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a red shining star
It’s a bad idea from the start.
Even on backwater planets like Ithor, Suletta knows how dangerous it is to linger in public spaces, especially now that her dye’s nearly washed out entirely. She tries to cover her hair any way she can, with hoods and hairnets and helmets, but sometimes wearing something over her head is more suspicious, and she so desperately needs to not be suspicious.
Really, it’s a bad idea for a lot of reasons; she hasn’t properly spoken to anyone ever since she left Chuchu back on Ryloth months ago, she’s almost certainly still being looked for, and it’s probably going to be years still before she’s able to walk comfortably down a street. She’s really rushing things, doing this.
But she’s hungry.
She’s no good at cooking for herself, and regular rations have begun to turn her stomach after so many months on them alone. She tells herself that it’ll be fine, that it’s been since long enough (nearly two years) that surely she won’t be found the moment she pokes her head out from hiding, that she can allow herself a proper meal every once in a while.
She tells herself it’ll be fine, but her head remains on a swivel from the moment she emerges from the underground railway.
Suletta heads inside the first restaurant she sees—a tall, faux-wooden structure with a constant holographic fire making up the center, and, similarly, she takes a seat at the very first table. This way she’s as close to the exit as one can get, always handy if a quick escape is necessary, and though she’s sure she’s not been this nervous in a very long time, there’s still something invigorating about the whole thing.
The Besalisk who comes up to take her order is incredibly large, and Suletta forgets his name almost the moment he says it, too focused on his (also well-sized) arms to listen properly. If worst comes to worst, she could probably knock him back against the wall, but if he’s able to get one of his hands around her body or her head, she’s a goner. Even then, it’s been months—closer to a year—since she used her power. It may not work at all for her anymore and she’d have no idea. Suletta lowers her head a little more.
“What can I get you, miss?” Somehow, his question still manages to catch her off-guard.
“U—Um, yes. I’d like this, p—please.” Panicking, she points to a random point on the menu—a physical one, interestingly enough—and hopes it’s not the most expensive item they carry. That would be just her luck. “And some water. Thank y—you.”
“No problem. I’ll put that in for you, it should be just a couple of minutes. Let me know if you need anything else,” her waiter says kindly. He snatches the menu with one of his lower arms and heads away, leaving her sitting alone at the table.
Suletta takes a deep breath. It’s a good thing to worry so much about talking to other people, but she’s probably worried about the wrong parts; already she’s wondering if she’d come across strange to the Besalisk, if he’ll suspect something’s wrong and submit a report. Maybe she should just leave before anything can happen, maybe this is a ridiculous risk, just to satiate her own greediness.
She’s always been rather self-centered.
For a few moments, it’s just like this; Suletta trying to calm herself and act as if she’s supposed to be here. She opens her eyes and looks around, though there’s not much at all to see. The place isn’t busy—it’s not quite a regular mealtime—but there are a few scattered patrons throughout the place, all of whom are paying her no attention. She’s glad. She really is hungry.
Then something happens that Suletta could have never prepared for: someone says her name and the plan shatters upon impact.
“Suletta?”
For a moment, the rest of the world whites out entirely. Suletta’s turn is more instinctive than anything else in the universe, the very atoms of her existence surely written in such a way that she is going to look no matter what she wants. She’s not in control of her body, not in this moment, but even if she was, she’d be looking anyway.
She knew whose voice it was the moment a single syllable reached her ears, but seeing her standing there is another blow entirely.
Miorine Rembran.
Miorine Rembran, still short, still standing with her head high, still with that eye-catching gaze, still the same as she had been the last time. She’s wearing something Suletta’s never seen on her before, a brown vest tucked into baggy blue pants and a long-sleeved shirt underneath that, but even her clothing can’t dilute the proud way she stands, the confidence with which she moves. Even now, with her eyes wide and mouth gaping open, she’s the most beautiful thing around; though she’d hate—or she did, back then—being told, it’s true. That hasn’t changed.
Suletta never thought she’d see her again.
