Private A Shadow That Didn’t Pass

[Brighde nighean Aine]

Nar Shaddaa

The first blow didn't hurt. That came later.

At first, there was only the impact of a punch to her ribs hard enough to steal breath, the wall rushing up to meet her cheek, neon smearing into color without meaning. Someone shouted. Someone laughed. Bri's hand went for her weapon on instinct and came up empty, fingers closing on air where reassurance should have been.

Too many, registered dimly, even as she turned and drove an elbow back into a body she couldn't see.

A stun baton cracked against her thigh. Another caught her shoulder. The world lurched sideways.

She fought anyway. She always did.

Boot to a knee. Nails raked across a face. She felt cartilage give under her knuckles and tasted blood—hers or theirs, it hardly mattered. But Nar Shaddaa didn't reward effort, only numbers, and hands kept coming. Someone swept her legs. Someone else kicked her while she was down, sharp and practiced, like they'd done this before.

By the time it stopped, she couldn't tell which way was up.

They took everything worth taking. Credits. Comms. Her weapon. Even the spare power cell that was tucked into her boot. Efficient. Impersonal. When they were done, they left her sprawled against the duracrete like a discarded thing, breathing shallow and wrong.

Bri lay there longer than she should have.

The pain crept in slowly, insidious, settling deep in her side where every breath pulled something hot and tearing through her. Her arm wouldn't lift properly. Her vision pulsed at the edges, lights dimming in and out like faulty wiring.

Get up, she told herself.

She did. Eventually.

Every step afterward felt like a negotiation. She stayed off the main thoroughfares, cutting through service corridors and half-lit maintenance levels, one hand pressed hard against her ribs as if she could hold herself together by force of will alone. A medic crossed her path once a clean coat, clinic insignia glowing faintly.

Bri turned away.

Medics asked questions. Medics logged injuries. On Nar Shaddaa, information traveled faster than blood.

By the time she made it to the alcove she'd been aiming for, her knees buckled. She slid down the wall and let herself sit, head tipped back against cold metal, breath coming shallow and uneven. The pain had gone from sharp to dull to something frighteningly distant.

That scared her more than the mugging ever had.

Her fingers shook as she fished out the backup comm she'd sworn she wouldn't need. She stared at it for a long moment, jaw tight, pride warring with the very real possibility that if she closed her eyes, she might not open them again.

In the end, she didn't make the call.

The comm slipped from her fingers and clattered softly against the floor.

Bri stayed where she was, eyes half-lidded, listening to the distant thrum of Nar Shaddaa's endless motion, unaware that she was no longer as alone as she thought.

Gillem

 

[Gillem]

GILLEM

Smoke curled from his nostrils as he wandered the back streets and alleys of Nar Shaddaa. The city was always in motion around him. Lights, noise, speeders and shady deals. Every now and then you would catch the eventual mugging. It was no surprise. But sometimes something would happen that would make him itch to just go take a walk.

He stepped into the rainfall streets, boots splashing in the puddles as light rain fell over the buildings.

He was making his way to the cantina to clear his thoughts and shrug off the itch with a drink or two, crossing the street he noticed a sight.

A woman, sitting off the street, head lulled over and eyes held closed. He didn't pay no mind at first, probably another junky. But his hunch pulled him over anyway. He noticed the blood coming from her nose and mouth and he slowly dragged his cigarette then flicked it away.

“Ma'am. Tonight does not seem like your night.”

She seemed like she struggled to get a word out before her head lulled further to the side, unconscious. Eyes closed.

Gillem let out a sigh before he looked around and then hoisted her on his shoulder to make the trek back to his temporary living space.

A small dingy apartment that reflected the grime of back alleys on this wasteful planet. He spent the time to check over her wounds and with his limited field medicine and bandages, bandaged her up as best as he could.

For decency's sake he did not remove any unnecessary clothing to bandage her up and diagnose her wounds. But she was pretty banged up. He didn’t even have a bacta stim for her.

Once he knew she would be fine, she let her rest in his bed. A studio apartment didn't really have the space for extra furniture, but Gillem was fine with her resting there while he worked on hand loading his .48 caliber slugs.

