Private Something So Heavy

[Ishida Ashina]

When he turned away, bent over and dug around in the space they were meant to share, she sighed. A fluttering noise ticked her trachea and she chewed the inside of her cheek. Maybe there’d be sedatives in there. She would say she couldn’t handle the pain of her bruises after maybe an hour. Whatever the time span, it would have to be long enough for her intolerance to be believable, and then inject herself with enough to spend several hours unconscious and not have to be aware of their mutual, awkward existence in that uncomfortable metal coffin.

Rising midway to preoccupy herself with the task of finding somewhere for her swords, she paused on command.

"Hey,"

The suddenness of his voice broke her from her daydream.

"Beautiful,"

“Uh?”

Nervousness spiked through her system. The way he said beautiful sounded like it was a name, rather than an observation of something he’d found. But it was so..entirely random and unattached to the precarious dialogue they’d been exchanging since her shortcoming, that she was driven by overwhelming curiosity to turn and —— suddenly he was touching her hip and that nervous spike turned into booming shockwaves of excitable anxiety.

Completely unpredictably, his lips crashed against hers. At first, her eyes were wide with shock, the same reverberations of surprise that rolled through her body and made her fingers numb.

Her weapons clattered noisily when she dropped them, but she didn’t care. They’d find their way to a stop whether she intervened or not. And this, him, took all her attention.

It only took half a heartbeat for her to feel the shift of astonished apprehension morph into thinly contained desire.

Smouldering need motivated her like a slow-burning fire turned wild and she unfolded from her initially recoiled posture to reward his boldness with mutual enthusiasm. As if she were physically defying the wedge that threatened to insert itself between them, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and tugged him into herself, bending him forward by the insistence of her forearm against the back of his neck. The space between them exploded, and her heart kept missing beats.

That heat that ripped through her now made the inferno of before feel like a whisper of warmth, tearing down her defences again and obliterating the foundation to rebuild them. This neutered what she’d been afraid of; that he’d only reciprocated because it had been convenient. That his use of the word love had only been in the mix-up of everything else they felt, and his non-return to her outpouring was the end of what they could have shared.

But she felt it as if the word were embossed on his lips or in the way his mouth moved against hers. She let herself get lost in it. Their first kiss, she’d been nervous but forcibly intentional on what she wanted, and his return had been peaceable. Their third had only been a half exchange, herself going out on a limb –– and here he was, meeting her and completing that unfinished exchange.

Maybe it lasted a minute, maybe an hour, somewhere between the spectrum of what felt like a lifetime and a single breath, it ended. Not because either of them wanted it to, but because mortality demanded they breathe their own air.

Her chest rose and fell heavily, and she kept herself linked to him, lingering in the compact space they’d created. Her mouth tingled from the electric exchange and felt a buzz curl the corners of her mouth while her brows furrowed in mock condemnation.

“Why didn’t you just do that earlier,” Ishida murmured quietly.

 

[Bernard]

Their lips met and panic overcame him. What was he doing? Kissing her, just like that, after what had happened, and after it had gone unresolved? He hadn't even paused to make certain she wasn't still so angry that this would be offensive to her. What would she do if she was? Force, he was kissing her as she was holding her blades. He'd seen her cut down others for less, if she—the noise of something clattering to the ground broke him out of his thoughts. It was a clattering sound, metallic, like training blades crashing against each other. Her swords, it had to be.

He didn't have the time to consider it further, as Ishida wrapped her arms around him, pulling closer. The radiance he felt in his heart burst and surged out, consuming him. Thoughts became muddy, his mind swimming as it tried to think thoughts of anything other than the electrifying feeling of their connection. For those moments, however, that capacity for thought was dedicated to her alone. His heart drummed to the rhythm of their bliss, blocking out the world around them.

His arms moved to her back, completing their embrace, to hold her as he leaned in even more. The doubts that had plagued him evaporated as their kiss deepened. How could there be any question about what their hearts felt for each other? His thoughts finally produced the question, posing it rhetorically. All the affirmation he'd ever need seemed to pour into these moments, and he felt regret arise only to turn to ash in the fires of joy. There was no place for anything other than them in this long, perfect moment.

Finally, they parted. He breathed deeply, thoughts finally trickling through the intoxicated haze of her that still lingered, overwhelming. His emotions had flared and burnt up, but their embers still glowed in his chest. It was the most foolish, brazen, and unrefined plan of his life. But it worked. By the Force had it worked.

He watched grey stormclouds swirl in her gaze, smiling deeply through hazy eyes of his own.

“Why didn’t you just do that earlier,” she murmured.

He couldn't suppress the quiet chuckle that her question sparked. The reason had been simple: reluctance. He'd been preoccupied with doubt and worry, about the concrete truth between them after the events of the previous evening, that he hadn't even considered it a possibility before they'd stood on firmer ground. Only when their connection, that budding sapling in loose earth, threatened to tear as a result of his inability to 'hear' what Ishida had been 'saying' had he realized where those doubts were leading them, and only then had the idea of a leap of faith come to him.

But there were different ways of saying that.

"Because," he said, "I found I was unable to understand your language."

He grinned, challenging her furrowed brows with roguish words. "So I decided I need to learn it. And, as yet, I find myself very fond of the way you say 'I love you' in Ishida. I think I'd like to study it some more, though, just in case I'm mixing up some words after all."

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

the way you say 'I love you' in Ishida

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Ishida hummed in agreement, wordlessly vibrating the sentiment back to him.

Those three words seemed to slow down time, quicken her heartbeat, and stop all conscious thought. Those three words, it was like she was hearing them for the first time. She couldn’t remember anyone saying them to her. Even her mother, the kindest of them all, only touched her gently, tenderly. She spent most of her time giving her small ladylike anecdotal advice, reassurances that she was doing the right thing, bringing her parental pride; That was about it.

So despite the foreign feelings, all her emotion, it felt so difficult to repeat them to someone else, that even if she tried to shape her lips to match the structure of that sentence, she did so poorly. Did them no justice. Grossly misrepresented the beauty of the sentiment, even though anything else she could conjure was woefully inadequate.

The only way she’d been able to think of communicating the intensity of affection and respect she had for him was to show him, through action. Action was the best way, so she’d been told, to evidence a lack of hesitation.

Gestures were the strongest admissions of care she’d witnessed. Her father wrapping a wet cloth around her bloodied knuckles, or the way he put his hand on her shoulder when he was proud of her. Or the way her mother brushed silver hair from her face, or carefully held her hand when she felt as though she’d disappointed Genichiro. These were small motions, but they were the dialect she understood.

