I.
He's standing in the shadows of the Temple hangar doors when the ship touches down. He hasn't moved once since taking up stance there, rethinking an old lesson in patience and endurance. The heat doesn't bother him, despite the increased traffic of craft inside and the cloak he's chosen to wear.
Night has fallen by the time she walks out, a small travel bag in hand, and she's moving slower than normal. Maybe it's the mission she was on, or the prolonged day of traveling… Either way, she looks exhausted.
He falls in step beside her without a word, and she acknowledges him with a brief nod. He slips his hand over hers, swiftly drawing her bag away. Their shoulders touch, and she smiles wearily up at him. His expression is more guarded, but the relief of seeing her shines through.
He walks her to her room's door, and she takes her bag back with a murmured thanks. He responds with a slight bow and a whispered goodnight, and he is melting away back into the shadows.
She stands there for some time looking at the spot where he was, and then she smiles a little. She knows he waited all day for her; his patience is commendable.
II.
Their sparring has changed drastically over the years. When she was a child, he treated her thus. He was careful and easy with his blows. But now she is a woman and she can deliver much the same as he. They've been compared to two nexu circling each other in the training arenas, and today isn't much different.
She watches him carefully, feels the vibration in the air before he moves, and then she is ducking underneath a swift blow that would have taken off her right lekku. He snarls, lunging again this time for her unprotected left side.
They circle and strike each other, combining hits with their 'sabers with punches and kicks. To an outsider, they are going far above the standard rules of combat in the arena. Inwardly, they are performing a deadly dance.
Later, when their 'sabers have been powered down, he retrieves an ice pack for her bruised hip and she snaps his dislocated shoulder back in place.
III.
A routine mission that should have been a quick in and out has turned into something more deadly. When she finds him, a thick wall of glass separates them, and it's all she can do not to hit it in frustration. The water inside is filling up fast. She knows if she stays, their target will get away. He knows it too, and while he wants her to stay, she needs to go.
She presses her hand against the glass, matching his. His orders are clear: finish the job. It takes all her strength to walk away from him, even though she knows he'll be fine. It's only water.
He knows it too, but he knows something is wrong and there won't be a man for her to come back to. Watching her receding back, he pushes away any thoughts of an anguished cry; something like that would give her reason to come back, and he can't let her know what's wrong.
He's never been one to think about drowning; having gills always provided him a way out. But not this time, he knows. Whatever is in the water is going to kill him; he can't even think about what it will be like for her when she returns to his lifeless body.
Closing his eyes, he tries to convince himself of the fact. It's just better this way.
IV.
When he returns with a limp, she's waiting with a cane carved from gimmer like Master Yoda's. He scoffs and says he doesn't need it- canes are for old men. The fear that his age is catching up with him is too much to deal with; accepting the aid would only prove he isn't as young as he used to be.
She doesn't truly understand his reluctance, but he can't walk around with a blaster shot to the knee. He still refuses the help, and she tries to make him see he will only make the wound worse.
It's the first time they've ever truly argued. She can't believe it's over something so ridiculous; couldn't he see he needed the cane? She saw no shame in using it; refusing aid was pure stubbornness.
He didn't understand why she kept insisting. Was it some kind of jibe at him for being nearly twice her age? No, he'd rather she see him as the young man he painfully tries to portray day after day, but he knows it's too late know.
He's bone weary, and she can see it in everything he does now. Another moment and he takes the cane from her waiting hands. His small smile is the only other sign of acceptance. She hopes he understands the way she sees him.
V.
She's about to board the gunship that will take her to the waiting cruiser when he runs up and catches her arm. Her troops move away to give them some privacy, no doubt assuming they have last minute plans to talk about.
For several moments, neither move or speak. He studies her face, knowing in the core of everything he is he will never see her again. She stares at him just as hard, though her expression is guarded and unreadable.
He moves first, jerking her forward so their bodies connect and he captures her mouth in a kiss neither one will soon be forgetting. Her troops do not see, or if they do none of them mention it later. They pull apart just as quickly, and she is turning to board the gunship without a look behind.
When it is gone and out of sight, he closes his eyes and sighs, tasting the unfamiliar words once again and repeating hers in mind.
I love you, Aayla.
I love you too, Kit.