Private Through the Fire and Flames

[Iandre Athlea]

Iandre felt like she had lost so much in her life, and then she had walked away from both her friend and Master because she hadn't wanted to pick a side to root for. Now that the fight was long over, there had been the chance she might still have lost her friend, and the old soul travelled once again down to Bastion.

She didn't know what to bring, but she knew it had to mean something. Rubbing her chin as it itched, she had half an hour to decide what gift she would have for Zara.

Throwing out the idea of flowers, she wondered if the blonde wouldn't appreciate a good, strong coffee more. There, she figured out exactly what the wounded warrior would need. Stopping at the same street vendor they had several weeks ago, she bought drinks for both of them.

Her only exposure to the Crucible had been her short time there watching the duel. Luckily, everybody knew where Zara was being held. Arriving before the caf could get cold, Iandre did not bother knocking and instead opened the door to the private quarters she was recovering in.

Zara Saga

 

[Zara Saga]

Zara didn't hear the door open over the quiet hiss of her pain.

The medics said the worst had passed. That the rebar had missed anything truly vital. That with enough rest and treatment and boredom, she'd be back to full strength soon. "Soon" felt like a curse. "Rest" felt like punishment. And "boredom" was slowly peeling the skin from her soul.

She sat upright in the wide bed, propped up by an absurd number of pillows, one arm folded tightly around her midsection. The bandages beneath her robes tugged every time she shifted, sending a sharp spike of pain straight through her ribs and spine. A datapad rested on her lap, untouched for the last twenty minutes. She hadn't read a word.

She stared blankly at the door when it opened. She expected a medic. Or a guard. Or another member of the Chancellorete delivering a "gently-worded cautionary tale dressed as a wellness check."

What she didn't expect was Iandre.

Her brow lifted. "You're real," she said, blinking in disbelief, voice scratchy from too many days of yelling at nurses. "You didn't get vaporized in the stands or disappear into the mountains like some cryptic Force monk."

She tried to sit straighter and immediately winced, clutching at her ribs with a hiss. Her braid was half-undone, blonde hair tangled at her temple. The gauze peeking through the collar of her robe was stained faint pink.

Still, she smiled. Soft. Awkward.

"…You brought caf?"

That did something to her. It wasn't a dramatic shift, Zara wasn't good at those when she was being vulnerable. But something in her shoulders eased, some wire deep inside of her unwound by just a hair. Her eyes flicked to the cups in Iandre's hands, and the corner of her mouth twitched upward.

"You remembered my order?" she asked, suddenly shy, like the memory of better days stung more than the pain in her side. She motioned weakly toward the chair by the bed. "Don't just stand there like a ghost. Sit. Before I start crying from the smell of caffeine and abandonment."

She let out a breath and glanced sideways.

"I wasn't sure you'd come. After… you know." Her voice dropped, bitter at the edges. "After he did what he did. I figured it'd be hard for you to look at me. Since I was stupid enough to get myself nearly…"

She stopped herself. Swallowed.

"…Anyway."

She glanced down, fiddling with the hem of her blanket, then forced herself to meet Iandre's eyes.

"I'm glad you're here."

It was soft. Unvarnished. And real. More than Zara usually gave.

And as she held that fragile quiet between them, her voice dipped low, almost teasing, almost a plea:

"…Is the caf still hot?"

Iandre Athlea​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

If Iandre hadn't had her hands full holding the caf, she would have rubbed at her chin again. She wondered if she was forming some rash or something. Maybe she's been bitten by a bug of some kind. Not giving it further thought, the former Jedi took several steps in as she looked and listened to Zara.

Silently nodding her head when Zara mentioned she hadn't disappeared into the mountains. She took another step closer.

"I did. I also brought some sugar and cream, in case you decided you wanted any. Otherwise, it's strong enough to strip paint off a starship."

There was a slight hitch in her voice, a tiny crack of potential tears, but they didn't break. Didn't fully come to the surface. Iandre accepted them but didn't allow them to control her.

At the invitation, she finished closing the distance and handed her friend the caf. Taking the seat, she looked at the drink before returning her gaze to Zara.

"It is still very hot. I wasn't sure if you would want to have a visitor, I'm pleased you are glad."

She wasn't a sychphant or the kind of person that tried to get close to people for her own gain. No, she was here for Zara, to give her help and support when she needed it. It is what a friend did, and she was learning how to be on.

"Would you like me to fix your hair?"

It might be approaching a creep zone, but she wanted Zara to feel better, and looking better might play a role with that.

Zara Saga

 

[Zara Saga]

Zara blinked down at the caf in her hands like it was a relic from a forgotten religion. She cradled it with both palms, lifting it toward her nose to breathe in the sharp, blessedly brutal scent of roast and heat and memory. Her lashes fluttered.

"You weren't lying," she muttered, voice hoarse. "This could kill a small moon."

She took a careful sip, then hissed through her teeth as the heat singed her tongue, but didn't stop. She kept sipping, savoring the burn like a punishment she didn't quite regret.

The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It wasn't comfortable, either. It just was. The sort of quiet that only existed between people who'd seen each other shattered and still showed up the next day anyway.

Her fingers curled tighter around the cup.

"I didn't want anyone to see me like this," she murmured. "Laid out. Quiet. I'm supposed to be… I don't know. Flame and steel. Sharp edges and bad decisions."

She didn't look at Iandre when she said it. She looked at the caf. Or maybe the way her hands trembled slightly, despite the heat.

"But you came," she added, softer.

When Iandre asked about her hair, Zara's eyes flicked up, startled for a second.

She hesitated.

Then nodded, once, small.

"…Yeah. Okay."

She didn't explain why. Didn't need to. She just shifted slightly, letting her caf rest in her lap, and turned so Iandre could sit behind her. Her voice was quieter now, but more honest than it had been in days.

"Everyone keeps telling me how lucky I was. Like I didn't almost die from my own stupidity. Like it doesn't still hurt to breathe."

She closed her eyes, letting Iandre's hands begin to gently detangle the mess that had once been a braid.

"I wasn't trying to die. I was just trying to prove… something."

Her jaw clenched for a moment. Then relaxed.

"I don't know what I expected to find under all that fire in him. But I found it. And I think it found me, too."

Her voice cracked on the last word, just slightly.

But she didn't apologize.

She just sat there, still, quietly letting someone else take care of her for once.

Iandre Athlea​