(Bloodshot eyes, bloodied face, bloodstained hands. Confusion and terror mixing in such a way that Suletta distinctly recalls the way her stomach had turned. Bloodstained hands gripping bone-white shoulders, staining them red. Miorine’s quiet declaration, Miorine’s stricken face, Miorine’s legs buckling out from under her.
Suletta catching her, Miorine shoving her away.)
It’s been nearly two years since then, but Suletta remembers it like it was yesterday.
She finds she can’t breathe, can’t swallow, thorns pricking at her throat and winding their way down into her chest. Her mouth is dry, hands shaking, and if she were standing up, she’s sure she would have collapsed.
“M—Miorine,” she says finally. “You’re h—here.”
Miorine is here. Why is she here? This is a nowhere planet—that’s why Suletta’s here—and it’s nowhere near anything important. Suletta would have thought Miorine would be on Corsuscant or someplace equally of significance, changing the galaxy and making things better as best she can. A wave of nausea hits her hard; she’s not hungry anymore.
Is Miorine here because of her? Was she banished because they used to know each other? Worse, is she on the run? Has she been on the run this entire time?
Suletta doesn’t know how to ask, doesn’t know what to say at all. Miorine seems to be having the same problem herself, at least, mouth opening and closing as she stands eerily still, hardly even blinking.
Finally, something shatters: Miorine steps closer, breaking the spell cast between them. The breath rushes out of Suletta’s chest in turn, like someone’s Force-pulling the very air from her lungs.
“I didn’t know you were alive,” Miorine says. Suletta can no longer bring herself to meet her eyes, but she can feel Miorine’s gaze on her face, searing into her cheek and finding a place to stay in her bones. “Well—I hoped, but I wasn’t sure.”
She hoped. Even after all that happened, when she’d be well within her rights to be relieved that Suletta’s gone and probably dead, she’d still hoped.
Suletta’s not sure if that makes her feel better or not. If anything, hearing that just feeds the guilt crawling down her spine, stabbing sharper with every word spoken. Miorine is one of the kindest people she’d ever met, she’s always known that, and she’s never deserved the gentleness Miorine’s shown her, even in the very beginning.
“I d—don’t think I was on the list,” Suletta admits lamely, because Miorine does deserve the truth. “Not at first. When everything started to happen, for a while I was fine, b—but—”
Acting on a rusty instinct, she slams her mouth shut just in time for her Besalisk waiter to return to the table with her water. Her heart is pounding nearly out of her chest as he spots Miorine, still hovering nearby, and says, “Oh! Can I help you, ma’am?”
As Miorine hesitates, Suletta still doesn’t meet her eyes, instead training her gaze firmly on the checkered pattern on the table. There’s a small corner, near the very edge, where the print has faded, so it almost looks as if there are two white squares next to each other instead of the usual black-white-black sequence. Suletta stares at it until the fabric blurs before her very eyes, shifting so that it nearly looks normal again.
“Yes. I’ll be joining her, if that’s all right,” Miorine says finally, and she sits before she’s even given an answer, taking the seat directly across from Suletta, who tries not to react too strangely. She should’ve known that Miorine wouldn’t let her go so easily.
“Of course!” The waiter takes this new development with perfect composure, setting down another few napkins for her. “Would you like to see a menu?”
“There’s no need. I’ll just have whatever she’s having, please.”
By the time Suletta’s grown the courage necessary to look back up, the Besalisk has once again disappeared, and Miorine’s staring directly at her. The urge to hide away again is strong, but Suletta curls her hands into fists. She has to be brave, if only for Miorine’s sake.
She says, her tongue like lead, “What do you want to know?”
She’ll tell her anything she asks, so long as it’s possible. Suletta’s long past trying to excuse her actions—her stupidity —and Miorine is more than worthy of the truth.
Miorine could never be accused of beating around the bush. “Do you know where your mother is?”
In reply, Suletta hides her flinch well. “No. I h—haven’t seen her… since. I was supposed to m—meet her a few days afterward, but I c—couldn’t do it. Not after what I saw.” She swallows. “What I did.”
“Is she still looking for you?”
