Private Neon Streets

[Sophelia Ardemark]

Isar du Vain

Hand shifted along his ribs as he swayed. She pressed him closer as she teetered, too. Sheer will and determination to keep him upright. She didn't hesitate. She tugged him toward one side of that large couch. The place was massive. Coming from credits, she knew credits when she saw it. Especially on a place like Nar Shadda. In a city like this. A place like this wasn't cheap for a city this crowded.

"Here," Shifting under him, she lowered him down. One knee pressed into the couch as she hovered over him. Feathered locks of tangled blonde framing her face as she did a quick assessment of his burns. She could feel the heat radiating from here. Lips pressed into a thin line.

If only she'd been stronger. Faster. Had sensed what Grimwall truly was.

Palms extended as she reached for the force. A soft golden radiance gathered around her palms, warm but never burning. It flowed into the wound like liquid starlight, knitting damaged tissue and easing pain. Chasing back the darkness of the space. Palms lingered just shy of contact over him. She started along his neck and shoulders. Moving down and outwards.

 

[Isar du Vain]

"What... do you think..." he managed weakly.

Like he was showing her his apartment for the first time because she had just come over for drink and not because they had both almost died from an evil doctor who apparently was a Sith lord in disguise.

Then light blossomed from her palms and Isar felt a warmth as the burns across his body smoothed over, leaving new skin beneath the charred and torn mesh shirt. It itched. His eyes fluttered, then opened, lilac pools that stared up at her for a moment, his mouth partially open. She kneeled into the couch, hovering over him. So close. Too close.

Isar tried to lift a hand to push her away, to tell her to stop and that she did not have to.

His hand instead came to rest just above her knee, the bare skin of her thigh beneath his fingers.

Where had she learned to do all of this? His thoughts hazed, slipping away. A mystery for another time.

"You don't," he swallowed, breath unsteady, then he trailed off. Unable or unwilling to tell her she did not have to.

His eyes moved past her to the rug carpeting the area. He saw bloody footprints tracked there.

"You.. ruined my rug..." a weak smile curved the corner of his mouth, then it disappeared, "You're bleeding."

A jittery hand patted the sofa beside him.

"Sit. My turn... Are you ok?"

He wasn't referring to the cuts. But he still hadn't cut the mental conduit linking them together. Huh. Odd. He should have, he guessed. Why hadn't he? But he didn't. And now he didn't want to.

Sophelia Ardemark

 

[Sophelia Ardemark]

"What... do you think..."

A flicker of frustration on her brow as her concentration waivered. Probably due to more than just his voice. His very Prince thing to say in that moment.

"Shh." A hushed whisper. Not merely as severe as she'd meant it to be.

Her hands moved slowly down his torso. Even as she felt the waves of exhaustion and fatigue slowly nick into her. Piece by piece. His words halted her progress, face tilting toward his own. Eyes traveling the expanse of his chest until they connected with lilac in the soft glow from her hands.

"Wha-at?" Then she looked down. She hadn't even realized. And now she probably ruined his couch, too. "It's fine," she broke his gaze and traveled back to her work. Only when she was satisfied that he was past any point of real danger did the glow from her hands begin to recede.

"Superficial and shallow cuts." Shifting, to a seated position, she sat cross-legged and leaned over, checking her feet. Hair hung over her face, obscuring her features. Because of the link she still shared with him or something else. She knew what he'd been asking.

"I will be fine." A little too firmly. Like she was trying to convince herself. Like she was desperately trying to patch all the cracks that had formed in her foundation before everything shattered. Because she teetered on the edge. And she didn't know if she was strong enough to keep herself together for much longer.

A wince as she tried to dig one of those shards out herself. Then she relented and extended those legs of hers toward Isar, resting her feet on his lap. "Can you get it out?" Frustration again bubbled up. At herself. At least it was easier to be frustrated than to cry.

 

[Isar du Vain]

Gentle fingers took her feet in his lap. They were covered in blood and grime, but Isar seemed unbothered as he examined them.

A wave of lavender drifted through the room, soothing and calming. It mirrored the emotions he sent to her in the Force. Words to her would not have done justice everything he felt, so he opened up his mind to her fully again and let the wash roll out like a lapping wave of the ocean to sweep across her mind. Sadness. Regret. Concern. Fear. And something else. Something he did not want to name. It accompanied desire. And a touch of shame. But above all else he tried to send her a sense of security.

