Chapter Text
The first day is the easiest. They're both wrung out, emotionally and physically. He feels like he hasn't slept in a week, his body is bruised and battered and aching, and he feels deadened and hollow, like the world has gone grey and muffled. It's easy to let his brother guide him to bed, to tuck him in like he's a kid (and he is, still, a part of him thinks) and give that gentle nudge into a healing trance. For her, she's barricaded herself next door and he can feel her, and he knows that even though she is everything but fine, he can tell himself that tomorrow, tomorrow they can start, that she needs the space too, and then the day is done and he's in oblivion as everything else happens.
He's asleep as Wild Karrde makes the jump out, towing the Vong corvette, with the Thunderhawk slaved to the navicomputer. He's asleep and dreaming things that make him toss and turn, bled-through by the bitter, acid dreams of the girl in the room next door, as Yavin becomes a memory behind them. He's asleep, and he'll learn on waking that another Ultramarine had tagged along, that Alebmos had made a return, and had taken a droid-piloted shuttle down to the eighth moon, to stay behind.
So the first day is the easiest, because it's done.
The second day he tries to apologize, standing awkward beside a tiny metal desk and chair, stumbling through rationale and blaming himself, speaking hollow words at the curled up ball of blankets, that had been the girl in the room next to him. He apologizes and he tells her it's not her fault, that he should've stopped to think, and that just because the door wasn't locked, and that they hadn't ever thought twice about just barging into each other's rooms back in the Temple, that he shouldn't have felt free to here, and that it was okay, that she hadn't hurt him, it was just a bruise, it would be fine.
Because she had attacked him, she had struck out with lethal intent when that door slid open before he could even speak, when all that was in her green-gold eyes was hollow, distant fear. His cheek hurt and his nose throbbed, but it was okay, because she caught herself, and he didn't blame her at all - it was his fault, really, it was - all while his words fell on deaf ears, ears that wouldn't listen, that were stuffed with blankets and scratchy linens that felt wrong and right.
The second day, he had to give her space again, sitting in the corridor outside their quarters, his back against the bulkhead, head tipped back to stare up at the overheard lumes.
The third day is painful, like needles under fingernails, because she raps on the door to his quarters to wake him up, and she's smiling wide and stretched under blank eyes and a purple-green bruise stretching across her forehead and three scabbed gashes that make his stomach twist. She says she's hungry and she wants some breakfast and that it would be super boring without him since she didn't know anyone on this dumb ship, and the light banter is as fake and as fragile as kubaz zirconia but he smiles too and lets her take his hand - and ignores how her tendons tense and fingers twitch when she does - and tug him along.
And he tries to ignore how everything about her is off. She walks different. She holds her body different. She sways weirdly, around corners, and her feet are placed odd. She's wearing shoes.
That's what sticks in his head.
She's wearing shoes. Slippers, really, but he can't think of anything else, because how many times has he tried to get her to put on boots, put on some damned shoes before they ran around in the jungle and she'd laugh it off, about those Sith invented torture devices, and tell him the same dumb old story about sand and toes and feeling the motion of the dunes that he could parrot in exactly the same pitch and tone with all the same pauses.
And then she doesn't eat, and he pretends not to notice that each time she lifts a bite to her mouth, that he gets a secondhand twinge of nausea. At the smell, at the sight, at the texture, at the everything, and then she quietly sets her utensil back down.
The third day is painful, because she wants to be normal and he wants to let her be normal and they both know nothing will be normal again.
The fourth day she screams and rips her quarters to pieces, she shreds bedding and hurls the little metal desk with enough force to dent the bulkhead and when it's too much, when her fingers can't rip into things and her feet are sore and bruised from kicking, she stands still and the entire little space bulges out around her with invisible force. The door won't ever shut again properly, the frame warped out of shape. The lockers are jammed shut. Karrde's people quietly give him the code for the space on the other side of his own quarters. She locks that door too, leaving him outside. But she doesn't smash anything, this time.