Ammo wasn't cheap, and hand loading was the next best thing.

Brighde nighean Aine​

 

[Brighde nighean Aine]

Consciousness returned in fragments, slowly knitting itself back together.

The smell came first, stale smoke mixed with oil and old metal, the kind of air that told her immediately she was not in an official place and not in a place meant for comfort. Pain followed soon after, blooming along her ribs in a deep, spreading ache that made her breath hitch before she forced it shallow again, instinctively guarding what felt damaged.

She did not move her arms yet, testing instead with small, careful twitches of her fingers beneath the blanket. Bandages. Rough, but competently applied. Her jacket was gone, removed with purpose, while the rest of her clothing remained untouched beneath the wrap. That detail settled something in her chest even as her body remained stubbornly heavy and uncooperative.

She opened her eyes properly then.

The room was small and cramped, cluttered with the signs of someone who actually lived there rather than passed through. Low ceiling. Dim light. It was not threatening, but it was not hers, and the awareness of that landed quietly and firmly. She was a guest here, whether she had agreed to be or not.

The sound reached her next, steady and metallic, a practiced rhythm she recognized without effort. Ammunition that was being worked by hand. The noise did not feel hurried or nervous. It belonged.

Her gaze followed it until she found him, occupying the space with the ease of someone who knew every inch of it. That mattered too. This was his ground, and she was lying in his bed, wrapped and breathing shallow, her body making it very clear that escape was not currently an option.

She shifted just enough to show she was awake, the movement slow and deliberate, not from calculation but necessity. Pain answered immediately, sharp enough to warn her against trying more. She accepted the limit without argument.

"Hello," she said at last, her voice hoarse but calm, lacking accusation or fear.

She took another careful breath, eyes flicking briefly around the room before returning to him, steady and attentive.

"I seem to have missed a portion of the evening," she continued, quietly acknowledging the imbalance without naming it. "If you would be willing, I would appreciate knowing where I am and how I came to be here."

Her gaze held his, open but watchful.

"And," she added after a brief pause, honesty carried without apology, "how long I have been asleep."

There was no demand in her tone and no presumption of right, only the composed request of someone injured, out of place, and very aware that for the moment, her survival rested on a stranger's choice to stop when he could have passed by.

Gillem

 

[Gillem]

GILLEM

The scent of sweet tabac clung in the air and into the walls as he pressed the castings and bullet tips together. The slight stirring just caught his attention for a moment, a slight turn of his head in acknowledgment as she got her bearings about her.

He inhaled deeply the sweet smoke and exhaled slowly as he continued work.

“You were in rough shape…”

He set up the next batch in the machine, measuring the grain of powder before packing it in.

“Wouldn't surprise me if you have broken ribs. Ya lost consciousness, so I carried you to my humble abode and applied the best aid I could.”

He slowly stood up and faced her, his mechanical eye flashed dimly as it took in her information in the bounty database. Her name, some personal info and any possible bounty on her head, which he would not collect. Off duty.

“You been out for about six hours.”

He tipped his head to the small side table right by her that had a cold glass of water and some pain killers.

“Drink, take the meds.”

He ran his hand through his dirty blond hair, sticking it back some then scratched the stubble on his chin.

“What brings you to this side of the galaxy? If I may ask.”

His hazel eye fell back to her, not gazing to prod but to hold a proper conversation as he removed his duster, folding it up then laying it over the back of his chair. The various browns and tans that coated his well traveled outfit suggested a very rugged lifestyle of travels.

“You need better medical attention, or you're gonna be down longer.”

He spoke quietly as he plucked the rolled paper from his lips and pulled the chair closer to her and sat in front of her, leaving her plenty of space to get up and move about if she wished, if the ribs deemed her able to at least.

He pulled the small pack of cigarettes from his coat and offered her one.

“Can help with the pain too, but it ain't for everyone.”

He waited for her to speak and if she wanted some tabac, patiently and quietly.

