Dissipating Shadows
Nov. 1st, 2019 12:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
serenityevadesFlow didn't remember much after that last coherent thought of maybe I'll die out here. He remembered the frustration of catching glimpses of things on the horizon, moisture farm structures, only to realize he was hallucinating, a dim recognition as he failed to sense any lives near them. He remembered the taste of sand as his legs gave out beneath him. He remembered the sickening lurch of sudden movement. He remembered hazy feverish visions of an unfamiliar place and a familiar voice, Oberon's playful lilting especially forced today.
"You can't really hear me, can you? Poor thing. Rest, Flow, rest. I will take care of you."
He remembered the relief of fresh water in his dry throat, the cooling tingle of kolto on his skin, gentle fingers in his hair, spreading it to his burned scalp. A brief stab, an injection, and things became a little clearer. He remembered his shirt and jacket peeled off him and returned dampened, blessedly cool, and gusts of air with the flapping of cloth as Oberon fanned him with something one of them had worn. Only the thought that this might be a dying dream brought him grasping for more lucidity, but Oberon shushed him and he sunk into proper slumber.
He woke exhausted, but hungry and thirsty. His muscles cramped from lack of movement. Oberon was holding his hand, sitting beside him. He had shed his armor, both the metal and heavy leather, and for the first time Flow saw the skintight undershirt he wore beneath it, hugging a frame much thinner than the armor would have him believe. He could see his ribs.
"Awake, are we?" Oberon asked. Flow's focus must have been visible because he didn't wait for an answer. The Sith he had only had conversations over bouts of what can only be called play-fighting turned and pulled him into a hug. He whimpered as his abused body protested, but all the same, wrapped his arms around him in turn. "You idiotic-...what were you thinking!? If you're going to go and get yourself killed, at least let it be at the hands of some enemy so I could get my revenge!"
At first, his mouth didn't work properly, and all he could do was croak. Then Oberon pushed himself away and shoved a canteen and a packet of bantha jerky into his hands and commanded, "Eat. Drink. I've called for help, so don't bother asking if I have any left for myself. I know that will be the first thing out of your mouth otherwise."
Flow took a long drink, and tore off a piece of jerky. It was the best jerky he could remember having, and half the packet was gone before he was aware of how quickly he was eating. He took another gulp of water, a deep breath, and tried again. "You didn't call for help immediately?"
"I..." Oberon's eyes flicked guiltily away. "I was more concerned with you."
His mind plucked something out of the hazy quagmire of memories lost to heat exhaustion. "You wanted to take care of me."
Oberon stared at him for a long while, with a cross between pity and fear. It wasn't an act. "We're...alike, Flow. So different, and yet, alike. Those differences - I don't want us to have those in common too. They're not good for you."
"What do you mean?"
"Neither of us was...how should I put it? Allowed to experience life in full, for very different reasons."
"As Jedi and Sith."
"That's part of it. A large part of it, actually. You...just now, you held me too. Why?"
"I-..." Flow let out a deep, shaky breath. The reason certainly existed, but it was a tangle of things that defied coherent words. A lot of things defied coherent words. His head felt like it was full of cotton. "I wanted to. You were upset, I'd worried you, and...and you were there for me."
"I was there for you," Oberon repeated, and a tiny smile ghosted over the scarred half of his face. "Someone should be. I was told such a thing wasn't real, it was an illusion designed to make me do someone's bidding. I was taught that light was nothing but a trick. The galaxy has proven me wrong. Given me people to love."
"You love me?"
"Flow, please." Oberon smirked, and Flow could feel a wave of positivity roll off him. "Think about your words before you say them."
He was too hot already to tell how badly he was blushing, but when Oberon began laughing he knew he must be. The sound of his laughter pulled at something he thought had broken, something light and happy and that brought his own laughter bubbling reluctantly from his throat. Equal parts flustered and playful, he threw the emptied plastic canteen at Oberon's head. The Sith raised a hand and it bounced right back into Flow's chest.
"There it is," said Oberon, laughter ending with a sigh. Something in him had relaxed, and his smile was open and genuine. "That thing we both were denied. But just as I was underexposed to light, you were underexposed to darkness. I have...taken the kindness I've found into myself. I worry for you, that you will absorb some of the cruelty in turn."
"Never," Flow found himself saying immediately, stronger than any other thought he'd had since waking up. "I will never become what has hurt me."
"And so we are alike," said Oberon, his smile and aura taking on a saddened cast. Before Flow could wonder, he reached out to take his hand again. "I see now that you would sooner inflict it upon yourself."
