybelle make countless times. Only…She held the moment a little longer. Long enough to admire him without letting bashful tendencies interfere. Her voice lowered to a whisper that sounded as if it might break, so fragile.
"Is that wrong, Bran?"
____
Guilt was the only reaction he could muster. Guilt at questioning those eyes. Guilt at questioning her. To doubt her now felt like a betrayal of everything they had built, a cold rejection of the woman standing right in front of him.
How could he not understand her? The pity was, indeed, too much to bear at times. She was not wrong. It was not wrong. He was simply overthinking, letting the phantom weight of some unspoken tension trick his mind into feeling uneasy. There was no rational basis for the hesitation tightening in his chest. It was just a trick of the shadows, a passing mood he needed to shake off.
She wanted him, needed him. That was not wrong. A husband should answer that need, should welcome it gladly instead of freezing at the threshold. Marriage was built on this very closeness, on bridging the gaps when the world felt strange. To pull away now would cause a wound where there should be a sanctuary.
A little wine to loosen the edges of her normal coy manner of initiating. There was nothing wrong with that. It explained the subtle shift in her rhythm, the slight unfamiliarity in her touch. It was a harmless warmth, nothing more. He was inventing ghosts where there were only honest intentions. He had to silence the quiet, nagging alarm in his mind; he had to let himself believe the comfort of her embrace.
He could not but lean into her again. He forced the doubt down into the dark, burying his instincts beneath the sheer necessity of affection. “There is nothing wrong with this,” he spoke upon her lips.
____
Relief washed through her in a slow and intoxicating wave. He would feel her burgeoning apprehension fall away while that whispering instinct told him something was wrong.Just like she felt him bury that suspicion with his own hands. "I've left you so lonely…Haven't I? I'm sorry, Bran…"
"I'm so sorry."
And she was, truly, but it didn't change the fact that he was still clinging to his Jedi goodness that would get their daughter killed. It didn't change the fact that he was always one nightmare away from killing their love. He wasn't strong enough. But, she could make him strong.
The smallest sigh escaped her lips, soft enough to pass for gratitude, while somewhere beneath it satisfaction rolled to the surface. No matter the murmuring in his mind he still reached for her, especially, in the dark. That was telling. Her eyes closed while she let his words settle between them as a dangerous warmth bloomed low in her chest.
He had no idea how desperately she missed him. How long she had waited for this moment, an opening, where she could just talk to him. Have him, touch him. Feel his heartbeat start to race. "I've missed you."
Admitted, as if it was a secret.
She could have kissed him then. It would have been so easy to shift just a little and ease both of their longing. But she didn't. Cybelle stayed as close as she could while every breath felt warmer. Every heartbeat felt louder. Her nose nestled against his while her lips brushed against him every time she spoke. A tease that Cybelle normally wouldn't even think to press on, unless it was an accident. "They all keep asking what I need…", the whisper was warm, too warm. "Followed by heartfelt lecturing…As if anyone would know but you."
Her fingers drifted from the nape of his neck to his shoulder, smoothing an imaginary crease from his shirt with absent affection. Only to drift back with her nails brushing his skin. "Say you've missed me too…"
"Say you love me?"
____
“It’s not your fault,” he whispered, forehead pressing against hers. He pulled away just a moment, to focus on her eyes. “We are both going through…something we could not have prepared for. But…”
Hands found their way slowly up her back, finding the softness of her hair, an understated physicality to anchor the moment.
“...we are here now.”
It washed away. The doubt. The concern. As she spoke. As their lips tenderly danced on the brink of abandon. Her words soothed that last vestige of concern. For she spoke as Cybelle often did. Asking for confirmation of something that had been true for forever.
“I’ve missed you.” His words a feather touch upon the hint of her smile.
“How can they know what we have endured?” The ache of loss. The cost of failure. But above all, the persistence of their love. Of course he loved her. He had loved her since they were children. Understood it since their youth. And only truly held it in peace for a short, blessed year.
Oh, for that time to return.
“I have always loved you, Cy,” he said, the kiss all but given.
____
“I have always loved you, Cy,”
The words hit her with something she didn't know how to name. It made her heart move and the greed within her purred with satisfaction. It took all she had not to drop every pretense and pull him into her with a force that Cybelle would never.
She had imagined hearing it a thousand different ways. In anger. In desperation. In hate. In promise. In passion…But this was perhaps the sweetest. Drawn from him like poison being pulled from a wound. Nothing compared to the reality, proof, that Brandyn would always belong to her.
Till death do us part.
A shaky breath escaped her lips and her eyes fluttered closed. Cybelle leaned into the ghost of the kiss he had almost given, lingering there, without stealing it. He needed to choose it - She needed him to choose it…To choose her again, and again. "Say it again…", she pleaded, her voice trembling with an emotion that was too warm, too fragile to hold itself together. "Please?"
