Chapter Text
George is pulled out of hazy dreams by a low murmur occasionally interrupted by Kimi's barely contained laughter. For a few minutes, he remains still, relishing the warmth and surprising comfort of lying on a sofa, wrapped in a soft blanket that smells faintly like smoke and burnt wild grass. Another spike of laughter, high and full of joy, piques his curiosity, so he cracks his eyes open, his gaze landing on the source of disturbance right away.
Max is standing at the kitchenette, leaning against the countertop with his hands crossed over his chest. Kimi's sitting at the table, telling some story and gesturing wildly with his lightsaber, using it as a pointer or a prop.
It feels domestic.
Completely different from what he and Max shared.
George can't recall Max ever looking at him with such a tender smile or unguarded expression. Or listening to him so closely, so attentively, so in contrast to their talk yesterday, when Max turned a deaf ear to him. Now he's happy to listen to whatever silly anecdote Kimi feels like sharing....
Maybe George was the problem all along. He should've considered sooner that it wasn't Max being cold and detached, so sharp you'll cut your hands if you try to reach out to him. It was George whose presence was unwanted, but he was too blind to see it.
At least the thought doesn't bring up tears. George had exhausted them earlier, then curled up on the sofa in a pathetic ball and fell asleep. He doesn't remember covering himself with a blanket, though, or using another one as a pillow because he felt undeserving of that comfort. Perhaps, he changed his mind in the haze of uneasy sleep. Or it was Kimi who took care of him.
He tries to ignore a whisper at the back of his mind, wondering whether Kimi would prefer to stay with Max. That a kid who’s too good for this world shouldn’t waste his life next to someone who cannot support him the way he deserves. Surely a general of the Imperial Army will have better luck in protecting him than a rogue Jedi.
But before George heads down that path, his eyes catch Kimi adjusting the grip on the hilt of his lightsaber without looking, a thumb hovering too close to the switch, and his instinct kicks in.
"Kimi, what did I tell you about cutting off your limb accidentally?"
"Kriff!" Kimi jumps up on his seat, whipping his head around so fast that George is surprised he hasn't snapped his neck. "Sorry, George! Also, um, sorry for waking you. We tried to keep quiet, really."
"Speak for yourself, I wanted my sofa back," Max comments dryly. George sits up, hesitantly meeting Max’s eyes over Kimi's head, gauging for any lingering animosity. He finds none when Max nods at him in silent greeting.
The smile vanishes from his face, though.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to," George looks away first, hoping no one caught the flash of hurt in his eyes. He runs his hands through his hair, trying to smooth it out, and focuses on untangling himself from the blanket and folding it neatly in his lap. "How long was I asleep?"
"Sixteen hours, give or take," Kimi supplies helpfully.
"What? Sixteen hours?" he looks up in disbelief.
"Yep," Max confirms, adding with amusement clear in his voice, "At some point, Kimi thought you died."
"I didn't! George, don't trust this despicable man."
"He was too scared to get close to you and check for your pulse," Max adds, grinning.
"You weren't moving, like, at all. For so long! It was unnatural!”
"In his defense, once it was past ten hours, even I started having doubts," Max relents, making Kimi throw a fist in the air with a victorious shout. "Because you were not moving. Not a twitch."
"I don't know if I should feel honored you were so worried about me or weirded out by you watching me like creeps," George chuckles, tilting his head. "It's just a habit. When you're deep into enemies' territory, you don't want to draw attention to yourself, especially when you're asleep."
"I see," Max drawls out. Kimi shifts a suspiciously calculating gaze from him to George and back, but remains silent. It doesn't stop pink from dusting George’s cheeks, unfortunately. "Wouldn't sleeping for so long without moving be counterproductive to being safe? What if a patrol stumbles upon you?"
"That's...on me," George admits, abashed, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles on the top of the folded blanket still resting in his lap. "I must've been more tired than I realized."
"Or you finally found a safe place to rest," Kimi chips in. George doubts that’s the case, though, not aboard a ship belonging to a man who's half a step away from despising him. Luckily, Max saves him from saying anything, tired of the conversation, and quickly takes over, nudging George to freshen up and roping Kimi into helping with preparing food.
Since it's Max's ship, there's only one bathroom, small and devoid of anything capable of providing comfort or care. Although George's glad to see that the high rank and certain fame around the galaxy didn't change at least this aspect of Max's character, he's oddly annoyed. He kind of hoped that Max would have a water-supplied shower. Or at least a bigger cubicle. He can hardly imagine how the man manages to fit inside, with those broad shoulders of his.
