Siri Tachi (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
neverlosemyfocus) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
stoptheflow2014-02-19 02:28 pm
neverlosemyfocus) wrote in stoptheflow2014-02-19 02:28 pm
Entry tags:
And so it begins...
Awareness came back to Siri slowly, like she was surfacing from the bottom of an incredibly deep lake. She was groggy, and confused, and felt a little like she was floating. She was exhausted... and there was no more pain, no more white hot aching in her ribs, in her hips, no more burning agony in her chest, so intense that it made it hard for her to breathe. That was... wrong, somehow. She... she should...
“For star’s sake, Obi-Wan, I’m dying. Do you have to interrupt me now?” There was something like humour in her voice, but it was a pale and reedy thing. She was dying. And he would have to watch her go.
“You’re not dying.”
Something occurred to her then, the sentimental idea of a dying woman, and she struggled to get into a pouch on her utility belt. Her fingers plucked uselessly at it, and fear, for the first time, stabbed through her. “I can’t... Get it for me.”
It took him a moment to realise what she was talking about, but he slipped her warming crystal, the one that Talesan had returned to her, and pressed it into her hand. A faint smile appeared briefly on her face.
“No... yours.” She turned her hand, letting the crystal fall into his palm. It carried memories of things they hadn’t spoken about in years, but it was the only thing she had. “Now I will never leave you.”
“You will never leave me,” he echoed.
It took all she had, but Siri reached up, brushing fingertips gently against Obi-Wan’s cheek, before her hand fell. “Don’t worry so much,” she told him softly. She knew him better, knew he would anyway, but she had to try. She had so little time. I don’t want to leave you. She could admit that here, now, at the end. So much wasted time. Her eyes fluttered closed as consciousness slipped from her grasp...
Memory rushed back in, and her eyes flew open. She was in a bacta tank. Which explained the floating sensation. And how she was still alive. Almost frantic (but not frantic, Jedi were never frantic), she pounded on the glass. Obi-Wan. Talesan. Their mission.
What happened?
Were they all right?
Had the mission succeeded?
She could see blurred figures outside the tank, but she didn’t know who they were; all she knew is that they weren’t Force sensitive. She reached out in the Force, seeking (Obi-Wan) someone, anyone familiar, even as she pounded on the glass harder. She needed out of this tank. She needed to know what happened. OBI-WAN. That she reached for him first, called to him first, didn’t bear dwelling on; and the thought that something could have happened to him since Magus shot her, since she’d almost died in his arms, since she’d been put in the tank, wasn’t one that even crossed her mind. He was there, she could feel him in the Force, bright and warm and familiar. And he could tell her what happened. How long she’d been unconscious.
She needed out of this kriffing tank.
She needed to see him.
“For star’s sake, Obi-Wan, I’m dying. Do you have to interrupt me now?” There was something like humour in her voice, but it was a pale and reedy thing. She was dying. And he would have to watch her go.
“You’re not dying.”
Something occurred to her then, the sentimental idea of a dying woman, and she struggled to get into a pouch on her utility belt. Her fingers plucked uselessly at it, and fear, for the first time, stabbed through her. “I can’t... Get it for me.”
It took him a moment to realise what she was talking about, but he slipped her warming crystal, the one that Talesan had returned to her, and pressed it into her hand. A faint smile appeared briefly on her face.
“No... yours.” She turned her hand, letting the crystal fall into his palm. It carried memories of things they hadn’t spoken about in years, but it was the only thing she had. “Now I will never leave you.”
“You will never leave me,” he echoed.
It took all she had, but Siri reached up, brushing fingertips gently against Obi-Wan’s cheek, before her hand fell. “Don’t worry so much,” she told him softly. She knew him better, knew he would anyway, but she had to try. She had so little time. I don’t want to leave you. She could admit that here, now, at the end. So much wasted time. Her eyes fluttered closed as consciousness slipped from her grasp...
Memory rushed back in, and her eyes flew open. She was in a bacta tank. Which explained the floating sensation. And how she was still alive. Almost frantic (but not frantic, Jedi were never frantic), she pounded on the glass. Obi-Wan. Talesan. Their mission.
What happened?