But the way he said it, she liked it more. The way it made her feel — it was an untouchable sort of glee, precious and safe.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

He put the words in her mouth, and she loved the way he thought she said it. Happy trills rolled from her fingertips, down her arms, up her neck, and tickled her cheeks enough for her sheepish smile to crinkle the corners of her eyes.

She swallowed, and nodded but remained steadfast. She kept so close she could feel the I love you she was supposed to have said brush against her skin. Heat spread from her ears — burning from the warmth of the words he delivered — through to her cheeks.

How had they reached these incredible heights after such a plateau and low? The way he tried was incredible, what a scholar he was. He took her coarseness and turned it into some sort of course. He’d come into her life and shattered her world in so many ways, all of her perceptions, time and time again. And every time, he mended it somehow. Again and again, he found ways around her walls and she wanted to keep him trapped inside forever. But that was dangerous too, blinding he’d said. She pushed those thoughts away and focused on encouraging this new dimension of communication.

His coy response encouraged her to lean forward again, her nose pressed against his, adjusting the hold she had around him to bring her hands to either side of his face, gently, cautious not to put too much pressure on his golden scars.

“Are you saying I speak in tongues?” She flirted back, brushing her lips against his once more with a soft peck, testing the fluency of their nascent connection. They had three days, at least, to further his academic pursuits.

“Thank you, for..trying.” Her brows furrowed, and her mouth slant somewhat. “Unorthodox though your method was.

I just..I’m sorry I withdrew. I thought you were having second thoughts, or you didn't believe me and I was out there on a limb alone."

 

[Bernard]

She did speak in tongues. The comment summoned a half-smile to him, and the gesture that followed it made the last vestiges of uncertainty melt away fully. Worries and doubts had polluted the space between them, his worries and doubts. It had nearly cost them these moments of happiness. Nearly ruined something that had barely come to life, and it would have been his fault. The thought alone made his insides recoil as she apologized.

"I'm sorry I hurt you. I didn't mean to...I was wrong to push. You weren't alone, it was just difficult not hearing it from you and so I thought that...well I'm sorry. But, I—well, I do—I..." he trailed off, lost in her yes again, and fell, instead, into another kiss, timed pointedly to act the words out in this new shared language of theirs.

"I'm certain of that much, at the very least," he smiled another half-smile, though he felt the worries slipping back as his thoughts drifted back to what almost would have been.

He exhaled, demanding his thoughts return back to the present, and, fortunately, they did. Drawing in a new breath, he noticed how close they were to each other. They'd embraced the day before, that had been the first time they'd shared a space with such proximity, but now was entirely different. He felt a blush creep its way into his features, warmth rushing to his head as he regarded her this close. Force, her eyes were beautiful. They lit up when she smiled, making her radiate a joy that could melt the icy winter in his heart with a single glance, it seemed. It was a tragedy then, that she rarely did smile, as was the case now. Another frown had sneaked into her face.

"Unorthodox? Well, I was terrified of the prospect that it wouldn't work and I'd end up with one of your swords skewering me," he admitted, sharing his fear with some measure of mock seriousness in an attempt at levity, though the surreal nature of the thought revealed itself to him as he spoke it. "Sorry, that was...a silly thing to worry about, I don't know why I said it," he glanced away, feeling a new tenseness in his chest.

Quickly, he tried to flush it out by returning to her initial question.

"However, you speaking in tongues? Hm, most certaintly," he mused, meeting her eyes again, "though I feel I am beginning to peer through the enigmatic veil it casts on your speech."

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

I know - she should have said. He’d given her words, folded in amidst others, and she hadn’t been able to reciprocate. As difficult as it was for her to say them, it was undoubtedly harder for him not to hear them.

She knew from experience all the wondering that came from wordless sentiment. She’d spent a lifetime aimless in affection, licking it from knives when the silver spoon never delivered.

And deep in her heart, she knew he never meant to hurt her. Not the first time he’d altered her reality, nor just moments ago. Instead, Ishida adjusted her cupped hand to brush against his cheek, gesturing the comprehension even though his stammering was inconclusive. She was in the same ship, quickly discovering it was easier to express those sentiments that were impossible to articulate with actions.

Not actions either of them was particularly savvy with. Kind embrace was a far cry from a chokehold, tender touch a stark parallel to a plunging blade. It was easier to hurt than to heal.

Perhaps that’s part of what made him exciting, the unique behaviour she was witness and benefactor to. The breath on her neck could have been seconds before ripping her throat out but instead, he chose to kiss her.

The completion of his sentence found itself against her lips again and tightened her hold on him once more, embracing certainty.

"Unorthodox? Well, I was terrified of the prospect that it wouldn't work and I'd end up with one of your swords skewering me,"

Quickly he reminded her of her nature, the killer. How her first expected reaction was..action. Again. But hostile this time. No hesitating. With swords, extensions of self.

It was clear why the element of surprise needed to be on his side.

"Sorry, that was...a silly thing to worry about, I don't know why I said it,"

He seemed less than half serious, but that faction of truth ballooned in her chest and she forced a smile, shaking her head to join in the humour of his admission.

She almost joked back that the last time she’d thought about killing him had been on Prosperity, but that was best left unsaid. What good was dragging that up now? He likely suspected that anyhow. She wasn’t very subtle with her intentions.

Maybe the best thing she could say was all she wanted was for him to live. Really live. And she’d never break that sanctity, never be the cause for otherwise. He was important to her, enough to protect — especially when she was in a place where she might harm him. Not with swords, as he’d jokingly suggested, but with her imperfect, wondering state. The juncture in which she found herself between soulless weapon and...and...and the undefined.

“It’s alright. I can understand,” she offered instead, dropping her hands to rest on his unprotected chest. His light blue shirt was simple fabric, hardly capable of preventing anything fatal. If she wanted to, she could have curled her knuckles into his sternum and left a hideous bruise.

His fear must have been additionally amplified since he’d moved in toward her shed of his armoured protection. “Can’t really blame you.”

That chasm of inconclusive descriptors for her pathways made her uncomfortable again, and despite all the sanctuary she felt in his arms, she felt treacherous. Like a liar, a sinner in a holy place.

"However, you speaking in tongues? Hm, most certaintly, though I feel I am beginning to peer through the enigmatic veil it casts on your speech."

But the way he looked at her made her a welcomed sinner and turned her smile back into something genuine. When she looked at him, really looked at him, it became easier to forget all the barriers that should have been. The circumstantial considerations made her feel less deserving, and focus only on wanting to keep stimulating this shared relief and happiness. Ignorant of the consequences of else.

She felt it again, that burning sensation of the unsaid wanting to travel up her throat. And instead of speaking, she pressed her smile against his with yet another wordless exchange. This, she felt, she could do forever. Stay here, like this, speaking to one another in this silently shared communication style that was reserved only for the two of them.