With no other option, George suffers through the several minutes it takes for the sonic showerheads to clean every centimeter of his body of grime and sweat. He doesn't feel clean, the phantom sensation of still being dirty clinging to his skin. But the time is enough for him to bring his thoughts in order and decide how to approach being in Max's presence. Not like he has many options to begin with, but at least he feels composed and prepared when he gets back to the lounge and sits at the table, a steaming plate already waiting for him.
"I thought that being the Empire's favorite general would come with more benefits," he says off-handedly. He sure sounds whiny, but it's either moping in silence or inconveniencing Max. First feels like admitting defeat, and the second is familiar and easy to fall back into. "For example, a shower with actual water or a fancy laundry automat. My skin is itching."
"Bashing my hospitality on the second day of your stay? Fast even for you," Max scoffs, rolling his eyes. He doesn't sound too bothered, so George feels like it's safe to push a bit further.
"I'm just saying that you could've gotten so much more."
"I would, if I needed to. But unlike you, I can actually live without scented baths and soft linens."
"Live? That can hardly be called surviving. Have you ever heard of treating your body with the comfort and care it deserves?"
"Spoiled," Max exhales into his cup of caf. George can practically taste victory on his tongue.
"Admit that you just don't know how to reap the benefits of your position, and I will graciously help you with fixing that."
Kimi cuts in before Max says anything in return, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Were you always like that?"
"Like what?" George glances at him, curious.
"Like a married couple who yearns for divorce," Kimi replies without hesitation.
George freezes with a spoon halfway to his mouth, his eyes widening a fraction with fear. He pushes the feeling down, lowering the spoon back onto the plate and plastering on his best saccharine smile. "You know what, Kimi. It occurred to me that it's been too long since we worked on your endurance. We shouldn't waste any time, so we'll start once you finish your food."
"W-what?" the kid jolts up. His surprised expression quickly morphs into a soft, pleading one. With his charm turned up to twelve, Kimi whispers to him, eyes shining with unshed tears, lips pouting, "But we're guests here. That would be so rude."
It could've worked if George hadn't grown immune to it, so he doesn't back off, smirking into his mug. Keeping his hopes up, Kimi switches targets, twisting towards Max. Who, taking both of them by surprise, stands by George and says, "Training is very important if you want to achieve anything in your life."
"If you were my parents, I'd wish I were an orphan," Kimi mumbles dejectedly, but doesn't protest further.
Once they are done with the meal and cleanup, Max heads to the cockpit to check on the systems and ensure they stay on course. George unlocks the furniture from where it's pinned to the floor and takes his new favorite place in the center of the sofa, propping one ankle on the opposite knee. Kimi sits cross-legged in the middle of the lounge, his lightsaber put aside.
There's not much they can do about the training, especially with all the equipment lost, so George goes with a classic exercise, instructing Kimi to lift objects in the lounge one by one, starting from the smallest. It may sound like a simple task, one Kimi used to take lightly at first, but once you have at least a dozen items circling you, each fighting against the pull of gravity, real or artificial, you start to realize just how much concentration and mental endurance it requires.
By the time Max steps back into the room, every small object and a couple of chairs are already hovering above the ground and slowly rotating.
"I hope you know you’re cleaning this place up once you’re done," he comments after a momentary pause and then sits down on the sofa, crossing his ankle over his knee. George glances at him out of the corner of his eye, noticing that Max sat closer to him than yesterday. If he shifts just a bit to the side, their knees will rub against each other. It probably means nothing, but George's chest feels lighter with the relief anyway.
"Don't worry, that'll be the final stage of the exercise," he says, then glances back at Kimi, his voice even and encouraging, "another chair now."
The teenager furrows his brow in concentration, and a few seconds later, the chair shoots up, freezing halfway between the floor and the ceiling before spinning.
"Impressive," Max murmurs.
"Shh, don't let him hear you, he'll get too cocky," George shoves him lightly with his elbow, and Max lifts his palms in a mock surrender.
"As you say, oh, the wise one. By the way, we'll land on Kessel in five hours. I want to make it quick. That place is quite dangerous even for me, but you should be fine once you blend into the crowd."
"Dangerous?" Kimi perks up, opening one eye. The chair furthest from him immediately jerks off the course, bumping into the wall with a metallic bang, making George wince. Kimi doesn't pay any mind to that, his focus unwaveringly on Max. "We can't go where it's dangerous."
"Kimi, focus," George says sternly. "The table's next. And don't insert yourself into adults' conversations."
Kimi pouts but obediently closes his eye, pushing the chair away from the wall, back to its previous position, and then getting to the table.
