Private Even Now

[Everest Vale]

Tag: Azurine Varek

The hallway lights were dimmer at this hour, their glow a soft wash against the sterile white walls. It made everything feel quieter, more intimate, as if the Temple itself had lowered its voice out of respect for the wounded within.

The silence was broken only by the gentle whir of wheels turning, slow and deliberate, as Eve pushed herself through the corridor. Every motion sent pain blooming across her body, a chorus of dull aches and sharp reminders; the tightness of wrapped bandages over her face, the deep bruises beneath her skin, the dull throb where stitches pulled against movement. Her muscles protested, her breath came shallow, but none of it compared to the weight in her chest. That hollow, aching pressure that drove her forward.

She had to see Azzie.

No healers had forbidden it outright, only warned her gently to rest. But rest was impossible. Not until she laid eyes on her. Not until she knew. When she reached the door, her hands trembled as she pressed the control. The door hissed open with a soft hydraulic sigh, and Eve stilled in the entrance.

There, in the quiet dimness of the room, she lay.

Even asleep, she looked fragile. Smaller somehow. Her skin was pale, almost translucent beneath the soft monitor glow, and though she was breathing — thank the stars, thank the stars — the lines on her face told of suffering that no dream could touch.

Eve didn’t speak. She couldn't. Her throat closed up around the words she’d rehearsed a dozen times. I’m here. You’re safe. We made it. But all of it caught behind the sudden wave of emotion that slammed into her. A sob crept up unbidden, fragile and cracking. She clapped a hand over her mouth to smother it, but tears had already begun to spill down her cheek, stinging the raw skin beneath the bandages. Her chest hitched as she leaned forward slightly in the chair, gripping the wheels to steady herself.

She’s alive.

The truth of it, the reality of Azzie lying just a few steps away, shattered something in her. Not out of sorrow, but relief so sharp it hurt.

"A-Azzie..." she whispered, barely audible, maybe only for herself. Her voice trembled.

For a long moment, Eve didn’t move. She just watched the slow rise and fall of Azzie’s chest, her own heartbeat thundering in her ears, trying to hold herself together through the fragile gravity of that room.

Trying to believe it was finally over.

 

[Azurine Varek]

Recovery

Outfit: Post-Bacta Clothing | Right Arm | Talisman
Weapons: The Force

It was one of the few times that Aadihr Lidos hadn't been present in the room. For the most part, he hadn't much left Azurine's side, and when he did, he was certainly always checking in from wherever he'd gone off to.

Even in rest, her body curled slightly inward, like it was bracing for more pain. It cast a shadow across the gaunt thinness of her face and the bags under her eyes. The prosthetic that was her right arm needed to be unattached so that the remaining shoulder muscles could heal properly from all of the damage and left against the side of her bed. It likely would need to be repaired as well.

She stirred slightly in her bed. Sleep didn't exactly come easy. It was a flicker at first—a wrinkle in her brow, a twitch in her fingers. Then, with a sharp inhale, her eyes fluttered open. The soft light filtered over violet irises dulled with exhaustion, but alert now, scanning the room. Her breath caught in her throat as she spotted the figure in the chair.

The faded edges around her vision kept her from moving too much. She blinked once, slowly, as if disbelieving what she saw. Her body screamed in protest as she tried to push herself up, the dull weight of her injuries dragging her back down into the bed. Her throat was dry, her muscles stiff, and pain lanced through her side with each breath—but none of it mattered.

"Hey, Speedster..." Azzie's biological hand twitched at her side, reaching out, instinctive and half-conscious. Fingers curled around empty air before falling back to the blanket, limp. Faint red lines marked where restraints had bitten into her wrist. She was still trying to get the world into focus from her attempt at restless sleep, but she could still make out a muffled cry and see the sharp emotions within Everest's aura.

"Come on now—" A crackling cough broke up her sentence, though she did her best to smile nonetheless even if it couldn't fully meet her eyes. "A-All this fussing... over me is going to... end up feeding my ego."

Everest Vale​

 

[Everest Vale]

Tag: Azurine Varek

Eve had barely breathed since rolling up beside the bed. Her hand trembled faintly in her lap, the other gently resting on Isari, who had been quietly and seriously at her side all this time, as still and silent as her companion. She could barely manage a word. The sight of Azzie had hollowed her out and filled her up all at once. The bruises. The sharp edges of bones beneath skin. She could still feel the phantom scream that had echoed across the Force to her, ripping through her in the way that it did.

So when Azzie stirred — when her lashes lifted and those dulled violet eyes vaguely found her — Eve felt her breath catch. Her throat burned. Not from pain, but from the raw swell of emotion that rose like a wave inside her chest.

"H-hey..." she whispered, voice cracking on the single word.

When Azzie tried to sit up and failed, Eve moved without thinking. She slipped from the wheelchair, falling to her knees at the bedside, ignoring the sharp pains that suddenly coarsed through her body from her bruises and stitches, as her hand reaching out — gentle, trembling — but stopping short of Azzie’s until she saw that limp fall of fingers.

Then she took it.

Her pale hand wrapped carefully around her sister’s, cradling it like something precious. Her thumb brushed over the faint welts of restraints, as she trembled. The crackling cough made her flinch, and when Azzie tried for a smile — tried to be Azzie, even like this — Eve couldn’t hold back the quiet laugh that slipped out, broken and soaked in tears. Her shoulders shook as she ducked her head, pressing it softly against the edge of the bed.

"You’re the only person I know who could joke right now," she whispered, tears slipping freely down her cheek. "You don’t have to say anything. Not right now. Just... rest."

Her voice broke on the last word, and then, more quietly she released the final thing holding her emotions back.

"I... I-I missed you... s-so much..."

She didn’t move at first. Just knelt there, the cold, hard floor pushing against her knees, as she clung gently to Azzie’s hand, her forehead resting against the edge of the bed. Her body trembled with the weight of everything she had tried to keep inside — the nights of not knowing, the helplessness, the silence. And now, the sight of her like this.

Her fingers tightened slightly around Azzie’s. Her breath hitched. It started with a small sob, choked and stifled in her throat. Then another, sharp and raw. She shook her head like she could will it away, but her shoulders betrayed her, shuddering as the tears came faster now, unstoppable. All the strength she’d gripped so tightly for so long began to slip through her fingers.

The pressure of weeping sent a dull, throbbing ache into the wound behind her bandages, her missing eye's socket flaring painfully with each heaving breath. It stung, sharp and fresh, but she couldn't stop. The pain was just another part of what she’d carried to this moment.

Eve wept, not with loud cries, but with the silent, aching sobs of someone whose soul was just beginning to thaw after being frozen in fear. She didn’t try to hide it. She pressed her face against the blanket and let it come, her hold on Azzie never loosening. She was safe. But the cost of that truth was crashing through her now, and she couldn't hold it back any longer.