“Must be that Arkanian astuteness. Good thing we have three days for you to get a closer look.” Ishida smirked, feeling a pang of regret spike through her chest once the words were spoken out loud. How dare she remind them of their timeline? That arbitrary decision they’d made the night before, amidst so many other life-changing choices?

It was still right, but it felt more and more dreadful the more she considered it.

This planet was a stopover, temporary on their way home. They had to go back, the war wasn’t over, the demand for soldiers and help was far from complete. She had a new mission, too. One of self-discovery amidst the violence. And being here with him, while dreamlike and wonderful now, was negligent of those duties. Negligence wasn’t something she was used to, and as appealing as it was, there was only so much discomfort she could reconcile with.

“I could stay like this forever.” she tried to remedy her own mishap, and looked down at the little space that existed between them. She’d already jinxed the situation by bringing awareness to the parameters they’d established the night before. He was still leaning forward on the ladder, and she was balanced on the curve of the cockpit. “But — are you comfortable? I — I can move.” Then quickly added: "I should move. You still have.." She pulled at some of the fabric on his sleeve, indicating back to her original conversation about the med-pack.

 

[Bernard]

Their limited time became painfully real again as she mentioned it. Three days to explore this shared space. Their worlds had only just begun to open themselves up, they were still stumbling on the path to deepen that bond, losing precious seconds to hurt that had no place here. Three days seemed like too short a time to stay lost in this nascent connection. Eternity wouldn't be enough.

He let his head rest against hers, gently, and tightened the embrace. But an eternity like this was still the most appealing prospect he could think of. It seemed sad, then, that she already moved to change it.

"You want to stay like this forever, but say we should move in the same breath," he chuckled. "What am I supposed to make of that?" He teased.

The tug on his sleeve and her words indicated a return to the medical concerns from earlier. He'd come away from the fight physically unscathed, but she hadn't, and, although she'd said not to worry about wounds she had sustained, he couldn't let it slide again.

"I was fortunate enough to pull through unharmed. However—" he pressed his lips into a thin line, frowning, "we are tending to your wounds. 'I'm fine' is not an excuse I'll accept again. You promised not to let appearing strong keep you from accepting help," he watched her with a frown.

Whatever space she needed, he would give her, but this ground had already been tread. He couldn't let her slip back now.

Since he'd first met her she'd been trying to exercise her invincibility, most prominently with the blade. She'd proven her prowess on the field of battle again and again. demonstrated the futility of any attempt to overcome her power. Yet, for all the steel-clad walls she'd built around herself, seemingly impenetrable, deep down, it seemed she had a delicate, vulnerable heart that had needed those walls to hide itself away. For all her efforts never to eschew weakness, she had managed to hide that heart well. But now and then those walls receded, almost on accident it seemed at times. Her fierce, untouchable exterior receded to allow a wholly new side to emerge, one that was radiant.

"If you want to seem tough in front of others to hide your wounds, fine, show them those walls, but I'm not letting you get away with it," his expression softened, "not anymore."

He shifted, gently placing a hand on the side of her face and caressing her cheek with his thumb. He met the grey stormclouds of her eyes for a few heartbeats, then, reluctantly, turned away to reach for the med-pack that had been sitting ignored atop the dashboard. The pack held all the basic necessities to administer medical aid, even for extensive wounds. The bacta patches could heal most wounds that would take days to recover from in a fraction of that time. He fished out a few, alongside some wipes against infection. He placed the pack down next to her, with several more of the patches inside.

He nodded to the chair, and placed the supplies next to her, "I'll go down to rescue your swords while you tend to those wounds."

He met her eyes again, a soft smile in his expression, though his eyes still held concern concern. She might refuse, again. Something made her very uncomfortable about tending to her wounds, and even more so when others saw. He remembered her curled up on the bed on Prosperity, enervated and crestfallen. Despite he attitude and what she'd said before, ignoring wounds was foolish. Whether they nothing more than a discomfort or something worse, leaving them unaddressed only extended the pain, and set up for more in the future. That went for wounds of the heart, as well, he saw now.

How often had she denied herself the right to heal? Endured her wounds because she needed to hide what she called weakness? Both the wounds that harmed her skin, and those that necessitated her heart to remain so hidden?

He wondered as he began to climb down the ladder to collect her swords.

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

His arms against her lower back sent a pulsing reminder of the kicks that had thumped into her the day before, and she winced in part from the embrace and the trueness of his observation to her paradoxical sentiment. She was about to defend herself, coyly refer back to the veil of enigmatic speech when he continued, catching her drift.

"I'm not sure fortune had anything to do with it." The unintended comparisons of their well-being made her mouth draw in a thin, indignant line. He’d made it out unscathed, but she hadn’t been so fortunate, so talented, and now she was the weak link. Her face tightened, brows sloped downward even further, shoulders tensed. There was no berating in his tone, no pointing out her faults in front of a group of persons, no retelling the instances where she’d done X when she should have done Y and how foolish of her to forget Z, but it still burned at the back of her brain.

But he was right, she had promised to be more open to the concept of help. And she’d already made a quote-un-quote beautiful mess of herself with her emotions, why not also toss her corpse into the burning fire of catastrophic undoing?

"If you want to seem tough in front of others to hide your wounds, fine, show them those walls, but I'm not letting you get away with it, not anymore."

Bernard was relentless in his upkeep of promises, therefore reneging on her own agreement, or diluting its truth had no place in their shared space. He touched the side of her face that was free of bruising, and she nodded against his palm to reaffirm she wouldn’t make herself a liar.

“I know.” She whispered, the words tight in her throat. It was hard, so hard, to go through this many changes. It had been months and months of them trying to smooth out the rough edges, undoing the wretchedness of her upbringing but the difficulty never really seemed to ease. Their dynamic was balanced in care, she knew that, but imbalance came when he was clearly better at articulating that concern than she, and it just further reminded her how necessary it was for them to separate. How much she needed to grow to feel deserving and honest in that world of care and friendship and..and of love.

“They’re really not that bad, though.” She spoke to the back of his head, through clenched teeth. As if it was a lot of exertion to finger through the folded bandages from the pack.

“I’ve survived much worse.” She added, equally petulantly to prevent her pride from being too damaged. “From people much closer.” She continued, almost inaudibly, unravelling one of the bandages and speaking more to herself than anything.

After all, he was a warrior too, maybe even foremost. Even when they’d sparred, he’d been formidable. He’d been wounded when he hadn’t had access to The Force, but now that his connection was renewed he’d been unscathed. And her? Shameful, really.