"No to danger?" Max clarifies nonchalantly, but George can feel his curious glance.
"It's nothing. Kessel is fine."
"No, it's not," Kimi speaks up again, his eyes flying open, and burning with passion and need to be heard. "Without a lightsaber, you will be more vulnerable if someone attacks us. And I'm not strong enough yet to protect us both. So please, Max, do not drop us somewhere dangerous."
On the one hand, George wants to scold Kimi for his short speech, because he really doesn't need more proof of how inadequate he is—losing his lightsaber like a kriffing youngling, Max must feel delighted to learn about it. On the other hand, he's too busy admiring Kimi. The kid manages to blabber about all the ways they could die on that planet, all while keeping perfect hold on every object he's previously suspended floating. Moreover, it seems like he subconsciously made all of them rotate in the same direction and with the same speed, which is as unnecessary as it is impressive.
It's such a pity he has no one to brag about his brilliant apprentice to. Max doesn't count since he wouldn't be able to appreciate the true depth of the skill required to achieve that. George himself can hardly make the entire room full of different kinds of objects react to his every whim, even if he really focuses on it.
He's pulled out of the depths of his mentorship crisis by Max's half-amused, half-disbelieving snort, "Wait, you lost your stick?"
"I had it hidden. Then you attacked, and we were too far away from the hideout. I decided to focus on saving our lives and not risking them to retrieve it," George explains dryly.
"Admit you panicked," Max nudges him, teasing.
"Unfortunately, yes, I did," he says, shrugging and turning his head to face Max. He purses his lips, catching a flash of surprise in the other man's eyes, which is ouch, he knows he likes to whine, that's how he gets rid of stress. But does Max also see him as a coward? "I know I made a mistake. It happens. Now I need to deal with the consequences. So you don't have to adjust your course because of it."
"Can you...get another one? Find it or make it?" Max sounds oddly unsure. Perhaps, he doesn't remember how Jedi usually acquire a lightsaber and is curious. George chooses to believe that rather than foolishly hope that Max is worried about him.
"Master Lewis could help us," Kimi chirps up, smiling brightly. "If we contact him and Max takes us to where–"
"No, absolutely not," George cuts him off a tad harsher than necessary. But the mere idea of it makes him instinctively raise his mental shields. No matter how much he trusts Max, he'll never risk leading him to Lewis.
"But–"
"George's right, Kimi. The less I know about Lewis and his whereabouts, the better," Max agrees, as expected. Kimi's face dims, but he doesn't argue, hanging his head.
Watching him sulk makes George want to comfort him immediately, so he says, "I'm not that helpless without the lightsaber. And you learned so much, you’ll definitely protect both of us if needed. And once we have enough money to get ourselves a ride to a calmer place, we can consider reaching out to Lewis."
"So I’ll get to meet him?" Kimi perks up right away. "You think he'll like me? After all, I'm your apprentice...Oh, Force, what if I let you down and he thinks I'm not good enough? Do you think he'll look at me and think Jedi are truly doomed because I'm not as good as he would expect?"
Max tenses up beside him, his pointed gaze burrowing a hole in George. He can tell without looking that the man has "I told you so" plastered all over his face.
Did George make Kimi doubt himself? Is it his fault that this brilliant child doubts that Lewis, of all Masters, will think badly of him?
Suddenly, everything he said to Max about "proper ways" and "upholding the legacy" starts to sound like bantha crap. How can he look at Kimi, an apprentice anyone could only wish for, and refuse to call him the way he deserves to be called?
George is such a kriffing idiot.
But he has always believed that people could change, correct their mistakes, and do better. And that's it, that's his chance.
"You have nothing to worry about," George says with genuine conviction, making sure he looks Kimi in the eyes. "Lewis will be jealous of me getting such a talented Padawan. If he were taking apprentices now, I'd have to fight you for the right to be by his side."
Kimi's breath hitches before his face breaks into the broadest and most affectionate smile George has ever seen on him. Out of the corner of his eye, he also catches Max's hand twitching, grasping around the empty air. For a moment, George wonders what he's thinking about. Is he satisfied that George caved in? Feels like he won? Or is he simply happy for Kimi and indifferent about George and what this moment means to him?
Either way, he doesn't look at Max to check, not wanting to seem like he's seeking approval. No, this moment belongs only to Kimi and him.
Force, but does it feel right to call Kimi his Padawan? Like a piece of a puzzle finally slotting into place.
"Okay, let's do it like this," Max says, drawing all the attention to himself. "I'm going to check the list of the systems I can visit without raising suspicion and look for a planet where you won't get killed as soon as you land. If I find an option, I'll plot a course there."