The fifth day, after two reversions out of hyperspace, a tense twenty minutes of recalculation and a tremble as the freighter brushed the edge of a mass-shadow mine, they're back where space is safe again. Solidian departs without saying a word to him. He never sought out the Ultramarine. Maybe he should have. No. He should have. He didn't. Another failure.
He lets his brother talk at him, and he pretends to listen to Master Horn. All the other Jedi, who waited on Errant Venture for them (aside from Master Katarn, who was going to stay awhile with Captain Thiel) greet them and welcome them and try to help. None of them can.
She bears the attention for as long as she can stand it, slowly growing more and more angry and frustrated and hurt and humiliated as the Masters try to talk to her, as the younglings crowd around her, as she understands everything and can't say a single thing back, because the only sounds that will leave her lips are the rolling and lyrical syllables of the monsters that did all this to her.
It's why a worm still wriggles and flexes in his ear, even though letting it slide back into his ear canal each morning makes him want to crawl out of his skin and takes longer each day to get his breathing under control and to prevent himself from clawing his entire ear off. It's the only way anyone can understand her. He can do this much, for her. His suffering is miniscule in comparison.
And he knows that she hates that he does it, and that she hates him a little for doing it, and hates herself for needing it.
So he's not surprised when she sinks fingers into his jacket and yanks him aside. Pulls him away so they have privacy, and gets in his face, close enough that her breath is hot and smells sour and stale.
"Get me the hell away from here," she breathes. "Or I swear, I'm going to kill someone and I won't be able to help it."
Booster Terrik took the Vong corvette on board, though there's still arguments going on about if he was going to be able to charge a conveyance fee. Talon Karrde is planning to stick around Eboracum for a bit. The Jedi, the Praxeum, were going to Coruscant.
But Booster Terrik has a lot of ships on the repurposed Star Destroyer. Shuttles and sloops and pleasure yachts and a few squadrons of air patrol starfighters. And Booster Terrik is not a good man, but he is a man that loves his daughter and his granddaughter and grandson, and understands what the Jedi mean to the three of the most important people in his life, so when he tells Booster Terrik what he needs, the old pirate is willing to give a favorable discount.
He could laugh at the bill in better times, because it's about the price of a cup of caf. Symbolic, because Booster Terrik never works for free.
It buys him a SoroSuub Deadstar runner.
He shows her it and she's aboard without question. He's about to leave when his brother's there too, holding luggage, alongside a short, black haired woman with a mechanical arm.
"It's not a debate, little brother," Jacen says.
"I'm just trying to get away from my great-aunt," shrugs Mei Taral.
So it's four of them that flash into hyperspace above Eboracum, making for the Vathkree Trade Corridor, then the Randon Run.
There's a place that he can think of that might help. The rest of the Praxeum are going to Coruscant, but she doesn't need that oppressive city-world right now.
Coruscant was his mom's place. No one would be daring enough to say it was her 'home', because she hated the planet as much as she was drawn to it, but if push came to shove, Anakin would admit that despite it all, Leia was definitely most comfortable there on the ecumenopolis. For his dad, the answer was beyond obvious: the Falcon. That was home too, not just where his dad was most comfortable. For Jacen and Jaina? Harder to say. When he was younger, he would've said the Praxeum, except that when the Praxeum was in danger, Jaina stayed with the fleet and Jacen continued doing whatever Jacen normally did. Home for his brother and sister wasn't Coruscant though, either, as much as it wasn't really Yavin. Maybe they didn't really have a home, and that was a little sad to think about.
He was starting to realize that Jaina's 'place' might just be in the Navy and that was a whole thing to consider, but for Jacen - well, his brother would probably be old and grey and still not have found a 'place' that was his.
Yavin was his home. Tahiri's too. It was Anakin's home because it was the first place that he was kind of just 'me'. Not 'Anakin', not 'little brother', not 'kiddo', not anything else that people saw him as, but just as 'me'. Where he could find out who 'me' was. Tahiri helped. She had that chance too.
