Do not leave me, swear that you will never leave me
You think it ironic that it should be her to ask such a thing, when it is you who stays at your station, who watches her leave and eagerly awaits her return (not that anyone would ever be able to tell). It is something you have long wished to ask of her yourself, after finding that the time spent in-between her visits doing things the same way you always have feels so very different. Once the swirling brightness of her armour’s design disappears behind the doors of her departing ship, you start to notice just how lifeless the drab, grey walls of your own vessel, your home in this galaxy, really are. Once her laugh starts to fade into the distance as she positions herself between the stars and finds her vector, you find that while you are just as proud to serve alongside your fellow officers and subordinates, and can still take joy in their company, it is company lacking something that makes you feel completely at ease amongst others who are not her. Once the final sight of her shimmering hair and glimmering soul disappears with a flicker of pseudovelocity, and you have withdrawn to your office to meditate and examine the images and objects you find so pleasing and so essential to your strategising, you know that she is the only one who understands this part of your mind, and that if she were here you would have both been content to discuss the pieces, giving rise to many instances of pride and happiness on your part as she flashes that cheeky but endearing smile while pointing out a key brush stroke or pattern that makes everything fit together.
Just how you and her fit so perfectly together. How you cannot help but feel a tiny sense of awe, every time you wrap her in your arms, at how one so fierce could be so small and delicately peaceful. How you’re reminded of just how strong she is when she starts to kiss you, and you taste paint and fire and a hint of the snows of her homeworld, and when your lips and tongues crash together you feel the strength and urgency of a charging army behind her movements, which you match with your own force in a way so unlike your typically calm demeanour. How you come to realise how foolish it is, as faded purple durasteel and pristine white fabric are stripped and tossed carelessly away, to ever think you need worry that she could ever be broken. And as you loose yourself in the flawlessness of her form, ghosting over skin that despite being one shade of colour is even more perfect than the battle-scarred plates which usually cover it, taking pleasure in exploring her and giving her the sense of completeness that she gives you, it’s easy to forget that she’s still young in some ways.
But you’re reminded of it now, as you stand in the smallest and least watched hangar of the Chimaera, and she stands on the threshold between loyalty and betrayal (both interchangeable – it depends on the view of those waiting for her on either side) making her request, her plea, that you promise her this. You can feel your eyes widen, not hiding the small way in which this has surprised you (another part of yourself that you feel can only be shown to and trusted with her). For how could you grant her that, when she is the one about to leave once again, only returning the next time she can take a ‘solo mission’ without her own allies and friends becoming suspicious, if they weren’t already? How can she ask that of you, when she returns to those who only spread chaos and needlessly endanger lives in such a seemingly carefree manner, while you must make peace with yourself when overlooking or carrying out atrocity after atrocity in the hope for stability, as you try to bring the Empire closer to being a necessary benefit for all and not just its ruler?
Why have you become so selfish, as bloodthirstily greedy as the most horrific of the warlords you despise, when it comes to her?
Looking into her eyes, those thoughts which you already start to feel guilty about fade as you see a hint of the childlike innocence that could not save her from her own family. And you come to understand why she would ask this of you, why she would want confirmation of some sort of constant in her life. For what has she ever had that has truly lasted forever? Even the rebellion you know she sees as family has nothing to ensure its eternal survival, particularly with your ongoing campaign against it – on multiple fronts, it would seem. For all is fair in love and war, is it not?
Suddenly you’re reminded of the truth that neither of you want to think about when you’re together: that if you both continue on like this, there is only one way it can end. Not even this can last forever. Just as one of your respective factions caught in the conflict embroiling more worlds every day is destined to destroy the other, so too are the two of you feeding off of each other in the search for something you cannot have until there is nothing left. Unless one of you changes course, but to do so would require a change in the core principles you believe in.
You’re both too stubborn, your hands too tight around steely resolve, to ever let that happen. But you decide to try and get her metaphorical grip to lessen, even just slightly, as blue fingers reach out to curl around her wrist and gently pull her back from her craft’s entrance.
“Never,” you promise her in a soft, reverent tone, and you almost swear you can feel your eyes glow even brighter with the sincerity you put behind that single word. For a moment you hold her hands in yours, not tight, but still unyielding, unwilling to let her go. You look down at the hold, then back up into her eyes, and like a soldier beaten back against the wall taking his last stand, you risk giving voice to your own request, one you have wanted to ask her for a long time. “Stay with me.” Your lips thin and your eyes widen, in hope and trepidation. “Stay by my side. Regardless of past betrayals or current loyalties, I will keep you safe. And if you stay, I will be with you always.”
Your eyes search hers, your mind starting to go through the familiar sequence of steps it takes when faced with a complicated canvas or arcane sculpture. It always allows you to unearth the thoughts of others in some way, but the meanings of hers are as hidden and indescribable as the key to the most flawless portrait. “Please.”
