Private Where the Hurt Settles

[Everest Vale]

Tag: Tigris

The hospital room was still.

A pale shaft of morning light slanted through the blinds, striping the floor in soft gold. Dust drifted slowly in the beam, weightless. The air smelled faintly of bacta and something cleaner, sharper — antiseptic, maybe. But beneath that was a different scent, subtler, the one that always clung to medical wings: the absence of people. Or perhaps the stillness of them. A silence too deep to feel peaceful.

Eve sat in the bed, propped up slightly by pillows, though she hadn't asked to be. She hadn't asked for anything. The bandages wound across her head and over one eye felt stiff now, dry around the edges. Her pale hair hung loose around her face, limp and unbrushed. She hadn't moved much since waking, hadn't spoken much. She just... sat.

Her gaze wasn't fixed on anything in particular. The wall across from her was blank, a soft off-white shade that hurt neither the eyes nor the mind. It had been an hour — or maybe more — since the last nurse had checked in. She couldn't remember what they'd said. Couldn't quite recall what she'd said back, if anything.

She was numb. But not in the safe way. Not the peaceful kind. Inside, something trembled like the last leaf clinging to a tree before the wind took it. A quiet, brittle ache settled low in her chest. Her breath was steady, but every inhale felt too thin, like it might break her from the inside out.

Tigris.

Her name curled in Eve's thoughts like a thread of warmth, and with it came both longing and dread. She wanted her here. Needed her here. More than she had words for.

And yet...

The shame crept in before she could stop it — not rational, not fair, but real. What if she saw her like this? Not the strong Jedi. Not the bright young Padawan she loved. Just... this. Hollowed. Malformed. Changed. Eve's hand moved slightly on the blanket, fingers curling, uncurling.

She knew Tigris would have felt it when it happened, even if she didn't know exactly what happened. And even without the help of a bond, Valery would have told her. She knew how her love would respond. Knew the strength in her eyes, the way she held pain with such dignity. But that didn't quiet the fear. Not yet.

A slow breath left her lips, shaky.

Please... Please come... I need you...

She didn't say it aloud.

But the Force would carry it.

 

[Tigris]

Outfit: Robes
Tag: Everest Vale

She knew the moment it happened. Not what exactly, but she felt the sharp pain in her heart. It was unmistakeably Everest, her being reaching through the Force for Tigris. But the Atrisian padawan had to wait to hear, anxiously, for word about what had transpired.

At first, Tigris had simply stood against the cataclysmic wave of emotions that surged against her. It wasn't that she was some bastion of will and strength that could withstand the news that Master Noble had delivered. No, Tigris' reaction was simply one of shock. Eve had been injured. That was something the Atrisian padawan had come to accept, that they were Jedi, and their calling lead to conflict, and conflict to wounds. But what Everest had suffered was something deeper. The loss of an eye had a myriad of implications that made the news gut-wrenching for Eve's love to hear.

Then anger. It was a primal response for someone still navigating the embrace of her emotions. Sadness, grief, worry, they easily channeled into anger. Tigris didn't want Eve to go on the mission. She knew Valery Noble and Kahlil Noble would be with her, and there was no better company for the Echani padawan. Tigris' anger was not aimed at the Nobles. Tigris was angry that she was not there. Her master had given her other tasks, and Tigris honored his decision.

But anger was also the path of the Dark Side, when one is most vulnerable to its allure. Pulling on a strong foundation of inner strength, Tigris let the anger pass, processing that anger to allow the other emotions their place. Even then, it was only in solitude that she allowed herself to fully feel.

In the privacy, Tigris lay on the ground and wept bitterly. She had not wept since the days she had been taken from her family as child by the Seyugi. In her mourning, time passed uncounted. Eventually, Tigris rose from the tear-stained floor, sniffled one last time, cleared her throat and stood tall. She had vowed to release her grief in private, so Everest would not have to see her in such a state. Tigris would be Eve's strength.

Again, Tigris felt Everest, felt the girl's need for her love to be with her. Tigris was given leave to go to Everest's side, and she left immediately on her ship. Arriving at the hospital, Tigris allowed nothing to slow her down, including nurses who, with good intentions, tried to prepare the woman to see her friend. The tattooed Atrisian would have none of it, and didn't stop moving until she stood at Eve's door. She peered at Eve through the small window, unseen.

A hitch in her breath snagged the sound of despair before it passed her lips. Eve looked so...damaged. The bandages wrapped around half of her face and head veiled much of her beloved features, her silver hair stringy and unwashed. Usually lively features were slack, and shimmering eyes dull and unfocused. What have they done to her?