“I don’t know.” This is the truth. The clone army is certainly still looking for her, and the clone army had been answering to Prospera when they added Suletta to their list, but as far as she knows, her mother’s disappeared from the galaxy entirely. This is not very surprising. Suletta may have been blindsided by her mother’s true intentions, but keeping the power to herself was never part of the plan.
Something in Miorine’s face softens unexpectedly. “You’re still in hiding?”
I don’t want to die, Suletta thinks. It’s such a silly thing, infinitely worse if she said it aloud and completely unacceptable of an opinion to have, but it’s the truth. It terrifies her, even more than the constant running and hiding does. She doesn’t want to die.
She says, only somewhat less pathetically, “T—They’re still after me. The army, I mean. I’m one of the ones who got away.” When Miorine doesn’t reply, she goes on. “I t—think my mother sent them looking for me when I didn’t meet up with her, b—but now that she’s gone—”
“They’d kill you, too.”
Suletta ducks her head, shame weighing her down. “Yes.”
Closing her eyes briefly, Miorine lets out a short sigh. She’s probably just as nervous about this whole thing— Though, Suletta thinks wretchedly, for a completely different reason.
“Well,” Miorine says. “In any case, I’m glad you’ve not been found.”
Suletta believes her, even if she’s not sure Miorine should be glad at all. Even as an angry sixteen year-old, Miorine had possessed one of the most gentle hearts Suletta had ever seen. That had been one of the main reasons, early on, as to why Suletta fell so hard.
They both go quiet for a moment, and then, fiddling with her fingers, Suletta says, “I… didn’t realize you’d be here. I wouldn’t have come to this planet if I knew. Are you here on a business trip?”
Miorine reaches out to take a sip from Suletta’s own water before answering. “I ran away.”
“Oh.”
“My father wanted me to become the Kaminoan Senator,” she goes on, gaze still as sharp as ever. “After everything happened. Though I waited until he was better again, I decided not to follow in his footsteps, and about a year ago I saved up enough to buy myself a junked-up shuttle that was capable of a few hyperspace jumps. I didn’t say goodbye.”
So she’s not on the run. Suletta feels herself relax, just a little bit.
“That’s always w—what you wanted to do, isn’t it?” She remembers Miorine talking about running away a lot, though her attempts had never gone very well. Miorine had always seemed to sure about what she wanted to do with her life, always focused on something seemingly out of reach. Suletta’s always found that admirable. “...Do you grow tomatoes here?”
“You remember that?” Miorine looks surprised. “I do. More than tomatoes, but those are most of what I sell.” Her face twitches, that familiar Rembran pride making its first appearance. “Actually, this very restaurant uses my products.”
Suletta’s not shocked to hear that. She remembers how good Miorine’s tomatoes had always tasted, how she always swore she could taste the passion in the way Miorine grew and worked with them. It was something that would never fail to fluster her, and so Suletta would use the compliments every chance she got, every time she was allowed a bite, a snack. She’s glad Miorine’s found a place to be and found success in that place.
Which means she’ll have to move on quicker than she planned on. There’s nothing Suletta wants less than to trouble Miorine again—never again—and to stay on this planet for even another few days would only cause unnecessary stress.
“Have you been here long?” Miorine asks, changing the subject.
Suletta shakes her head. “Only a few days. I—don’t stay in one place for very long, just enough to refuel and stock back up on ration bars. This is an o—odd occurrence,” she admits, casting a wary glance around the restaurant. It’s filled up considerably since she first arrived, and the more people around, the more anxious she gets about being discovered. “I was just… hungry.”
Miorine frowns. “Do you not eat enough?” She doesn’t wait for a response. “If you want, you can order something else. I’m paying, either way.”
“W—What?” Suletta’s face feels like it’s on fire. “You don’t have to do that! I don’t have much, sure, but—”
“Nope. Dinner’s on me,” Miorine says strictly. “If you don’t want me to, then you’re free to leave, but there’s nothing you can say that will convince me otherwise.”