She was safe here.

"I think so," he murmured, still rattled and weak from the blast he'd taken, though less severely injured now thanks to her healing. "Hang on."

Reaching into the Force, Isar looked beyond it and found the White Current.

He could not heal her the way she could him. But he could take her pain and replace it with something else.

The glass shards in her foot were not glass. Just cotton. Soft. The sensation of pain she felt? Just a jolt of cold.

Isar's lips firmed as he gripped the shards of glass and pulled them free one by one. He set them on the table beside the couch. When the last one came free, he stayed that way, hands gently holding her feet. Thinking that she was lucky he had not gotten her killed.

It always ended up this way.

Isar looked at her. "Don't worry about the couch. I needed a new one anyway. You... probably want a shower."

For the dirt and the blood. And everything else.

Sophelia Ardemark

 

[Sophelia Ardemark]

For once, she didn't push against or fight Isar's emotions as they drifted over to her. Didn't find the lavender scent cloying. Through that connection that lingered and whispered in her mind. She let it wrap around her, like a thick quilted blanket. Little by little, her stiff posture began to unwind. Her side leaned against the back of the cream couch. Her head tipped that way as well as he worked.

Curiosity in her blues as she sensed him use the force in a way she hadn't felt before. Eyes became half-lidded. There was a gentle way those hands of his held onto her. Rested against her ankles. Eyes opened further at the mention of cleaning off. A silent nod.

If only showers washed away more than blood and dirt.

She lingered like that. Let her feet remain in his lap and in his hands. She didn't trust herself to speak right now. But she let her gratitude travel through that bond. And a slip of a tiny something else as it got through.

Finally she moved.

They crossed the expanse of the living area and entered an open doorway. It was dark and Soph's eyes didn't linger on anything beyond the large bed with satin-silk sheets. The refresher was also huge. Marble flooring. A floor to ceiling mirror with accents of gold. His refresher. The lavender smell was strongest in here, though, she imaged his bed would only rival it. Another thought she quickly pushed aside, grateful for the door closing between them as her feet padded across that flooring to get the water started. It wasn't log before she discarded those few pieces of clothing and stepped into the scalding water. Steam quickly building in the small space.

She wanted it to burn.

To wash away those memories. To gain some of herself back from what she'd lost. To burn away those disgusting, lingering gazes from everyone at the club. And the clinical one from the doctor himself.

 

[Isar du Vain]

Thoughts a blur, body still hurting despite the healing, Isar wandered around the bedroom while Sophelia slipped into the shower. This always happened. She seemed like a good person, but how he had handled the situation led to her getting humiliated and choked and him blasted across the room. Isar would not blame her if she hated him now.

His jaw clenched.

Opening up drawer, he pulled out a soft, knit beige sweater and a pair of light sweats. Collecting them in his hands, he mindlessly opened the door and walked into his refresher. The shower ran, hissing. Steam billowed.

The stolen coat lay discarded on the floor along with a black thong. A faint trail of red smudges led into the walk-in sanisteam. A fogged over pane of glass barely obscured the woman behind it.

Isar's breath quickened.

The idea of knocking to walk into his own refresher was a foreign concept.

Slowly, Isar walked up and set the clothes down on the counter.

"I brought you some clothes..."

He himself was filthy, the lingering scent of his own charred skin still present, and his body smeared with alcohol, but he could shower later. His jaw clenched. He should just turn around and go.

But the emotions reeling from Soph hit him like a physical force. Isar took one step toward the shower, then stopped.

"Are you ok? Sorry. I should have knocked."

Was that a sob?

"Soph? Stardust?"

Worried, Isar reached out with his mind to gently stretch out and touch hers.

"You can punch me now, if that would help."

Sophelia Ardemark

 

[Sophelia Ardemark]

She'd found herself sitting on the wet tile of the shower floor. Abandoning all strength, all false bravado she'd had. As the flood she'd worked so hard to keep from overwhelming her broke through her damn of resolve. She'd thought she'd been alone. That he'd been busy elsewhere.