It wasn't to say though, that because his family all had different places and different homes (without even touching on Uncle Luke and Aunt Mara, because that was something else too), that there weren't some things and some places that meant a lot to all of them. Even if that 'a lot' took way, way different forms.
Kashyyyk was one of those.
For his dad, the forest world meant Chewbacca. A lot of really good memories, a lot of bad ones, and an adoptive family that Anakin could always tell made his dad a little uncomfortable. For his mom, there was a weird mix of experiences. She once got carried around like a wokling under one of the big cities for a couple hours to avoid an assassination attempt.
Which, well, didn't exactly make Kashyyyk stand out, because if you made a list of planets in the Galaxy and sorted them into 'Places where a Solo almost died' and 'Places that they didn't', both columns would be about the same length.
For the twins, Kashyyyk was kind of like a vacation spot. A home away from home, that was nice to be at for a while. They'd basically said as much, of course, and there was no pretending that they didn't have a much bigger connection to Chewie and his family than Anakin did. They both spoke fluent Shyriiwook, for one, unlike him. Sure, he knew a couple phrases and he had a really vivid memory of being about five and Chewie being outrageously pleased at managing to teach Anakin how to growl 'the hyperdrive hates you' in Shyriiwook, just to mess with Han.
"Kashyyyk, huh?" Jacen said, joining Anakin on the edge of the landing pad, dropping a suitcase and stretching.
"Yeah."
"It's a good idea."
"Thanks. I thought so too, you know, which is why I flew us here."
Jacen ruffled Anakin's hair.
"Don't get too much like Dad," he said, picking back up the suitcase and waving to Kallabow. His brother walked off, leaving Anakin to slip back into his thoughts.
Kashyyyk always felt a little strange. Like, just breathing the air again after lowering the ramp, felt like it stirred memories that weren't his. Tahiri slipped down the ramp after him, brushing her fingers against his shoulder and then wandering away. A day in the cramped sloop hadn't been great for her, he could tell, and she needed air and space.
Well, Kashyyyk had all that and more. The landing pad was the lopped off end of a wroshyr's branch, probably one that snapped on its own or rotted out in decades past. Planed flat, reinforced with durasteel planks to fill in old gaps, it could host a ship as big as Wild Karrde, which made the little Deadstar hopper look tiny planted right in the middle. There was even a twisted vine cordon running the circumference. Wookiees didn't usually bother with anything like railings, because any Wookiee clumsy enough to stumble or walk off the tree-cities hadn't been born yet, but for places that offworlders might be, he guessed they didn't want the headache of plummeting spacers.
From the edge of the platform, where the breeze was bracing and smelled nothing like the jungle of Yavin, the city of Rwookrrorro was nearly invisible. There was the peak of a long hall poking up out of the green, there was another distant landing pad, there was a long span of bridges in a kilometer-wide gap between two wroshyr, but otherwise, the capital of the world was lost in the branches and trees and greenery all around them.
Because that's what Wookiees did best. They moved with nature, alongside it, but didn't deny the comforts of civilization and technology. It was a unique blend, only seen on a couple other planets - Dac, came to mind - and Anakin was hoping (betting, actually, because he was a Solo) that maybe Tahiri would be a little more comfortable here.
Chewie's sister Kallabow had come out to meet them, with her daughter Sirrakuk tagging along. Lowbacca's mom and his sister, and Anakin watched Jacen hug the tall Wookiee and talk animatedly, their words lost to distance and the constant wind over the platform. Mei trotted back down the ramp of the Deadstar, with a bag slung over her replaced shoulder. The Jensaarai must have sensed him watching, because she glanced toward Anakin, smiled, and gave a wave, before jogging toward the little welcoming party. Which was also where Tahiri had ended up, he noticed, spotting her standing a few meters away, hands shoved deep in the pockets of a thick, paneled jacket that had been on the Deadstar.
Hearing Kallabow's hooting call, Anakin glanced one last time out over Rwookrrorro before moving to join them. Unconsciously, his fingers found the lightsaber bouncing at his hip, tracing over a still-crisp edged etching.