Brighde nighean Aine​

 

[Brighde nighean Aine]

Perfect — that actually adds texture instead of complicating it. Here's the same reply, with her name corrected and delivered in a way that feels natural, deliberate, and very Bri, without over-explaining or breaking the moment.

---

Bri listened without interrupting, eyes steady on him as he spoke, filing the information away piece by piece. Broken ribs explained the way her chest protested every breath. Six hours explained the dull weight in her limbs and the sense that time had slipped sideways when she was not looking.

When he gestured to the table, she followed his cue without comment.

She reached for the glass first, fingers curling carefully around it, and took a slow drink, measured and controlled, as though even swallowing required negotiation. The water helped more than she expected. She set the glass down, then picked up the painkillers and considered them briefly before taking them as well, washing them down with another small sip.

"Medical centers ask questions," she said quietly at last, her voice still rough but steady. "I do not have answers to give them. Or credits to pay."

It was not said defensively. Just a fact.

Her gaze lifted back to him as he moved closer, her posture still but attentive, making no attempt to rise and no attempt to retreat. When he offered the cigarette, she hesitated only a moment before nodding and accepting it, holding it between her fingers rather than lighting it right away.

"Thank you," she added simply, and meant it.

She glanced down at herself then, at the wrap around her ribs and the unfamiliar ceiling above her, before looking back up again.

"How am I supposed to pay you?" she asked, not accusatory and not anxious, just practical. "If this is a debt, I would rather know what shape it takes."

A brief pause followed, and then, softer,

"Time is not an issue. Not unless you need me out of your hair."

She shifted slightly, testing the limits again, then stilled when pain reminded her not to push. The cigarette lifted to her lips at last, unlit, more habit than need.

"My name is Brìghde nighean Àine," she said, offering it plainly, without titles or qualifiers. Her eyes met his, calm and direct. "Most people shorten it to Bri."

She let that hang between them for a moment before adding, quietly,

"And I appreciate that you stopped."

Then she waited, patient and composed, aware that she was still a guest in his space and that whatever came next would decide what kind of shadow he truly was.

Gillem

 

[Gillem]

GILLEM

“Gillem. Pleasure to meet you ma’am.”

He leaned back in the chair after she took the cigarette from him.

“Yeah, they love their questions. And the cost is only getting steeper.”

He responded with simple fact as well. Not challenging her words, but agreeing with them

“I hate medical centers. Always miserable, and theres always some kid screaming and wailing about their ear infection. Can’t blame them, but it still isn’t pleasant. I won’t force you into medical care, but know that this will take time to mend. Time that I will allow you here if you so wish. I can’t in good conscience send you back out half way put together, the city will tear you apart for good this time.”

He took another inhale of his cigarette and relaxed in the chair, its soft creak singing out from beneath him.

“No need to thank me, ma’am. I was only in the right place at the right time, while you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

He flicked the ash into a nearby ashtray right by him.

“Do you want a light? It works better when it’s lit.”

The slight jest brought the attention to her just holding the cigarette.

“I don’t take payments. Just call me a good samaritan. If you se desperately wish to pay me back, I can get back to you on tha-”

He paused for a second.

“Actually.”

He slowly stood up and walked over to a small desk he had, picking up a small datapad. The screen pulsed to life with flashes and he slowly handed it to her.

“I’m looking for someone. It’s a stretch but if I have to ask everyone about him I will.”

The screen revealed a Rodian child, approximately ten to twelve years old and a female Rodian woman.

“I’m looking for these two.”

He paused for a moment.

“They were sold off and shipped out to The Black Sun, and I know they operate here on Nar Shaddaa. But I don’t know where.”

He looked at the image.

“Do you happen to know where I could find any representatives of the Black Sun?”

He looked at her with a seriousness in his eyes, as if he were looking for lost family. A look of intensity that showed that when he found them bodies were not far behind.

Brighde nighean Aine​

 

[Brighde nighean Aine]

Bri watched him as he spoke, not with suspicion but with attention, the kind that listened for what was said and what was carefully left unsaid. When he offered the light, her gaze dropped briefly to the cigarette between her fingers, as if noticing it properly for the first time.