"This wasn't-" But even as he began to say it, Flow realized he couldn’t justify his decision to strike out into the wastes beyond Anchorhead on foot, in spite of the warning signs posted at its perimeter.
Oberon took his hand again. "Shh. It’s all right. Just eat. Regain your strength. I am here, and my friend is coming."
"You can't really hear me, can you? Poor thing. Rest, Flow, rest. I will take care of you."
He remembered the relief of fresh water in his dry throat, the cooling tingle of kolto on his skin, gentle fingers in his hair, spreading it to his burned scalp. A brief stab, an injection, and things became a little clearer. He remembered his shirt and jacket peeled off him and returned dampened, blessedly cool, and gusts of air with the flapping of cloth as Oberon fanned him with something one of them had worn. Only the thought that this might be a dying dream brought him grasping for more lucidity, but Oberon shushed him and he sunk into proper slumber.
He woke exhausted, but hungry and thirsty. His muscles cramped from lack of movement. Oberon was holding his hand, sitting beside him. He had shed his armor, both the metal and heavy leather, and for the first time Flow saw the skintight undershirt he wore beneath it, hugging a frame much thinner than the armor would have him believe. He could see his ribs.
"Awake, are we?" Oberon asked. Flow's focus must have been visible because he didn't wait for an answer. The Sith he had only had conversations over bouts of what can only be called play-fighting turned and pulled him into a hug. He whimpered as his abused body protested, but all the same, wrapped his arms around him in turn. "You idiotic-...what were you thinking!? If you're going to go and get yourself killed, at least let it be at the hands of some enemy so I could get my revenge!"
At first, his mouth didn't work properly, and all he could do was croak. Then Oberon pushed himself away and shoved a canteen and a packet of bantha jerky into his hands and commanded, "Eat. Drink. I've called for help, so don't bother asking if I have any left for myself. I know that will be the first thing out of your mouth otherwise."
Flow took a long drink, and tore off a piece of jerky. It was the best jerky he could remember having, and half the packet was gone before he was aware of how quickly he was eating. He took another gulp of water, a deep breath, and tried again. "You didn't call for help immediately?"
"I..." Oberon's eyes flicked guiltily away. "I was more concerned with you."
His mind plucked something out of the hazy quagmire of memories lost to heat exhaustion. "You wanted to take care of me."
Oberon stared at him for a long while, with a cross between pity and fear. It wasn't an act. "We're...alike, Flow. So different, and yet, alike. Those differences - I don't want us to have those in common too. They're not good for you."
"What do you mean?"
"Neither of us was...how should I put it? Allowed to experience life in full, for very different reasons."
"As Jedi and Sith."
"That's part of it. A large part of it, actually. You...just now, you held me too. Why?"
"I-..." Flow let out a deep, shaky breath. The reason certainly existed, but it was a tangle of things that defied coherent words. A lot of things defied coherent words. His head felt like it was full of cotton. "I wanted to. You were upset, I'd worried you, and...and you were there for me."
"I was there for you," Oberon repeated, and a tiny smile ghosted over the scarred half of his face. "Someone should be. I was told such a thing wasn't real, it was an illusion designed to make me do someone's bidding. I was taught that light was nothing but a trick. The galaxy has proven me wrong. Given me people to love."
"You love me?"
"Flow, please." Oberon smirked, and Flow could feel a wave of positivity roll off him. "Think about your words before you say them."
He was too hot already to tell how badly he was blushing, but when Oberon began laughing he knew he must be. The sound of his laughter pulled at something he thought had broken, something light and happy and that brought his own laughter bubbling reluctantly from his throat. Equal parts flustered and playful, he threw the emptied plastic canteen at Oberon's head. The Sith raised a hand and it bounced right back into Flow's chest.
"There it is," said Oberon, laughter ending with a sigh. Something in him had relaxed, and his smile was open and genuine. "That thing we both were denied. But just as I was underexposed to light, you were underexposed to darkness. I have...taken the kindness I've found into myself. I worry for you, that you will absorb some of the cruelty in turn."
"Never," Flow found himself saying immediately, stronger than any other thought he'd had since waking up. "I will never become what has hurt me."
"And so we are alike," said Oberon, his smile and aura taking on a saddened cast. Before Flow could wonder, he reached out to take his hand again. "I see now that you would sooner inflict it upon yourself."
"This wasn't-" But even as he began to say it, Flow realized he couldn’t justify his decision to strike out into the wastes beyond Anchorhead on foot, in spite of the warning signs posted at its perimeter.
Oberon took his hand again. "Shh. It’s all right. Just eat. Regain your strength. I am here, and my friend is coming."