Knees pulled up to her chest. Arms encircled them as she shamelessly cried.

Softly.

Still a part of her self-conscious that she'd be heard. A part of her that didn't care anyway as everything about the mission. Tonight. Caught up to her. It was too much. It had all been too much. Forehead pressed against her knees as the water pounded against her head, neck, and shoulders. Fresh water mixing with salty tears and taking them away as soon as they escaped.

She didn't hear Isar. At first. It was the brush of concern against her mind she felt. Then his voice in her head. She wasn't fine. Even as his suggestion dulled the knife's edge just a bit. She didn't move and didn't look up. More tears spilled down her hidden face, arms clutching even more tightly around herself. Blonde hair plastered down the length of her back.

He'd feel it all.

The shame, the guilt, the sorrow.

'Isar...,' she sent back to his mind. Unsure of what she needed in this moment. Part of her wanted to be left alone. The other part of her wanted someone else to hold her. To keep her from shattering even further. Because, oh, it hurt.

 

[Isar du Vain]

“Soph.”

Isar reacted to the plea without really thinking, like he always did.

He stepped into the shower, hot water drenching what remained of his shirt and pattering onto his pants and soaking them through as he kneeled beside Soph.

Water ran down his head and face, sticking strands of red-purple hair to his face.

The fearless swoop racer sat huddled, knees to her chest, arms around them. Just a ball. He couldn’t see the tear tracks through the rush of water and steam, but he felt her hurt. A pain that cut deeper than the glass he’d pulled from her feet.

The sight wrenched at his gut and he wrapped his arms around her, hands heedlessly splaying on bare skin, pulling her to him and cradling her to his chest.

“I’ve got you, Stardust.”

He stroked her head with a hand, brushing the wet, blonde hair plastered to her skin.

“No crying. You’ve got to shoot me still and I don’t need your hand shaking everywhere when you do it now, do I love?”

The joke felt hollow, when all he wanted to do was tell her it would be ok… and then ask her who sent her on this stupid job so he could find them and snap their minds.

Sophelia Ardemark

 

[Sophelia Ardemark]

She didn't fight it as he stepped into the space of the shower. As he sat with her and wrapped his arms around her lean frame. She stayed wound up. Tightly curled. Even as she slowly, oh-so-slowly, allowed herself to lean into him. Felt that scratch of stubble from his face as it pressed against her bare shoulder.

His muscled arms keeping her grounded.

Keeping her from losing herself. And like on the couch, she felt safe. Something she never took for granted. And his humor. That thing that grated on her nerves but served its purpose to distract her. A mild amusement got sent between them, though, she didn't speak.

She didn't know how long they sat under that hot water. Water, which, Soph was impressed never ran cold. Until the tears stopped and she finally lifted her head to meet his wet face. Streaks of red in his hair more prominent beneath the cascading water. Finally unwinding one of her arms, she lifted her hand - fingers brushing some wayward reds and purples away from his eyes. Her touch featherlight. Like she was worried she'd shatter this moment and the strength she was finally coming back to.

And then she remembered she was naked.

Hand lowered.

"It's your turn for a proper shower, so turn around."

He'd already seen her nude. She didn't know why she was being shy now but she was. Maybe because it was easier to play this game than do something else.

 

[Isar du Vain]

By now, the cascade from the showerhead had thoroughly soaked Isar through. He held his breath as she smoothed away his tangle of hair from his eyes, those fingertips gentle and soft. Tentative.

The depths of her blue eyes looked wide and sad. He hated to see them that way. Then something shifted in her gaze.

Isar swallowed as her hand dropped from his face.

"Me?"

An instinctual resistance to being ordered around reared up inside him and his chin tilted back, eyes staring down his nose at her. But a twitch of his lips beneath his mustache told of a smile lurking around the corner and he shrugged a single shoulder, then turned around, away from her.

He supposed she was just going to get up and clean off. Isar's lips tightened.

The far wall of the shower was veined with marble that he'd studied many times over the past year. Usually standing here waiting for the spins to stop after a bender.

"Is Soph a nickname, or real?" He didn't know why he asked now, but he did.