She inclined her head slightly. "Yes. Thank you."

She leaned just enough to meet the flame, careful of her ribs, and drew in slowly. No rush. No show. The smoke settled warm and sweet against her tongue, smoother than she expected, and she let it out in a measured breath that did not betray weakness or discomfort.

"I think I am still sorting out what hurts and what does not," she said quietly, a faint apology threaded into the words. "Shock has a way of stealing small details."

She rested the cigarette between her fingers again, letting it burn while she listened.

At the mention of payment, she had already begun to shake her head, ready to argue the point gently but firmly, when he stopped himself and rose instead. Her attention sharpened as he returned with the datapad. When he handed it to her, she accepted it carefully and studied the images in silence.

A Rodian child. Young. A woman, close enough in features that the connection was obvious even without explanation.

Her expression changed then, not dramatically, but enough to matter. The practiced distance softened into something more deliberate, more grounded.

"I do not know their faces," she said after a moment, honest and unembellished. "And I do not pretend to understand the organization fully."

She glanced up at him briefly, then back to the screen, as if committing the images to memory.

"I have heard the name Black Sun," she continued, choosing her words with care. "Mostly in the way people lower their voices when it comes up. I know they are large and that they endure. Beyond that, my knowledge is… incomplete."

She handed the datapad back to him carefully.

"I would not know how to approach them directly," she said. "If they have representatives here, they do not make themselves obvious to people like me. What I do know is that groups with that kind of reputation tend to touch things indirectly. Through others. Through arrangements that look ordinary until you realize they are not."

Her gaze returned to him, steady and thoughtful, but no longer certain.

"I cannot promise insight," she added. "And I cannot promise speed. But if I hear something that feels wrong, or if I notice patterns that do not make sense, I will remember those faces."

She took another cautious drag from the cigarette, the smoke curling slowly as she exhaled.

"As for the city," she said quietly, acknowledging his earlier words, "you are not wrong. I was careless. I do not intend to be twice."

She paused, then met his eyes again.

"And if this is what you meant when you said you might get back to me about repayment," she continued evenly, "then that is something I can live with."

Not a vow. Not yet. But an understanding, offered carefully, and kept with intent.

Gillem

 

[Gillem]

GILLEM

He hummed lightly to himself when she gave her answer.

“I appreciate that miss. I didn’t expect you to know in all honesty, but any turn I can take, I’ll do it.”

He helped her with lighting the end of her cigarette, careful not to make her lean too far forward.

“You’re gonna feel soreness in places you never knew you had, I can guarantee that. But I have more pain meds and bandages. I may be able to get a bacta injector for you too.”

He sat back down in his chair.

“They are an underground crime syndicate. Appearing almost out of nowhere recently within the last few years I heard. But in my experience, syndicates don’t appear out of thin air. They build from the inside, make connections, get their little birds in a row, then when they have everything under their control, they emerge like a new world order.”

He took another drag as the small room started to smell like sweet tabac.

“I have…history with fighting syndicates, but I’m not here to fight another. I just wanna find those two.”

He leaned back, plucking the rolled paper from his lips.

“I used to be with the Morellian Rangers.”

He flicked the ash.

“In Morellia, we didn’t have a Jedi order, though we had some force sensitives. We were on our own. Crime ran rampant, disease filtered the air, chaos, pandemonium. Someone needed to restore order.”

He placed the cigarette back on his lips.

“So, someone made the Morellian Rangers. We hunted down criminals like vermin. We didn’t wait for them to show themselves to good folk. No, we went to them and put them in the dirt.”

He paused as he thought of the many faces that stared back at him with lifeless eyes.

“But, we had an unspoken rule. I call it Rule Zero: Never Make Promises.”

He took another small puff and shrugged.

“I ended up making a promise to that kid there. So, I have to find him and his mother.”

Brighde nighean Aine​

 

[Brighde nighean Aine]

Bri listened without interrupting, her attention steady and unforced as he spoke, following the cadence of his words rather than searching for openings. She did not flinch at the talk of syndicates or violence, nor did she soften when he spoke of order and necessity. She simply listened, allowing the story to exist as it was, without judgment or commentary.