"Can I come with you? Please, please, please?" Kimi nearly leaps to his feet before catching himself and all the items that stray from their "orbits" the moment he loses his focus in excitement.
"If you finish your exercise by that time–"
"I will, George, tell him I will!"
"You still haven't lifted every object in–" George gestures broadly with both hands, as if encompassing the whole room, attempting to dampen the kid's enthusiasm.
But he lost him the moment Max didn't refuse his request at once. Kimi's eyes light up with a painfully familiar flame of competitiveness. Before anyone can react, every single object that wasn't screwed to the floor jerks up into the air. Including the sofa. Along with Max and George sitting on it.
The take-off is so unexpected and violent, Kimi obviously dipping into the Force with too much haste, that the sofa tilts forward for just a moment. But it’s enough for George, whose hands were still in the air, to almost slide off it and face-plant onto the floor. Thankfully, his free fall is stopped by a pair of strong arms that wind around him, dragging him back and up. At first, he doesn’t even realize what happened, the whole ordeal taking less than a few seconds. Most of which he spends half-lying on top of Max, with his back pressed against the man's chest.
The instant the realization sinks in, his body burns with embarrassment, a hot flush washing over him. He's sure even his heels are beet-red.
"Kimi Andrea Antonelli! What in the name of all Grandmasters is wrong with you?!" he yells, trying to sit up, but his legs are just dangling in the air without anything to steady themselves against. Kriff, that's so humiliating. In full view of Max, of all people. Who's laughing, quite possibly at him, his warm breath fanning against George’s ear.
If it were possible to burst into flames from shame, George'd be already burnt to a crisp.
"Sorry, but you said I'd be free once I get everything off the ground," Kimi sounds like he's having too much fun.
George was so wrong about him; he's the worst Padawan ever. Max can have him. If not him, then Lewis.
"I did not! Put everything back immediately!"
"Okay, okay," Kimi concedes, gradually putting everything back in its place, including the sofa. As soon as it "lands", George scurries to the far end, trying not to feel too upset when Max's hands slide off him with little to no resistance.
Huffing, he combs through his hair, ready to give Kimi a tongue-lashing of his life, but when he looks up and actually takes in the state of the lounge, he can't help but feel impressed.
"Huh, you did put everything back," he says, inspecting the room.
Somehow, Kimi managed to follow his task to the letter: the chairs are set at the table, the plates and cups are stacked neatly on the countertop, the trinkets are piled up in boxes and containers, placed beside the sofa. Even the blankets are folded together, corner to corner. To be totally fair, the lounge looks tidier than before their impromptu training.
"Told you I could," Kimi replies cheekily, getting on his feet and stretching out with a satisfied sigh.
"Well, I'm not a Jedi, but I'd say it was impressive," Max finally breaks his silence. Of course, only to spur Kimi's ego.
On second thought, George shouldn't leave the kid with him. The man will blow his apprentice's ego out of proportion and will turn him into his little copy. Force knows, this galaxy barely survives one Max.
"Thank you, thank you," Kimi smiles brightly at him, shifting on his feet. "So can I go watch you piloting the ship now?"
"Sure, why not, kiddo?"
Kimi lets out a victorious shout and runs towards the cockpit, with Max following him closely.
"We will so much regret it later," George sighs to himself and joins the other two, not wanting to miss Max trying to wrestle away control of his ship from an overeager teenager.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
George has always prided himself on knowing what he's feeling and why. What he's doing with that knowledge, either utilizing it or filing it away and pretending it doesn't exist, is a completely different topic.
After a lengthy discussion and one lukewarm argument, Max and George agree on their destination—a quiet planet at the outskirts of a scarcely populated system, one Max could visit under the pretense of carrying out his mission but without a bunch of Imperial stormtroopers marching all over it. It should take around three days to get there. However, they also decide to take a few brief stops along the way to make the trip's trajectory more believable, as if Max is following a trail. That leaves the three of them with quite some time to spare.
Kimi takes it as an invitation to live out his dream of having a family.
George can't fault him for that; the Clone Wars and the fall of the Republic robbed the kid of childhood and family. Even if Kimi has any relatives left, he can't get back to them, neither for his safety nor for theirs. For years, he had to fend for himself, afraid to make friends, barely keeping his spikes of connection to the Force under wraps. He was so lonely when they met, and he latched onto George as a starving man would cling to a piece of bread.
But George was only one man, and, unfortunately, most of the time, he was busy worrying about them staying alive. With all the running and the constant pressure of being discreet, a part of Kimi that longed for a break, a sense of normality, for family, dried out, but never fully vanished.