Attichitcuk threw a huge feast for them. That was a given. The old Wookiee presided over it all, with 'it all' being mostly just the closest of the family, plus their visitors, but he rolled out a welcome as gracious as if it was the Chief of State coming to visit. Kallabow's husband, Mahraccor, showed up in time, though Lowie was still off-world. Chewie's widow, Mallatobuck, was elsewhere, but had sent her greetings with Mahraccor.
<It is always a joy to welcome you back to Kashyyyk, and even more joyous to see you unharmed from the perils that sadly hound the heels of every Hero of the Jedi.> Though grey, Attichitcuk's voice was as deep and powerful as ever, and his eyes serious and bright as he looked to Anakin and Jacen both. <And I am ever honored to host new friends! Welcome, welcome to Rwookrrorro, and may you find my house a comfort in these dark times.>
<Thank you, grandfather,> Jacen said, smiling. The old Wookiee preened at the familiarity, nudging Kallabow who sat beside him and grinning toothily at Mahraccor.
<I told you they would come around,> Attichitcuk wuffed. <Now, who are these fine women? I recognize the Jedi in the both of you.>
Mei rose from her wooden stool, bowing a little.
"I'm Mei, Mei Taral. Jensaarai sometimes, Jedi most of the time."
Tahiri, sitting rather curled in on herself to Anakin's left, blinked and scrubbed fingertips through the downy regrowth on her scalp.
"Tahiri." she said. Nothing else.
<Mei Taral. Tahiri. Please, eat!>
That sort of set the tone for the rest of the evening. Even with short notice, the clan had pulled together quite a spread that had the wroshyr table groaning. Bowls of xachibik broth, forest-honey cakes, salads with rich greens and peel nuts and fresh seeds, flasks of wines and juices, and Anakin's favorite: barbecued, blackened trakkrrrn ribs. Jacen pointed things out to Mei, the Jensaarai trying a little of everything and chatting easily with Kallabow and Attichitcuk. She swapped stories, bringing tales of what the rest of the galaxy was up to, especially along the fronts. The war was the backdrop to the visit, but the warmth of the clanhold and good food kept it at bay a little.
Tahiri nibbled here and there, usually poaching things from Anakin's own plate, but didn't join much in the conversation. Just a word here, there, despite Sirrakuk plopping herself down on a stool beside Tahiri. Lowie's sister was a shock to the senses, for a Wookiee, and of the handful of times Anakin had met her, she had a wildly different style each time. This time, she'd shaved both sides of her head, leaving a long, mohawk like mane that was braided with what looked like…wiring? Streaks of fur along her arms were dyed bright blue and pink like the worst kind of camouflage imaginable.
<Our healers can look at your injuries, if you want,> Sirrikuk offered. He felt Tahiri bristle. Her forehead looked…well, usually he did his best to try to not look, which wasn't easy. She refused to let anyone do anything about it, let alone wrap it in any kind of bandage or bacta-strip. She wore the three scabbed gashes openly, almost proudly.
<I'm fine,> Tahiri bit out. <It's just a cut. I've had worse, it's nothing, it doesn't even hurt.>
She almost shouted the last few words and silence fell around the table. For once, her words didn't have to be translated by a worm in his ear; Anakin had the same translator pendant slung around his neck that the Wookiees, Mei and Tahiri did. But the tinny, repeated words in Basic from each pendant couldn't hide the alien tongue.
<My granddaughter's offer was simple concern,> Attichitcuk rumbled softly. <Where are you from, child?>
Indecision gripped Anakin. He hadn't brought up the whole…language problem…yet, for a whole lot of reasons that suddenly felt pretty inadequate. He hadn't wanted to put Tahiri on the spot, or to remind her of it unnecessarily, and it wasn't really his business to tell but her own, if she wanted, and…he gripped the edge of the wide, wroshyr wood table until his knuckles went white. Jacen winced, lowering his head.
