Private Something So Heavy

[Ishida Ashina]

"Incredibly!

Miss’ knowing smirk deepened, her chest puffing with pride that belonged to both her and Ishida. Dangerous was a coveted descriptor. Ashina the Dangerous. It was good, but not nearly as legendary as her ancestors. But a good start. Steel was dangerous, it was sharp and strong, and ——

Those eyes alone,,"

——easily corroded.

Her brows furrowed at first, a flicker of anxiety knitting through her expression. Was he making fun of her? Reducing her ferocity to feminine features only? The blush in her cheeks grew warmer with embarrassment, shifting in shades until he listened to the rest of what he had to say in shocked silence.

No, not corroded. Refined.

The prideful expression that had taken over her countenance fell away, overtaken instead by soft awe. The heat in her skin intensified, growing pinker. The danger he described as not how she’d imagined it. He made no mention of her swordsmanship, the blood on her hands, the ferocity of her focus, but instead parts that were unseen to any enemy. The parts that were hard to reach and just for him. The parts that spoke of how she deeply felt for him, and how dangerous that was.

Simulating the blush over her cheeks and nose, her heart and mind here pounding. Danger, she’d always imagined, was a sword. And the further he looked at her, describing eyes and radiant smiles, she realized swords were dangerous because they were double-edged The sharpened blade, and the blunt side. One was often used to cut, the other to aid in cauterization.

It was that other that drew the appeal, that helped restore the balance to what she’d perceived as the imbalance in their dynamic. He was smiling now, genuinely emanating joy from his presence and that coveted grin compounded parts of the gaps in her understanding. It was moments like these, soft, care-free instances where genuine exchanges could be made when he smiled.

At the base of her throat, where her heart’s push and where her voice might take over, she felt those three words dance again.

For a second, her gaze grew distant. Partly lost in his pearly clouds, part lost in her own realizations. Then he moved again, so many details came into focus once more. The shape of his lips, the line of his neck.

“Ber––” she started, falling out of character amidst the typhoon of emotions and his breath against her neck, the space between them instantly nonexistent. She stopped herself before she broke their scene, and risked losing their shared giddiness to her dizzying delays of understanding.

Their waltz became weightless, and she barely scraped her toes against the edge of the cockpit to help cover those extra few inches for the transfer. Her free arm looped around his shoulder for support and because she couldn’t bear the inches of distance any longer. Now, armourless and unprotected, she was certain he could feel her heartbeat through her chest.

The canopy was restored above their heads, adding a filter to the naked beauty of Yavin’s scraped blue skies. Beneath it, Ishida and Miss found themselves at crossroads, entirely eclipsed by the pilot of their dreams.

She angled her head against his to drop her voice to a whisper, her eyes were half-closed as if she were entirely surrendering to the dreamlike scenario to make a promise that went against several thoughts she’d had early in their friendship: “But sir,” she forced, trying so hard to keep her head in the game and not fully break out mushy promises between the two of them. Promises she fully intended to keep: “I’d never endanger you.”

That smile of his couldn’t fade because she broke character, and she resumed the game: “You’re not going to turn me in, are you?”

 

[Bernard]

Together, they danced their way beneath the canopy's narrow cover, though that space seemed much larger with the lush jungles of Yavin stretching their horizon and the blue expanse promising a sky without end.

Bernard held her close to him, pressing soft kisses against her skin, as her whispers brushed against his ear. Soft breaths that sent tingles down his spine, and compelled his hand to pull a fraction tighter around her waist, as though it was afraid she'd slip away again and that fraction of something divine it held would be lost forever.

The next moments he spent in a haze with only his heartbeat as a companion, beating loud above any thought that tried to come. He felt he could melt into her completely, forget about the performance and simply bask in this warmth for measures and measures. But they had yet to reach the finale of this act, and no performer could leave a work unfinished when it was so close to its conclusion.

As he drew away enough to look into her eyes again he felt a man who'd stepped from sunny fields into a blizzard. Cold air bit his skin where her warmth had been heartbeats prior. Already he felt a pull that beckoned him back into an embrace without this distance, but he fought it, for he had yet to play the most vital part. Though his smile had taken all control from his expression, refusing to relinquish its position center stage, he managed to summon back the outraged words, at least, and the next lines he was to say.

"Oh, miss," he continued with that same dramatic flair, "you have no reason at all to fret such a thing! For well before I knew you to be a wanted woman I'd surrendered myself to you, as you had me bested in a single moment, with one swift, decisive blow of that single most dangerous part of yourself."

The darkest moment of this hero's part had at last arrived, during which his bravery was revealed as little more than a facade that hid the terrible truth he already knew deep within. She was too much for him. He'd never stood a chance. The hero had no choice but to admit defeat and allow the villainesse to triumph. All innocence trembles before the evil that now stood unbound, and Bernard fell back a step before its endless might, balancing precariously before the pilot's chair.

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

All that was exposed, he roamed with affection. His tightened grip flared sparks, a remarkable contrast to the tenderness he’d already applied to her bruises — but somehow this was more healing. In response, she offered a small sigh and spread her fingers against the back of his head, threading through his hair.

An involuntary shudder coursed through her body when he pulled back, her hand in his tightened in protest. With the interval established between them, she was now more aware of the rolling, deep flutter between her hips and stretching up through to her chest. It was out of sync with the heavy booms of her heart and only added to the difficulty of keeping focus.

Bernard was so committed to the craft. When he spoke, the original accent barely made its way through, though the stylistic emphasis was somehow maintained. It was impressive the way he steeled himself against his desires for the sake of whatever outcome he’d already concocted. Distantly, she marvelled at it.

It was growing harder and harder to breathe. The heaviness of the rise and fall of her chest almost snapped in two when he admitted surrendering himself to her, and she huffed and exhale through her nose. He was surrendered to her, he was hers. Whatever had transpired between them, all those arguments, all those tears, all those internal wrestlings, all those spikes of frustration and terrible communiques, she had him. Somehow. She wanted to say it back, and more. Those unsaid words tickled her tongue again but remained suspended within her cheeks; unable to make their way through her teeth in the euphoria of the drama. It had to be her to say it, not defiled with Miss or Sir.

“Good.” She managed, forcing through that knavish grin above the melty mess she felt was her face.

Bright, white, and happy, his smile was infallible and all-consuming. She was torn between simply watching and being delighted by it, or having the chance to taste it. Either way, it was profoundly enchanting.

Breathless, and so close to the outcome, she ached for release. Her mind was murkily aware that prolonging this act, as fun as it was, as charming and out of character it was, wasn’t something she could do much longer. Sorting through the other potentials of descriptors was proving difficult. He’d already poetically appealed to her eyes, her smile, what else was there?

Her mind raced backward in time to a few scenes ago, within the act. How had they gotten here? Retracing those steps, as recent as they’d been, was tricky. She didn’t want to pull from this moment. She’d crawled up the ladder, mentioned the need to fly, and he’d pitched them into this world between make-believe and truth.

He staggered back and she swiftly pursued with tight steps of her own, on uneven ground (they were really testing the limits of this cockpit’s layout), fervent on keeping that established closeness paramount. All the secrets of the final act he kept trapped behind his teeth, and she had shorted out on sorting through their last few exchanges. She might have an idea, but not enough to damage the denouement.

“Single most? One part against such a dynamic and complex man?"

 

[Bernard]

Best Part​

"Good," the way she said it, so close to him, sent a few tingles dancing through his spine.

The momentum of their performance still carried Bernard as Ishida followed his step, unwilling to let distance grow any further. She was barely keeping her composure. Her eyes were consumed by an eager hunger for the resolution, drawing him in with a pull that made his heart skip a beat.