Drawing out another long sigh, she slipped the wrap from her tunic and untied the knots keeping it together to get to the skin and undershirt beneath. She set it to the side, closed her eyes and pressed her hand to her chest. Shatterpoint was useful to turn on oneself to prioritize which wounds were the greatest, especially when they were contusions and not bone breaks. Their depths were harder to see with the eyes, despite the violent discolouration against the skin. Schisms and networks filled the darkness behind her eyelids, white lines skittering around until they glowed and hummed at all the points she’d sustained an injury to. Her head, face, shoulder, lower back and hip. The kick to her lower back was probably the most surprising, revealing that the bruising — in a bean-shaped mark from the treads of their boots — was deeper than skin and threatened against her organ.

“That sword,” Ishida raised her voice slightly once she heard Bernard touching down near metal.

“Its name is Ashla’s Arbiter. Master Sardun made it for me,” she ripped open one of the bacta bandages and twisted awkwardly at the waist, hissing in protest at the sudden trill of residual pain before she pressed it against the horribly black and purple shape. “Its blade is imbued with remnants of a lightside nexus and the ability to read through the memories of those it touches.

Like advanced psychometery, I suppose.”

Pressing hard against the bruise, enough to stick the bandage to it, made her bite her lip and pause the story.

“When I grabbed your hand, I didn’t know if it would work, if you would be able to see what the sword saw, but I hoped you would.

For two reasons..I think I realize that now.

At the time, it was just to prove you wrong. To see that she was evil, and that you’d made a mistake.” She was wrapping up one of the blaster bolts on her upper arm now, winding it around and around her bicep.

“But also, to hold me more accountable. It’s just a sword, in the end. It gives me the information, but it’s still my choice what to do with it. I could have betrayed Ashla’s judgement, but the concept of betraying yours too, after witnessing the same thing, added another level of security.” The wrapping finished, and she paused to think about how to best go about her shoulder blade. Always an awkward position.

“I had no idea it would be so visceral.” Ishida admitted, choosing instead to pick out the remaining blood clinging to her hairline.

 

[Bernard]

The difficulty of not rolling his eyes as she downplayed her wounds, again, was greater than he had expected. Even if she wouldn't see the gesture, he still didn't want to let annoyance at something like that get to him. As one of the consistent testers of patience, stubbornness was a vexing trait when it came to persisting with ideas that were, to Bernard, so clearly harmful. Of course, he could understand the desire not to appear weak. Vulnerability bore its name for a reason. Exposed to the wrong person, and it could lead to deep wounds that would take a long time to heal. Yet, at the same time it was a mark of strength. Of true strength, not the illusory power that Sith, and those who shaped Ishida it seemed, must have so desperately clung to.

Though, the willingness to be vulnerable needed to be learned. It took time and effort, and plenty of each. And it needed to be developed, gradually, in a place where vulnerability would not be exploited mercilessly. That, in turn, required trust. A belief that required weeks, months, even years to develop, but that could be lost in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, in a galaxy such as the one they inhabited, the deck was stacked heavily against vulnerability, and it seemed that Ishida knew that quite well, perhaps not even consciously. That was why, for Bernard, patience would have to be paramount. He could see that now.

He reached the bottom of the ladder and hopped off, onto the grass. Fortunately, Ishida's weapons had clattered onto the green hill without rolling down its slope. He picked them off the ground, wiping away a bit of morning dew and dirt that clung to the hilts, and ducked under the wing to make his way to the storage bay. Pressing open the hatch, he redistributed some of the bay's contents to make space for the weapons.

As he rummaged through the bay, sorting loose bits and ends here and there, he retrieved a large piece of cloth, blue with white patterns along its edges, and threw it over his shoulder. Then, he placed the blades into the bay, taking great care to tie them down so they wouldn't slide and scratch if their flight was disturbed somehow. With the swords safely secured and the cloth on his shoulder, he ducked under the wing again and climbed up the ladder to where Ishida sat treating her wounds.

As he climbed he caught a glimpse of the wounds at her side. The sight had killed any instinctive blushing that tried to rise from seeing her in the undershirt. A silly thing to be sheepish about, but in their new space of unknowns it seemed more personal somehow, to see the warrior without her usual armour. Those wounds she bore, however, spoke of the inefficacy of that armour. Cloth couldn't stop whatever had caused the horrible bruising he'd seen. Wounds like those weren't simply 'fine.' She must have been hurting a lot without showing it. He bit his lip as he climbed over the side of the X-Wing where she sat, to kneel down in the cockpit.

She'd eyed her shoulder thoughtfully before she'd started to clean her hair, indicating more wounds there he couldn't see. Setting the cloth down on the chair, he took another bacta patch from the med-pack and turned to her.

For the first time, he felt regret for never having taken the time to study the healing techniques of the Jedi. He knew the basic healing meditations any youngling would be taught, but he'd never seen any use in the healing arts for his own training. Why would he need to heal? He worked alone and had rarely ever needed anything more than some bacta, a stimpack, and a healing trance to buff out any damage to his own system. If it didn't serve to somehow further his combat prowess, it had been irrelevant to him. If he'd seen wisdom earlier, he may have been able to do more for Ishida now. That regret gnawed at him now.

"Can I help?" He asked from behind her, and held the bacta patch toward her shoulder.

"You're right about it being your choice. In the end, it's always our choice. That's why it's so important that we make it carefully, without giving in to the temptations of choosing the 'easier' path when we have the choice not to," he said, losing himself in thought for a moment. He smiled softly, solemnly, as he continued, "I'm glad I could do that for you, regardless that you set out to do so only to prove me wrong. You faced it, and made your choice. I'm honoured that you included me in that."

A tether for stability, something to lean on. That was fine, for now. He could continue to be that, so long as patience served him, but she had to learn to trust her own judgement, without him at her side. She couldn't so long as she relied on him. A key requirement to note, and the reason, he thought, she had to set out on her own for now.

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

"Can I help?

Everything inside of her wanted to scream no, don’t touch me, not like that. It was a horrible dilution to the other version of how he touched her. This was pathetic. She got herself into this mess, she’d be responsible for getting herself out of it. Her mistakes had lead to her injury, it wasn’t anyone else’s duty to provide a remedy. It took a few seconds for her to internalize her answer, and gratefully he gave her those seconds by responding to her explanation of what that dreamlike experience on Korriban had been.

Her hands had dropped by now, her hair cleaner than it had been.

“That’s a trick question, isn’t it.” She forced herself to tease, finding levity somewhere at the bottom of her shame.

Could he help?

“I can’t very well go back on my promise..” Her voice dropped, passing the words between the backs of her teeth and scowling at some curve on the dashboard “As much as I might want to right now."