When he mentioned bacta, she lifted one hand slightly, palm open in a gentle, unobtrusive refusal. "No," she said quietly, not abrupt, but certain. "It will not be necessary." She shifted only enough to ease the pressure on her ribs, careful not to test them further than she already had. "The worst of it is internal," she continued. "Bacta will not hurry that along. Time will. The rest will mend well enough on its own."

Her gaze returned to him, calm and sincere.

"Thank you," she added, the words unadorned and meant. "For the care. For the shelter. For stopping when it would have been easier not to."

She took another slow drag from the cigarette, the sweet tabac settling into her lungs without protest, and let it out just as carefully.

As he spoke of the Rangers, her expression remained composed, but attentive, absorbing the weight beneath the plain recounting of facts. Faces in the dirt, promises made too early, rules learned too late. She did not look away when he paused, did not rush to fill the silence.

"When people speak of order," she said after a moment, her voice low and even, "it is usually because they have lived without it." There was no accusation in the statement, only recognition. "You did what you believed was necessary, with what you had," she continued. "And you are still carrying the cost of it."

She glanced briefly at the datapad again, then back to him.

"I cannot help you fight a syndicate," she said plainly. "And I will not pretend that I know how to dismantle one." A pause. "But I can watch," she added. "I can listen. And I can remember. Sometimes that is where these things begin."

She met his eyes, steady and present.

"You made a promise," she said simply. "I understand why you intend to keep it."

She did not ask for more. She did not offer absolution. She simply acknowledged the truth of it and stayed.

Gillem

 

[Gillem]

GILLEM

“It would not have been easier to let you lay there bleeding. Just ain’t my nature, ma’am.”

He watched her take her slow drag, the smoke curled as it rose to the ceiling, he picked up a screwdriver and started working small maintenance on his arm as she spoke. Always keeping himself busy, always tinkering. When the work stops, the thoughts start. A nonstop cog in his mind, but this was the best way to keep his attention on her words as she spoke.

He let out a quiet sigh at her mention of cost.

“Sometimes…the cost just ain’t equal.”

He slowly looked back at her then back at his arm as he slowly disassembled it, reaching for a small section in his forearm he pulled back on a release and a metallic click and slide released a heavy cased projectile from its housing. He picked it up, inspecting it closely.

He gently set it down.

“I don’t normally make promises. But Dash had no one. He was brave enough to travel the desert alone to find help. I saw that in him. But I also saw he needed guidance. He thought the world worked so simply, yeah he’s still young, but his time to learn of how the galaxy works was unfortunately dropped right onto his shoulders.”

He looked back at her.

“I’m not trying to find him and his mother because I owe them. I made an oath to protect citizens and that extends beyond retirement.”

He fell quiet once more.

“A second pair of eyes and ears is really all I need Ms.Aine”

He looked over the fully dismantled arm, cleaning each individual piece.

“Please, feel free to stay as long as you want, but I’ll warn you, it ain’t very comfortable here. Foods in the pantry over there but it’s mostly canned.”

He nodded his head to the wall just behind her.

“If ya need anything, please let me know.”

Brighde nighean Aine​

 

[Brighde nighean Aine]

Bri watched him work as he spoke, her gaze following the careful movements of his hands more than the pieces themselves. There was a rhythm to it, familiar and practiced, the kind that came from someone who had learned long ago that stillness invited thoughts he would rather not entertain.

She understood that instinct.

When he spoke of cost, her eyes softened slightly, not in pity, but in recognition.

"No," she agreed quietly. "It rarely is."

She shifted a little beneath the blanket, enough to settle more comfortably without challenging her ribs, and listened as he spoke of Dash, of deserts and courage and promises made too early and kept too long. There was no interruption from her, no attempt to steer him away from it. Some stories needed room.

When he finished, she let the silence breathe for a moment before answering.

"You are still keeping your oath," she said at last, her voice low and even. "You simply chose to carry it with you instead of leaving it behind."

There was no praise in it. No judgment either. Just acknowledgment.

