“Uncertain Futures” (a Star Wars snippet)

“Who was on the comm?”

He glanced toward her and the look on his face told her exactly who’d called.  Her brow furrowed for a few seconds and she chewed on her lower lip.  It felt too soon, but he’d been here for nearly two months.  She’d known he wasn’t going to be able to stay forever, that at some point, he’d be recalled—pulled back to the work that was no longer hers.

The fact that it wasn’t her job anymore came as an odd relief, in fact, but she hadn’t admitted to it.  Not yet.

Watching him, she leaned against the corner where the living room wall met the hallway back toward the ‘fresher and bedrooms.  Her hair hung damp round her face, silver locks curling slightly, barely brushing the collar of her jacket.  How long would it take for it to grow back out again, to the rope of a braid she’d worn back when she was still a pilot, back when everything was shaded in many fewer shades of gray.  His gaze searched hers for a few moments.  She smiled wryly, one corner of her mouth kicking upward even as she knew the grief at his impending departure showed in her eyes, in every other curve and line of her face.

“When do you have to go?” she asked softly.

“Wheels up by 0900,” he said quietly, leaning back in his chair.  “They probably would’ve rather I left tonight, but you made reservations.  I wasn’t going to break a date.”

“Bobby, you didn’t have—”

“Yeah, I did.”  He unfolded from the chair, stretching his arms toward the ceiling for a moment before he crossed the space between them.  A knuckle scarred from some long-ago fight brushed against her cheek, lifting hair back from her face.  She smiled at him, reaching up to wrap her hand around his.  His gaze was steady on hers, his smile gentle, not quite sad.  “It’s the least I can do.”

“We both knew that you weren’t going to be able to stay forever,” she said.  “I am honestly shocked that they didn’t call you home sooner.”

He was silent for a second too long.  Her brow lifted.

“How many times did they ask you to come back?”

“Never directly,” he said.  “They never asked me directly to come back, not until just now.  They asked questions like ‘were you able to verify the circumstances’ and ‘is she sure about what happened.’  And then that stopped and they started to hint that they had an actual assignment for me that wasn’t a favor.  That—that wasn’t something I was doing for myself.”

She looked down, down at her stocking feet and the toes of his boots, her stomach twisting into knots.  “You came because Tag asked you.  Because she told you that something happened.”

“She sent me part of the report,” he admitted.  “I guess she thought I should know at least a little bit about what I was walking into.  I don’t know if she or someone else pulled some strings and made it look like an assignment or what, but…but I’m glad.  She asked me to come but as soon as I knew, I think I would’ve come anyway.  I definitely stayed because it was you.”

“Because you owed it to me,” she whispered.

“No,” he said, brow furrowing.  He tucked a knuckle under her chin, lifted her gaze to his.  “No, Kingston, I stayed because I wanted to.  Because I wouldn’t have felt right if I’d just left.”  His lips thinned and he glanced toward the comm for a moment, brow furrowing.  “It still doesn’t feel right to leave.”

“You have a job to do,” she said.  “I’ll be okay, Bobby.  The Empire doesn’t know where I am and no one here’s going to tell them.  If I’m safe anywhere, it’s here.”

He sighed, resting his forehead against hers.  “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.  Tonight, we’ll have dinner, maybe we’ll take a walk, and then in the morning, you’ll go—you’ll report in and go on to the next assignment.  It’s your job.  I know how it goes—it was mine, too.”

“It’s not fair,” he said softly, thumb stroking her cheek, tickling the skin at the corner of her mouth.  She smiled faintly.

“The galaxy isn’t exactly a fair place, is it?  We’ll manage.  You and I will both manage.  I will be fine.  I have to figure out what I’m doing next.  While you’ve been here, I’ve been able to put that off but honestly, I can’t do that forever—and you can’t stop doing what you’re doing.  It’s in your blood.  I see it the same way I see it when I look at Tag.  Pilots once but definitely something else now.”