<Tatooine.> Something ugly crossed her face and she smiled sweetly. <Why? Is something wrong?>
Again, the pendants repeated her words, changing ibi'Yun to Basic. The old Wookiee studied her for a long moment, stroking at the long fur of his chin.
<Not at all. You have a lyrical tongue, young one. I understand bearing honor-marks proudly. Sirrikuk, would you fetch more rillrrnnn seeds?> She did, casting a worried glance over her shoulder at Tahiri, before leaving the room. <I should tell you about Ralrracheen! Shryiiwook is a beautiful language, but it is hard for those not Wookiee to grasp all its nuances and subtleties.> Attichitcuk tapped the pendant nestled among the fur of his chest. <Even those who live among us, like honored Han Solo and Jacen, here, are sometimes confused. We are used to having our words repeated. But for good Ralrracheen, he has a strange luck. Born with a speech impediment, at first he thought it terrible to be forced to speak Shryiiwook so slowly and enunciate so precisely to overcome it. But he discovered that it simply made him easier to understand to others beyond our kind! And now, because of this, he has even learned to speak Basic. Not a single other Wookiee I know can say that same. Our throats are not made for it, but he can bestride both worlds, because of a little thing like that.>
Kallabow nodded.
<Ralrra has actually made a career of it, as a translator and even an orator now.>
Anakin felt the same melancholy that rolled off Jacen, thinking of the last time the both of them heard Ralrra speak.
"He gave Chewie's eulogy in Basic," Jacen added with a sigh. "It was…yeah. Perfect." His brother brushed at the corners of his eyes.
Perfect was a word for it. Kind of horrible was another. His father, finding out that Lowie and Lumpawaroo were going to continue the life-debt had really shaken things up.
<Neat.> Tahiri mumbled, ducking her head and fiddling with her glass of lrragu juice. <Good for him.>
<Perhaps we can introduce you. Both of you! Ralrra is in Rwookrrorro, and he always has time for visitors.>
The rest of the meal stayed a little tense, after Sirrakuk came back with the requested bowl of nuts. The Wookiees all avoided asking much about Yavin, even though they had to have heard the news. Only Kallabow brought it up, saying only that she was glad to hear the Jedi escaped. Then Mei changed the subject, bringing up the Exiles, and the conversation shifted. Tahiri at least managed to eat some, which eased some of Anakin's worry, even if she didn't speak up at all again.
Sirrikuk didn't give up, though. Over the next few days, as Mei dragged Jacen along to sight-see, Sirrikuk would drop by the guest wing, usually with random snacks that just so happened to match the few things Tahiri had bothered to nibble at. She'd draw Tahiri out, acting like she didn't notice the strange language that Tahiri spoke, like it was completely normal to have to hold conversations through two translator pendants.
And that was why Anakin slowly relaxed, day by day, because the other reason he'd thought of Kashyyyk slowly wore away the sharp edges of Tahiri's demeanour. On Errant Venture - and then anywhere else they'd go - she was the odd one out. She could understand Basic just fine; that was obvious from the second Anakin and Vua and - and Zalthis found her in the damutek. She just couldn't speak it. She'd try, but from thinking the words to them coming out of her mouth, they'd twist around and out would come ibi'Yun.
He'd called it 'Vong' once, without thinking, and she'd almost hit him.
So she was relearning Basic. It was slow going. Really, really slow, and Mei had taken Anakin aside to tell him, in low tones, that she'd seen something like this before. The Jensaarai was gentle, leaving off her usual casual, joking tones. No, she hadn't seen someone's memories and brain get messed with, at least, not on purpose. She'd seen it in head trauma though, how the language center could get rocked and leave a being able to still understand what they used to, but not able to speak, or write. If it was anything like that, Mei, warned, it would probably be harder to relearn than someone brand new to a language picking it up the first time.
She'd gently taken Anakin's hand, squeezed it, and the concern on her face almost brought Anakin to tears. Tahiri might not even be able to ever speak it fluently again.
That, Anakin rejected. She could do anything she put her mind to. And he'd help her.