At the sound of her name, spoken properly, her attention sharpened a fraction.

"Ms. Àine is acceptable," she replied gently. "Brìghde is… more difficult for most."

A faint, almost imperceptible curve touched her mouth, gone as quickly as it came.

"If what you need is someone who notices things and remembers them," she continued, "then I can help with that. I am good at watching without being seen. And at listening when others assume no one is paying attention."

She met his gaze steadily.

"I cannot promise miracles. But I can promise effort."

At his offer of food and shelter, she inclined her head in quiet gratitude.

"Thank you," she said again, and this time the word carried even more weight. "For the space. For the warning. For the honesty."

Her eyes flicked briefly toward the indicated pantry and then back to him.

"I will not impose longer than necessary," she added. "But I am grateful for the time to heal properly."

She took another small, measured breath, then spoke more softly.

"And for what it is worth… I believe Dash was fortunate that you were the one who found him."

Not sentiment. Conviction.

She settled back against the pillows after that, cigarette resting loosely between her fingers, content for the moment to simply remain where she was, present, listening, and quietly prepared to become the second set of eyes he had asked for.

Gillem

 

[Gillem]

GILLEM

His face softened when she mentioned how fortunate Dash was.

“I’m..afraid I gotta disagree. It’s unfortunate that he needs me.”

Gillem looked down at his disassembled arm, picking up each piece quietly and cleaning each piece in detail. A slow methodical pace that he had set and maintained like his very own rhythm.

“I don’t think I could ever put down my oath, Ms.Aine. If I do not carry it and maintain it, it just rots away.”

He looked back at her when she mentioned her name.

“I just try to be polite, Ma’am.”

He continued cleaning and inspecting pieces he laid out of his arm.

“Effort is all I really ask, I’m not looking for miracles. I’ve seen enough of this galaxy to know that such a thing is as rare as watching the very light from a star snuff away.”

He chuckled.

“I rescue you from the street and you apologize of imposing.”

He shook his head.

“You’re no trouble, Ms.Aine. If I thought you would be trouble I would have left you there.”

He stopped working.

“But, I saw something different in you than the normal denizens here. Not only were you cleaner, but you have this look about you. I..I can’t explain it. But I had a feeling and I trusted it.”

He looked back at her and spoke softer.

“You’re no trouble. Please, stay as long as you like.”

Brighde nighean Aine​

 

[Brighde nighean Aine]

Bri was quiet for a long moment after he finished speaking, her gaze resting not on his face, but on the careful way he handled each piece of his arm, the patience in every movement. There was something reassuring in that rhythm, in the way he treated even the smallest parts as though they mattered.

When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, but steady.

"Needing someone does not make a person unfortunate," she said. "It means they were not abandoned."

She did not argue it further. She simply let the thought exist between them.

At his words about oaths, she inclined her head slightly.

"I understand that," she replied. "Some things do not survive being set down. They require tending. Like injuries. Or promises."

A faint hint of wryness touched her expression.

"And stubborn people."

She listened as he spoke of effort and miracles, of trust and instinct, of seeing something different in her, and she did not look away when he met her eyes. There was no embarrassment in her gaze, no discomfort at being seen. Only quiet acceptance.

"You trusted your instinct," she said. "And it led you to a woman who could not walk out of that alley on her own."

Not self-pity. Just truth.

"I am grateful that you listened to it."

She shifted slightly, settling back more comfortably, and allowed herself, finally, to rest rather than merely endure.

"I will stay," she continued. "Long enough to heal properly. No longer than that."

Then, after a pause,

"And I will not waste the time you give me."

Weeks Later
Recovery was a slow, deliberate process devoid of any dramatic breakthroughs, favoring the quiet endurance of daily progress over heroic moments of standing too soon or pushing past her physical limits. There was only the steady, rhythmic patience of rotating ice packs and the ritualistic tightening of fresh bandages, marked by slow mornings that bled into even quieter evenings spent over simple meals warmed on a small burner. They settled into long stretches of shared time where neither felt the pressing need to fill the silence with idle conversation, allowing the space between them to remain comfortably still.