As if on cue, Suletta’s stomach rumbles, loud enough to reach Miorine’s ears. She sits back in her chair with a proud little look on her face, and Suletta finds, somehow, that she’s actually more relaxed than she used to be. There’s still an undercurrent of fear and shame mingling low in her chest, but talking with Miorine used to be one of the easiest things she ever did, and that seems to have changed little.
“L—Let me do the tip?” she asks.
Miorine acquiesces with a tilt of her head. “That sounds more than reasonable.”
Somehow they’ve fallen back into their previous roles, even with years separating them from that time. Miorine’s teasing, Suletta reeling back a few steps before working up the courage to send it right back. They used to waste entire afternoons away with nothing but each other, Miorine’s shoulders softening and Suletta’s stutter slowly waning away until it was nonexistent.
Suletta would give anything to go back to those days.
Thankfully, it doesn’t take long before the Besalisk comes back out with their food—plates dwarfed by his hands—and most of the conversation dies from there; Suletta finds that she’s even hungrier than she’d realized, and this is the first real meal she’s had in a very long time. She’s not even sure what she ordered—some local, meaty thing—but whatever it is, it’s the best thing she’s ever tasted.
Miorine doesn’t eat her own quite as quickly, but halfway through, she does cut off a piece to give to Suletta. “I won’t need the whole thing,” she says when Suletta gives her an unsure look, and then, when she still hesitates, “please eat it. Otherwise it’ll get thrown away.”
So Suletta does. She finishes her own plate and wolfs down the piece of Miorine’s without anymore protesting, and soon both plates are empty. She also very specifically does not look at how much Miorine pays for their food. She doesn’t want to know, and she just leaves the rest of her credits on the table for the Besalisk to have. The plan had always been to use them for her meal, and they wouldn’t have been enough for fuel either way.
They walk out of the restaurant together, Suletta tucking the collar of her coat up as high as it can go. It’s not cold out, but she keeps her head ducked, as if breathing into it to warm herself up.
Marine doesn’t speak. Kicking at the gravel under her feet, Suletta doesn’t know what to say, either. Goodbye would be too sad, See you later a complete lie. I’m glad I saw you again is too vulnerable, too needy, and just the thought of a cold Thank you sends a shard of ice to stick in Suletta’s heart.
In the end, she doesn’t have to come up with anything at all.
“If you need a place to sleep,” Miorine says suddenly, “my home is nearby, set on the cliffside, and I have a spare room. You’re more than welcome to stay the night.” Now it’s her turn to look away, studiously watching as yet another pack of customers enter the restaurant.
Heart dropping down to land somewhere in her boots, Suletta knows she shouldn’t accept. Miorine’s already given her a free meal, and they’ve talked sufficiently without dredging up most of the worst bits. She shouldn’t even stay on the planet, let alone go back with Miorine to her home on the cliffside. She’s already endangering them both just by being here, already risking Miorine’s safety by interacting with her at all.
She cannot hurt her again. She can’t.
So Suletta opens her mouth to say no, to tell her that she’s already got a place to sleep (a lie, unless she counts her ship that currently has no working heating system) or that she’ll find somewhere else (doubtful) or that she’s planning on leaving the planet today (impossible, considering her fuel situation), but the moment she starts to say any bit of that, Miorine looks back up.
She meets Suletta’s gaze with a very specific non-expression, and Suletta freezes. There’s something challenging in her eyes, like she’s daring Suletta to deny her, and it’s that more than anything else that changes her mind. Saying no would just be disappointing her again.
Suletta says around the lump in her throat: “Okay.”
They go to Miorine’s home on the cliffside, only a short walk from town. It’s just as beautiful as Suletta expects it to be; smaller, but she suspects it just feels that way because Miorine’s last home had been a massive cluster of buildings. Her land consists of a little house—easily capable of fitting a person or two—and a familiar-looking greenhouse out on the flatter area, turning the nostalgia into something real and terrifying. It’s not the same greenhouse, obviously, but it looks pretty damn close.
Miorine notices her looking and waves her forward with a blank face. “I need to check on my crop,” she says, striding past her. “Come on.”
