"Send me a Ship and a Number and I will Write a Kiss"
Spyscrapper #38 "…because they’re running out of time."
but also Altmal #48 "…out of habit."
Spyscrapper #38 "…because they’re running out of time."
He’s not even shaking anymore. Cal sighs out another long, slow breath from where he’s tucked against Bode. He blinks slowly. The orange of his lightsaber reflects on the metal of Bode’s harness buckle, a flicker of flame. They’ve been here two days, in this cave under a lake, the entrance crumbled behind them, sealed in. Two days drinking the trickle that makes it through the impenetrable layers of rock. Three days, no food- but it’s the breath that’s the problem. Soon, they’ll run out of air. He can already feel how every breath feels thready and not-enough, and blinks when the lights seem to dance in his eyes, low as they are. Bode’s chest rises and falls under him. They’ve curled up, ostensibly, for warmth, but it’s the comfort Cal seeks– needs– most, the comfort of another. He might die here, but he won’t die alone. Bode may not be a Jedi, but he is family now, and getting to die with family- that’s something he thought he’d never get to have.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t talk,” Bode mumbles, a divot pressing between his brows. It’s shorthand, by now. ‘Conserve air as long as possible. Don’t talk, don’t exercise. Someone might come. Greez is looking, he’s always looking after you.’
Cal reached for Bode’s hand. Bode’s fingers curl around his, thumb pressed to the ridges of Cal’s knuckles.
“It’s my fault you’re here, that you’ll die here…” He scoots closer, props his chin on their tangled hands so he can look at Bode’s face.” …And despite that, I’m still glad you’re here with me. So I’m sorry.” Bode’s mouth flattens in response, his closed eyes tightening. Bode turns his head, and when he speaks it’s rough with feeling more than disuse. “Scrapper, don’t.”
“I know…” Cal smiles tightly. All things end. He thought he’d have longer. This is a gentle death, as they go. But Bode- has Kata. “I took you away from someone that needs you.”
Bode flinches. He tries to roll over, but he’s weak and Cal is heavier than he looks.
“I was being selfish. I wanted more time with you to myself.”
Bode’s eyes crack open, and there’s a look of pure, naked fear Cal has never seen there before- a vulnerability he’s never seen before that injects warmth in his veins. His smile gentles as he brushes a tear from the corner of Bode’s left eye. “I guess I took everything that was left.”
Bode twists, dislodging Cal to shove his face into Cal’s chest- hiding against it. Cal blinks up at the ceiling before curling his hand under Bode’s chin and lifting it from him. He props himself up on one elbow and presses forward.
One last wish. His lips meet Bode’s. They’re shockingly soft.
There’s a whiplash crack through his awareness and water floods the room.
Altmal #48 "…out of habit."
He’s tired. He’s tired more than anything, sore from fighting and sorer from the death of so many of his brothers. There’s a pain he can’t handle in his chest, twisted and strange, and for now he can only attribute it to the golden light that Al Mualim had wielded.
Sleeping again in Masyaf feels strange, unreal. He hasn’t been here since he left, his left arm still bloody and bandaged, for Jerusalem. The room he once shared with Altair and Kadar seems far too small for one adult, and he wonders how the three of them ever fit here- not that Altair was supposed to. That boy had had a room of his own. He’d never liked it, though, and he always complained that it was too cold, if asked. If asked why he was sneaking into their room, into their shared pile of blankets on the cot on the floor- when all were asleep.
It’s morning. He should get up. He should assist the survivors with cleanup.
He rode here so quickly yesterday. The fields soaked up so much blood. He slips back into the daze of half-sleep.
Time travels with the sun.
The light leaves his window but still, he hasn’t gotten up. His stomach grumbles, but he ignores it by practice. He’d hear if more fighting was needed. He’d always been able to hear the courtyard from this narrow little window.
He drifts back to sleep. A bird lands on the sill, screeches when it notices him, and flies away. He drifts back to sleep.
There’s a commotion in the yard. The voices are garbled at first, but with careful listening he picks out a tearful reunion. Brothers that had thought each other lost. He drifts back to sleep. A warm body presses under his arm, as Altair and Kadar always used to, one or the other, Altair from late training and Kadar from his midnight walks. He huffs as they squirm to comfort, and kisses the head of hair when it finally stills, as he used to. He drifts back to sleep.
“It’s morning, Malik,” a voice whispers into his ear. His nose scrunches, then his brows, and he rolls away from the intrusion, pulling a thin pillow over his head. “Habibi,” the eagle chuckles, taking the pillow away. “You can’t spend two days in a row in this child’s cot.”
“Then stop me.” He grumbles.
“I’ll tell everyone you kissed me.”
Malik glares. He takes the edge of the sheets and pulls them over his head, resolutely curling up on his side.
Altair laughs as he lifts to his feet and wanders out, closing the door quietly.
Growling, Malik throws the sheets from him and rises. The problem is– Altair would.