Her fingers disappeared into the hair at the nape of his neck, slow and possessive, cradling rather than pulling.
When she opened her eyes again there was aching love in them. Boundless devotion…As if he was the only thing she could see. The only thing real in the room. Beneath all that heart-filled emotion was something buried deep, something dark, with teeth and claws that were barely contained.
Mine.
____
The kiss was the only answer he gave. Not words, but the firm pressure of his lips against hers, and hands that fumbled for the controls to the door behind her.
Hsssss.
The door obeyed his flailing attempts at opening it. And he pushed her guided her backwards into their living room.
Brandyn had already scooped her up, his intentions clear, and his shoes already being kicked off.
Then came his communicator. Tossed from his wrist like he had not a care in the world, save his need to be with his wife. The device landed on the ground, and its screen lit up the room at the same moment.
Blue light cast its pall over the stumbling couple, sending their tangled shadow against the wall.
Bzzzzzt. Bzzzzzt. Bzzzzzt.
The incessant buzzing of a new message did not stop Brandyn. “Whoever that is can wait.”
It took him a few moments of searching kisses, roving hands, and stumbling frantic steps for the sound to break through his haze.
The buzzing just would not give up.
He pulled away from the breathless moment, and swore. “Kark,” he spat towards the device, “why now?”
He put Cybelle down. “Stay there…don’t move…keep thinking…” His hands gestured generally towards surfaces around the room. “...just keep it up…”
He almost tripped over himself getting to the commlink, which he swiped up with a grunt of frustration. He shot his wife another glance and a finger waved to tell her not to move.
His eyes found the screen, and the message which simply read: Unknown Sender. Lead found on Eliad. Must act quickly.
And the heat vanished in an instant.
Brandyn turned, a mournful, aggrieved look washed over his countenance.
“I can’t tell if this means the universe loves or hates us.”
____
Finally - Finally.
His lips were warm and everything she wanted, filling every day dream, but it still wasn't enough. For a fleeting moment everything ceased to exist. There was no rain on the windows. No empty rooms haunted by the absence of their child. No endless days watching another Cybelle have the life that should have been hers.
There was only him.
When strong arms lifted her an involuntary laugh escaped her lips that was light, surprised, and genuine. Her arms tightened around his shoulders while her fingers disappeared into the fabric of his shirt. Pulling at the material so fervently that it started to pull at the seams, buttons straining.
Mine.
That thought was no longer a whisper but a howling scream that drew her to respond to every move he made. There was no shame or hesitation, just the manifestation of everything she'd told him. She missed him, needed him.
He threw his communicator aside and something inside her practically sang. Every step, stolen kiss, and clumsy stumble was just another choice. Another choice for her.
Even the incessant buzzing of his comm couldn't stop him and that pleased her even more. She pulled him down into her to kiss him hard, block it out, but the swearing on his lips drew another laugh. It was a sound that filled the room, rare, and promised an evening of things that most couldn't spell.
"Language…", she teased him, so loving, her smile remaining through the buzzing until he suddenly pulled away. The whine that left her when he told her not to move was filled with frustration. But…She was a good wife. He told her not to stop thinking and her mind did exactly that, only, those thoughts didn't stay with her.
Cybelle gave them to him one at a time, slow, like clipped images from a holo. She leaned back on the soft cushion, entirely sweet, innocent of all things. It was in stark contrast to all she was thinking, pulse racing, breathless…"Come back."
But he didn't. Her smile faded. Topaz eyes flickered with something that was more than annoyance. It was only there for a moment but a quiet hatred burned that was focused solely on that communicator.
Someone was trying to steal him from her.
“I can’t tell if this means the universe loves or hates us.”
She slipped to her feet with the silk robe trailing her and stopped just behind his shoulder. Cybelle wrapped an arm around his waist and pressed her cheek against his back. "The universe doesn't love anyone…", her voice was soft, small, and seemingly falling apart because he was slipping through her fingers. The only thing the universe did was take. His warmth was gone, the heat rapidly dissipating. No. No, no no.
Not now. Not now.
She didn't know what the message said but her hand splayed across the flat of his stomach and pulled him back against her with a sweet little nuzzle. His expression…
Her eyes closed and her teeth ground together.
Kark.
____
The message remained illuminated upon the communicator's screen, yet the words themselves began to blur. It was not the message that held him still.
It was her.
The Force carried Cybelle to him with an intimacy it never had before. Longing, devotion, want. They washed over him in slow, irresistible waves until every instinct pleaded with him to throw the communicator aside once more, to forget Eliad, to forget duty, and simply disappear into her embrace. Into home.
His breath caught. Something was...different.