With a tap of the sensor, the door slid open and Tigris stepped in, allowing the door to close behind her.

"My angel." Tigris whispered, moving to the side of the bed and quickly finding Eve's pale hand, putting it in her bronze one. "I'm here." She added. It was not a time for words. What was needed was presence, to be together. The bond hummed between them, but with a solemn resonance. Tigris met Eve's good eye, the Atrisian's gaze swimming with a myriad of emotions she kept in close rein.

Tigris reached to brush the back of her hand on Eve's unbandaged cheek, then gently brushed strands of stray hair behind the girl's ear. "Let me hear your voice. I need to hear it." Tigris' tone was veiled desperation. She wanted Eve to be alright, and deep down, she knew her beloved was not in anyway alright.

 

[Everest Vale]

Tag: Tigris

Eve’s fingers twitched faintly beneath Tigris’ touch, then slowly closed around her hand, as if afraid that letting go might let the moment slip through her fingers. Warmth. Steady, real, and achingly familiar. The contact hit her like a wave, not just comfort, but contrast. Because suddenly, all the pain she had managed to dull beneath the hospital lights, the sterile quiet, the bandages and silence... all of it rushed back in sharp relief.

Tigris was here.

And somehow, that made everything worse. And better. Her mind struggled to hold both truths at once.

Her gaze — half-lidded and bleary from the painkillers — lifted to meet the woman she loved. For a moment, Eve just looked, memorising the lines of her face. The unwavering strength in those dark eyes. The way her presence filled the room, pushed back the loneliness like a tide pulling at grief. Tigris’ voice, low and reverent, cut through the haze.

Her lips parted to grant her request, but nothing came. A swell of emotion rose behind her ribs, knotting in her throat, and she had to swallow hard to stop from crying again. Her own voice — the one she had clung to in that tunnel, that she had screamed with, that had begged the Force to let Azzie live — now trembled at the thought of speaking to someone who loved her this much.

"I missed you so much," she finally managed. Her voice was fragile, cracked with strain. But honest. So honest it hurt. There was a pause. And in that breathless space, her shame rose again like a slow-burning flame.

"I— I know I don’t look like... me," she said quietly. Her gaze flicked toward the bandages that still wrapped her head, covering the place where her eye used to be.

"I... I don’t... feel like me..."

The admission felt raw. But she owed Tigris that truth. She let her head fall slightly to the side, resting against their joined hands. The silence that followed was sharp, excruciating as it wrapped around her words.

"I'm still... trying to come back," she whispered finally. "I'm just... I'm just so glad you're here..."

Her eye closed. But her fingers didn’t loosen. She didn’t want to let go, not yet, maybe not ever.

Curled at the far edge of the bed, half-tucked against Eve's side, lay a small shape of silver and dusk. Isari slept soundly, her fur rising and falling with each breath, paws tucked neatly beneath her and tail looped protectively around her body. Every so often, one of her ears twitched, catching the faint murmurs of the room. But she didn't stir, perhaps only slightly at acknowledgement of Tigris. The bond between her and Eve was still young, but already, she refused to leave her side. In sleep, she was a quiet sentinel; a sliver of wild magic nestled into sterile white linen.

 

[Tigris]

Outfit: Robes
Tag: Everest Vale

Tigris didn't rush to speak after she made her request. In hindsight, it was selfish, to demand something from Everest to make herself feel better. Tigris was suppose to be the strength for Eve. But Tigris knew better, she wasn't alright either. There was no hiding in her dark eyes the need she had to know Eve would be alright. Somehow, hearing her voice would help affirm that.

Their hands embraced warmly. Tigris didn't focus her gaze at the bandages, she met the single eye. It was duller than usual, dimmed by meds and trauma. But it was still as sliver as always, a window through which Tigris could see within.

Finally a dry voice cracked, soft, vaguely familiar. Eve's words thrust through Tigris' heart like a blaster bolt. A reminder that she wasn't there at Eve's side. Tigris offered a small brave smile, as she sought for words, Everest continued.

"I don't look like me... I don't feel like me."

Hearing the truth in those statements, feeling them in the bond, made Tigris' heart ache. But she didn't despair. A response to those statements could be complex, but Tigris squeezed Eve's hand and replied softly. "You haven't stopped being you. What you look like is not who you are. What you feel like is not who you are. You are still Everest Vale, my angel. I know it, because I feel you, like no one else can."

Tigris' gaze shifted to the ball of fur sharing Eve's bed. Isari. She was thankful that the fox was there, that Everest had not been alone. The visitor didn't disturb the sleeping creature. Just knowing she was there comforted Tigris.