“Yes..” She capitulated but looked down and away. "It's hard to reach." She added, to make it sound less like it was everything she didn't want to have happen. Another explanation of shortcomings.

He was sworn to help. Help when she was in the hospital bed, help her see the wrong in her perspective, help tend to her wounds, help her find her way — the imbalance in her disorder was growing heavier and heavier and despite their nascently affectionate connection, the depths of their hearts, she was worried about what the gravity of that might result in. Bernard of Arca, the eternal helper. What would that make her? Dependent, that’s what. Ashina the Weak.

I’m not ruined. She thought. I am ruination.

If she wanted to, she could have lashed out. Prove how far from weak she was. How she could handle herself. She would have to kick him first, or pull him down to her level by other means. The space was tight enough for it to be awkward for someone that size, and once he was down — what was she thinking.

Horrified, she scrambled away from those conditioned recitals forced herself to focus on the thoughts she wanted to think. Not the ones that were part of her rebuilding mantras.

As she moved her hands under her hair to brush it over the other shoulder for better visibility, she settled on not articulating any of her concerns, about how she felt about their imbalance. Her discomfort with the position she seemed to be in. She’d already done enough the night before, explaining that his expectations of her would put him in a dangerous place. A place they were inching closer and closer to by the minute. And she didn’t want to go there. She wanted to be here, in their contentment, for as long as possible.

So she remained selfishly silent and closed her eyes.

“Do you remember your first injury?” She asked instead, shifting the subject from her weaknesses to his.

 

[Bernard]

He paused a moment at her tone. The intensity of her exasperation made him reconsider the offer, his first instinct to confront her on it, to get to the bottom of why she felt so strongly about the offer of aid. She didn't want to show 'weakness' to anyone, their interactions had made that much clear, and tending to her wounds was doing exactly that. Making them real, admitting she wasn't invincible. But something about his offer had only made her annoyance worsen even further.

Did she bear contempt for him, hidden by her claim that she couldn't do this because of the expectations she perceived alone? She'd been resentful of him on Prosperity, and again on their way here. Unless they shared moments of unambiguous affection, it seemed almost like he was, effectively, a thorn in her side.

He almost started at the thought, shaking it away.

She'd have told him, wouldn't she? When it came to conflict, she was quick to choose action and confronted her foes. She'd done so before...except, she also hadn't. Before, after Ziost, she'd tried to hide her intentions for him, tried to shy away from confrontation with decisive, unconsidered action. Did she still feel that same hate, and was she trying her best to cover it up so he wouldn't notice? To cling to...to cling to what?

Patience, he reminded himself. Idle fretting served no one, and this was not the time to push her further on that.

He changed the focus of his consideration, just as she did the topic, to the now, where her wounds needed attention.

She always relished the test of strength in combat. On the battlefield she became a tempest, consumed by the fight. He knew the sensation. Being lost in the flow of war, trusting oneself fully to one's training, reflexes, to the Force. As Jedi it could be a form of experiencing great freedom, unbound from the difficulties of their other duties, duties mired in impossibilities, necessary moderation, and countless unknowns. The trance of battle was relief from that. So long as there was an opponent to face, one had clear purpose, an objective that appeared righteous and just. The other was evil, the I was just, thus the evil had to be destroyed. It was simple.

But it carried with it immense danger, too.

"I have this one memory, from when I was still a kid on Arkania. I was sparring with one of the other trainees, we were practicing the fundamental zones of Shii-Cho using practice sabres, I believe. We were a good match, our bouts always ended in draws. We learned a lot from each other that way," he placed the patch on her skin, delicately applying it to cover the wounded area. "However, this time, we had stayed up late to practice, breaking the curfew rules our masters had set out for us. I remember I was distracted by the thought of them finding us, at first. But as we settled into our routine that gradually went away," with a soft touch he smoothed the patch out so it was flush against her skin and covered it evenly.

He removed a fresh set of bandages from the med pack, and continued as he wrapped the part of her shoulder with the patch.

"Eventually, I messed up. I don't remember what I did, but I came up short on a dodge and my opponent struck me in the side. Now, I should mention, because we were sparring way past our curfew, we had to find a way to get some practice sabres, as our usual ones were stowed away under supervision in the armoury. Fortunately," he brought the bandages across her back, to her other arm, indicating she should raise it with a nudge, "the sparring grounds had a few sabres readily available. Easy way to get around that problem, right? Well, unbeknownst to us, they weren't like our normal sabres."

Concluding his efforts, he secured the bandages and looked the wrapping over, checking for anything that needed adjustments.

"These ones were usually used by knights, accustomed to the battlefield. So when my opponent's blade struck I was given the worst shock I'd ever felt in my life, and a painful reminder that stuck around for weeks. I barely remember anything that happened after he hit. A lot of frowning instructors and stern voices reprimanding the two of us. The fact that I'd lost our bout stung doubly."

He leaned away from her, supporting himself on the console.

"How does that feel?"

With his elbow he pushed on one of the buttons. Slowly, the canopy began to close, as he tended to her wounds. It set down with barely any sound, then hissed quietly as the atmosphere pressurized. Warm air began to trickle in, more comfortable than the stiff breezes of Yavin's morning air.

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

Silence settled over Ishida as Bernard indulged her and recounted maybe not his first, but a memory of an injury. When she closed her eyes, she imagined a snow-capped planet, pitched in dark indigo and shadows with two lanky silhouettes creeping around corners and ducking through doorways – whispering egging challenges back and forth to one another whilst scampering.

It was hard to give his story as much focus as she wanted, the tender brushes against her skin sent flaring distractions to her brain. Distracting thoughts that warred with one another. Part of her wanted to sink into it, those gentle applications of care and the other part of her wanted to keep as stiff as possible so he might find it difficult to keep touching her, or the bandages found it difficult to cling to her skin and end up slipping off.

She forced herself to relax, though briefly tried to twist and see what was happening behind her. It was to little avail, and the small movements made her embarrassed again and shift a tight knot in her gut. Again, she refocused on his words rather than his touch. There was an ease to his words, despite the nature of his failing.

A captivated audience member, she breathed out a lighthearted “oh no” at the climax of the story, wherein he discovered the training sabre’s deceit. It sounded like the hit had been a surprise to the both of them, and the opponent had enough wit to not beat little-Bern while he was down. She chuckled.

"What happened to your sparring partner? Did you graduate together?"

"How does that feel?"

She drew her legs in from the sealing canopy and adjusted to stay within its confines. When she rotated her shoulder, the sense of pain was sudden but less deep than she’d felt before. It could have been a combination of the warmer air, or the bacta, or the distraction of the story. Likely a mix of the three, with a heavier weight on the bacta than anything.