He choked on a laugh, wrapping both arms around her and drawing her tight against his chest.  “And what about you?”

“A pilot once,” she said, resting her chin on his shoulder.  “Then a spy.  I don’t know.  I guess we’ll see.”

“Guess we will,” he murmured, then kissed her ear.  “What time were reservations?”

“We’ve got another hour before we have to leave.  I have to finish getting ready.”

He squeezed her again, then let go.  “All right.  I’ve got some calls to make, then, I guess.”

She pecked him on the cheek and stepped back.  “Try not to get too involved, huh?”

“Who me?”  He shot her a lopsided grin more suited to a scoundrel than a senator’s son.  “Never.”

She grinned back, swallowing a sudden flash of pain and worry, then turned back down the hallway to get ready for what felt like it might be their last night together for a long, long time.

“In the Grass” (a Star Wars snippet)

“You didn’t come to bed last night.”

She shifted her shoulders, drew the shawl tighter around her shoulders. The yarn was soft against her fingers as she tangled them through the knots of its pattern, the garment smelling of laundry soap, faintly, Dalsuna’s cologne. The patch of grass between the house and the edge of the water was small, but large enough for them to play with their son without too much fear of him toppling over into the canal. She sat in the center of that grass, her bare toes slowly going numb in the morning damp and chill, watching as the sun slowly crept up over the canal and the parkland beyond. It was a rare sight, that much green on the other side of the canal. How her husband had managed to find it, she wasn’t sure—nor had she ever asked.

She was wise enough now to know when to leave things alone.

Sometimes, at least.

“Tag?”

“I took a walk,” she said, patting a spot in the grass next to her. “I couldn’t sleep—wasn’t going to be able to sleep. I’d meant to clear my head and come back, but I ended up at Mickie’s and then I ended up at the school.”

“You went flying.”

She nodded, staring at the sunrise as he settled next to her. Calloused fingers wrapped around hers, squeezed gently. A faint smile curved her lips and she squeezed back, glancing at him. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“Me, worry? Why would I worry? It’s not like my wife isn’t a former intelligence officer who’s probably pissed off more than her share of people on both sides of the not-war-anymore. It’s not like I’ve gotten used to you being there to reassure me when I wake up in a cold sweat at three in the morning after another nightmare.”

She winced. “I’m sorry, Dal.”

He exhaled a long breath, then wrapped his arms around her, resting his cheek against her braided hair as she leaned into his embrace. “It’s okay. It took a couple seconds, but I could still feel you, so that was enough.”

“I should’ve been here,” she murmured into the soft cotton of his shirt. She closed her eyes and breathed in, tension draining from them both with each breath, each beat of their hearts. “I hadn’t meant to be out all night. I thought I was just clearing my head.”

“The old ghosts swam back up, huh?”

She nodded, pressing her face against his shoulder. Her voice came muffled; likely he felt the words more than heard them. “There’s so many. And so much I just—left behind.”

“What brought it on this time? It’s usually not for no reason.”

“A letter from an old friend,” she said softly. “Reassurance that he’s okay. He told me I did the right thing.”

“But you’re still not sure.” He pulled back, peering down at her with a furrowed brow. Those green eyes of his snared her all over again, like they had the first time she’d seen him in the mess hall on a base that didn’t exist anymore a hundred light years away. “Even after all this time.”

“No,” she said slowly. “I did the right thing. But it’s not over. Not yet.”
His frown deepened and he canted his head to one side. “What’s not over?”

“The war,” she whispered, then leaned into his chest again. “We’ve all just stopped fighting for now. But it’s not over. I don’t know if it ever will be.”

“It is for us,” he said, squeezing her tight and burying his nose in his hair. He was quiet for a moment, then added, almost too quietly to hear, “At least for now.”

She nodded. “Yeah. At least for now.”

They sat there together in the grass as Corel cleared the horizon, its light glittering on the water of the canal and off the metal and glass of the city around them.