<I'm going to need a new lightsaber,> Tahiri griped. She was laying on her back, feet up against the polished wood wall, head hanging off the edge of the Wookiee-sized bed. <They never said what they did with mine. Probably melted it or something.> She paused. "Jerks."
"I bet Sirrikuk could get us all the parts we'd need. Well, except for a crystal."
Tahiri hummed, thinking. It was a good day, when her expressions actually reached her eyes. <Mei said that Rwookrrorro's markets have stuff from across the galaxy. Maybe…we could go?> She must've felt his surprise, because a pillow beaned him in the face, tossed by telekinesis. <Stop acting like I'm gonna fall apart.> She scratched at her scalp, turning to meet his eyes. The gold threads in her irises were still distracting.
<I mean, is this really the worst thing that's happened to us?> she asked.
"Yes."
Her face fell.
"Tahiri…Master Ikrit died. And so did Zal, and what the V- what the Yuuzhan Vong did to you…"
She rolled off the bed, hugging her middle and pacing with jerky steps.
<They got in my head, but - so what? I know who I am. Fine, I remember things that never happened and I - I have this stupid language in my head and sometimes I want to stop myself from smashing something a simple as comlink, but I'm fine. Okay? I know who I am, I'm Riina Veila, and you're Anakin, and that's all there is to it.>
If she felt his stomach drop, she must have thought it was because of her attempts at dismissal.
<So let's go down and window shop and buy me a crystal so I can make a stupid lightsaber again.>
He managed a weak grin.
"Okay, Tahiri. Let's go."
Jacen led him in meditation, most mornings, with Mei and Tahiri joining in sometimes. From the outside, they had to be a seriously strange combination. Mei, in her casual Jensaarai leathers half the time, with her clicking mechanical arm and shoulder, leaning back on her palms with her head tilted back. Not exactly a traditional form, but the quiet peace that emanated from the Knight was self-evident. Then Jacen, legs crossed and hands interlaced in his lap, the picture of calm. Tahiri, usually sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest, staring off into the infinite distance.
And Anakin, completely failing the entire idea of 'there is no emotion, there is peace.'
"So, since we're all here for now -"
<How long are you staying for, anyway?> Tahiri interjected. Mei shrugged, as they stretched and shook out muscles after a quiet hour of focusing on the Force.
"A bit? I don't have anything else going on, and as much as I love my family, they were driving me insane with how much they hated relying on Booster's 'hospitality' while also shooting down every single possible other place to settle. Besides, you kids need a chaperone, right?"
Very, very unhelpfully, Anakin's mind threw back to two particular things and he reddened a little. Tahiri didn't notice - thankfully - because he still hadn't found the courage to bring up all that. The very small fact that she'd kissed him, and he'd kissed her. A very small, very minor fact that Tahiri had kissed him and he'd kissed her. Yes, both times it sort of just happened and she hadn't brought it up again, but…
Still.
<I guess.>
"Anyway," Mei continued. "Since we're all here for now, I've put out a couple feelers. Asked around, and old Itchy was a big help - great guy, your 'grandfather', Jace - and there's some Jedi business around, if anyone wants it." She caught Anakin's eye and sort of jerked her head toward Tahiri, raising her eyebrows. He had no idea what that meant. "So if you kids get all stir-crazy and want to go do some good, let me know. I can point you around."
"I'm pretty busy right now, with Uncle Luke's Great River project. I've been meeting with some of the other clan leaders," Jacen said. "The Vong-" Anakin felt a ripple of irritation from Tahiri "- haven't started up anything yet and most of the Jedi that were out at large are safe, but we can't just sit around. Sooner or later, we have to get back out there, and the Wookiee clans are definitely interested in helping us out on that front."