Sophelia Ardemark

 

[Sophelia Ardemark]

Blues narrowed at his mock resistance. A sputter of her lips as he finally turned around. "I can still shoot you, you know." She stood and scooted out, grabbing a thick-fluffy plum colored towel. Her threat came out flat.

Oof, she was drained. In more ways than one. Pausing at the pile of clothing he'd left for her, she discarded the towel and tugged them on. It was deliciously soft. And warm.

"Is Soph a nickname, or real?"

"Hm?"

She called as she padded out of the refresher. Running that towel through her damp hair and leaving Isar to...clean up. It was better that he didn't know. Although funny. He already had a piece of her name. And a piece of something else she refused to acknowledge. Eyes dropped with every step. She walked past the bed and made it to the couch. The other side from where the stains were and immediately sprawled out. Head on one of the throw pillows. Eyeslids drooping with every second.

 

[Isar du Vain]

Isar sighed as he felt her leave and stood. He leaned forward until his forehead thunked against the wall and stayed like that for another indeterminate period of time, until he felt less like a freshly fried Zeltron duck. After scrubbing down, he finally got out and wrapped a towel around his waist.

Wandering out, he checked on Soph, saw her on the couch, then sighed again and went to his bed after tugging on a pair of sable silk sweats. Maybe he should have asked her if she wanted the bed. Maybe he should have asked if she wanted to go home. But it was past midnight now. He was tired, his body ached, and his emotions felt as frayed as his nerves right now.

So, he collapsed backward onto satin sheets and in a few minutes passed out. In his dreams, he was haunted by the smell of a tropical sea breeze, the taste of whiskey off skin, and the sizzling of lightning.

Sophelia Ardemark

 

[Sophelia Ardemark]

Soph woke with first light. The time Nar Shadda was fairly quiet. Half the city was passed out wasted or overdosed. So she assumed. Stretching, she quickly stood. She needed to go to the spaceport and return to Theed. Report back to the jedi about what she found. About Dr. Grimwall. Quietly padding around Isar's penthouse, she snatched up the jacket of the Doctor and dipped her hand into the pockets.

Surprised with what she came back with.

A datastick. It was probably nothing. But maybe...maybe there was something on here. She stuffed it into the borrowed sweatpants. Walking back into the kitchen, she searched through several drawers before finding a stylist and a datapad and began writing a message.

'Thank you.
For the clothes.
And the boots I borrowed by the door.'

Hesitating.

She added her comm number and signed Stardust before leaving.

Isar du Vain

 

[Isar du Vain]

The datapad felt heavy in his hands as he looked at the message.

Should he?

He hunched forward on the couch, the bloodstains still there from two days ago. Isar needed to get all of it replaced.

After he found her gone he spent most of the time sleeping off the force lightning and waking up in a panic, convinced Grimwall was sending hitmen after him. But no. Grimwall couldn’t make that move in the upper city. In another sector maybe, but here the Du Vains still ran the vestiges of Black Sun.

Opening up the holocomms Isar stared for a moment, then typed out a message.

[- ]

Sophelia Ardemark

 

[Sophelia Ardemark]

It would be a few days before Isar du Vain got a response. The Jedi hadn’t paid for in-flight comm service. It wasn’t until her boots (his) touched down on the soil of Theed that she’d see his message.

She typed out a response:

 

[Isar du Vain]

Isar stood in an alley. His datapad buzzed and he pulled it out. Hm. Work.

How was he? Isar tilted his head and looked at the corpse at his feet, then back to the datapad.

He toed the body onto its side. One of Grimwall’s cronies.

Sophelia Ardemark

 

[Sophelia Ardemark]

Soph lay in bed when her comm chirped. Jen fast asleep on her side a bed over. Throwing a sheet over her head and dimming the screen, she began typing out a message. The lavender smell coming from Isar's borrowed sweater wrapped around her.

It lingered even after a sanisteam.

 

[Isar du Vain]

Isar lay on his bed, twirling a stringy black bit of left behind fabric around one finger. He eyed the message. Training and studying? Probably a genius. Isar had never been good at studying.

Sophelia Ardemark

 

[Sophelia Ardemark]

Eyes stayed glued to the screen. Smile on her face and a roll of her eyes.

 

[Isar du Vain]

Isar sunk further down into his bed. The corner of his mouth twitched.

Sophelia Ardemark