Suletta is helpless to do anything but follow her. She moves with slow, awkward movements, wary to touch and ruin anything, but she moves nonetheless. She looks away as Miorine punches in a code to open the door and bites her tongue as the heat rushes out, still familiar.
Sometime between watching Miorine to make sure she’s not doing anything wrong and instinctively searching for another exit, Suletta finds that her words have returned to her. “Are these your mother’s?”
The greenhouse is larger on the inside than it looks from the outside, and the tomato plants inside grow in two neat lines, winding up against the walls and blooming high and healthy. There’s other things too—some that Suletta can’t even name—but it’s the tomatoes that bloom in abundance, catching her eye more than anything else.
They’re plump and red, and despite her full stomach, Suletta’s mouth waters. She wonders if they taste the same.
“My mother’s, yes. I took the recipe with me when I left Kamino,” Miorine says, stalking past her once more. She kneels down next to one of the plants and touches it gently before standing back up to check the temperature module above it. “It’s not as if my lousy father would ever use it, and it’s what I make my living on nowadays.” There’s still a touch of pride in her voice, Suletta notices, unable to beat it all the way down. “The townsfolk have never had better.”
Suletta believes it. She says, stumbling, “Er—can I help?”
Miorine tilts her head. “Check out that other line down there and make sure their temperatures are all the same. I’ve been having some trouble with the regulator recently.”
For a little bit, neither of them speak. Suletta checks the temperatures, adjusting them as she comes across discrepancies, and Miorine putters around her as she does, checking on various other plants and stalks, muttering to herself as she jots notes down on the tablet tucked under her arm. It’s another thing—the inherent mundanity of it all—that has Suletta nearly choking back tears as she finishes up, and if she weren’t already nervous about staying the night, she is now.
She’s been interacting with Miorine for hardly more than an hour and she already feels broken again, her insides ripped apart anew. The longer she stays, the worse it’s going to be to leave. She knows this, and yet…
Suletta doesn’t leave.
Perhaps the galaxy wants this. Maybe this is her chance to apologize. She never got to, hadn’t realized she needed to when they were still together last. She’d been so stupid, so confused, so unsure about where she stood in the world, why Miorine would ever be frightened of her. She’s not confused anymore.
(Bloodstained hands reaching out, Miorine shoving her away. Her hissed accusation that Suletta hears anew every night.)
“Miorine,” Suletta says; the first word spoken in a while. She wants to grasp Miorine’s sleeve and turn her so that she can look at her, but she’s afraid that if she reaches out, Miorine will flinch away. She wouldn’t blame her. “I’m sorry.”
It takes Miorine a long time to reply, and when she does, she still doesn’t face her. “You don’t have to be.”
Suletta knows that’s not true. “But I do. When we last saw each other… I scared you. It was bad,” she says, quickly, the words spilling off her tongue. “What I did, I mean. I know that now. I was so stupid.” It occurs to her that most of what she’s saying is actually coming out coherently, her stutter nowhere to be seen. “I’m sorry.”
Now Miorine finally looks at her. When Suletta meets her gaze, she doesn’t see fear. Instead, horrifyingly, there are tears forming in Miorine’s eyes, and every part of Suletta’s body itches to reach out for her. She stops herself.
Miorine says, voice trembling, “I missed you so much.”
“I thought you hated me,” Suletta replies weakly. Her hands are shaking again, but she doesn’t look away. “You should hate me.” I missed you so much, she doesn’t say. I ruined your life and then had the audacity to hope you were okay afterwards. I wish you hated me, she doesn’t say, because then I’d feel what I deserve to feel.
Then Miorine is hugging her.
She comes with such a force that it nearly knocks Suletta backwards, the only thing steadying her being that Miorine is still so much smaller. She doesn’t know how to react at first, head spinning, arms stretched awkwardly out at her sides, but it only takes a second before she breaks.
Suletta hugs her back, leaning down to bury her face in Miorine’s shoulder, and she just—lets herself sink. Miorine’s hands are tight around her waist, and Suletta’s collar is wet. She’s trying to hide that she’s crying, but as Suletta breaks, Miorine seems to stop caring.
