There was softness in Jacen's eyes, when he looked at her. It was always the same; almost the look a person might give a newborn baby or a piece of art. I must protect you, it said. I must lock you away because you are precious and fragile.
It was the look her father wore when she was in danger–even danger that wasn't so dangerous. In those times Mirax would tease him and she would laugh, because Daddy is silly and has worried for nothing again, and why should he be so overprotective? She is a Horn, and a Terrik, and can take care of herself, Mirax reminds him. But his eyes still try to soak her into the strong place in his heart where she can be a little girl forever.
She'd even seen that look in Booster's eyes, once. Some emergency (and she's sure it had to have been an emergency, otherwise Daddy would have put up more of a fight) had caused her to be in Booster's care. They'd stayed in a quiet summerhouse by a lake on Corellia, and he'd taught her how to shoot a blaster and the finer points of how to smuggle candy in her clothes. At an incredibly late hour he'd put her to bed, and she hadn't been able to sleep (his smuggling lessons had worked better than he'd thought, and she'd been on a sugar rush) when a storm rolled in.
As a child she'd always loved storms, and had been fascinated by the terrifying patterns of light in the sky. Mommy and Daddy had never let her really see them up close, but Booster let her do more things than Mommy and Daddy did, so surely he'd let her look at the lightning! She tried to wake him but when he continued to snore, she went out the door herself and into the rain.
When he found her she'd been dancing wilding, giggling with each loud crack in the sky. What a wonderful thing, rain and thunder and lightning, like the sky was dancing! She had raised her hands to the air and smiled widely when she felt herself being raised up in the air and clutched to a warm, wide chest as Booster rushed back into the cabin.
'Never do that again, little miss,' he'd said sharply. Then, softer, 'Ol' Booster's ticker can't take it."
Then he'd hugged her, and given her more candy, and they stayed up til sunrise.
Jacen never used to look at her that way. The look was new, and she hated it, because his eyes were the last place she wanted acknowledgement of some nonexistant fragility. Once he'd looked at her with trust–in her abilities, in her strength. She'd even helped him out of a few choice scrapes, and thought they had worked past even the status of Master and Apprentice. They'd been friends.
So, she confronted him about it. One night, after evening meal, when he'd been speaking with Master Skywalker, she grabbed his arm and pulled him aside, behind a curtain in the Great Hall.
"What changed?"
Blunt to a fault, that Jysella Horn. But he ought to know, right? Surely he had sensed the change.
His smile was sad. "You don't know?"
"You'll have to clue me in."
He touched her cheek, and then dropped his hand to his side and his eyes dropped to the floor.
"It's hard to say."
"Then don't use words."
Jysella tipped his chin up, and eyes met. Why are you afraid I'm going to break?
The gentle hazel that shined back at her almost closed off, but then something in him began to unfurl and the shine and slant of his eyes became something else entirely.
His tongue darted out, wetting his top lip. She bit her bottom one, unsure of the unidentified thing swirling about in the Force around her. His hand reached up and stroked her face.
"You're angry at the things you see when you look at me."
"When you look at me. You don't think I can do my job anymore. You think I'm going to break."
He laughed as if she had said something absurd and his hand passed over her eyes, beckoning them to shut.
Your eyes can decieve you. Don't trust them.
There must have been something about the heavy velvet curtain they stood behind that held in warmth, because suddenly Jysella was very warm indeed. One by one she felt tiny pricks as the hair on the back of her neck began to stand on end, and as Jacen ran his hand up and down her arm Jysella's skin brought up goosebumps. He was warm around her, thick in the air.
The hand brushing her arm settled at the small of her back; he drew her close and laid his head on hers.
She almost didn't notice it, at first. The Force was so warm and thick with the comfort of him, the familiarity and old friendship, that she didn't feel the tinge of darkness he was trying to show her. After a moment, though, she understood that he was directing her to reach further, and she touched lightly on a wound that seemed new, not a part of the man she knew. It seeped fear, and her head snapped up to find his eyes.
If you break, so will I.
The enormity of what he was saying made her began to tremble. She knew what he spoke of–the story was old, how his grandfather had spoken those same words to another woman, a woman whose breaking had been the last small step towards a future that had spelled death for a galaxy. The fear was better understood now, his guardedness a little more explainable.
"I am not her," said Jysella. "And you are aware of the danger. Your ancestor wasn't."
He nodded.
"We are not them," she continued. "We are friends, not–"
His grip tightened, and simultaneously there was a kiss on her forehead and a jump in her stomach.
"We're more than you think we are," he said quietly. "And someday we'll be everything we can be."
You must forgive me, the look in his eyes said. You are precious and though perhaps not fragile, you don't always know what is dangerous and what isn't. if I lost you the galaxy would end.
"You want to protect me from the lightning," she said.
"Someone has to. The rain isn't always made for dancing."