alone. || self-para
The bottle of Whyren's Reserve had sat on Gideon’s sparse locker shelf for years now, a gift he had received upon graduating, a gift he had saved, treasured for years now. It was precious to him. There had been moments, fleeting and tempting, where he had thought that maybe, just maybe, now was the time to crack open the expensive liquor, to celebrate a victory that may well have gone the other way, to cheer on the Inferno Squad after a hard won battle, even to commiserate after the loss of one of their own, but it had never felt right.
The bottle had only grown in importance as years passed by, each victory not being enough to tempt him to open it, and only adding to the weight it felt. It had been important when the Admiral had gifted it to him upon his graduation, but now it held an importance far greater, and the thought of ever opening it felt unlikely to say the least.
But as Gideon made his way back to his room, his feet moving without thought, muscle memory guiding him where his mind could not, that importance seemed to shift.
His mind was lost, even the pain he felt from being shot, only to be healed shortly after by the bacta, wouldn’t permeate through the cacophony of thoughts in his mind.
Memories, a lifetimes worth, were trying to make themselves known to him. The moment he first met Iden, that stupid smile that had caught him by surprise and sent him reeling with the first real crush he ever had, seeing her in the crowd when he graduated, forcing himself to be there, no matter the cost, when it was her own time to graduate. No matter where he looked, Iden was a part of his past, a part of who he was, and in one fleeting moment, she had taken that away.
Of course, she wasn’t to blame alone. Del had just as much say in the duos betrayal of the Empire, always the softest of their little group, the quiet one who would empathise with the opposition, who wanted to help regardless of the orders. If he hadn’t come into their lives, would everything have gone the way it had? Would Iden have been swayed as easily as she had?
The door closed behind him with that familiar metallic shwoop he was so used to, but it felt different now, it felt final. As though the past hours of medical attention, of seeing that Gleb was safe aboard the Admiral’s ship, of getting that promotion that he ought to have been proud of, all of it had finally come to an end.
He was alone now, in the relative comfort of his room.
Had it always felt this sparse? This cold and devoid of humanity?
Everything was in its rightful place, carefully aligned and cared for with a level of dedication that boarded on obsession, and for the first time it bothered him.
His room was not a reflection of a person, not a reflection of the years he had spent growing, fighting, sharpening his mind, it was a reflection of the Empire. Cold, harsh and clean.
Was this why they had left him there? Was he incapable of the warmth they felt?
But no, that was weakness, a weakness he refused to be a part of.
His hand had grasped the bottle of whiskey before he gave it any conscious thought, had pried the cap off without thought, without so much as bothering with a glass as he raised the bottle directly to his lips.
The first sip burnt, hot, fiery, and so very satisfying on its way down his throat.
It wasn’t until that sensation registered in his mind that he even recognised his actions, or even really glanced at the bottle. A gift from the Admiral, how fucking fitting. Just like the promotion he had received not ten minutes prior, it was laced with something cold and unforgiving, an understanding he himself had not truly considered.
Was he just following orders? Or was he becoming more and more like the man he had idolised as he grew up? The same man who had been every bit the father he had craved to him, the same man who had, admittedly, prized him over his own child.
Another gulp of the amber liquid, the burn not quite as sharp this time. He should be celebrating, should be giddy with happiness at the fact he finally had the promotion he had craved. But then, he should be celebrating with them. They should have been here with him, sharing the drink, sharing a laugh. A teasing joke from Iden about how it took him so long to reach her level, a shy smile from Del as he merely shook his head at their competitive friendship...
The drinks kept coming as he collapsed down on his bed, head hung low as his elbows sat against his knees.
This was never the plan, this wasn’t what he had wanted.
Why had they abandoned the Empire? It wasn’t that abnormal of a mission. All they had to do was get Gleb. Civilians had died in the past, it wasn’t anything new. Why had this been the thing that had turned them against the Empire, against him?
The memories refused to leave him be, the pain of every happy thought quickly erased by yet another swig of the bottle.
Tears came and went without any recognition from the man, the now Commander refusing to acknowledge them, or the weakness they showed. Sadness melded into anger as the bottle continued to lighten in his hand. Why should he be left to feel pain and anguish when he had done what was expected of him? Why should he be left alone to suffer when they were, well, where ever they were, probably without so much as a thought of him.
He was tired, angry... so many more emotions than he could ever remember being before. But above all, he felt betrayed. Betrayed by his best friend, betrayed by the man he called his brother. And now... now he was alone.