"Single most? One part against such a dynamic and complex man?"

His grin grew lopsided, and he leaned closer to her until he could feel her breath against his skin.

"Complexity is hardly a ward against the simplest dangers, in fact it draws them and succumbs to them the easiest," he whispered.

His fingers brushed over the side of her hand and under it, moving slowly up her palm, along her fingers, then wove in between them, entwining their hands. He moved even closer to her, their lips so close that sparks could have jumped the distance. Time seemed relative in that moment, spanning an eternity and no time at all. Everything leading up to now seemed condensed into a deep need to be here, in these ephemeral moments, and at the same time each moment seemed to last an infinite number of heartbeats.

He was close enough that he could practically feel her kiss beckoning him closer, sense her heartbeat as it thundered like his, and, in the Force, experience the turbulent emotions that were tripping up her part as much as they did his. He almost fell into it, his eyelids fell and he brushed her lips with his, but pulled back with a quiet sharp breath. His part wasn't fully over yet. They'd reached the precipice before the resolution, but hadn't yet made the leap. There was still one thing to do.

"Miss Ashina," the mask began to be removed, the full truth emerging from beneath it, "that one thing about you, which made my resolve wilt in an instance," he said softly, but without the lightness of a smile or the drama of performance.

"It was the side you let me see which you keep hidden from the world. The marveling wonder in the city of light on Prosperity, that moment you asked me not to let go, each embrace, each kiss, and, above all, the times that you allowed your joy to shine through your unshakable resolve. Those moments, the entirety of all that is you, make me wish I could hold you close like this forever," his heart beat loud in his chest, and he searched her eyes for signs of her reaction.

He squeezed her hand, and pulled her as close as their physical limitations would allow. She was powerfully intoxicating in these most delicate, most precious moments. The bliss that made a warm haze spread through his chest, up all through his head made his mind falter, consumed with thoughts of her and barely held together by the desire to speak the words he intended for her alone.

"They make me love you, Ishida," and it became the two of them, no miss or sir, balancing precariously at the edge of falling.

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

Palm to palm, he filled the spaces between her fingers and she felt foolish envy for the comfortable connection her hands so easily accomplished with his.

Like the ebb and flow of a tide, the promise of refreshment to a thirsty shoreline, his lips brushed against hers and she felt herself yearn forward, only to feel his sharp withdrawal. Her breath hitched, stuck to the moment that would have been. The shock rippled through the flutter of her lashes, and whatever trepidation that might have bled into her chest was instantly clotted by the start of his sentence:

"Miss Ashina, that one thing about you, which made my resolve wilt in an instance,"

Miss evolved as a prefix to her last name. The crossroads the play-along self and her reality had intersected revealed itself as not a fork-in-the-road at all. Rather, a single trajectory in his perception, and the role she’d played into this charade had just been an amplified version of self. She saw that now. Everything that had been dramatized was just a method of delivery, a medium for storytelling, prose unable to otherwise be spoken. She’d promised herself to use words today, and apparently so had he. And they were both equally awful at it; forcing forward alter-selves enhanced the ability to communicate.

She felt the bones in her knees turn weak, to wax, and whatever tightness that had managed to remain in her expression, soften entirely. Her breaths slowed, each inhale-exhale pattern braiding with his own at this distance. Every now and then, her rhythm quivered, disrupted by the kindness delivered.

That decisive, justice-doling Jedi she’d noticed on Devaron, who’d turned into a strike team partner, a sparring companion, a friend with equal family issues that were left unspoken and the first to visit her in the hospital room, the first to be patient and inviting of perspectives, welcoming to new worlds, offering experiences and caring. The first and only she turned to when she was actually, truly afraid. When she’d asked him to not let go.

Ishida’s eyes widened at the realizations that were invoked by his words. She hadn’t realized that he’d heard her, that he’d tried to keep his promise even with that ad hoc request.

Warmth swelled behind her eyes, swelling and making her vision blur with a starriness that was unbecoming of an Ashina. All those emotions had no other way out. Her delight crystalized and sparkled in her eyelids, and she dared not blink away the gathering constellations when his opalescent gaze searched hers. She couldn’t miss the sincerity of this moment.

All that effort, all that joking resulted in the most serious outcome she could imagine:

"They make me love you, Ishida,"

It was as if the cosmos existed just to hear him say those words to her, this culmination of hard histories and shared existential stresses here, right now, was this with him. How could anything else ever mean more than this moment? The edges of this moment felt transformative. Healing. Comforting. Promising.

Hearing was only part of the experience; it was more holistic and consuming than that. His voice reverberated through her body like another veneer of his caress, another kind of penetration. Straight from him to her, finding its way into her blood and making it rise. And if, for whatever reason, that blood spilled from her now, she’d die with a heart fuller than she’d ever lived with.

Everything indecent about her, every moment of weakness, of humanity, that she never would have admitted, he cherished. All the parts of her she wanted to throw away and conceal from those that put their faith in her, he coveted. He loved. He loved.

Her body became more weightless than it had felt when he’d lifted her into the cockpit. She felt like she was made of clouds, fluffy, intangible but stormy.

Flummoxed, breathless, astounded, and struck with wanting awe, Ishida felt herself melting into him. Fabric and flesh, shapes and lines, physical, metaphysical, all became boundless, tangled, indiscernible. Like the moon on water. He surrounded her completely, his words, affection, embrace, there was nowhere else for her to go, nowhere else she’d rather be, nowhere else to be but here, now, entirely. All of her. All of her begged to just be. To just give in to the truth of Bernard, I love you.

He was on the edge of a precipice, holding on to her, waiting, asking for her to fall with him. Providing the safety of his arms. How tragic it would be if she didn’t tumble down in trust.

But was he pushing, pulling or just asking?

Earlier today, he’d asked for more, and although she’d felt like a well, she’d been a draught. Last night, she’d been unable to say anything either – and had been forced to act in lieu of words. Somehow, touch seemed to relieve the burden of commitment that sentences demanded.

What else was she holding on to? Which ghosts gripped her so tightly that she could only teeter on the edge? Guilt? Shame? How long would he lean there, tilted back, wrapped around her with a patient invitation until he just let go?

How far could she push him? How far could he pull her?

"But know that I intend to keep my promise regardless of which path you choose to follow in the end,"

"I'll be waiting for you."

He’d pulled enough.

The first steps to the version she wanted to be weren’t three days away, and weren't starting on Coruscant. They were here, now. With him, for him — no, not for him. For her, for them.

It stirred deep within, well below the layers she’d built up to keep herself safe and focused. Her heart had built up callouses, using words like proud of and honour to me and well done in lieu of love to make it strong and hardened. Unbreakable. Almost untouchable.

Almost.

All those walls that she’d built up, that she thought he’d just prowled around and found other ways to get past, she now realized existed no longer. All but one crumbled away to dust, and that final reserve, the last barrier, paper-thin, was all that remained. She could see it flexing and bending, threatening to give in to the moment, and she willed it to. She wanted it to fall apart, completely erode into nothingness and be so entirely open with him, give in, fall, surrender. It was like a Tatooine sandstorm, the way his words roared through her final vestiges of restraint, tearing down her defences, seeking to obliterate hesitation and replace it only with passion and promise.

I love you, Bernard.

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

Gracelessly, she shoved herself into him, her face burying deep in his chest. Small salt stains from her eyes flattened against the fabric of his shirt. He wished he could hold her forever, she wanted nothing more than to give him that fulfilment. Be the source of that smile.

Earlier, she’d tried to confess her feelings. Divulge them while skirting around the actual words necessary. Her heart, mind and soul had already made that commitment — her tongue was just a laggard. And she’d asked for the chance to try again, and here it was. Now or never.