“Weird.” She admitted, moving the non-injured arm to prick the wrap of her other shoulder. Her palm flattened against it, and she twisted her mouth into something thoughtful. The words were there. Swelling at the base of her throat — having to show appreciation again. “But better. Thank you.”

There was a bit of surprise to her tone: “These patches work quickly, it’s as if..” a fingernail wedged under the one that folded over her shoulder just a bit, above her collarbone. "They're numbing the hurt to less than a dull throb."

With her knees pointing toward him, she looked up at the top of the canopy for a moment, then back at him.

“Time to go, then?”

 

[Bernard]

"We...didn't, no. He ended up with a Master before I did," he replied with a half-truth.

For a moment, he furrowed his brows, noting that, as a Jedi, she should have known that most Initiates wouldn't graduate together. Each was chosen by a Master when they were deemed ready or had developed a connection. Though, from what she'd previously indicated, her path to becoming a Jedi had been more unique in nature, so she likely hadn't experienced temple life as a Youngling. Something that had become very commonplace in the galaxy, not exclusively for the New Jedi Order either, though stereotypically for the fledgling collection of Jedi his own path had also been anything but the traditional one for a Jedi.

He smiled when she reported the effects of the bacta. Not in a way that communicated an eye-roll worthy 'I told you so', but a genuine expression created by the knowledge that she was better for their efforts. It was a small joy, but a strong one. Few others compared to the profound sensation knowledge of another's betterment brought about.

"Time to go, then?"

He nodded to her, manoeuvering in the compact pilot's compartment to reach down to the base of the pilot's seat, where he pushed on a lever that allowed him to slide it back several more inches. The space inside the cockpit was noticeably rather limited, but years of use as, what effectively amounted to, living quarters had seen it undergo a few changes that made it more comfortable for its passenger(s). The consoles had been rewired and its housing changed to give the pilot more space, particularly for the legs and on the sides, enough to comfortably sit cross-legged or adopt a variety of other comfortable positions during long-range flights. Compared to the standard model X-Wing, this one could almost be called comfy for the purposes of travel.

Bernard set the folded cloth aside and climbed into the chair, shifting to right himself. Then, taking Ishida's hand, he gently tugged to get her down from the side of the console and properly seated for the take-off procedure.

"Come on, can't have you sitting on a console during the second most delicate phase of flight."

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

“Right, you of many-masters.” Ishida recalled, closing her eyes as if the memories were hidden in organizers behind her eyelids. Had he ever followed up on the lingering warnings of Master Hortula? He’d been so aloof about the comments of unfinished lessons that she’d categorized any sort of following up as something that was out of bounds. But now, in this uncertain territory, it was clear that she cared about him; but how much of that translated and pooled into his world outside of his interactions with her?

Whatever version of a small smile that had started to slowly curve her lips upward stagnated, and faded into something neutral again when she remembered she couldn’t pursue that question now. Not when she was about to leave him. Her heart was strayed from its centre because their navigation was well overshooting their target. Uncentred. Imbalanced.

She missed his expression that might have challenged her response, or made her explain what her upbringing on Hebo and the schools there had been like – “I meant moreso, did you keep in touch at all?”

He didn’t seem to want to correct anything that was stuck to her skin, and she pressed against some of it to make sure it wouldn’t unpeel. It seemed steadfast, and she went through the motions of re-establishing some semblance of feeling less exposed and vulnerable and shoved her arms through the sleeves of her tunic again. She was tying it loosely when he sat to right himself.

Already scrunched in her spot, she was relieved to be moving – even if it was just a few inches – from her space to draw closer to him. Last night, she’d woken in the hours just before dusk and fallen to sleep again imagining that this might be where they could be. Since then, that reality had faded in and out of existence. Like the varying saturation of rose petal hues amidst a garden, and she, a micron high navigator of flora, kept getting stumbled by the thorns. But there was an easiness to the gesture, the guidance, her hand in his. Even if she’d just felt pangs of frustration – it hadn’t necessarily been at him, directly, just at their imbalance. Her imperfection.

Gratitude swelled in her breast again, and she exhaled the sound that encompassed her titter.

"Come on, can't have you sitting on a console during the second most delicate phase of flight."

“The first most delicate being...the landing?” She asked, and folded into the space that was really only meant for one person at a time. Her heart was thumping again, now that the attention was off and away from her embarrassment and into a space that she could admit she wasn’t the best at. Hebo, and those within it, had bred her to be a weapon, not a pilot.

To distract herself from the suffusing warmth that spread from her chest to her face, she forced herself to refocus back on learning and advancing. At least not being wholly dependent in this department. After all, it hadn’t been a joke nor a desperate ploy when she’d admitted she didn’t know how to fly the X-Wing.

“Walk me through this?” She invited, stretching her arms out to the console to gesture that whatever he said she intended to act out on his behalf.

And as soon as the starfighter's primary display felt its coolness against her skin, she curled her fingertips into her palm and paused. Instead of looking where the readouts would communicate the mathematic renderings of their movements and the ship's progressions, she looked back to the sprawling view of Yavin's morning. She'd been on this planet overnight, and still not touched it. The X-Wing, she was becoming intimate with its interior, but she had only breathed the air and heard the sounds of what the planet had to offer.

Her hands dropped to his knees, gripping them to stop any motion that might have become informative.

"Wait." She breathed out in a rush as if they had no moments left before takeoff. "I haven't even touched this planet yet." She murmured by way of explanation, almost frantic in her movements to undo the sealing of the canopy. She still wanted to leave, carry on with their decided trajectory and action of time-to-go. There was too much risk in them staying here too long, undoing all they'd managed to accomplish, but she couldn't go to a planet other than her home and not even extend the courtesy of walking on it.

All the pressurized adjustments shifted once more when the canopy opened, and the little Atrisian scrambled out to the ladder Bernard had been perched on for so long. She didn't stop until her feet were actually on the ground, the real ground. Not the nose of the X-Wing, or the wing, or the cockpit, on Yavin. Then she dropped to her knees and pressed the heels of her hands into the grass, closed her eyes, and drew in a deep breath.

 

[Bernard]

He'd had many masters, sort of, but never a master. Finding one of those in the galaxy proved to be a surprisingly difficult task, though a problem of scarcity was hardly the sole issue.

"We didn't, no. It became increasingly difficult after he became a Padawan. He was always out on missions while I had to study for the trials. We hadn't had the chance to talk in months by the time I could leave the temple grounds."

This, of course, omitted that there hadn't ever been a chance to keep in touch, or that his departure from the temple grounds had been out of necessity, rather than under the tutelage of an instructor.