Were they all right?
Had the mission succeeded?
She could see blurred figures outside the tank, but she didn’t know who they were; all she knew is that they weren’t Force sensitive. She reached out in the Force, seeking (Obi-Wan) someone, anyone familiar, even as she pounded on the glass harder. She needed out of this tank. She needed to know what happened. OBI-WAN. That she reached for him first, called to him first, didn’t bear dwelling on; and the thought that something could have happened to him since Magus shot her, since she’d almost died in his arms, since she’d been put in the tank, wasn’t one that even crossed her mind. He was there, she could feel him in the Force, bright and warm and familiar. And he could tell her what happened. How long she’d been unconscious.
She needed out of this kriffing tank.
She needed to see him.
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It was why, too, that meant something to her. What it meant. She had been somewhat aware for a very long time (and extremely aware since their last mission together) that she hadn’t put aside her feelings for him the way they had agreed. Not as well as she should have. But she had buried them. Denied them. Refused to acknowledge them. Never acted on them once the agreement had been made. Done as much as she could even though there was no ridding herself of them.
“Good. I... Good.” She should move away from him, drop her hand from his cheek... but she didn’t.
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"It would have shamed your memory, if I'd given in," he whispered.
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She was shaken, and a little lost, but she was there. And she wasn’t going anywhere.
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And despite his promise and despite his training, he did, perhaps, the most impulsive thing he'd ever done: he close the small distance between them and kissed her.
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Oh.
She gasped against his lips, surprised, stunned, because he was kissing her, and it wasn’t something she had expected. It wasn’t something she EVER could have expected. And she kissed him back. There was no not kissing him back. Slowly, and raptly... she kissed him back.
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"I'm sorry," he said quickly and breathlessly. "I..." He what? "I'm sorry." No. Well. He was sorry he couldn't control himself, he supposed, but he couldn't. As abruptly as he'd pulled away from the kiss, he pressed his mouth to hers again.
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He pressed his mouth to hers again, and she moved into the kiss, her hands coming up to cradle his jaw.
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"I...Siri...we...we can't," he gasped. "....I'm sorry."
Suddenly he stepped away from her entirely.
"I'm sorry. I have to....the..." He gestured towards the door awkwardly. "Things. I have to see to."
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The distance he put between them seemed larger than it was, and she felt it in a way that hurt as much as the words had. She took a step back, nodding. “Go. I...” What could she say? She’d already... They’d already... “You should go, then.” Kriff, it hurt. It all hurt.
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He glanced between her and the door.
"I don't know if I can honour our arrangement."
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She’d never managed to set aside her feelings for him. She’d never spoken of them, never acted on them. Covered them with the banter and arguing that so often filled their friendship. Buried them, hid them away. But never set them aside. She took a step towards him, and then another, until she was standing in front of him.
“I...” She didn’t know what to do. She knew what she should do. What would be expected of her. Of them. He should go. They should continue to honour their arrangement. But it had hurt enough telling him that he should go once. She wasn’t sure she could do it again. She wanted him to stay. Kriff.
She leaned forward and kissed him.
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"Siri, this.... we'll....we'll be expelled if they know..."
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"No. Please don't apologize for... for that."
And he, then, looked deeply regretful as he added "But we can't."
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He uncurled her fingers from his robe, stepping away, and she did the same, retreating a step or two, her arms folding across her ribcage. “I know,” she murmured quietly, dropping her gaze to the floor of her quarters. “I know.” Regret filled every word.
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"Let's not make things...complicated. There's a war on. We're needed. We can't....we can't entertain fantasies."
He looks down.
"As much as we may want them to be real."
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His words made her clench her jaw. As much as we may want them to be real. He... She wasn’t the only one, then. She shouldn’t be surprised, not after the way he... kissed her. “Of course.” Her hand was white knuckled around the warming stone. “We have a duty to the Order. The Republic.”
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But he finds it hard to look at her while he's saying it. He can already feel her emotions at war, matching his own.
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But it doesn’t make it any easier. It doesn’t make her sadness any less, or ease the conflict in her. Conflict she knows he can sense, the way she can sense his. It doesn’t stop her from wanting to kiss him again.
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