SWTOR smuggler Fanfiction

Never

"You're the leader of an alliance now. An alliance of those with differences..."

A title I didn't want, that no one asked me about. I thought as a gave a speech to "my" alliance. I'll be strong for them, yes, because Lana had a point when she said that people looked up to me, that i'm the only one they'd rally behind. If I must lead to save the galaxy that is my home, i'll do it. If I must lead to save lives, i'll do it. If I must lead until Lana and Theron find my crew, i'll do it.

But I'd never want for this.

Everywhere I walk around the base, people tell me congratulations. I do the polite thing; thank them, hoping my heartache doesn't show. Hoping that people can't see how i'll turn to my left, start to say something, and realize he isn't there. Hoping that the tears don't show, that my heart isn't laying around somewhere, because it certainly isn't where it's suppossed to be. I put on a smiling face and pretend that everything is fine.

Because a leader never shows they are broken.

Lana and Theron know. I'm not oblivious to the apologetic look in their eyes when they tell me there's still no word from my crew, when I have to pretend a part of me hasn't died and simply ask them to keep up the search. It's the same process. They tell me the bad news, my heart becomes a little weaker, they give an apolgetic look, and I give them my heartbroken look.

Because words can never say as much as eyes.

People will come to me, asking me to listen to their stories. All of them are broken. The mother who lost her child. The husband without his love. The brother without his twin. I listen to them all, try to offer encouragement, tell them that we will beat Arcann; he won't be on the throne when i'm through with him. They all smile through their tears, thank me, and leave my office. Listening to their stories has given them strength, and healed their hearts, they say.

No one listens to my story. Not even Lana or Theron, though I suppose it's because I push them away when they try, quickly changing the subject to whatever comes to mind. I know what I'm missing, I know what I want back by my side, but saying it out loud would only make it set into stone. I know who makes my heart beat, because in his absence it beats no longer. I know who keeps me happy, because I can't stay happy past the occassional joke. I know who keeps me up crying at night. I know that if I told people who this person is they'd try to help me. An admirable effort, if it had any chance of working. Alcohol wears off, laughter can only carry on for so long, smiles mean nothing to me now. The kind words and the friendships offered to me have the same effect as using a small bandage on a gaping wound; it can help, but so much more is needed. No, only one thing, one person can truly help me.

I'll never heal without Corso by my side.