They hold each other and they cry and Suletta wraps her arms as tight as she can without hurting her and Miorine holds her even closer and time whites out for the second time that day.
The first time they’ve touched for years, ever since Suletta murdered a man in front of her and Miorine pushed her as far away as she could manage. Suletta had hovered up until the moment she saw her last, but she’d never gotten close again, reeling with confusion and hurt and the horrible, crawling feeling that something was wrong. She remembers wanting to reach out and hold Miorine’s hand as they waited for news about Delling, but she hadn’t been able to. Now she’s glad; it may have only frightened Miorine further.
By the time Suletta’s capable of another coherent thought, the tears have stopped. Miorine’s shoulders have quit shaking too, and she’s the one who eventually pulls back, though she doesn’t go very far. Instead, all she does is dig her hands in the back of Suletta’s coat and tug her down, hard, so that Suletta’s forehead knocks against hers.
Maybe she yelps, Suletta’s honestly not sure. She’s not sure of anything anymore; nothing exists except Miorine’s arms around her shoulders, Miorine’s blazing gaze directed towards her. As close as they are, there’s no escape, and Suletta wouldn’t have looked away even if she could.
It takes Miorine a few tries to speak, and when she does, her voice is scratchy. “I don’t hate you.” Even just that is enough for Suletta to start crying again, though Miorine stays strong. “I never should have said what I did. You were only trying to protect me.”
“But it was wrong,” Suletta croaks. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands. “I was so stupid. I had no idea what I was d—doing. I had no idea what my mother was doing.” She lets out a mirthless chuckle. “I was never a real Jedi. I’m not even a real person. Did you know that?”
Miorine frowns. “...What?”
“I’m a clone,” Suletta tells her, closing her eyes to hide from Miorine’s reaction. “My mother’s first child was taken by the Jedi and was killed in a training assessment gone wrong. I was made from her DNA… your mother helped,” she adds, wincing. She’d learned all this from another Kaminoan, right before she went into hiding. At the time she’d been confused by all the death happening around her, relieved that her mother was on her way, and unsure as to where Miorine even was.
She’d fled the planet before Prospera arrived.
“Oh,” Miorine says. Suletta opens her eyes again to see that Miorine’s not looked away, silver gaze still burning into Suletta’s own. “You were my mother’s breakthrough? I—wasn’t aware.”
Yet another thing she can be blamed for. “Yeah,” Suletta says listlessly. “I was the reason the clone army was even able to be made.”
This time there’s no hesitation. “It’s not your fault. None of it was,” Miorine goes on, daring Suletta to disagree. “I know that now.”
Suletta’s not sure she believes that. If nothing else, there’s still blood on her hands, blood that had dripped down Miorine’s face, staining her uniform red. That same blood had covered Suletta’s arms, her entire front. She’d hardly even noticed, too focused on making sure Miorine was unhurt, if her father was stable. Miorine had to shove her away before Suletta even realized anything was wrong.
She dreams of it every night.
Losing track of time, Suletta’s unsure how long they continue to stand there together, now shoulder to shoulder, watching the plants as they bob in the artificial wind. It’s nice here. Suletta can see why this is the place Miorine decided to settle down. In another life, Suletta wonders if she could have found something like this, too.
“Right.” In the end, it’s Miorine who’s the first to speak. “Well. We should get to bed.”
Miorine’s home is just as beautiful as the greenhouse had been, if a little messier. But even the slight clutter is endearing, if only because it’s just another thing that Suletta remembers from before. She’d spent hours and hours making sure Miorine remembered to eat and sleep, directing cleaning bots to Miorine’s room whenever things got to be a bit musty. She’s always so focused on something else, and Suletta hadn’t minded one bit, not when it meant she got to stay longer.
“This is my bedroom,” Miorine tells her, gesturing to a small offshoot of the hallway. There’s no door. “You can stay in there tonight, I’ll sleep on the couch in the main room. No arguing,” she says quickly, sensing Suletta’s indignation. “You’re not winning that one, either.”