"You will come back, Eve, stronger." They weren't just words, Tigris believed them. She had seen Everest at a low point before, after Woostri. But Everest proved to be of harder mettle than her beautiful, waifish appearance suggested. She had become brave, fierce, empowered. Tigris wanted to remind Eve of that.

"You are in the crucible again, love. Where fire purifies. You will come out of this different, yes. Better. Still you, but better." The words sounded strange in her own ears. Eve was the optimistic one, positive and encouraging. But that was how the Echani had begun to change the former assassin. She leaned down slowly, until her lips were almost touching Eve's. "You are forever beautiful." Eve would know Tigris was telling the truth, the Echani would feel it resonate in the bond.

After a gentle kiss, Tigris straightened, still holding Eve's hand.

 

[Everest Vale]

Tag: Tigris

The silence between them was not empty, it pulsed with the bond, with the echo of Tigris’ voice still ringing through her. She stared at their joined hands, at the way her pale fingers curled so naturally into Tigris’ darker ones. There was nothing graceful about her now, not wrapped in hospital linens, bandages biting into her skin, body stitched and broken in places. But Tigris looked at her like none of that mattered. Like she was whole.

The kiss lingered on her lips like the trace of a sunbeam through a window.

Her throat tightened.

She didn’t say much more — couldn’t. Words felt clumsy in her mouth, too big for the fragile quiet between them. Her lips trembled with the effort of holding it all together.

"...Will you stay with me?" she asked, voice barely more than a breath, breaking under the pressure of it all. "Just... h-hold me?"

Her silver eye shimmered. And then, without warning, the tears came — silent, glistening, slipping down her cheek in slow trails that glinted in the pale light of the hospital room. Partly awake, but still curled up at the end of the bed, Isari let out a sad whine.

 

[Tigris]

Outfit: Robes
Tag: Everest Vale

Tigris had seen Eve broken before. But that was a broken spirit after her first experience in war. Eve had hidden it away, hidden herself away, leaving her friends to guess at what was broken inside her. But as the Atrisian looked down at her girlfriend, there was no hiding Everest's damage. Bandages, stitched wounds, dark bruises, bacta stains, the empty socket hidden behind gauze, they screamed brokenness. And Tigris knew those wounds went deeper than flesh. The bond ached with sorrow, pain and even fear.

Something wound its way through Tigris. Strength. In Eve's weakness, Tigris was made strong. Why? Because Everest needed her to be. The Echani may have softened the hard heart of the former assassin, taught her love and compassion. But within the woman was iron and fire and fury. They were forged into a pillar against Eve could lean, cling or weep. Tigris wanted nothing more in the world than to be those things for Eve.

The glint of tears appeared on Eve's cheek with her soft plea. Tigris smiled softly at the girl's plea. "They will have to drag me away from you. How successful do you think they would be?" Just try to separate me from her. Eve dared them in her heart.

Tigris slipped into Eve's bed, careful not to disturb Isari. She moved with such smooth grace, the bed barely stirred. It was close and cozy. She gently pulled Everest close, placing an arm around her. 'We will get through this together, I promise." She whispered.

 

[Everest Vale]

Tag: Tigris

Eve barely shifted when Tigris slid onto the bed beside her, only turning her head slightly, following the warmth she knew so well. The bed dipped just a little under Tigris' careful weight, and in the next breath, a strong arm wrapped around her, drawing her close. The moment their bodies touched, something inside Eve broke again, not in pain this time, but in a shuddering, silent kind of relief.

She pressed her face against Tigris' collarbone, breathing her in, familiar, grounding. The bond between them shimmered, fragile and bright, a lifeline she clung to without shame. She didn't speak. She couldn't. Words would only fall apart on her tongue.

Instead, she simply held on. One hand slipped to clutch gently at the fabric of Tigris' robe, a small, anchoring touch. Her heartbeat was a faint flutter against Tigris’ steady rhythm, and her single silver eye fluttered shut as the first real calm since Zeffo began to settle over her.

A few tears slipped free, trailing warm paths across her healing cheek, but they weren't from despair this time. They were gratitude. She was loved. She was safe.

"I'm... s-so glad you’re here..." she whispered finally, so softly it barely stirred the space between them.

The exhaustion she'd been holding at bay seeped through her bones. Surrounded by Tigris' strength, feeling the weight and surety of her presence, Eve allowed herself to surrender at last.

In the quiet thrum of the bond, in the gentle weave of Tigris' breathing, Eve drifted down into sleep, wrapped not just in arms — but in love.