Well, he had been getting a little restless, with the way the days kind of blurred together. It had been…almost two weeks, now. Routine was…kind of routine. Wake up. Have breakfast with Tahiri, who was slowly looking healthier day by day. Meditate with Jacen. Wander around the clan estate, maybe do some simple martial training in the hanging gardens. Fiddle with some tech that wasn't working so he felt like he was earning his keep. Try and act like everything was normal with Tahiri, depending on what kind of day she was having (even if she'd argue every day was fine, just fine, because she'd almost been eaten by a giant snake once) and then…repeat.
And all the while, do a really bad job about not thinking about all the things he didn't want to think about.
Maybe mediating some disputes or finding a lost nek would help with that.
Tahiri and Sirrikuk were playing some kind of Wookiee game that involved small discs of wood with a hole drilled through the middle, blunt swinging hooks and, weirdly, short whips. He'd tried to figure out what the rules were by watching, but sometimes they were tossing the discs at the hooks, sometimes they were trying to snap their opponent's discs out of the air with the whips, and sometimes they were actually working together? Sirrikuk was snuffling and chuffing with laughter, teasing Tahiri and daring her to use the Force if she wasn't good enough. And Tahiri was actually grinning, her simple enjoyment in the Force radiant and a balm.
"So, you're doing this all wrong."
Anakin started, snapping his head around to look up at Mei. She patted his shoulder and dropped onto a stool next to him. While Sirrikuk and Tahiri had been playing, he'd been typing out an email to Jaina. She'd been messaging both him and Jacen, keeping them up to date on what she could share after the whole 'Rockbreaking'. That had been all over the HoloNet for days, coinciding with a palpable surge of energy through Rwookrrorro.
"What?"
"You're doing this wrong. Look. You're sitting here smiling all sad and serious and not making an idiot out of yourself with those two."
He shifted, uncomfortable.
"I think that's a two-player game."
"Not my point. You've gotta stop tiptoeing around things, Anakin. If I can pick up on it, you know Tahiri is. Come on, we talked about this."
Felt like a lifetime ago. Years, instead of months. She'd given good advice, but this was different, this was…
The Jensaarai saw the realization in the set of his jaw and his frown.
"Yeah. You haven't said a word about your Ultramarine friend at all this whole time. You're following Tahiri around wringing your hands like she'd about to shatter into a billion pieces and you're meditating. You know the first thing I saw you doing? Making a damn Vong-droid so you could beat it up and get better at it."
"What am I supposed to do, just corner Tahiri and make her talk to me about how she got tortured, and had her mind messed with?"
"Yes."
His jaw dropped.
"What? That's who you both are. Come on, buddy. Stop trying to be like Jacen. Be yourself. And also, for the love of the stars, you two really need to talk about whatever is going on between you."
His ears and cheeks heated.
"I don't know what you mean."
The Jensaarai laughed.
"You've got it bad, buddy. And so does she. I knew it the second you talked about her. Now, get back to being Anakin again, or I'm gonna have to show you this new arm isn't just for looks." She grew serious, leaning a little closer. "You both need each other, and I'm slowly dying over here watching you two act like the other one is going to fall to pieces. Don't make me lock you both in a room." She winked, then slid off the stool and wandered away, waving to Sirrikuk.
The cuts on her forehead were healing, the bruising gone, and the vivid rawness of the flesh had calmed down to just leave angry red lines with peeling scabs. Her hair was a half an inch long, a fuzzy cap that was weirdly cute, and her eyebrows were slowly filling back in. She was looking more and more like Tahiri every day, and he couldn't overlook how it made his heart thump when she caught his eye, or when he remembered what Mei had said.
She was helping Kallabow shell rgtarn nuts, cross-legged with a wide bowl in her lap. Husks went to the side, the amber colored flesh dropped into the growing pile. Kallabow sung some song under her breath, the rolling, rumbling Shryiiwook distractingly beautiful.
Anakin plopped down, cross-legged as well, in front of Tahiri. She raised a thin eyebrow, glancing at him, then pausing and narrowing her eyes. She could feel his anxiety.
<What?>
"So we should talk about that time we kissed," Anakin said.
