Star Wars: Dar'Aliit

Chapter Ten: On My Own

4 BBY Calamity Crew Quarters

"Ow ow!" I grit my teeth. The pain is sharp and quick and I should've slipped some painkillers from the medbay earlier. Bruises hurt more each day. Assuming this is...just a bruise. I hiss as I apply the edge of the kolto patch.

Over all my complaining, I don't hear the door slide open. It's too late by the time I hear the quiet and firm voice in the doorway.

"Commander?"

I forget my ribs, bad decision, turn, and wince. Myren stands in the doorway.

My embarrassment is immediate. Not from being seen shirtless, she's seen more of me than that, but from being seen; from being caught.

Her concern beats my embarrassment to the punch, though, and she strides into the room without waiting for an invitation. "What happened?"

Her eyes are hard to track, but I can feel that she's looking at the bandages I'm applying, and the way her brow creases, I know she's seen the bruise.

I try to keep the air light. "Training exercise," I turn, slowly this time, and settle back. "Some idiot put live rounds in the droid dummy." I chuckle, but the sound falls flat against Myren's silent worry. I look down. "Armor held. My ribs aren't as durable."

Myren reaches out and all the panic rushes to my head like adrenaline. I jerk my hand up, fingers stiffened in defense, and if not for Myren looking up, tilting her head just an inch to the right and catching me in her red stare, I realize I was ready to slap her away.

I would've hurt her.

I can't breathe.

All I can do is shove my hand down at my side and try not to let myself begin shaking.

Myren doesn't move but she looks at me as I'm desperately avoiding her gaze. It's her red eyes that stopped me, catching me off guard and breaking the panic. I'm not afraid of her. But I'm afraid of something she represents.

She raises one eyebrow. I know the look, her face angled with a hint of a frown. It's the same expression she always gives me for unnecessarily getting hurt, usually via my own stupidity.

It's an expression that silently asks, why do you do this to yourself?

And even more quietly offers, let me help.

Myren eventually sighs and sits beside me. I notice the datapad she's been holding in her hand. She came in here with a question, but it isn't the one she asks.

"Should I call Palpatine?" Myren turns off the datapad. She lays it aside.

I look at my feet. "Please don't."

Myren nods. "Then can I help?"

I don't panic this time, only because some deep buried part of me wants to nod; to ask meekly for a second set of hands. I can patch myself up, but after all these years, after...everything, I'm tired. People, we aren't made to care for ourselves. I haven't cared. Not since–

Myren hesitantly touches my shoulder. "Kian?"

My hands are balled up in fists at my sides. I must look unnaturally tense to her. Of all the people here, in Winterfang, Myren probably knows me best. Maybe that's why this idea of sitting here with her alone feels almost natural. Terrifying, but natural.

"Help would be nice," I say.

Myren nods. She leaves behind the datapad and whatever questions were going to be asked to stand and take over the job of patching me up. For a blunt person, her touch is gentle. As she applies each bandage I bite my life to keep from wincing, and somehow, there's never as much pain as I expect.