What Was and What Will Be

Vizion clasped hand over wrist in front of himself, feeling the disjointedness in this place where the beautiful day and sadness were intersecting as he stood watch over her. For a long while, Briana said nothing, while birds chittered, another layer on the din underwriting the silence, the low noise of life coming from the city. Until she finally spoke, and her words rose above that silence.

"I wasn't sure what I would want to say when I finally came here, and I was so... angry with you. Both of you. Over all of the things you did, the people you hurt, and for us who were left behind to clean it all up. As a kid, you dream up this image of who your parents are supposed to be, only to find out that they were both just... people. Flawed, stubborn people. And when I found that out, I hated you for it, because every answer I found in trying to understand you, just made it all that much more complicated."

A slow breath left her as she tried to clear her throat, though when she spoke again her voice remained rough around the edges, and it put an ache in him.

"But, I understand now that you were trying. Even though you got it wrong, even though it did the opposite of what you were trying to achieve. I know that both of you believed you were doing your best for us, and that's something I can finally make peace with now."

Or it reawoke the ache — today was but one stop in a long process of healing that could hardly be detangled from what he felt for her, itself a near-constant. He thought he did, once, thought he knew her, thought he knew what he wanted, but that was an illusion over the reality of the woman before him and what was in his heart now. Wasn't even close. Not by a longshot.

After another long stretch of silent sniffling and eye dabbing, she added, "I miss you both, and I wish I'd said that when everyone was watching." She'd needed to keep up the facade when the holofilms were rolling through every second of her mourning, he knew, scrutinizing every action or inaction she took, knowing that whatever she did could blow back negatively on her siblings, on her family name.

Even then, standing over the bodies of her parents, the galaxy had demanded something from her. He felt the galaxy asked too much of her, that it would whittle her away until nothing remained and he couldn't bear to let that happen.

She touched the stone hand of her father, as gently as if she were touching living flesh. "I love you, and I want you to know that I'm doing my best to take care of them in your place." A touch he knew so well, now.

Vizion unfolded his hands and went to Briana, placing a hand upon her back as his eyes landed on the stone effigies of people he was convinced might have tried to keep him away from her, because of what he long was, what he still was: a Jedi.

He didn't hate them.

"She's not doing it alone," he said softly, his brow creasing faintly as he continued, his head turning, his gaze drifting to her, "not anymore," he gave Briana the smallest of smiles, a thing that couldn't be helped as he pulled her close with an honest whisper, "I won't allow it." Not since she let him be near, and he wasn't going to stop. He pressed his lips to her hair, breathing in the scent. "I love you. I'm proud of you."

He could feel her softening with his words, as she settled into the security his arms provided, her fingers curling into his shirt. "I wouldn't be here without you," she whispered, as if the dead around them might hear. "I think I would have kept finding reasons to put this off, or would have kept convincing myself of why I wasn't ready." She tipped her head back enough to look at him, her long hair cascading over his arms like buttery waves. Most of the tears had dried up by now, but traces of their presence lingered in the flush across her cheeks. "Thank you for not letting me talk myself out of coming here."

Her hand rose to cup his cheek, her thumb grazing gently along the stubble as a gentle smile pulled at her lips. "I couldn't have imagined doing this alone," she said, while he turned his head towards the touch, "I hate to imagine you alone," he returned, an utterance, while reining in the reflex that the year past had put into him, after a moment, turning his gaze back to hers.