*BLOOD OF MY BLOOD / BONE OF MY BONE. ( @didntturn, continued. )
THOSE WERE WORDS HE HAD always imagined, in the sweetest of dreams, in the dimmest of memories, he had seen a woman with features that mirrored his own reaching out to him. He had taken her hand & she had told him that he was wanted. That he would be cared for. That he would be safe & warm with her. He had dreamt of a mother. He had always, always wanted to know her.
Now that she’s here – he isn’t sure how to handle it.
The muted beeps of the meddroid & the machines he’s hooked up to create enough white noise to lull him to sleep. But her presence is throwing a spanner into the process. It’s a strange mixture of calming & frustrating. Mostly because the desire to enjoy her soothing presence in the Force is competing with the urge to ask her a million questions. It’s always this way, whenever she’s around, but the Alliance has taken up so much of his time, focus, & concentration, he’s barely had a spare moment for himself, let alone for heart searching conversations with her.
He’s lucky to have a moment now. He’s very lucky, in fact, to have any moments at all. The fact that Han had found him out there in the snowy wasteland of Hoth is a miracle in of itself.
He reaches over & takes her hand, soaking in the warmth.
“It’s too cold here,” he says with a little laugh. The movement hurts, but he does his best not to show it. “It’s almost as cold as space.”
HIS HAIR IS SO FAIR THAT FOR A MOMENT , when he speaks, she can only see his father, nine years old, huddled and shivering in the corner of a ship. you come from a warm planet, ani. a bit too warm for my taste. space is cold. her very heart seems to shudder from the memory. still, she reaches up, pushes back a bit of his hair with her free hand, tracing the curve of her son’s forehead. so much was stolen from them, so many years taken away, that even this newly formed bond feels like something secret, something she must hide and keep private and hidden, lest someone come to take it from her. her son is a bright light in the galaxy, the sun his father had once been, and though he complains of the cold, though he still shakes, his cold hand clinging to hers, though she offers him warmth, she cannot help but believe that he himself is the true warmth in the room.
HER HAND DROPS FROM HIS FACE TO PULL the blanket over him up, higher on his chest. ❛ you come from such a warm planet i suppose anything would be cold to you, ❜ she laughs, soft, teasing, but there’s little heart in it; her eyes are a bit too faraway, a bit too sad. still thinking of that little boy, huddled up in the corner of her cruiser. still thinking of the blanket she wrapped around him then, like the one she wraps around luke now. ( she doesn’t have the pendant, they buried it with the corpse the galaxy thought was her on naboo, but still, she can feel the light weight of the japor snippet against her chest. like an anchor, dragging her down. ) ❛ you take to an x-wing like someone born to fly . . . i suppose sometimes i forget how cold space must be to you. ❜ her free hand comes up, wraps around their joined ones in an attempt to keep his knuckles as warm as his palm.
QUIET PASSES BETWEEN THEM FOR A MOMENT , and then she speaks again. ❛ you were very brave today, luke. ❜ he is always brave, this son of hers, but she says this anyway, as if to tell him, without words, that she is glad he is safe; glad he was brave.