Hesitation is defeat.

“I want this forever.” Ishida agreed against his chest, speaking to his shirt, and felt hesitation drain from her bones. She felt lighter, somehow, without those vestiges of delay, faster. Her hands dropped from his hair to his neck for support and she moved to kiss him, pour out every wordless promise from her mouth to his and push back against his pull, and fall.

Literally and figuratively.

Literally into the pilot’s cushioned seat

And figuratively into a breathless: “I love you.” At first, and then a creeping, insatiable grin that was only doused by a smaller kiss and a follow-up release of "I love you, Bernard." again.

 

[Bernard]

The final beat of that story had played out, and Miss faded away, until only Ishida remained. But the quiet intensity that usually coursed through her didn't return with her. All facades seemed to melt away during those heartbeats their eyes stayed locked in the wake of their performance. Ishida the Conqueror stepped out from the settling dust not as an untouchable whirlwind, but as the woman in all her resplendent, imperfect glory. She shined with happiness that ran deeper than her smile or words could say. The radiance seemed to seep right down to the core of her being, engulfing every part so it could shine out of every part of her. Somehow, his words had done everything he'd wanted them to and more. Ishida's first stay on Yavin would have a joyful end, washed clean of the weight of mistakes and missteps from their morning.

Bernard let out the breath he'd held since his performance had ended, silently exhaling his relief. It was the best reception to this act he could have hoped for. They'd shared smiles and grins throughout the whimsical play, but the payoff overshadowed all those moments. For now there were no questions, no walls, no tension between heart and steel or heart and ice that placed barbs between them or kept the other at arm's length. Their connection was pure and unobstructed, but a bittersweet sting still slipped in like an echo in the silence that followed the finale. He willed it to fade, let it be eclipsed by the beauty of this moment. He didn't want to miss any of these when they'd have so preciously few, and especially the most magnificent yet.

Neither knew when they'd find each other again once their paths split, and that ephemeral nature of their moments here on Yavin lent an edge of preciousness to each second that passed. He wanted to make room only for seconds like these, where they got lost together in a blissful reverie. The hurt, the heaviness, it could come later. After they'd experienced every ounce of exultation their journey still offered them before they were lost to inevitability .

And those moments kept calling. Tears had appeared in Ishida's eyes, though her expression revealed they didn't bear grief. In their embrace such emotions seemed nothing more than a distant shadow. In this perfect moment, joy could be the only culprit. Still, he wanted to reach up and wipe away the tear once it fell, but she moved first, surprising him with a rush which closed any physical distance that still remained. Her tears were swept up in the fabric of his shirt, and he nestled her closer, enveloped her so even the cold air wouldn't trespass in this moment of her vulnerability.

"I want this forever."

He couldn't help but smile when she mirrored his sentiment. Nothing seemed more precious than these moments, when they held each other close. He wanted to fully settle into it, to rest his head against hers and whisper his agreement, but she surprised him again when she pulled up into a kiss. His awareness of that bittersweet echo flared for a moment, reminded of it by the double meaning of the gesture, but it only resurfaced to recede further into the distance as her lips whispered wordless closure to its sting.

But she didn't stop there. She pushed even further forward, and, in the next moment, a weightless instant followed when they cleared the precipice and leaped together. He fell against the chair, allowing their momentum to shove him into the leather as far as it would give. They seemed to become formless, walls and barriers lost to the zeal of that embrace. Bernard let every moment of passion he'd held during their act flow into their kiss, dispelling every other thought or reality.

When she then pulled away, as suddenly as she'd charged in, he felt his mind fumbling in the absence of her lips against his, struggling to keep thinking of nothing but her. In that haze, the words she offered into this new space only managed to pass into the edges of his perception. All of his attention belonged to her intoxicating eyes, the way they shined with the purest joy he'd seen. Then her lips followed to form the most brilliant smile, and he couldn't help but render a poor imitation of the same in its light. Just as quickly, she let it fade to come in for another kiss, and, to meet her lips, he felt no sorrow when it disappeared, replaced by the bliss of tasting her again, if only briefly.

Then she repeated the words, and this time he heard them clearly: "I love you, Bernard."

His heart skipped a beat. His mind went blank. Any thoughts he'd had, any idea of the next step to take, vanished completely. Wordless shock, an electric elation that transfixed him, broke somewhere deep in him, and when it did, that bittersweet sting evaporated entirely. A weight lifted from his chest. Fears and worries that he would have otherwise carried disappeared into clouds of mist that dispersed, making room for those words. Words that made their substitute feel like a pale shadow in their glory.

The Sir during their play had spoken of his surrender to her, of the wilting strength he felt leave him whenever he was around her, as an exaggerated parallel to that budding feeling he felt for her during all their shared moments. Of how that feeling had sparked when she'd asked him not to let go, and then of how it flared when she'd first kissed him. Now Bernard felt that same sensation sapping all tension from him, as everything flowed together into an apotheosis that hit when she said those words. Words that enthralled and bound him to the sensation of this feeling, to this need to give himself over to it completely so all restraint and apprehension could fall away to let him leap into the beautiful unknown with her. Just as she had let her walls fall away, so too did he feel his break apart.

As they crumbled, he expected a great rush of emotion, to match all the times he'd pushed them down. He anticipated an overwhelming sensation of something, but what he was met with instead was a tranquil inner peace he hadn't felt in a long time. That storm of emotions flowed apart into quiet whispers, repeating over and over that this moment was perfect, until it became a truth that filled every aspect of his being. Until he was absolutely certain that this was where he was meant to be, where he belonged, holding this wonderful someone he loved in his arms.

He met her eyes with exaltation, speechless for once, and shifted beneath her to bring a hand up to her forehead. He brushed aside a stray white strand that had fallen loose when they'd hit against the chair. He tucked it behind her ear, then let his fingers trail further down and back, until they sank into her hair. He returned her kiss then, gentle and deep, and held her with a reverence due only to something sacred, while, in his chest, his heart leaped and stirred with every beat. Their harmony felt complete, their hearts two drums that played in unison.

He broke their kiss to take in heavy breaths, resting his head against hers as he caught a moment of respite.

"I didn't expect that," he mumured through a smile.

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

Actually using succinct words was a release she hadn’t known she needed. With that final gatekeeper out of a job, entirely empty of anything that might harm their perfect sanctuary, Ishida felt a looseness she’d never experienced before, and the tangible glow that seemed to permeate from Bernard coexisted beautifully. The combination of words and the exchanges of their wordless agreement was the perfect medley of proof.

"I didn't expect that,"

“I think you did.” Ishida negotiated, her smile deepening in the security of mutual interest.

Comfortable warmth travelled from her forehead to his, and she closed her eyes. Doing very little to support herself, she was a tourist on the rise and fall of his chest as his breaths slowed, savouring this atmosphere of them. Filling his lungs with their shared air.

“You’ve made anything otherwise utterly impossible.” She admitted and wriggled her hips to adjust her placement, scooching up a bit so she might place her hands on either side of his face as if she were keeping his focus to chide him.

Impossible wasn’t an exaggeration. For a long while, when she’d felt herself slipping into friendship, she’d done her best to uphold her independence. The first mistake had been promising to him that she’d admit when she needed help. From that point on, the battle between war and heart had only grown more vicious.

But her heart could not run from what gave it a pulse, making its beat steady and stirred all at once. Through the care, the patience, the want to share his world, the respect, the tenderness, the humanity, the courage, she found it increasingly difficult to deny her feelings. Perhaps, deep down, that’s what had prevented her from lunging at him on Prosperity. Hesitation was such a far thought from the girl’s mind, that she’d given him the opportunity to survive only because he touched her heart. At that point, it had merely been a brush of the hand. Now, he cupped it tenderly, entirely eclipsing the muscle in his gentle grip. The steepness of their fall, the depth of their trust, was unrecoverable.

