Storm
"Guilty."
It was not the answer he had been expecting, and at the intense sadness in her eyes he had to look away. He felt her gaze on him; he never could quite meet her eyes. The few times he had, he had seen the curiously emotional depth to her - and her pity. She never spoke of it, but surely she knew he saw it.
He lifted his eyes to scan the cold and desolate horizon, folding his arms and pointedly ignoring her unspoken question. She seemed to be waiting for him to say something; he'd been the one who had asked. But he'd never been good at this.
"There's a storm coming," he said.
She paused, that stare regarding him with a kind of defeat. Then she took the proffered electrobinoculars and looked out herself. Her sigh misted the transparisteel window.
"It appears so."
They stood that way for some time, and despite the heaters inside the base a chill ran through his whole body. Her reply had dismayed him, and yet he could not tell her so. He had always been better at knowing when to stay silent than knowing when to speak. But he had to ask.
"Why?"
She cocked her head as if she hadn't been expecting the question, but he knew she had felt every nuance of his feelings. He took a breath through his nose, waiting. The storm was gathering on the horizon, snow and ice whipped into a frenzy by the howling winds and steadily obscuring the fragile line where the earth met the sky. Both equally icy. He hoped the scout team had had the sense to turn back when they'd seen it. She seemed to be ignoring him, so he asked again because he had to know.
She gave a low chuckle, the corner of her mouth lifting a little in a sad smile. "Why? Why do I feel guilty?"
He considered her words, then nodded.
A flicker of sadness came over her eyes. "Because you are a man. But you don't see it," she lowered her voice, barely audible over the hum of the fan vents. "None of you do."
"I know I'm a man," his indignance crept in despite his attempt to keep his tone neutral. She shook her head, and he thought she would continue, hoped she might elaborate, but then she sighed again.
"May I ask you a question, now?" she asked, seemingly dropping her train of thought. He wasn't sure he was quite grasping her point, but he nodded. She shifted where she stood, and continued after a moment. "How do you do it, Commander?"
"Do what?"
That sad smile again. "Exist, in a world where you have no hope."
He frowned, and she carried on. "I do not mean to say that you have no aspirations, no dreams – but you have no hope," she folded her arms and scanned the horizon again. He noticed the storm was closer now, enveloping the entire horizon in a white cloud. She shook her head again, lekku coiling slightly behind her, perhaps in agitation, though he could never be sure. "You exist in a world where you are not wanted, provided for or loved. You have no life beyond war, you have no expectations beyond death. I am asking you, Bly, how you manage to go on fighting when you have nothing?"
He swallowed, because the lump forming in his throat made it hard to speak. She only used his name when she was emotional, when they were alone, and he hadn't expected it. He took a while to gather his words before he spoke, but she hurried on as if she felt the need to correct herself.
"That isn't to say that is how I see you, Bly," she said, turning her head to look at him, her voice growing soft. "Not at all. But I feel that it is the way outsiders see you, and it is the way you see yourself."
He cleared his throat, still unable to look at her. His insides burned hot, despite the flurry of ice as far as they could see. "I don't have nothing."
She waited.
"I have brothers. They are my family." He considered, then decided, against all his training and instinct, to add with an embarrassed cough; "And you."
He cringed inwardly at his own words, and the moment he had said them he wished them back, but he sensed a shift beside him and when he finally turned to look at her, she was regarding him with an expression he hadn't seen for a long time.
Hope.
"The reason I feel guilty, Bly," she began, turning back to the whitewashed horizon, "is because we use you. And yet…"
Her voice trailed off into the silence and she appeared to withdraw, eyes looking out into the storm but not seeing it. He took it as a sign the conversation was over, and unclipped his bucket from his belt with a sense of things being different now, somehow. He wasn't sure how to adjust to it yet. His visor stared back at him from his hands, and he wondered for the second time today how much longer he would be wearing it.
It was an unpleasant thought.
He almost turned to go, but her hand touched his arm and he halted. She was still staring out at the storm. He waited, watching the rise and fall of her chest.
"And yet…I don't want to stop," she whispered.
A feeling of dread trickled down his spine, and he wished she hadn't said anything. He had always known the fine line she – they - walked, but felt suddenly as if he had looked down for the first time. It was a long fall.
"General…"
He couldn't find the words. Not the right ones.
A chirping comlink shattered the fragile moment, and her hand dropped from his arm. She turned away as he answered it.
"Commander, we're heading in. Storm's a bad one, can't recce anything but snow."
"It's the scouts," he muttered to her. She nodded, but she was absent and he knew it. He scratched his jaw, glancing back out at the storm again. "Okay lads, bring 'em in."
"Copy that. ETA sixteen-hundred hours."
He cut the link, and she turned to look at him again. "I'd better go look over the data they sent," she said, and he stood to attention. "Commander, if you could take a look at the floor plans of the complex and let me know what you think our best strategy is-"
"I can do that, General." He saluted, in a hurry to end their lingering discomfort, and she nodded, eyes downcast. He was Commander again. Whatever line had been crossed, they were placing themselves behind it again.
"Thank you." Then she gave him a weak smile and turned on her heels, the doors to the op room sliding closed behind her with a whisper.
Alone, he pressed his forehead against the transparisteel and closed his eyes. At the same moment, ice hurtled into the windows with peppering force as the storm finally reached the base, blasting the building with snow and ice. He stared into the blinding, swirling whiteness, and for a moment he was carried with it, high into the air.
His arm burned hot under armour plates where her hand had rested.
And then he stepped back, and his reflection stared back at him, a soldier to a soldier. That was all he would ever be. He might just learn to be okay with that.
His wrist comm chirped again, and he headed out of the opposite doors as if nothing had changed. And nothing would change, because he was too smart to do that, and she was too conflicted. They would go on as if this had never happened, as they always did, and then one day…
The storm would pass by tomorrow.
Finis
A huge thank you to JainDo for beta'ing this on such short notice and at such a busy time of year, and for her fantastic comments. You rock!
Merry (belated) Christmas all! My present to you is (almost) Bly/Aayla romance. I don't know about you, but I've always seen their relationship as very complex and under the surface; neither of them wanting to admit what they feel but being aware of it all the same. It makes for some fun tension. Please let me know what you thought! :)
~Light