Those thoughts quickly evaporated, however, as Ishida moved from the console to the pilot's chair. Feeling her weight against him, the warmth she radiated, gave him a new sense of stability that didn't seem to be affected by the threat of old memories. He almost leaned in closer to embrace her again, an inclination that seemed to appear whenever they were this close now. Instead, he ignored the desire, and pushed down everything else to adopt the role of the guide. He went through the different steps the X-Wing had to be taken through to bring it into the air in his head, and began to formulate the best way to instruct her, something he'd never had to do before, for anything really.

“The first most delicate being...the landing?”

"Exactly, landings are even trickier. Right now we have the flat surface of a sturdy planet under us to stabilize our initial path. Mid-flight we don't quite get that luxury."

The pilot's helmet still sat behind the chair, magnetically secured in a small groove. That would be the first step. He reached for it, extending backwards, and opened his mouth to begin talking her through the functions of various buttons and switches, but before he could do so, he was promptly interrupted by a pair of hands slamming against his knees.

Confusion struck as the canopy began to rise again, and Ishida hurried out of the seat while mumbling some words he barely caught, to go over the side of the X-Wing and scramble down the ladder to the ground below. She fell into the grass and took in Yavin, as though she'd never felt the wind against her skin before. Above, Bernard leaned over the side of the X-Wing, propping his head up on an elbow as he watched her with a cocked eyebrow. Despite how insistent she'd been on leaving a few minutes prior, the Ishida there seemed to almost not want to leave altogether.

"Dirt stains are a pain to get out of white fabric," he called after her, then rose from the pilot's seat. Arms crossed on the side of the cockpit for stability, he leaned out of the X-Wing. "Should I pack provisions?"

He'd been planning to dig into the reserve of Jedi energy capsules stowed next to the pilot's chair once they were on their way, as they'd skipped any sort of breakfast, but if they were departing on an exploration of Yavin after all, depending on how much of the planet she wanted to see, it might be best to have more substantial sources of nutrition with them.

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

Bernard 's comment and question remained unanswered for a few sacred seconds. Beneath her hands, the earth was becoming druxy, giving way to the gentle presses from her fingers. The transition from the cockpit’s warmth to Yavin’s coolness was starting to hit her, the temperature’s complexity only a preliminary taste of what the planet had to offer. There were many pasts built inside of it, wealthy in spirituality and lessons. This sort of behaviour, the girlish impulses and want to explore and have an arsenal in her back pocket, was another layer of vulnerability in her perception. Openness to admit what she didn't know, and learn was another. These were fine, by her. Fine to evidence because they didn't come with the expectation of failure; there wasn't that boundary that existed. She filled her lungs and drew back up to stand.

There he went again, supporting and offering. Willing to adjust on her behalf and whims. Learning and exploring the history of the temples was one option they’d discussed, but that seemed more and more uninteresting compared to using that energy to better explore their own unknown territory. It still felt delicate, only growing thicker with small increments. Careful calculations of what not to say, what to say for it might again threaten their already limited time together. Overdoing it would make leaving so much harder, and underdoing it would make their travel back together unbearable.

Ishida considered this as she wiped her hands on the top of the emerald blades, letting the morning’s dew wet whatever dirt clung to her skin and any residual debris she clapped off.

“No,” She answered and stretched before starting to scale the ladder again.

At the top rung, where he’d been after his ridiculous plan, she paused with a grin “I know that was probably silly but we’ve been here for hours and I’ve just been on this ship. If anyone asked if I’d been to Yavin, I can only just now really say yes.

Besides, I've got to get my flight lessons in before any further distractions."

 

[Bernard]

Silly? Perhaps. But her point was valid, he supposed. Still, to pursue that end with such fervour, had she been forbidden from visiting new worlds until very recently or was there some other reason driving her to scramble out in a panic? He almost asked, but then a better idea came to him, and he considered for a moment. Ishida had, thus far, not often been the type to joke around. One might say the Atrisian had been excessively austere with applications of joviality throughout their time together, always weighed down by her undivided devotion to killing anything that breathed the Dark Side and all the heaviness that clung to her from her time before the Jedi.

However, over the past twenty-four hours, she'd let her walls down more than she'd ever had before, allowing emotions like joy to bubble to the forefront with a frequency that put the combined occurrences from their previous lengths of time to shame. Perhaps, now that they'd already had one interruption any additional ones would be unwelcome, but, if there was ever a time to discover more about these mysteries that hid in the space between them, it would be now. Especially now. Before they broke apart, possibly forever.

He shook his head, in part rid himself of the thought and in part to convey a denial of her statement. At the top of the ladder, he was blocking the way into the cockpit as he leaned over its side supported on his elbows.

"Flight lessons, hm?" He mused, adopting a somewhat snobby High-Coruscanti accent. He regarded her with a grin that had just a smidge of conceit in it to sell the act. "I'm afraid I can't allow you to board without a service fee. Good instructors are anything but cheap, especially out here in Wild Space, and any good businessman worth his Alderaanian sapphire salt knows exceptions are sadly out of the question, even for clients as fine as yourself, I'm sorry, Miss."

With an upturned palm, he held out his hand as if expecting something to be placed into it.

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

Her body was prepared to move through the motions of swinging her leg over the side, but the action never came. Bernard never moved. The apparent abruptness of his denial rendered a flash of her eyes at first, quizzical frustration pulling at the slopes of her brows.

Startled, her shoulders pulled back and she cocked her head slightly.

The tightness that had overtaken her countenance abated when he started speaking, and as mystifying as the presentation was, she slowly started to see through her initial brain fog as his forced accent started to form more and more information she’d been missing. He was denying her access under the pretense of being..someone else.

Why?

What was it about this top rung that put them in these weird situations?

“I –” She started, but didn’t finish. He’d had moments of goofiness before, but it was rarely more than an observational statement, an undercutting jab, or the personification of something like a healing crystal.

Was this normal?

It was like her brain was taking time to defrost, and it took her a few seconds to figure out what an appropriate response was, or what it was he was looking for.

The last time she’d played pretend had been in Hebo’s hallways, running through the tiled corridors proclaiming in a small voice, with a stick too large, that she was the most feared samurai in all of Atrisia. Any more recent occurrence of such playful falsity simply didn’t exist in her memory because there hadn’t been any.

Finally, the wideness of her doe-eyed gaze settled into something a little narrower, more mischievous as she accepted the invitation to venture into this world of pretending within parameters. At least there was the shared truth she could work from, that she really did depend on him for flying lessons and his willingness to give them was entirely under the scope of his decision-making rationale.