Except, he'd meant to say that they should talk about Yavin and the Vong memories shoved into her brain-
Kallabow, out of sight of the both of them, quietly clicked off her translator. Tahiri's cheeks pinked.
First, your best friend keeps looking at you like you're a stranger. He keeps an arm's length from you at all times and keeps this stupid level tone in his voice like you're some spooked ronto that's about to kick him where a boy shouldn't get kicked. He knocks on your door with a feather-light rap-tap that makes you want to scream at him and never, ever argues about anything. He sort of just floats around you and you can feel all his attention is on you and it makes your skin crawl.
Because you're fine.
Really, you're fine. Fine, your head hurt for a while, and yes, you get it, people think you're weird walking around like that, but how was that any different from every time he got sliced up and bruised up by bugs and snake swords? And even though your hair is driving you absolutely insane and itches and tickles and you really, really miss the comforting weight of your wavy locks, it's just hair. It grows back. Okay, you look like a monster without eyebrows and eyelashes too but those are also just hair and they'll come back. You're fine, aside from the whole forehead thing, the worst that happened was a couple holes in your back. You've had injections before, a whole host of immune boosters after you got adopted from the Tusken tribe that had raised you. It wasn't too different.
Didn't you almost get squeezed to death by a giant sithspawn like…a month or two ago? And then there was all the other times that you and him almost got done in by some spooky old monster or another. A krayt dragon almost got to use your bones as toothpicks.
So you're fine.
If you don't notice that you make a little gesture over every meal, brushing fingertips against your lips and shutting your eyes a moment, that can't be helped. If you don't notice that you can't sleep without your back against a wall, that's not your fault either. If Anakin gets anxious that you keep wearing a robeskin - maybe the same one that they put you in - under normal clothes, well, that's his problem. It's comfortable and it cleans itself. Everyone should have one.
So you do things a little differently now. Everyone does when they grow up. Anakin actually talks now, and does he see you tiptoeing around him like he's a stranger? No!
The annoying thing is talking. You can shape the words in your head, you can hear them, but then whenever you try, all that comes out is that - that other language. Not Basic. Except, that it is, to your ears. You hadn't even noticed, when Anakin sprung you out, when he was talking to you and you were replying right back, because your ears heard Basic and your ears heard ibi'Yun and they were the same.
You're Riina. Tahiri. Tahiri.
Sometimes the words sound different but they mean the same thing.
So you can remember old, dry-bone corridors that organically twisted and turned, and the same gut-deep nostalgia that hits sometimes when you think about Sliven also kicks you when you remember P'loh and Zhul and the silly hijinks they got up in crèche. And when you eat, maybe a part of your brain is parsing the flavors and telling you about what polysaccharides and allicins and volatile aromatics are in each bite. But that's okay and maybe you'll make a really good chef one day, who knows? When Anakin and you go on your next adventure, you can whip up some snacks.
But you're fine.
Second, your best friend corners you in the kitchens in Attichitcuk's estate while you're shelling nuts with Kallabow and he plants his stupid self right in front of you and looks at you like he's about to tell you that Darth Vader is back with eight Death Stars, and you can feel in the corner of your mind how nervous he is but how determined he is and then he says that you need to talk about that time you kissed.
Right. Because you did that.
You kissed Anakin Solo.Riina Tahiri Veila kissed Anakin Solo and it wasn't just once. Nope. Twice.
And because you're fine, and everything is going to be fine, and all of this will pass, Kallabow makes up some excuse and exits stage left and leaves you alone with your best friend (who you kissed twice) and you grip the edges of the wooden bowl and lean forward and glare at him.
<Nuh, uh, Anakin Solo. We have a lot more than that to talk about.>
You ignore the sound of the words and the tinny repetition from the translator pendant hanging from his neck. He's not going to catch you off guard like this. You catch him off guard. That's what your whole friendship is built on. And because you might be fine - but he isn't. He's hurting, he's really hurting, and aside from that moment breaking down on Jacen's shoulder, he's bottled it all right back up again.
And because you kind of maybe might love him, (and you're fine), it really is time to talk.