“You know, these piloting lessons you promised ––” She nuzzled closer, pressing her nose against his so the outline of her lips might trace his as she delivered her words. Through half-lidded eyes, she kept his gaze, rolling her shoulders forward and pressing her smile against his and chuckling at the ridiculousness of her own sentiment. It was foreign to express, awkward “I already feel like I’m flying.”

 

[Bernard]

Feeling her weight against him made this real. He'd feared this to be a dream, a silly notion, he knew, but it had felt as though hearing those words come from her lips might await him in a far off moment following their reunion, if it ever came, but not this soon. His mind still spun from it. That she'd made the leap to say those words, it meant they'd somehow gotten closer between now and before. Their walls were replaced by the shelter of a shared haven.

He let his hand trail down from her hair, to loop around her waist where it mirrored its opposite. Awkwardly in their position, he scooted lower, escaping her hands, to extend his foot to reach for the console. He tapped it, searching the the rough area of the canopy controls, until he finally found them. With a click, the canopy demagnetized and lowered with a barely-audible whir.

"Flying?" He chuckled softly. "I could have sworn you had just finished falling."

The canopy began to lower, and warm air started to fill the cockpit, preparing to pressurize it.

"Falling for me, of course," he added with a smile and a kiss. She sat taller than he was, so he had to lean up to catch her.

For some reason, he still found it difficult to fully grasp that she had said the words. As though a smaller part of him resisted the idea, despite every other surrendering to it. That resistance had stayed buried in the dazzling moments after he'd heard her say it, but now it stood out like a rock against waves. The impulse to love crashed against it, flowing around it incomplete. He pulled her even closer, sinking into another kiss. He didn't want to feel that, and so long as he could feel her, it would go away. He frowned for a moment, eyes shut tight while he tried to let this kiss overtake all other senses with the sensation of her. The resistance faded into the background, where it became almost invisible.

His lips formed into a contented smile again, and he exhaled when their kiss broke, almost in relief. So long as they stayed like this, he wouldn't have to feel that resistance, that distance.

"But you're being too presumptive. I only thought to make you remember your time here with a smile" he said, glancing at the one she wore, and returned a grin. "Seems I did make anything else impossible."

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

She pushed herself up on her elbows, giving him more space to maneuver while keeping anchored by his hands on her waist.

“Falling, flying,” Her chuckle matched his, silvery irises glittering with mischievous mirth. ”Just finished, only starting.” Her shoulders rolled into a shrug, and she continued pointing out their opposing perceptions as Yavin’s coolness was replaced by artificial comfort: “Up, down. Lots to sort out.” Ishida managed before he swallowed the rest of her commentary with a winsome kiss.

Despite the flirtatious exchange just moments before, there was an elusive difference in the way his mouth curved around hers. By no means was she a master to his touch, able to understand nuances. She was still a nascent benefactor, and as long as that touch remained available to her, she’d greedily consume. So, whatever might have seemed minutiae different, she pushed against it, defying the existence of any change.

"But you're being too presumptive. I only thought to make you remember your time here with a smile"

Worth Remembering. Ishida inhaled sharply, catching the tailwind of his relieved exhale.

She didn’t want to fret in advance about remembering when she was still freshly creating. Thinking about what she’d recall in the future threatened to pull her from the present. A place she never wanted to pull from.

Even with the most fleeting mention of memories, her mind pitched backward to their arrival at this place. The one where she’d been at her wit’s end, mute and unspeaking, feeling too much, witnessing all her failures and unable to completely come to terms with them. They’d splayed out together in all their failings throughout knowing one another. His perception of his own weakness, his own ability, contrarian to her strength but having too much, not putting it in the right place. Somehow, they’d met somewhere in the middle.

Finally.

Her gaze traced the lines of his expression as if committing it all to memory only because he’d brought up how important it was to honour this moment with reflection. What had previously been a delighted expression flickered with placidity. In that subtle vibration, she wrestled with herself not to correct him.

Presumptuousness was an offence to any Ashina. For presumption was the antonym of certainty. And anything without certainty gave the opportunity for hesitation. And hesitation was, of course, defeat.

“Just presumptive enough.” She conceded, the faintest edge of a pout tracing her lip line and she scrunched up her nose to reduce it to nothing more than a playful reaction.

"Mmm," she hummed in agreement. "Seems so."

There was a distant marvelling that took over her countenance, and she shook her head with an exhale that baked in the reflection on his tactician behaviour. “You and your plans.

I’m taking it as a personal victory for this unexpected outcome, then.” She straightened as if to look victorious and triumphant in her defiance of the expected behaviours, the patterns of her own she’d broken.

This step was hopefully the first of many more to a pathway of a better person.

Straighter than before, Ishida shifted her movements around to unknot her legs from his and stretch further up over him, to the cavity that the iconic X-Wing helmet rested.

“But this outcome doesn’t change...” She murmured brushed the curve of the headpiece, feeling her smile fade slightly to make way for a more sombre expression. It wasn’t a challenge, nor a question — she’d not ask him to renege his earlier suggestion. She still trusted it. Tactician and favourable outcomes and all that, but there was an undeniable wistfulness to her tone.

Not to lose the levity they'd worked so hard to cultivate, she tipped the helmet forward enough so she could fully grip either side of it and draw it down, settling it over her hair. It was a little loose and rocked back and forth over her forehead at first. The visor involuntarily slipped down over her eyes and painted the cockpit in a golden tint.

Grinning crookedly, beneath the crookedly set helmet, she leaned back and tipped it back a bit so the edge of the visor rested on the bridge of her nose, the rest still somewhat lopsided.

"But you? How will you remember Yavin?"

 

[Bernard]

Ishida's expression changed from that smile he loved to something more contemplative. He felt like protesting the change, either through more words or gestures that prolonged this moment of harmony, but he found himself unable to disturb whatever contemplation had prompted her to study him with the intensity she did. The faintest cold shiver rolled from his shoulders under her steely gaze. Those eyes seemed so cold and evaluating most of the time, even now, they still held an edge of that. Then her brows furrowed the slightest bit, just before she spoke. Something he'd said seemed to have struck a discordant chord her, and, before he could wonder, she'd told him what it was with the briefest, faintest pout.

He had to fight a grin as she continued, remarking on his propensity to plan ahead. He bit his tongue when she mentioned it was her victory, too. She had achieved a great victory here, broken through walls that limited her so much. A cause for celebration indeed, but had it been a contest of plans, and it was certainly not, he'd have come away with far more. He'd not only succeeded at his own goal, to make her smile, but also received something so much more meaningful and important. A much greater victory. One that outshone the limited intent to be rewarded with her joy for a silly display of dramatic efforts. He'd heard her say the words he'd needed to hear.

That still managed to make his head spin a little.

Ishida shifted again, stretching up above his head to reach for something resting behind them. The helmet, most likely.

She'd been so guarded before. Full of spikes and protective instincts that saw the wold itself as a threat. Over time she'd relaxed, become more accustomed to being at ease. She'd progressed considerably from the person he met in those Bryn-infested tunnels, but she remained the same in so many ways too. He hadn't expected her to manage that great a step quite yet. To admit to him, and to herself, that she was after all human, and not a weapon made of steel. That, above all else, made his heart seem to beat much warmer.

She'd even grown comfortable enough not to veil the apprehension that drove her solemness when she talked about, what he presumed to be, their inevitable separation in the outcome she mentioned.

When she sat back down the helmet sat awkwardly on her head, and she wore a smile that seemed to be similarly at conflict with the rest of her.

