Replay

"Don't go, Daddy."

My daughter's words are almost lost in the darkness of her room as I come in to say goodnight. This is a scene that has played over and over again in her young life, as I have come home over and over only to be called back out again. I smile, as I have before, and make my way over to her, stumbling once over a toy that she has carelessly left on the floor. She sits cross-legged on her bed, storm clouds gathering in the petulant expression on her young features. She only looks that way when she is truly angry, and in this she has every right to be so. My father's pride may blind me to many of her faults, but being childishly naïve was never one of them.

"I know you're leaving again, Daddy. I heard you and Mommy talking. You said you wouldn't leave again for a long time!"

I reach to ruffle her hair, as I used to do when she was sad or confused as a younger child, but she shies away from me, backing into the corner of her bed. I sigh, and instead run my hand through my own hair, newly cut in preparation for my departure.

"I have to go. It's my duty… and it's my job."

"But why do you have to go?"

She asks the question, not realizing that this is the question asked time and time again by children who have no comprehension of the dangers in the galaxy. The dangers that I want to keep from her as long as possible. When children are exposed to fighting and war, they age before their time, but they do not gain the wisdom that comes with the experience of years. I do not want her to be like that. I want her to stay a child. So I try to tell her.

"There are people in the galaxy," I begin hesitantly, trying to phrase my next words in a way that she will understand. "Who are bad and evil people. And it's my job to stop them. And the Republic needs me now."

My daughter turns away from a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, she comes towards me and buries herself in my arms, tears streaming from her eyes. I do nothing but hold her, as she cries with the pure sorrow of children that has been expressed again and again throughout the ages.

She cries until she falls asleep in my arms, her hair sticking to where tears had made tracks down her face. I gently lift her up and lay her underneath her bedspread, covering her up to her chin in the soft blankets. Then, I simply look at her as she slumbers, memorizing every line and curve of her face. She has grown so much since I last saw her, and when I see her again she will have grown even more. It is best that I savor her youth while I can.

"Trask."

I hear my wife's voice from outside the room, quiet and urgent. I rise to go to her, but I pause for a moment as I look down at my sleeping daughter, thinking of all the reasons I should have told her but did not get a chance to say.

My hand reaches out to brush her hair off of her cheek as her chest rises up and down in sleep, but I stop short and sigh. She wouldn't understand that I fight to protect her. I fight to make sure she doesn't have to.

And she won't understand, until she's older, and knows what it is like to have someone you would die to protect. And I leave, like I have left before, silent as the shadows that disappear when the lights go out. The door to her room slides shut, and I know that this could be the last time I will ever see her. But it's worth it.

My wife meets me at the door, a drawn and harried look on her face. The expression shown time and time again on the faces of those who are losing their loved ones to the folly of war. "There's a message waiting for you about your assignment." I nod and kiss her forehead, in an attempt to remove the creases and lines that have appeared while I was away. The communications unit beeps as I approach it, bringing up the details of my deployment onto the screen. I glance at the screen a moment, then turn to my wife to tell her the news.

"The Endar Spire. It's a good ship, and Carth Onasi will be advising. Don't worry-" I say, as my wife opens her mouth to speak. "It's not a military mission. I doubt we'll even see any combat." My wife nods, but looks away as tears fill her eyes. I gather her into my arms, and we sit there for a long, silent moment, saying nothing with our voices and everything with our eyes.

"Don't let them kill you, Trask." she says finally, a soft smile pulling up the corners of her mouth. "Don't let your damned nobility keep you from coming home. I know the Republic needs you. But we need you too. Be careful."

I smile, and nod, and kiss her in a long, drawn out movement, and we retire for the night to replay the goodbye between husbands and wives that has been done over and over again for centuries. It feels unique, and special, but both of us know we are simply replaying a part.

The next morning I leave, before either of them has woken up. They will be sad, when they find I'm gone, but they'll understand. If I see them again before I go, it'll just make it harder on all three of us.

And after all, I'll be back soon.