Brìghde learned the shifting limits of her fractured ribs one measured breath at a time, calculating the cost of every movement until the air no longer felt like a jagged edge in her chest. At first, the mere act of standing was an exhaustive effort that required all her focus, followed by the victory of walking across the room, and eventually, the ability to climb the narrow stairs without pausing to catch her breath. Each of these small, hard-won victories was accepted without ceremony or outward pride, treated simply as the natural restoration of her autonomy.

Gillem learned, in turn, that his unexpected guest was remarkably unobtrusive, moving through his life with a ghost-like efficiency that respected the boundaries of his home. She cleaned the small space whenever her strength permitted and took care to replace whatever supplies she used, never touching his belongings without first seeking permission and always listening far more than she spoke. When the sharp bite of pain woke her in the middle of the night, she handled the discomfort with a silent, iron-willed discipline, refusing to let her struggle disturb the peace of the apartment.

They spoke only when the words carried weight, exchanging stories of the neon-soaked grime of Nar Shaddaa or the harsh realities of Morellia and other distant places neither of them ever intended to see again. They navigated around the heavier truths of their pasts with practiced ease, speaking of where they had been while remaining carefully silent about the things neither of them was quite ready to name.

By the third week, the restrictive pressure of the medical wrap was finally set aside, and by the fourth, she began to move with a natural fluidity, no longer instinctively guarding her side against phantom strikes. By the fifth week, she felt as though she had returned to herself, possessing a renewed strength that was only occasionally dampened by the lingering echoes of her injuries.

One evening, as the amber glow of the city filtered through the narrow window and cast long shadows across the floor, Brìghde stood near the small table while slowly rolling her shoulders to test the last stubborn remnants of soreness.

"I believe," she said thoughtfully, her voice carrying a quiet weight as she looked around the familiar four walls, "that I am nearly finished borrowing your bed."

She turned to look at him then, her expression composed and entirely sincere, reflecting the clarity that came with no longer being a victim of her own physical weakness.

"My ribs will likely ache for a while yet, acting as a reminder of what happened in that alley," she continued, "but they no longer dictate my choices or keep me tethered to this room."

There was a brief, meaningful pause as she let the reality of her departure settle into the air between them.

"Which means," she added softly, her gaze steady and unwavering, "that I will soon be able to start keeping my word and looking for the faces you showed me."

It was not a promise of devotion or an invitation for something more, but rather a simple, ironclad statement of intent from a woman who did not like to leave debts unsettled. In that declaration, there was the beginning of a bond built on mutual respect—and the first steps toward a favor she fully intended to repay.

Gillem

 

[Gillem]

GILLEM

Gillem was not always there to help her through recovery processes, but whenever he was there he would help her when she needed him. He would not baby her, she would never fully recover if he coddled her. Some movements she tried were painful to watch, but it was all he really could do in those earlier weeks when she tried to get her feet beneath her on solid foundation.

Communication became a way of their own language, only speaking when the moment felt right, especially since Gillem was not always good with small talk. Some days would go by where they would hardly ever speak besides a nod here or there. But after long days and nights, and bottles of medication and painkillers she finally moved. The discomfort was still there, but she was able to move on her own.

“Well, look who made it.”

He smirked after she spoke.

“I’ll be honest, the couch was starting to get more comfortable each night. But my bed would certainly be a welcome return.”

He stood up from his reloading station and walked over to her with a small bottle of painkillers.

“You are always welcome back anytime, ya know?”

He slowly handed her the bottle, his mechanical fingers unfurling from its shape.

“Maybe keep in touch, perhaps the next time we meet I may need a place to heal.”

He chuckled lightly.

“And try not to go through any alleys without some weapon.”

He reached into his coat, pulling out a small blaster pistol, easily concealable.

“It won’t punch through armor, but for most of the people in this nasty place, it shouldn’t pose you any issues.”

His eyes softened a bit.

“It was a pleasure getting to know you Brig, and please, stay safe out there. I think it may be best if you leave at first light at least.”

Brighde nighean Aine​