"I probably won't," he said, placing his hands on either side of the helmet. He leaned back better see as he adjusted it so it sat less crooked on her head.

"Yavin can't really contend," he fixed her eyes, closing the chin-strap to fix the helmet in place. "Not enough space for a ball of jungle when I have so much of you to commit to memory. Like the sting of seeing you in so much distress, and the relief that came I could ease it by holding you there," he nodded over her shoulder to the nose of the X-Wing. "Or that beautiful moment when we first kissed, when I was still so torn but you cut through that without hesitating. Or the warmth you radiated when we were tangled up in each other's arms afterwards. Waking up to find that hadn't just been a dream, that it had actually happened.

"Then, all of those moments leading up to now. The way I couldn't help but jump with joy inside when you smiled at my invitation to play along with the silliness. How you beamed with joy as we played those exaggerations. Not to mention that adorable giggle. Falling together when you finally said you loved me. The feeling of you here to ground me as my mind short-circuited because of those words."

He watched her eyes for a long moment, the importance of those memories taking away all levity from his expression.

"Of course, I'll remember the difficult parts, too. The worry, the doubt. The hurt, the guilt. All of that uncertainty. I'll remember those moments, too, but they'll just be one part of a greater, wonderful you.

"And I'll be too busy remembering that you for some green rocks to make it into the memory," he said, finally cracking a faint grin.

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

"I probably won't,

“Oh.” She exhaled, briefly. The word sailed out in a whisper before she could think twice. She hadn’t meant to be so transparent with her disappointment, but she felt her shoulders fall and it was as if she only kept upright because he had both hands on either side of her head, adjusting the ridiculous plasteel dome’s fit.

How could that be? Was he opening up with a defensive mental block, a way to cope by entirely blacking out the strained hours past—

"Yavin can't really contend,"
"Not enough space for a ball of jungle when I have so much of you to commit to memory.

Relief suffused through her cheeks and chest, and her sunken shoulders relaxed. The echoed, now dull throb, of her bruise returned into something distant and unfelt. It had been like, for half-a-heartbeat, that all her pain was going to burst through again.

Thankfully, that reality was not one for them. Not anymore. Not for three more days, at least.

Every unintentional brush of fingertips against her chin or cheeks sent little tremors of giddiness coursing through her, their currents of elation forcing aside those cold, self-preservative considerations she’d had moments earlier. For the most part, she kept her hands to herself and let him adjust the way the helmet sat on her head. It was the same sort of sensation as when he’d helped patch up her wounds earlier. There was a sense of foolishness that settled in her stomach, nagged at the edges of her mind, but it was like a sort of training. Training herself to let go, to undo the parts that she’d been told that made her brittle and rough.

She’d undergone similar restraint before, but not so willingly. Not so wantingly. Not in a way that made her want to dull her sharp, untouchable edges.

Her fingers found their way to tap the clasp under her chin as if to double-check the tightness he’d secured. It was probably the first of many moments to come of phantom follows, tracing spaces that he’d touched only to not feel him there anymore.

Avoiding thinking about that, she followed his gesture to look back through the glasteel at the narrowing triangle of the ship. Even just that twist, glancing back, the gesture at looking back through time was a flashing feeling of that ghost sensation again. As if there were invisible versions of themselves out there again, stumbling through words. He recounted the sting she caused, then his holding her, but she remembered him walking to the edge of the nose, the silhouette against the setting sky, cradling the sun before dropping to his knees. She’d only opened up because he’d set the ground for it. She’d crawled out to join him, to try and comfort him without being as free to touch. It had been delicate, less sure than she was now. The first flex of her dam against the tides of her heart.

When she looked back from that view, his eyes were ready to meet hers, and she shoved the golden polarized shield back into its little slit. Away from covering her eyes, which crinkled to make way for the way her cheeks rose with her tight-lipped smile. She couldn't help it. With each word that recounted their rollercoaster of hours spent together, her heart pounded louder behind its boney cage.

It was strange, unimaginable, unnatural even, how much ground they’d covered in those few hours. For Ishida, it was finally putting to action much of the tension she’d been harbouring for months. She kept so silent, so self-contained because, with this much intimate freedom and unfamiliarity, she didn’t know how to control herself. Letting go was equal parts terrifying and freeing. Like an unstable dam that had finally shattered under the pressure, and Bernard seemed content to drown in the deluge.

Beautiful, warmth, joy, adorable, love. The words he chose to describe their shared moments were light and peculiar, and Ishida was relegated back to comfortable silence. The benefactor of kindness and her initially awkward smile softened. Those words would keep him company, along with the memory, while they were apart.

She wanted to say something after he’d admitted her surprising admission had short-circuited his brain, but the moment seemed to beg for silence. Comfortable quietness that she used to just...be still. No utterance could do justice to the contentedness of now. No utterance that didn’t start to push too much to the reason he was recounting his experience. Her mouth fluttered to start to say something, but it was just a quiet, disbelieving, noiseless chuckle.

The disbelief stemmed not from her distrust of anything he said but at the entirety of this situation.

"It wasn't without hesitation." Ishida found herself correcting, admitting, fiddling with the hem of her tunic. It should have been almost sinful to admit betraying her family tenet like that, but she was shameless: "It just felt too much like a now-or-never-moment and I'm glad we went with the now."

All the talk about remembering, putting their present into the past so affably, so easily, made Ishida consider the likelihood of their reunion. If their paths would cross again. If the galaxy would help them, to draw their souls together once more. Their pairing was strange and strong in equal parts, and in that combination, somehow it felt almost destined. There were too many similarities where it counted, where empathy was required, and where they were different it was in spaces where growth was required to amplify the truth of the person inside. To draw them out.

"Of course, I'll remember the difficult parts, too.

Closing her eyes, she drew in a small breath through her teeth, letting herself sink deeper into their shared space on the seat made for one.
Difficult, worry, hurt, guilt, doubt, uncertainty. Those descriptors were a sharp shift from the ones he’d used seconds ago. Her pleasant expression fell slightly, blinking at his honesty. Truly, she shouldn’t have expected any differently by now. His observations were detailed. From the first time they’d shared a mission (her first without Sardun), to..this very second.

When she opened them again, he was smiling. It was less brilliant than it had been.

There were so many things for her to react to with what he unfurled, and it was one of those moments where words served him so well and they just evaded her. Flitting about uselessly without connection, despite all the sentiment she wanted to deliver. She could only buy her time with action, a soft outreach of her palm to the curve of his jaw, her fingertips brushing against his cheek.

“Of course,” she whispered in an echo as her thumb hovered just above the golden synthflesh, just as realization struck her. As perfect as something could be, the thought that came with embracing imperfection, flaws, the parts that were perhaps less favourable, pieced together something truer, transient. Real.

“Such is the nature of the light,” she murmured, continuing her acknowledgement.

If he only remembered the positive, the glowing, that wouldn’t be her. It would be a false Ishida that existed only in his tainted reflection, and something she would never, ever, be able to live up to. Whether they reconnected or not. Try as hard as she might, those pieces of her that brought him delight and solace were hard-won. “To shine on all things, all parts that make the whole.”

By now, her hand had drawn from his skin to his hairline, running her fingers through his hair to sweep stray bits away from his face.

She sighed.

“I know I asked, and as cute as you look when you’re talking about all the thinking you’re going to be doing, the thought of these moments being memories, things of the past, full of complexities wonderful, raw and real,” She clicked her teeth together, slanting her lips into a purse to consider her next words, “It faces the reality of the fast-coming future and..”

I’m not ready for that yet, that’s what she wanted to say. But that wound was best left sealed.