Cybelle had always been easy for him to read. Years together had made her emotions as familiar as his own heartbeat, but never like this. Never so vivid. Never so insistent. She had always guarded herself, reluctant to burden him with the weight of her feelings unless she could no longer bear them alone. Tonight they poured from her unhindered, wrapping around his thoughts until they scarcely felt like his own.
A quiet unease settled in the back of his mind.
He searched for a reason and found one readily enough. The wine. The grief. Weeks of separation. The walls she normally kept around herself had simply fallen away. That was all. It had to be.
Yet the unease lingered beneath the warmth she radiated, refusing to disappear entirely.
He turned to face her fully.
Every part of him wanted to cross the room, take her into his arms again, and pretend the galaxy beyond these walls had ceased to exist. To spend one night where they were simply husband and wife, instead of two souls forever chasing what had been stolen from them.
His hands found hers instead, cradling them gently. "Cy..."
The single syllable carried more apology than explanation ever could.
His thumbs brushed slowly across the backs of her hands, reluctant to surrender even this small connection.
"If I do not go..." His voice faltered before he found it again. "If this is Gianna..." He swallowed against the tightness in his throat.
"I would never forgive myself for delaying." A fragile smile found him, one born entirely of heartbreak. "Even though every part of me longs to hold you for the rest of the night.”
____
For the first time she could remember Cybelle found that she…hated…him. It came and went like lightning across a clear sky, winking in and out before it could stain the love that followed. That he could take the pieces of her she offered freely with trembling hands and still choose the door…
Her fingers tightened around his, not enough to hurt, but there was something extremely vulnerable in it. Begging with anything but words, eyes, body and soul. Topaz eyes hadn't seen the glowing message and instead searched for any crack in his resolve. The feeling of him shutting down, pulling away, hurt more than anything. More than anger.
Anger she could fight.
Love was impossible to fight…It was endless. And if it was for their daughter, who was perfectly fine…Cybelle had already lost.
One hand slipped from his to caress the side of his face that wasn't covered in a metal mask. "You would…Wouldn't you. Never forgive yourself."
There was no anger in her tone. Just breathless and altered thoughts, touched with something that felt devastating. She leaned up and kissed him again, softer than before, but no less enticing. When she spoke her heart was breaking against his skin…"You've always been the knight in shining armor, the hero, perfect. Don't worry…I know you can't help it. Just like you can't stop yourself from walking away from me when duty calls…"
Cybelle kissed him again and it became less soft, starving, as if she hadn't seen him in years. All the while knowing that she could tell him. That she could end this suffering in a single sentence. Gianna is alive, safe. She had imagined it before. Watching the relief that would flood his face and the weight that would lift from his shoulders. Her desire deepened the more her thoughts pulled down…Because he always left.
He had been in a war that didn't even belong to them when she'd gone into labor. Even though he knew how close she was to their due date, how scared, how lost she had been in the last trimester. She had been speaking to things that weren't there.
Brandyn had left her, skin and bone, because she'd put on a brave face and told him to go.
Because it was easier, for the greater good, and that was simply who he was. Cybelle couldn't bring herself to hold him back and her husband would chase truth and justice without blinking. Brandyn would barrel toward the light…Running helterskelter, fleeing from his own darkness.
This wife knew that one day, that same light, that goodness would put their daughter back into the hands of people who would teach her to die nobly rather than to live fiercely.
No.
Her baby would not become their sacrifice.
She paused only to let her fingers thread in his hair, twisting the sweetness of holding hands, into curling herself around him in a way that was serpentine and desperate.
"You don't understand…"
Her voice was heated, enough to melt the paint from the walls. "I don't want one night…I want every night."
Cybelle pulled away from him abruptly and her fingers came to cover her lips, swollen, loving, grieving and angry. "Get out.", the whisper was full of agony, the thin woman almost trembling. Her eyes averted so he wouldn't see more, the rawness, every nerve ending burning. Every emotion that was only barely kept from bubbling over.
"Leave…Before I won't let you."
____
Almost undone. He would have. Could have stayed. Ignored the duty, and responsibility. Even if just for the evening. Just to remind himself that he was still human, still a man, still in love with her.
The depth of despair, voracious appetite and frustration that swirled about Cybelle was unlike anything he had perceived in her before. It almost wasn’t her. And to his increasing shame…he liked it. Liked her more aggressive expression of their love.
But she did give him that singular moment to reconnect with his duty. And the moment failed to reignite.
“If I was half the hero you think me to be,” he said, hand rising to cup her cheek, “you would still have your child.”
Forehead furrowing deeply, Brandyn whispered a promise he had made to the phantom Cybelle in his dreams a thousand times. “I will bring her back…I promise.”
He allowed a moment to lean in, press his lips gently against hers one more time. And then he broke free of her orbit, and walked towards the door.
“I love you, Cy.”