“But—”
“It’s already decided. No arguing,” she says again, harsher this time. She stands nearly an entire foot shorter than Suletta, but her power has never had much to do with her size. Suletta finds herself nodding.
“Okay.”
They’re both ready for bed within a few minutes, Suletta being given an old robe in lieu of proper pajamas. It’s surprisingly big as something that Miorine assumedly wears, and Suletta tries not to wonder if she keeps it for someone else. She doesn’t want to know if Miorine has other people sleep over sometime. She doesn’t.
Neither of them speak when they part ways, Miorine dragging a pillow and blanket over to the couch as Suletta hesitantly lays down in her bed, burying her head in the pillow Miorine had laid out for her. Her feet come close to the edge of the bed, not built for her height in mind, and she closes her eyes.
Suletta already knows: she’s not going to get a wink of sleep.
She resigns herself to a long night and promises that she won’t toss and turn, wary of bothering Miorine, still in earshot. All she has to do is make it through the night and then she can go and Miorine won’t have to be bothered by her anymore. All she has to do is make it through the night.
Time blurs somewhat; Suletta doesn’t sleep, but she knows that some time has passed when she first clocks movement.
Maybe it’s an old Force-user instinct or just Suletta’s paranoia kicking in, but she’s on high alert as Miorine pads back into the room. She wonders if Miorine had just forgotten something or if she needs another blanket, and she’s halfway through debating whether or not she should ask if she could do anything to help when Miorine moves again.
With one, smooth movement, Miorine slides underneath the covers of the bed. The very same one that that Suletta’s still laying in.
Suddenly more terrified than she’s been in a long time, Suletta goes very, very still. Her mouth doesn’t.
“M—Miorine? I—”
“Not a word,” Miorine snaps, and Suletta shuts her mouth with a click. “I can’t sleep on the couch, okay? I tried, but it’s not working.”
Suletta risks her wrath to say, “I c—could sleep on the couch i—instead—”
“No.” She’s stopped moving, her back to Suletta. They’re not touching, but Suletta can feel her body heat, only inches away. “Just—go to sleep. Don’t move, don’t say anything. Please,” she says after a pause. “Just… stay.”
And Suletta stays. What else could she do? She’s never been able to deny Miorine anything, and that clearly hasn’t changed.
Suddenly, it’s not hard to sleep at all. Her eyes adjust so that she can just make out Miorine’s figure before her, her side slowly rising and falling. It should be more nerve-wracking, but somehow, it’s more comforting than anything else. With Miorine nearby, Suletta drifts off before she even realizes it’s happening, and this time, it’s dreamless.
/ /
When Suletta wakes up, she’s instantly aware of two things. The first is that it’s far later than she’d planned to sleep, judging by how high the sun has already risen, and the second is that Miorine, still fast asleep, had moved sometime during the night.
This is very clear, given that Suletta is now holding her.
She doesn’t move; to flinch would to wake Miorine, and there’s nothing she wants more than to have to explain this. Her arms are wrapped gently around Miorine’s waist, her nose this close to being pressed into the back of Miorine’s neck. Miorine’s own hand winds backwards, holding onto Suletta’s shoulder at an angle that cannot be the most comfortable, but Suletta can’t work up the courage to move it. She can’t do anything. Her heart aches for more than one reason.
They don’t talk about it.
It ends up being fairly simple: at some point a now-awake Miorine simply extracts herself without a word, and Suletta waits a few minutes before following. By the time she catches up, Miorine’s gotten out two plates and is busy filling them with something that Suletta doesn’t recognize but smells good. Neither of them speak, but Suletta gives her an appreciative nod when Miorine shoves a plate over to her. She tries to smile, but she’s not sure it comes across very pleasant.
She is so tired of running.
“I have something for you,” Miorine says, once they’re both done eating. Suletta’s been trying to come up with a proper-sounding goodbye for the past fifteen minutes, and she’s instantly relieved to be putting that off. It’s a selfish thought, but that’s not surprising anymore. “Here.”