All this talk of memories made her bones heavy, if they were parting now. It felt real again, too real, too much like a looming promise. She wanted to go back to the now, sitting here in the cockpit, conquering all those milestones in mere hours. Memory threatened to wrap around her like a mist, to create a fog in the forests of her mind and she forced herself closer to the warmth of his sun, seeking to force that crawling cloud away and let the clarity of now continue to burn bright. “We just got here. This now is where I want to stay.”

 

[Bernard]

He leaned into her touch, feeling some of the tension in his face evaporate as she traced along his skin.

A smile played across his lips as she reasoned through the reasons why he wanted to remember everything about their time here, about her. If their time here became idealized, if that memory became too obscured by nostalgic desire, then it threatened to become an anchor, and not one step of their journey. He didn't want to be tied to this memory in the future, recalling a time too perfect to have been possible, and miss all those future moments with her once they reunited.

And they would. It felt inevitable, either in the Force or because he was still too enthralled after hearing her words that he couldn't imagine anything else. They'd need that time apart, her to seek out the path she truly wanted to walk, and him to find his own way into the future. However, no matter where thy went, they'd cross paths again. He'd promised her, and he didn't intend to abandon that promise.

Still, he wanted to say then let's stay here for as long as we want, but the reality was they couldn't. The Alliance would need them again in the war against the Sith, and Jedi, especially two, couldn't stay away from service for long. Not with the threat of the Brotherhood of the Maw looming over the Alliance like Tuk'ata hounds lurking in the shadows of the Unknown Regions. One planet had already been destroyed by their insanity, Bernard could still feel the shivers that overcame him when news of the event was broadcast. But they hadn't stopped at Csilla, reports placed them among many of the Chiss' worlds, as raiders and marauders who pillaged for resources and slaves. It wouldn't be much longer that they picked the remains of the Chiss clean like carrion and, in hubris or with confidence, set their sights on bigger prey.

Bernard didn't want the Alliance to suffer as the Chiss did, or any of the other worlds already in the clutches of the Brotherhood. The galaxy had just rid itself of one great galactic threat in the Sith Empire, now the Brotherhood rose to meet its place. It was as though the Force could not do without a threat from the Dark Side to keep servants of the light locked in a relentless war for the good of the galaxy. And, he felt, the galaxy was likely to become a lonelier place for those servants of the light soon, too.

The future seemed bleak for the galaxy. The rest that should have followed the Empire's destruction would never be granted to the defenders of the Light. All the future held was more fighting, for good causes, yet after so many years of war, during which he'd grown from a wide-eyed young padawan into a still-too-young experienced soldier, he couldn't help but feel weary at the prospect of more. The life of a Jedi was sacrifice and duty, but would there be no time to see the galaxy find peace, even for a few moments? Would the Jedi always be needed to fight the war against the Dark, or could there ever be an end to that conflict?

It all weighed heavy on his mind. He'd begun frowning, leaning away from Ishida, and absently fixed the console past her right shoulder with his gaze. He closed his eyes and breathed out a long breath, feeling all that tension had returned.

This now is where they needed to be, where he needed to be. She'd moved closer, and, despite the awkward helmet, had moved closer. With her embrace she pushed away the dark, and filled him with an unfamiliar warmth. Despite what the ancient codes said, feeling the love of another and loving in return was a bliss without comparison. He really did want to stay like this forever, but there was duty to return to.

He opened his eyes and glanced at hers. That grey glinted silver this close.

A thought appeared as he watched her, set apart from all the others. She'd called what he'd done just now cute. Cute. He'd heard many words used for himself throughout his service with the Jedi, but cute stood out. It wasn't a word anyone had ever used for him, a completely novel descriptor, and, coming from her, it made him blush as his heart beat a little louder.

"You think I look...cute when I'm thinking?" He asked, face reddened a little.

This was certainly one way to return to the present.

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

“Mhmm.” Ishida validated with a hum and a nod.

She’d watched the subtleness in his countenance, the shift that happened when Bernard moved from there to here. He’d just ventured somewhere beyond this shared space, as he often did, in those split seconds where she’d appealed to his ability to remain present. The fast-coming future was beckoning from just around the corner, and she felt a spike of resentment at the minutes that ticked away to its magnetic inevitability.

“You look cute when you do many things, thinking is just one of your more dominant pastimes.” Ishida explained, forcing herself to articulate the observations she’d collected over time. To keep his attention enough to keep him grounded, here, with her in the now.

“Like just there, you..”

She wanted to follow wherever he went, ask about it, but that was contradictory to her desire to stay involved in the present and not squander the temporary.

Drawing her hand back from tracing the lines of his expression, she flattened the back of her hand against the forehead of the helmet, and pressed her thumb over the slit that housed the retracted visor. With her palm facing out to him, so he might feel skin instead of plasteel, she leaned in and gave a little kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Your nostrils flare a bit,” Ishida explained, justifying the endearing adjective she’d delivered, and the premiere rationale for why she’d chosen his nose as the spot to kiss.

“The corners of your eyes tighten,” she continued and pressed in to deliver another gentle peck to the edges of his almond-shaped eyes.

“Your brows scrunch just a little.” A titter slipped out before the next soft kiss to the space between his eyebrows. "Usually a downward slope." She’d worked her way up to his forehead by now, and she brushed it gently with her free hand, drawing an absent line from the centre to a loose strand that she guided back to his natural hairline. “Depending on the intensity, or how far into the future or past you go, you get a small line right in the centre here.” Another small kiss. She’d seen that line for the first time when they’d duelled after Bastion. Right before they’d started exchanging stories about their families.

By now, Ishida’s gentle traces of care were documenting landmarks for a map of his face that might have been useful for tourists a micron high.

Drawing back a few more centimetres, she settled into a comfortable smile and let her gaze linger on his mouth for a few seconds. Her touch fell to cup his jaw again, and she leaned forward to rest easily against him, guiding the angle of his perspective to look up at her.

“I'm not sure what it is that causes the difference with your lips but,” she ventured, still slightly unsure about this observation – it tended to be the most variable. “Sometimes your mouth turns upward, into something smaller, more thoughtful. Other times, it just twists, mostly on the right side. But it’s always tight, a line of silence.

Like that world behind your eyes is just for you until those lips part and the explanation slips through.

Or, of course, your thoughts turn swiftly into actions."

 

[Bernard]

This exploration of his expression was novel. It made his blush deepen and warm, fuzzy waves roll up from his chest. The awareness of the galaxy, its complexly weaving push and pull of dark and light, started to fade as she explained her observation. Her words eased him into the present, wrapping his mind with her voice and giving him an anchor that tied him to her in the moment.

He watched with curiosity as she placed her hand on top of the helmet. A gesture that revealed its purpose moments later when she placed a kiss against his nose, noting its collaboration in his dominant pastime. Then she moved up, and he closed his eyes, sinking into the warm press of her lips now that he expected it to come. He kept them closed as she went further up, remarking on his brows, and their downward slope during deep thought, before, with a giggle that conjured a smile from him, she placed her next kiss. A hand traced a line above his brows, and he found himself leaning his head to follow the path her fingers drew. Another kiss followed, and her hand continued to explore his features until they finally fell to his jaw, tilting his head up towards her.

He opened his eyes reluctantly, a small part of him unwilling to leave that blissful peace, and let soft hands guide his gaze up to her.

Her eyes locked on his lips, and she started to give her observations. Ishida captured and held all of his attention, becoming the only world he could perceive. Her caress, her voice, her eyes, the warm breaths that fell against his skin and the attention she gave in return, all of it anchoring in the now and only the now. And when she pressed against him, her words creating faint resonances in his chest as she spoke them, the weight of her body only further eliminated any possible distractions. His smile broadened a little, and for a moment he felt he sensed twin heartbeats beating a shared rhythm there.

