Tactile Torments | Fein & Noa
location: a quiet empty hallway one floor above the hangar bays date & time: 1/04, 3:00PM tag: @nniedra
The ship lands on Yavin, and its inhabitants disembark like they haven’t seen the jungles and felt the wet sticky heat of the planet in decades. It feels like a different group disembarking, then when they took off. When they’d exited the atmosphere, there was a tinge of hope tying them together - adrenaline coursing along its tendrils. Despite the haste of their plan, they were doing something. Making a difference.
Now, they scattered to their various jobs; falling back into their routines like drowning men in the desert sinking their lips to the first pool of water they found. Grief and shame followed like a low hanging cloud, fear clung to their skins.
Fein tugs his blanket poncho around his shoulders a little tighter as he steps off the loading ramp, and ducks his chin down into the folds of the cowl neck. Dorian is waiting, but he can’t bear to see him now. Somewhere to his left Rishla barks Matthias’ name and he winces, but he can’t wait.
He doesn’t want to witness the aftermath.
Blindly he pushes through the crowd, headed for the underground, headed for his x-wing, for the silence of the hangar bays and the peace and the comfort of machinery.
(Headed for her, a cool voice murmurs in the back of his mind and he shuts his eyes hard against Thena’s memory).
Noa. He trips a little as his pace quickens, adjusting his stride to head for the main hallways, hoping she’s there waiting to hear a debriefing. He gets as far as the offices on the first level, when he turns a corner and she’s there. Her skirts snap against each other as she turns the corner, and comes to a halt at the sight of him.
He doesn’t even think.
A soft, broken little sob tears from his throat, and he crosses the distance between them in a moment. He’s six years old again, crying for the mother that didn’t want him, and she’s humming him to sleep in the creche. He wraps his arms around her waist, and tries to beg for absolution but it won’t come.
He’s too afraid. Master/Mother she means too much to discard him now.