Caught up in her own head and instincts too rusty to give her any warning, Suletta’s unprepared for what Miorine holds out to her, having pulled it out of a nearby cabinet.
Her lightsaber.
Suletta’s not seen it since she left Kamino. She’d been in such a hurry to run away, so afraid to be identified as a Force-user, and she’d not even considered bringing it with her. She’d left it laying on her cot, hoping that her mother would find it and consider it the resignation that she meant it as.
Her fingers tremble when she reaches out for it, holding the still-familiar weight in her palm. The hilt is still painted its obnoxious white, though it’s chipped in some places, and it’s as if it’s only been a few days instead of years.
Suletta looks up to meet Miorine’s gaze. “M—May I?”
Miorine nods.
She ignites the blade and it’s a struggle to keep from shaking as the familiar gold lights up, bathing her face with it and turning Miorine’s eyes a stark shade of yellow. Careful, Suletta grips the hilt with both hands, moving it slowly and listening to the hum. Miorine watches as she does; Suletta can feel her gaze on her, though she doesn’t say anything.
When Suletta speaks next, her voice is devoid of any stutter, disbelief trumping anything else she might be feeling. “I can’t believe you kept it.”
Miorine just shrugs, a startingly casual reaction. “It was the only thing left that I still had of yours.”
She says it like it’s so simple, like there isn’t anything about Suletta that weighs her down, like she hadn’t been terrified of Suletta the last time they met. Even then, she’d still taken Suletta’s weapon with her when she finally escaped her home.
Suletta sheathes the saber, placing it gently on the counter beside them. “I’m sorry,” she offers weakly, because that’s all she can say. “I’ll always be so sorry.”
But Miorine just gives her a small smile. There’s a tinge of sadness in the curve of it, but that’s not all Suletta sees; above all, there’s a tenderness that’s simultaneously familiar and completely new. “Suletta,” she says, and hearing her name spoken in such a way sends a shiver down Suletta’s spine. “I forgave you a long time ago.”
Suletta swallows. They’re nearing each other again, not touching, but close. She keeps her head bowed, but she doesn’t dare break eye contact. “Do you—would you want to try again? To start over?” She forces a quiet laugh. “I c—could introduce myself, and you could yell at me because I messed up one of your plants.”
Do you even want me back in your life?
Whatever the answer is, Suletta will accept it. This is a chance for her, a bigger risk than anything else she’s done in her life. She’s not sure she’ll ever forgive herself, but if Miorine can, then maybe it’s possible. Even if Miorine says no, Suletta already knows she’ll never regret this meeting.
It takes Miorine a moment to reply, but when she does, there’s not a trace of doubt in her voice. “I don’t want to start over,” she says, making a determined step closer, “I just want to be with you.”
Not a second goes by before Suletta’s crying again. Tears well up in her eyes and she goes to wipe them away, sniffing pathetically. Her entire chest feels fit to bursting, her heart beating faster than it ever has.
“So?” Miorine’s expression hasn’t wavered. “Will you stay?”
She wants her to stay. Miorine, who’s seen the absolute worst of Suletta, who hasn’t seen her in two years, who still forgave her, still cares for her.
Suletta tries her best to pull herself together, but tears are still rolling down her cheeks as she croaks, “O—Okay. I can do that.”
Once she’d reached out to Miorine, hands trembling with relief and dripping with blood. Once, Miorine had denied her—rightfully so—pushing her away and calling her what she was. Once, Suletta had wondered why.
Now Miorine holds out her hand, and there’s nothing in the galaxy that could keep Suletta from taking it.
Their fingers intertwine, the contact taking a weight off of Suletta’s shoulders and relaxing her; she meets Miorine’s eyes, says nothing about the echoing tears she notices in their silver depths. She’s not sure she can say anything else, her throat contracting and thick around emotion, but Miorine doesn’t seem to be expecting anything.
They stand together, Suletta’s hand nearly dwarfing Miorine’s own, and for the first time since they met again, when Miorine smiles up at all, Suletta’s able to smile back.
She feels safe.