Every part of her ruled his senses, so thrilling that he thought he felt dizziness overtake that world behind his lips she'd mentioned. It impaired rational explanation, leaving as the only alternative that space for action. He let his gaze drop to her lips, mirroring her fixation, then returned it to her eyes.

The fibres in his body urged him to give in to action. More, they seemed to say, she is ambrosia, her touch so sweet. His hands tensed at her waist, and he took in a small, sharp breath. But Bernard quelled their pleas, sinking all of his attention into her eyes instead. Noting every grey line in her irises, which, from this close, appeared more like enthralling, pale nebulae circling black depths that gave barely a glimpse of something much more vast lurking beneath. They, too, held a world of their own. One that he wanted to explore and know every corner of.

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

Looking wasn’t unnerving in and of itself. It was normal. Expected. And in this case, fun, enticing, flirty. Just seconds ago, Ishida had explained what she’d looked at, finding ways to articulate the shape of his mouth, his eyes, the lines of worry and concentration, subtle shifts in his countenance. Looking, seeing, but always discreet. Never too long.

Never so uninterrupted and dependent on the mutual fluency of silence.

When Bernard said nothing in return after one heartbeat, two, three, four, five, and only smiled with a dreamy smile, she froze.

In the first few seconds of wordlessness, where horizonless opals met storm clouds, she felt as though her heart was growing anxious again. Like unscratchable itchiness. A chattering in her skull. Eating up her body, eating up her nerves, her brain, its heavy thumping filling her veins and affecting all her particles with a buzzing she hoped didn’t translate through her fingertips. She felt it tighten the angle of her jaw, and taut the skin between the angle of her chin and her ears, her cheeks flushed against her backmost molars.

They’d looked at each other before. Exchanging glances that spoke those words that actions never managed, and then finally saying what lived in their hearts when actions hit their final threshold.

But they hadn’t looked like this. Not with a focus that was consuming and calming all at once.

She thought kissing him was enough to unwind her, make her feel exposed. When she’d admitted she loved him, that might have been the most vulnerable offering possible. But in silence, his gentle and unhurried watchfulness and just-firm-enough hold, he oozed contentment with being and sharing in their space. It made her feel rawer than any preceding milestone.

The space between her lungs felt cool and shallow and stretched up the base of her throat. Words evaded her, and though her mouth might have opened slightly to start to speak, everything remained unspoken and stretched to an uncomfortable degree without that action she’d suggested he might take.

Eventually, she right-left-right-left examined the depths of his watchfulness before she negotiated with herself that he was losing himself in her eyes. The proverbial windows to her soul. A scary place to wander.

There were bad things behind her eyes, unkindness in many forms. Things that would never make it to the list of things he loved about her. Little monstrous mistakes that had been praised by personalities that found contention in this elysian. She wanted to blink, to break the spell but the desire to process that command mutated into a soft, relaxed stillness instead, surrendering to a look that she knew would haunt her once they parted. It was healing and transformative and almost felt forbidden.

That was the new problem: How much to give, knowing it was on a shoestring timeline of three days and who-knew-how-long once they broke apart? How much did she adhere to being in the moment, and not hesitating, at the expense of a greater gap once she was alone again?

Bernard wasn’t looking at her like she was a ticking time bomb though, it felt the opposite. Even though he’d just regaled how he might reflect on her once they were apart, she thought for a split second he might have forgotten their agreement.

It was an agonizing pull somewhere in the grey area of heaven and hell. What were they supposed to do?

She could ask him. Ask him why he was looking at her like that, what he wanted, what they should do — but that created an invitation to more memories, further depth into a world she couldn’t undo and might lose. She’d lie awake at night, thinking of that look. Imagining themselves alone, in silence, just looking. How much could she live with, alone, once she had only herself and memories?

Then she remembered that she’d just asked to stay in the now, and with his silent observation, he made that now feel as infinite as she’d desired. She breathed through her nose at this understanding, giving a tight-lipped, weak sort of smile. It made her not want to ask for anything ever again.

By now, the residual crispness of Yavin’s morning air had long since been replaced by the ship’s pressurization. Along the edges of the glasteel, condensation started to stretch upward, from one piece of the frame to the other, slowly hazing out the sun flares from outside.

If she really wanted to, she could blame the dizziness she was experiencing on the shift in the atmosphere. Her heart rushed to her head, and she released a shaky breath.

“Hm.” She hum-chuckled. Her anxieties exited through her exhale and travelled through the airwaves to give rightful space to the calm that settled. Her hand dropped from his jawline, loosely, to the soft pulse that thrummed at the base of his neck. This was fiercely intimate and trusting.

How long had they been eye-locked in quiet observation? The only time she was aware of passing was measured in breath. Discomfort with the exposure still crawled all over through her body, and she moved her hand to run fingers through his hair. Still silent.

The helmet’s visor didn’t drop immediately, it wasn’t so loose that it really needed her to keep it in its slit — so she gave it a tap to drop the gold over her silver eyes to interrupt the uncomfortable enchantment of this paradoxically intoxicating exchange.

As long as they stayed like this, tangled up and facing one another, there was no telling how long they’d make moments stretch. How much longer they’d be tormented in that horrible place of in-the-moment but knowing it would end. How many memories they’d accumulate just to reflect on them later, not knowing what the timeline would bring. She was so wrapped up in her own protective layer, that she forbade herself to get equally lost in his eyes and all that lived behind them, within him. If they both slipped, that sort of intimacy was irrecoverable. That was the impossible part, knowing she could have it all but saving some for maybe never. It tore her up inside, and she had to move away from his penetrating gaze so he was at least saved from her internal affliction.

Hating every millisecond that the ship’s atmosphere covered her instead of his body, she pulled back. They’d made enough progress by putting on the helmet. They couldn’t keep prolonging the inevitable, keep salting the wound.

Shifting her weight in her hips, rotating, adjusting her knees, and placing her feet on either side of the stick, she eventually had her back to Bernard. Her chest was tight again, anticipation making her hands and throat buzz while she smoothed over the yoke and tapped the dashboard.

"First step, start the engines." She angled, squinting for some sort of ignition. Her feet tapped aimlessly at the pedals, scorching forward to reach them better. “Like a traditional speeder, you said.”

 

[Bernard]

Silent moments passed. They stretched on and on as he lost himself more in her eyes with every second that passed. He sensed that impulse to kiss her again, somewhere at the back of his mind, to follow the red line her eyes cast, but it felt wrong to do so. The moment they shared now, together with only each other as company, deeply lost in the other, it seemed a gift he shouldn't squander. Almost as though they shared this space with each other unguarded. No fear of hurting each other, no fear of wrong actions or words. Complete and whole, both of them, for those moments they stared into each other's eyes.

When would they next have a moment like this?

She let out a breath that seemed unsteady and followed it with a sound somewhere between thoughtfulness and amusement. The corner of his lip twisted slightly further up, and one of his eyebrows arched by a fraction with curiosity. Something about her whispered of apprehension, some tension that made her pause to consider something, or perhaps, dare he think it, hesitate. He wanted to know which it was, the question lingering on his tongue, but he held it back. Pushing her to reveal her thoughts when she didn't want to didn't lead to any place he wanted to be. Not here, at least. So he continued to sit in silence until her hand dropped to his neck, and he leaned into her touch. For a moment he thanked the Force that he didn't tense up because of it.

She followed that by trailing her fingers through his hair and an audible tap against her helmet, then the quiet slide-click of the helmet's visor. Before he knew it, she'd turned around to face the console. It seemed quite sudden. Perhaps he had tensed up after all, and she'd picked up on it and taken it as a sign he didn't trust her after all? Had that made her want to get away from that moment so quickly? His smile faded slightly.

