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.

 

[Azurine Varek]

Recovery

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

Azzie's eyelids fluttered, the soft weight of the room pressing down on her senses as she slowly drifted toward consciousness. Her head felt like it was made of stones, each breath rasping through her lungs like sandpaper. She tried to shift, to push herself up, but the weight of her limbs was far too much to overcome. Glancing around, the world still seemed blurry. Half a stranger to her. The sterile, dimly lit room. The soft beeping of machines. Even then, the soft laughter was worth it.

"I can't be the only person... with some humor in them..." she trailed off, her eyes finding their way to the ceiling for a moment. Her focus slowly sharpened, flickering through the haze of pain and healing sedatives. Eve crumpled at her bedside. Her hand, firm but gentle around her own after she herself had been barely able to move it. Her face, pale with emotion. Then... the bandages. Covering the space where her eye should've been.

Azzie nearly stopped breathing. The false calm, the thin facade of strength she'd so carefully draped over herself, snapped like a dried reed. The guilt swelled like a tsunami crashing into her ribs, wrenching a low, anguished sob from her throat. Her body shook, not from fever or cold, but from the weight of knowing that Eve had paid a price she should have had. That the scar carved into her sister's face was there because she hadn't been strong enough, fast enough, or good enough to stop it.

"More people running off to die on your behalf. How much does each snuffed out life weigh on you? You'll have to let me know, maybe after you watch the light seep from their eyes."

The Eternal Father, Darth Carnifex 's, words echoed in her ears against the creeping, shifting shadows laughing through the edges of her vision. For a split second, all she could see was the twisted and pained face of the knight latched from the screened cell.

"Proceeding with psychological incentive."​

"No… No! Stop it!"

"Take me, you nerf herder! It's me you want, isn't it?!"​

"This. Is what I want."​

She tried to speak, form any of the apologies clawing at her throat, but nothing would come. Just a strangled whimper, shame and grief curdling together in the hollow of her chest, mixing with all of the soreness and exhaustion. "I... should've... I should've—" she gasped, the words incomplete and marred by a raspy softness, broken by tears that poured down her cheeks like a storm finally breaking over parched land.

All her pride, all her fire, turned to ash around her. There was no front to keep up, no shield to raise. Not here. Not with her. Not when her failure on Woostri so many weeks before had cost so much more than she even knew. How many more... how many suffered because of this?

"The tabulation of how many they sacrificed for one person will be enlightening, won't it my dear?"

"I didn't mean for—I couldn't—" she whispered, curling weak fingers tighter around her sister's hand. But there was no undoing it. No joke to smooth over the cracks. Only cruel truth.

Everest Vale​

 

[Everest Vale]

Tag: Azurine Varek

The sobs broke something open in her. Not just the sound of them, but the look on Azzie's face, ravaged by guilt, swallowed by grief. Eve's breath caught in her throat, and her own tears spilled again. At her feet, Isari whined painfully.

"Azzie..." she whispered again, her voice trembling.

But this time, she didn't just sit. She didn't try to reason with it, or hush it, or offer empty reassurances. She moved. Her fingers tightened gently around Azzie's hand in quiet insistence, as if to say, I'm here, you're not alone. And then she shifted closer, pushing past the edge of the bed, rising slightly as her free hand lifted with tender purpose.

She cradled Azzie's cheek, thumb brushing away tears that kept falling. The Zabrak's skin was hot with fevered emotion, slick with sorrow. Eve's own palm trembled as it made contact, but she steadied it with will alone. With slow care, she leaned in until her forehead came to rest gently against Azzie's, mindful of the horns that pressed against the crown of her silver hair. She didn't press too hard. She didn't need to.The connection was enough.

Her breath slowed, long, deep and deliberate. A rhythm of peace. And with it came something else.

The Light.

It wasn't summoned with effort. It flowed. From Eve's chest, from the aching warmth in her heart, from the quiet and steadfast love she carried for the girl in her arms. It passed from her skin to Azzie's, not as a flash, not as a blast, but as a pulse, gentle, radiant, like sunlight through trembling leaves.

She didn't speak at first. She let the silence hold them. Let the Light fill the cracks in Azzie's spirit without words. Only after a long moment, her voice came, low, soft, and close enough that only Azzie could hear.

"Hey. I'm here. I've got you. It's okay. I promise."

She breathed again. Let the warmth deepen, let it cradle them both. She didn't need to say more. Not when her tears had already said it all. Not when the Force itself was speaking for her: love, understanding, and presence, all wrapped into one trembling breath of light between them.

 

[Azurine Varek]

Recovery

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

The moment Eve's hand touched her cheek, every instinct screamed to pull back. Her muscles twitched with the impulse—move. Get away. Her body… didn't listen. Like stone, she remained where she was, rooted in place not by the comfort of the gesture but by the tidal wave of emotions crashing over her. Her heart hammered against her ribs, fast and panicked. It was too much!

And when Eve's forehead came to rest against hers, when that light began to trickle into her skin—not light like fire or saber flare, but something alive, forgiving, and real—Azzie broke all over again. Not loudly this time. Not with sobs. Just a soundless, shaking surrender. Her shoulders sagged as if every breath hurt to draw in. Her hand clung to Eve's like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to reality then. The guilt pinned her down like gravity. Because she saw Eve's eye, what was left of it, and all she could hear was that monstrous voice taunting her through the dark.

She couldn't run. Her body refused. Or maybe, deep down, it knew something her mind was too fractured to understand. Even as the shame chewed through her ribs, even as her eyes burned and her soul felt hollow, the Light pouring into her didn't condemn. It didn't ask why she hadn't been faster. It didn't recoil from the raw, bleeding pieces of her. It was quiet in the way cliffs are quiet, ancient and unmoving.

Her clouded eyes slipped shut again. Not from exhaustion, but to escape the vision of Eve's bandaged face, the half-smile through tears, the one beautiful silver eye that hadn't looked away. Not even once. And maybe that was what hurt most of all.

Azzie didn't know what to say. Her mind was thick with so much static that it was almost impossible to seperate every piece to figure it out. The shadows creeping in her vision, the fear that still lingered at the edges of her thoughts, the muddled war of pained and strained emotion all fighting tooth and nail to be seen or heard. All that she could find in the cloud next to the warmth were cries. She sobbed and screamed so hard the air, already having a hard time reaching her lungs, had her gasping between cries.

Everest Vale​

 

[Everest Vale]

Tag: Azurine Varek

Eve didn’t let go. The first scream tore through the air like a storm breaking the quiet. But she didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Her breath hitched — shallow and trembling — as tears welled in her remaining eye. But her arms only tightened around Azzie.

One hand rose, gentle but unshaking, and slid to the back of her sister's head. Fingers tangled softly in messy hair, stroking slow and steady. She said nothing for a long moment, only held her, letting Azzie's face bury into her shoulder as tears fell quietly between them.

"Let it out," she whispered, voice catching in her throat. "Let it all out. I’m here."

And that was it. No lecture. No consolation laced with silver linings. Just presence. Even as her own ribs ached, even as emotion stung behind her eye like salt on a wound, Eve didn’t ease her hold. Her thumb swept once, twice, over Azzie’s scalp in rhythm with her breathing, as her hand made gentle, soothing circles against her back. She grounded them both in silence, in the steady pressure of arms that would not release.

She didn’t need to speak again. Azzie’s pain was hers. And she would bear it with her, for as long as she needed.