twostandingby | (no subject)

He sits down, closing his eyes a second as her hand brushes his face. "It doesn't matter," he says, voice low, and he means that it doesn't matter who lost more people or more of a home, because either way, it's all gone. They're all gone. He takes the offered glass of Alderaanian green, and his hands are steady where hers are not. "I love you." He gently pulls the bottle away from her and sets it on the nightstand.

She takes a deep drink, and holds the glass limply in her hand. pushing her hair out of her face. "I'm so glad you're here."

He reaches over and rights her glass just before it would have started to drip, resting the base on her knee. "I know. Me too." Most of his own glass goes down fast.

Of course, this means they won't be together on this day when he eventually goes home. There'll be comms, though, he knows, or holos, and his pilots will be respectful and quiet, and it's enough.

She pulls her glass back to her lips and downs the rest. She puts the glass on the bedside table and leans her forehead against his.

They probably should have made a toast to home. He didn't think of it, though, and still doesn't. He just places his mostly-empty glass next to hers and closes his eyes, skimming his knuckles over her cheekbone. It'll be alright, the gesture says. It hurts now and it always will, but we'll get up in the morning and keep going.

She wraps her hand around the back of his neck, playing with his hair idly, pushing him closer and kisses him fiercely.

It doesn't stop her from almost crying again.

He slips his arm around her, other hand cradling her chin, and his eyes burn and snatched breaths burn and her lips burn.

She pulls him closer, before pushing him down onto the bed and pulling away. She lays her head on his chest, sighing, playing with her pant-leg.

That arm around her isn't moving away as he stares up at the ceiling. It is, however, absently stroking her back.

Fourteen years, and he still misses them like vaping crazy sometimes.

"I never really knew my parents." She begins, a story he's heard over and over again. "So the only person I really miss is Bail. And the Aunts. And the pittens."

That draws a watery laugh from her. "Servants, schoolmates. I even miss the girls who horrible. The popular nitwits."

He's heard it before. Doesn't mean he minds hearing it again.

"I don't miss those girls," he says. "Mia used to come home from school in tears." Quiet. "But of course you'd miss Bail." Smile. "I wish I could have met him."

"He was a brilliant man. So smart. And compassionate. And I think he knew, that something would happen to him, to Alderaan. He made sure that Leia and I didn't spend a lot of time on Alderaan after we joined the Rebellion." Winter says, looking up at the ceiling.

"You really think he knew? Would that have been possible?"

"He had to know that something would happen to him. Probably never what did happened. But I think he was protecting us, so we wouldn't be easy to arrest or something."

Faint nod. "That would make sense."

She rolls over and looks down at him, kissing his cheek softly, staying quiet.

Tycho's quiet, too. This day tends to have that effect on him.

She curls up beside him, wrapping her arms around his chest, her leg thrown over his.

"I miss Arnua," he says thoughtfully after a time, tracing a solitary crack in the ceiling with his eyes. "The fields-- you know how green everything was?" That color doesn't exist off-planet. Which means it doesn't exist at all anymore.

"Yes. Everywhere was so green. Even in the cities. And you can't find water as blue...or a world as perfect, anywhere else." She says, closing her eyes, carefully.

They open quickly afterwards.

He laughs softly. "Sometimes I wonder if we'd all feel the same way if Alderaan hadn't been destroyed. Do we only think it's perfect because it's beyond our reach?"

"After seeing all the other worlds out there...yes. I would still think that." Winter nods.

He's silent a moment, and then there's a rueful half-smile because he's disproving his own point. "I think I would, too."

"Home's always perfect after you leave, anyway." She murmurs into his shoulder.

"Isn't that what I just said?" he asks wryly, kissing the top of her head.