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I wrote this story in response to a request (Thank you Surftheclouds).

I am working on my ongoing SW story 'Eternity plus a day' atm, so this one will be a very short one.
And dark, as Andor season 1 was. Not a fairy tale.
Enjoy and tell me what you think about it, my dear reader.

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There was a stone bench on the ground floor of the base, next to the canteen, from which you could see the hangar and the corridor leading to the eastern entrance, at the highest angle. Only a small boulder in the corner.

I liked that corner. Sometimes I could sit there and observe everything. The way the pilots prepare for a mission. The way they are gathering, the way they search for their helmets, the way they check the systems before takeoff.

I liked that corner because I could see everything from here. I was sitting here when my mates went to get fuel from an Imperial ship whose defences we had little information about. Too little. I watched the pilot's hand tremble as he put on his thick gloves. I watched them stare at each other in silence for too long before boarding. Just to never return.

I liked that corner. I could see Mon Mothma in her ghostly white dress hurrying towards the hangar. There's always a tiny fire glittering in her eyes. I wonder how long it will last? When will it sleep off? Perhaps when the commander turns down the corridor to the left towards the officers and finally leaves her alone? Or only at night, when she finally locks the door of her room? How much does Senator Mon Mothma suffocate herself day after day? Only partially, or completely?

She puts her mask on in the morning and only hangs it on the nail in the evening. And only until the darkness of night covers her bare skin. But I saw her without it.

In that rare moment, which is like a butterfly fluttering its wings. Yet I was there to see her. She was wrapped in a silk nightgown, stretching out on the wide bed where she and her husband had once probably slept together. Now, the right side of the bed was empty. Only the blanket lay there, which was too warm to use this night. The moonlight shone through the gap of the curtains.

And from tomorrow - I thought - what had been her life until now, will all be gone. Just as it was gone for all of us already. I waited, I wanted to remember this face, what will change forever. The one that could still be a little naive, that still had emotions. What mine was no longer able to do.

That night, I saw her true face, shaken by fear during the day, yet smoothed by the innocent silence of the night. Her eyelashes fluttered occasionally, then she sighed, as if she had said something in her sleep.

Whatever it was, it was the last thing she said before I flew away from Chandrila with my hand over her mouth, dragging her along like a common kidnapper, at Luthen's command. Without a word.

Since then, I have only seen her wearing her mask, that reflects the pure energy of conviction and strength. Only very rarely, when she passes me sitting here, do I wonder if it will even hang on the nail at night? I wonder if the desperate look with which she looked up at me that night could breathe beneath it. Will her heart still beat as fast as it did when she woke up to find me pinning her to the bed?

That was the first time she saw me. We fought many battles since then together, she even made me a captain. Maybe she doesn't remember, or doesn't want to. She's become tough, unflappable, someone who crosses the suspension bridge without once looking down. Because she knows she'd fall then.

Blood, severed limbs, death grunts, exploded friends. People I finally missed talking, because we would have a better time to do so, and who never came back to me again. Friends, lovers whose touch I could still feel on my skin when their hands were cold and grey already. The phrases on take-off, telling each other that we would meet again, which left our mouths monotonously and without content, like some empty mantra without faith.

I don't think about that. I do what I have to do. It's only when I look in the mirror on rare occasions that I can see their faces in the darkest depths of my eyes. In the emptiness. My eyes are like a graveyard.

And Mon Mothma doesn't think about it either. Because she can't afford it. Only in the darkness of her eyes does pain sometimes flash. Every time she's not quick and alert enough to hide it. And only the one with the same hell can notice it. And because she knows I know, she doesn't look me in the eye, not even by accident.

Nor did she do so a few rotations ago.

She hurried past me with the commander, he turned left, and she kept walking until she reached the general. They stopped next to one of the fighters. As the general began to speak, Mothma glanced up at the mounting hole on the ship's right wing. This was to show the few pilots passing by the subject of the conversation. Which of course was not true.

I knew exactly what Dodonna was telling her. And I decided not to watch the whole thing, so glanced down at my mug. Everyone has their own pain and their moments when they suddenly break into pieces. And it's easier if others don't watch you then.

I drank my water before I looked up again. Her back was straight. Proud and tough as ever. However her face was pale as snow. Her hands were red and shaking, she tried to cover them up in vain. Her jaw dropped slightly as glared up at Dodonna.

So you know now – I thought as watched her.

The General put his hand on her shoulder hesitantly, but the senator staggered under the weight of it. She turned quickly on her heel and walked toward me again. Her footing looked unsteady, as she hurried towards the private chambers. I don't think she realized she was actually running.

That night I found myself standing outside her door. For a long minute I stared at the grey metal panel silently. I knew I was going in there. I knew someone had to go in. And I also knew that no one else could see her like that.

I've had my mask fall off already. When I found out that Maarva was dead. When I found Bix. And also when I put a gun in Luthen's hand and counted the seconds before he pulled the trigger, thinking through all the loves and sins of my life.

Mothma has no mask now either. General Dodonna recently told her why she had to be evacuated from Chandrila so suddenly. The General has just told her who betrayed her and her whole case to the ISB and the Empire. And while Mon Mothma had her theories about this, and sometimes in her worst nightmares she imagined her own husband had done this to her - though it was hard for her to cope with in her right mind - the truth was much more cruel.

For this person was none other than her own child, Leida Mothma.

I pressed the small metal plate next to the lock opening and tightened it slightly. The lock soon clicked and the door opened. I saw exactly what I expected.

The senator was lying unconscious on the floor, with broken pieces of her desk lamp scattered around her. Her lips were parted, her skin glistening with sweat, and there was a small metal flask laying in her palm.

I walked over and took it out of her hand. I read the writing on the side. Exactly what I was expecting. Because that's exactly what I have done, not that long ago. And my pulse was also barely palpable when they found me - I thought, letting go of her wrist again.

I reached under her shoulders and knees and pulled her up on my lap. Her head rested on my chest, as mine had rested on someone else's shoulder in the past. I called the medical droid in and locked the door. While everyone else was sound asleep, the droid washed her stomach out twice. In the meantime, she woke up, threw up on my shirt three times, and before she fell asleep again, she squeezed my hand with all of her remaining strength. Her tears continued to flow even after that. It was strange to watch it from the outside this time.

The DF-37 poison left her that night. The pain did not.

It never will.

After that, she didn't dare look me in the eye even as much as before. Not once did she risk it. She was afraid that her courage might be shattered into atoms at any moment. At that point, she no longer felt only that I could see her face without a mask. Now she felt as if I saw her naked. I was a mirror she hated to look into. She was afraid of me.

But once she did though. She hurried down the corridor. Proud, stubborn, unyielding, brave. Still, she looked around the corner and for a moment our eyes met. Just for a moment.

And that night, I stood outside her door again.