He hesitated a moment, in consideration. Then breathed out a long exhale.

He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her stomach, and set his head down on her shoulder. Feeling her back against him again made this space feel more complete again, and he let himself fall into that feeling, forgetting the sudden change just a moment earlier. The time they spent time simply enjoying each other's presence had, in just a day or two, become his preferred way of experiencing the now.

"Yeah," he said, though it came out almost as a sigh of relief.

That dumb, broad smile of his returned, reflected in the instruments.

"Which one of those jumps out as the engine switch to you?"

He wanted to be patient with this, let her curiosity lead her to discover the controls. For one because he thought it would be amusing for both of them, and because he wanted to give the side of her that had only learned through stern instruction the opportunity to foster curiosity. She'd need to lean into that in the coming weeks, months—he swallowed—maybe even years.

He half-frowned.

What would he do if they stayed apart that long? What would he do if they never met again? The prospect was painful. Thinking about it alone ripped away at him, just as it had when they first agreed this way would be for the best. Nothing led around their separation on Coruscant, that much was certain, that he had prepared for. But to never see her again? After everything, they'd achieved together just now? That was brutal.

But with those thoughts, he'd begun losing the now, wasted precious moments.

He pointed to the console, beginning the lengthy explanation of the launch sequence, allowing her the time and space needed to figure out the controls step by step until she felt comfortable enough with them to bring them up. Something that happened much quicker than he'd expected, less because of how good of a student she was, she learned quite quickly, but because of the lack of anything she considered hesitation. Action, decisiveness, that was the way forward for her, no matter the cost, and he was there behind her to fill in whatever gaps she left open in her dash to master flight.

Soon they'd breached Yavin's atmospheric boundary, and not soon after that, they'd left the system, until, finally, they arrived at the designated position for the hyperspace jump.

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

To be seen so nakedly, while fully clothed, was deeply unsettling. And while she’d broken from that silent exchange, Ishida could feel the memory already starting to take space at the back of her mind. Precious and glittering like a golden treasure.

Bernard wrapped himself around her, like an oversized backpack, and she loved him. Immediately, she felt an equally goofy grin snake through her lips and all that tightness that she’d wound up slowly started to slip away. He asked her about the controls, made endearing jabs about her misguesses, and she loved him, even if she feigned otherwise in riposte. When he flinched to step in when she started with a jerk but ultimately withheld, she loved him. He was patient and lighthearted, and once she got past her anxieties, she could feel his resonating calm through The Force. Even if the takeoff was more brutal than anything she’d ever been passenger to, she felt a pang of pity trill through her, but it was quelled by his steadiness.

At the jump point, Ishida paused over the navcomputer. Serenely observing, Bernard remained unhurried. The autopilot still had the route stored, and they double-checked it and reconfirmed they were well beyond any gravitational influences. But, it was her first time being the one to make the jump to lightspeed, and she wanted to savour it for at least a few seconds. For the full effect, she kept the helmet on.

“Punch it,” she said gleefully, to herself, and heeled the control forward.

She was not underwhelmed.

Within an instant, the starfield around them shifted from diamond points of light to halos, to oblong cylinders of pure light that smoothed into cobalt clouds, like the whole universe dissolving. A universe she had dissolved with a gesture of her hand.

After the first minute in the tunnel of light, the headgear’s novelty wore off, and she unbuckled it to return it back to its place behind the pilot’s chair. It was a dangerous thing, to be turned around, feeling the thrill of turning stars back to dust. She hadn’t stopped grinning, and facing Bernard again, after being absorbed in the dashboard and out to the horizon, and keep your eyes in front of you, and then make sure you’re aware of the rising miles, she felt that swell of relief and delight puff up in her chest and whoosh through her in a laugh that fell into a kiss and then another, and another, and somewhere in there a breathless thank you, Sir, for that piloting lesson, and once he’d heard her appreciation she ended up kissing him harder, deeper in that wordless gratitude of not just the knowledge of getting off the ground in flight, but the opportunity to feel safe enough to ask for that help, to pursue that wonder. And she loved him for it.

That was one of the — perhaps the most predominant— ways they spent the hours and hours back to Coruscant. In the warmth of one another’s company, time passed easily.

At the end of the first day of travel, after all the emotions shared, sleep came easily. Ishida didn’t recall saying goodnight, whether or not it had been a conscious decision, or if they’d just fallen into companionable silence before eventual slumber. All she remembered was her head against his chest, listening to the steadfast rhythm of Bernard’s heartbeat and feeling happy and safe. Despite the discomforts of their jigsaw-like arrangement, she slept surprisingly heavily just knowing he was there, how compatible their bodies were all curled together in the confines of the starfighter caught between all that was, and all that must be. How the present was the best place to be, knowing the past was gone. Its harm had been done. And while the future was fast-coming for them, it seemed to be flinching and settling into a gentle present. Something they could cope with, comfortably, together. Drowsily, but comfortably.

Between sleep, canoodling, and randomly timed stretch breaks where they adjusted themselves several times over, attempts at small mind games, they just talked.

While their voyage to Korriban had mostly been focused on discussing the Sith, the Defense Force’s planned tactics, their insertion point, Korriban itself, and Ishida’s less-than-subtle fangirling of the Ashlan Crusade (much to Bernard’s anxiety), topics of greater diversity came naturally on their way back. Ishida asked more about the Echani warrior Bernard had referenced inappropriately earlier, but comfortable enough to smile about it this time. They exchanged adventures that found parallels in their lives, favourite colours, the worst food dish they’d ever had and the best one. Once or twice, they talked about the Maw, the war, but for the most part, it was as if the galaxy of conflict they were returning to didn’t exist.

Somehow, as if they’d signed a mutual agreement, they managed to stray from topics that depended on their future reunion…until their debate of Atrisian versus Arkanian dragons was weighing heavily in Bernard’s favour. Ishida had almost conceded, but instead, grouchily muttered something instead about just having to see for themselves one day. She’d immediately gone quieter, realizing the nebulousness of the statement. It had felt equal parts trusting — that he would keep his promise — and cruel — a reminder that all this had to end — to speak so easily about the one day reuniting after their approaching split. After that, she was more conscious about how she spoke and tried to avoid speaking about anything too far beyond Coruscant altogether.

And so it went on and on. The hours spent turned into days, and the days remaining turned into hours. With everything that had happened since Yavin, Ishida was fast becoming wealthy with treasured exchanges collecting in her memory bank.

By the time the navcomputer’s light winked at them, relaying a series of digits that decreased by the second, Ishida was rich with little reflections from the journey. At first, the little red light went unnoticed. After a few seconds, she shifted and sat up a little straighter and moved her hand from within Bernard’s to manage the readouts. Or at least be responsible enough to see what they said.

Autopilot took care of the basic mechanics Bernard had spoken about at one point over the last seventy-two hours. The display provided updates that the gas chambers were primed and energized, weapons were warmed, fuel was getting exceedingly low, and realspace was only seconds away.

The preparations finished up just as the tunnel of azure clouds hardened and the streaks of stars returned and they reverted to realspace. Above the glistening planet of Coruscant.

Somehow, despite the obviousness of their trajectory and the discomfort of their travelling conditions, Ishida had temporarily forgotten what was waiting for them on the city-covered planet. Her body became heavy, and her movements were almost sluggish through the motions they’d prepared for. The starfighter shuddered through the transitions, nosing down to the atmosphere while air control intercepted them. They sounded surprised at the X-Wing’s identification and the travel manifest.

Clearance was eventually granted, and Ishida followed Bernard’s cues to avoid the busier areas while navigating through the transitions of atmosphere to actual traffic, all the way to the primary temple landing pad.