“A savvy businessman and a good flight instructor?” She commented back, feigning impressiveness and transitioning from her shock into something with a hopefully smoother delivery and pleased that it didn’t feel like she was lying dishonourably. "I can tell."

His hand beckoned payment, but she didn’t look at it straight away. At least she could understand the basic foundations of communicating a challenge — a lot of that was unflinching eye contact.

Gratefully, his eyes were easy to get lost in and keeping his attention was high on her list of immediate priorities.

“Quite the fortunate find for me, then.” She could see a set of actions to take. The first was pretty well immediately out of the question. Responding with force, grabbing that hand and pulling him out, was so wrong. And it was irritating to her that the first thoughts that raced through asked her to show aggression. The other options then, by nature of not being first, also felt incredibly out of character.

But she tried anyway.

“Although, I’m afraid I don’t know the going rates out in wild space.” At the start of her sentence, her fingertips brushed against his, slowly smoothing them down his fingers until they swirled around his palm, lightly tracing circles. Closing that physical gap helped, like another known gesture in their mutual language. ”But I’m sure we can work something out."

She paused her shape-drawing in his hand, tapping the space twice with her finger and leaning in slightly. "Depending on what your service fee is, of course."

 

[Bernard]

He waited patiently, anxiously, as she got over her initial surprise until something shifted in the way she looked at him. She played her part far better than he'd initially expected. It became difficult not to kiss her then and there, her touch on his palm had made her very kissable, but he wanted to see how much longer they could keep this up. Wanted to know how many more light, happy moments like this they could accrue.

Bernard gasped in feigned shock, deliberately taking her response in the most unfavourable way possible. He put his free hand to his chest and drew back a little as though her words had offended his sensibilities as a proper businessman.

"Miss!" He exclaimed, letting that very outraged businessman seep into his otherwise amused voice. "This is highly inappropriate! Why bribery breaks several different laws and professional codes! I'll have to report you to the Marshals immediately!"

He was doing a bad job keeping up the act. Now that she was sharing in this moment of silliness, his scowl barely hid the grin that had elbowed its way into his expression. He leaned in, bringing them even closer, and closed his hand around her fingers. Then, now that he was close, he wrapped his free arm around her good side, using those moments to think of how to proceed, not having expected to get this far.

"And unfortunately for you, I know a Marshal who passed by some moments ago warning about someone who'd escaped custody," the scowl faded fully into a grin, "said she burst right out his X-Wing. Supposedly she was an elegant young woman with white hair who would try to make her way off-world. Said she was very dangerous, and that, he made sure to note this, she'd made a mess of her robes during her escape," he pointedly glanced down at her knees, where the dew had made Yavin's dirt seep into hardy grass and earth stains that stood out against the otherwise white robes.

He turned back to meet her eyes.

"That wouldn't happen to be you, miss, would it?"

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

Unexpectedly, Bernard switched gears. His reaction bled theatrics, but not of the nature she’d expected. The scene changed, under the director’s whim and her mind raced with what she’d done wrong, how to fix it.

Except, she realized when he continued his offended monologue, it wasn’t up to her to fix. She was just a player in this environment. Miss was her pseudonym, so she supposed he would have to be sir. Miss was being threatened with arrest, her words misconstrued as bribery rather than a genuine misunderstanding on the standard prices of his services.

What would miss say to that? How would she get out of this?

When she opened her mouth to speak, to re-negotiate, a giggle slipped out instead of the words she’d meant to say. Miss certainly wouldn’t have done that, she would have been more in charge. Not taking no for an answer.

In the time it took for her to laugh at the absurdity of this charade, he’d snatched her up so she might not get away. He held her as if they were dancing, and in a way, they were. Stepping in tandem by his lead through this strange encounter. And then he explained why. By now, only lingering notes of her earlier chuckles were in their shared space and she eased into a toothsome grin. Their scene demanded more from miss though, and she felt her lips twitch to turn that joy into something more roguish and knowing, forcing a challenging arch to her own brow as he described her beyond a doubt.

Whether or not she was still giggling, she couldn’t hear. She was mesmerized again, her heart booming behind her breastbone. Elegant? Did he think she was elegant? Ishida’s face turned warm and rosy, but miss fought it, struggling to try and stay level-headed in the predicament she’d managed to get herself in.

She followed his gaze as he looked down, not fighting his grip, and then right back to where their eyes met again.

"That wouldn't happen to be you, miss, would it?"

Violent responses whispered in the back of her mind, suggesting a course of action again. Their murmurs were quiet and she pushed them away easier than she had before, instead of trying to sort through what this elegant-and-fine-miss might do instead.

He’d described her situation so perfectly that outright denial would do her little good. And silence would lead to action, and action would dictate their course and the loudest actions she heard weren’t appropriate. They were those violent ones vying for opportunity. They had no place here.

“Sir?” It was her turn to mock being offended. “What are you insinuating?”

“Do I seem very dangerous to you?” Miss asked, tilting her chin so she might attempt a façade that was as if she were looking down her nose at him. Her fingers flexed in his grip, her simper drawing coyer.

 

[Bernard]

A subtle redness had seeped into her cheeks during his description of the supposed fugitive. He'd noticed it once or twice before. Moments when she'd seemed to be completely disarmed by something he'd said, seemingly bubbling over with glee he couldn't place. Perhaps it happened whenever he said something affectionate? The last time she'd become this way was when he'd...when he'd professed his love today. That prompted a thought. He guessed that calling her elegant had been what caused this latest bout of giggling. If it was, and he hoped very much he was right, then his next course of action was very clear.

"Incredibly! Those eyes alone, so captivating and enthralling, could have a poor, defenceless one such as I lose himself for an eternity or more," he said, lightly nodding with overly exaggerated concern.

Force, that concern was far from unfounded. As he looked into her eyes, it became increasingly difficult to break away. Her gaze was magnetic, and he nearly missed his next beat in their dance, finally pulling away only because her touch in his hand grounded him. His eyes trailed down to her lips, and he managed to summon back the part in their play that allowed him to put words to truths that he normally couldn't quite say.

"And the smile you have dancing across your lips, miss, it puts to shame even the most brilliant stars with its radiance," he said with sincere drama and leaned down further. He buried his face in her neck and turned the loose hold into a firm embrace, something that was decidedly not part of the performance and done more for practical purposes. As well as because he very much enjoyed being close to her.

With his arm securely around her and the other extending outward with her hand still held tight, they did appear like they were dancing. But he didn't sway, simply drew up slightly to move them along to being inside the X-Wing's warmer shelter, all-the-while poised to support her to clear the last rungs of their journey back into the pilot's chair.

Ishida Ashina