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Send me a ♤ and I will generate a number for what my muse will say to yours. | Angst Version | 34 : "You can't fix me."
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She was avoiding - well, everyone, if Jaina was honest to herself. With Zekk, it was necessary, as anytime she was around him - the buggy brain meld kept coming back. With everyone else though? She went out of her way to do that. Even going out of her way to either eat in her quarters or going after hours to the public eating area.
As she was now. Lurking in the dark, staring into her cup of caf. Things were messed up on a galactic scale with Zekk, and while she was thankful for Jag being found alive, she didn't even care enough to attempt to reach out to him. Something was just broken inside of her head and she didn't know if the pieces would ever fit back together again. The sound of footsteps luring her out of the emptiness that filled her thoughts. She knew them, she felt their maker even before he pushed his way into the dining hall. Tired brown eyes flickered his way, landing on the figure of Kyp Durron.
They had been close as skin at one point, a few years ago. Sighing she dropped her eyes down to the cup in her hands, “You can’t fix me, Kyp.” She said, her voice hoarse from ill use. “I don’t think anyone can.”
Kyp had conflicting desires at the moment, and they were mostly nothing to do with his romantic feelings towards her and simply borne of his protective ones, which were complicated in and of themselves. He wanted to hug her and reassure her that it was alright, and he wanted to track down the younger, taller Jedi and punch him in the dick.
What he did was cover her hand with his, so it was cradled in both of his, and ask, “Do you want me to… check? You wouldn’t need to relive anything.”
She savored the warmth of his hands as it bled into hers. He was her best friend, in so many ways, and her savior once. She trusted him with almost every piece of her, would have trusted him with all of it if she had allowed herself it a few years ago.
The offer had her searching his face, and pondering it. Their relationship was complicated, having worn so many faces during the years. But other than the worldship, which she had forgiven him for, she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. And he was one of the Order’s strongest telepaths. If not the strongest.
“Alright. I trust you.” She replied in a whisper, and waited for any instructions he needed to give her.
“Let’s go to my office,” he suggested. “No one will interrupt there. And it’s more comfortable. I don’t know what we’ll dredge up, so you probably don’t want an audience.”
He wasn’t sure what to expect from poking around in her memory, or how she might react to anything he found there. Doing this in his office would give her the privacy she might need.
"Alright." She said as she scooted to stand up, gently and with some visible reluctance taking her hand back rom him. She didn't know what to make of that at the moment, didn't want to think to deeply before they do what needed to be done. ... but she always knew her feelings for him weren't platonic. And she didn't want to use him, not that way, and didn't want to pursue anything until her head was unfucked.
"Will this hurt?" She asked curiously, as she stood, grabbing the rest of her caf to bring with her.
“It shouldn’t,” he said, “but I don’t know what’s in there yet. I’m not going to just blunder in, I’m not a novice anymore.”
He hated remembering what he’d done to Qwi Xux, but it hadn’t entirely been his doing. Enough, though, that he took the blame willingly. He’d spent the last twenty-something years honing his ability so that he could excise memories with surgical precision, or alter them. Or, as he hoped to do with Jaina, untangle them from an involuntary, drug-filled haze.
He stood, caf in hand, and gestured for her to follow him.