Now, when they are as safe as they can be, it soars back to life, and George doesn't have the heart to stop it, preferring to watch the kid bounce between them, soaking in all the attention. Not when he gets an additional bonus in the form of Max treating him civilly, friendly even. Like they didn't fight, barely a few hours after meeting again.
In any case, if Kimi's happy, George's happy too.
And Kimi is. He's brimming with joy, actually. He's well rested because Max gave up his bed for him, either sleeping on the sofa when George's up or spending time in the cockpit. He's chatty, sharing with Max all the stories about his life before and after meeting George, and somehow, he also makes Max share his in return. George falls victim a few times as well, revisiting the memories of traveling alongside Lewis. Max keeps leaving the lounge whenever he does so, but stays the one time George tells an extremely embarrassing story of nearly drowning in an ocean.
Of course, they don't spend the entire trip only sharing stories. George doesn't let Kimi slack off, urging Max to spill some Imperial Army secrets and train them in hand-to-hand combat. It goes as well as one could imagine: Max wipes the floor with them in fair fighting, but George and Kimi manage to overpower him when they work together. Besides relying on each other and the Force, they also include dirty tricks like teasing and trading taunts, so their latest sparring session ends with them sprawled on the floor, breathless from the fight and laughter. Kimi's still cackling occasionally, and even Max makes a sound suspiciously similar to giggling. The three of them are lying so close that their presence in the Force blurs a bit.
George knows what he feels about it.
This pressure in his chest, like a flower growing inside it, round and heavy with the weight of thousands of petals ready to bloom. He knows, remembers, this particular warmth slowly spreading across his body, dissolving the chill that had seeped through his skin throughout the years he spent in the cold training halls of the Jedi Temple.
He knows what it means when his throat constricts around the words that threaten to spill out, the burn of salt in the corners of his eyes, the way he looks at Max and Kimi and can't get enough of it, craving for more, more time, more easiness, more hope, more–
Hope alone could lead him down a dangerous path, one he shouldn't take, no matter how much he wants. Hope is treacherous, feeding him little fantasies about Max staying beside him, Kimi keeping shining with joy, the never-ending laughter echoing across the ship, the restful sleep without nightmares....It will all end. The longer he spends wrapped in the web of illusions, the harder it will be to break free.
What's worse is that Kimi sometimes slips down that path as well. George catches a reflection of his longing in the kid's eyes when he watches Max with a soft, unguarded expression. He hears him probing for a possibility to delay the end of their trip or take one more stop. He's there when Kimi asks what could happen if one of the ship's systems breaks, nothing endangering, of course. Kimi's just curious about the plans and what kind of tedious, time-consuming work would be required to fix it. Max glances at him with such a knowing look that George's sure he will call them out right on the spot. He doesn't, though, patiently explaining that on a small ship like his, all the systems are deeply intertwined. The smallest failure will inevitably affect everything else.
The message couldn't be clearer. Max isn't going to extend his hospitality beyond what's necessary. As soon as the ship lands, George and Kimi will walk down the ramp back to their reality, and Max will fly away to his. George doesn't need a Force vision to see how it will go.
But then, right after lunch, Max offers Kimi to try to land the ship. George stays in the cockpit, watching Kimi grow comfortable in the pilot's seat, one hand clutching the flight controller, the other fiddling with various switches, all under Max's watchful eyes and surprisingly patient guidance. When the ship touches the ground with a barely there jerk, Kimi looks at Max for approval, getting a nod and a satisfied smile, and then lets out a shout of pure joy, rushing towards George with an excited, "Have you seen it? It was so cool!" The kid keeps on babbling happily, already expecting to pilot the ship through take-off. Max stands beside them with zero objections to Kimi’s bold plans. And George...he cannot resist hoping that it will never end.
The bubble bursts on the last day of their trip.
Kimi's sleeping in Max's cabin once again. The kid has spent the entire day jumping from one activity to another, roping Max and George into everything, from training to dismantling a faulty automatic pressure gauge and tidying up the engine area. But despite being tired as well, George's lying wide awake, tossing on the sofa, his body thrumming with restless energy, so the choice is obvious—go and bother Max.
He doesn't anticipate finding the man so engrossed in studying a hologram hovering in the air in front of him that he doesn't notice George entering the cockpit. George's eyes flicker to the projection automatically, expecting to see their route mapped out.
Instead, he's met with a sight that makes him gasp out loud.
Max whips around, swearing as he notices George in the doorway. He clicks a button on the console, making the hologram disappear, an explanation already on his lips, but George knows what he saw. Grainy and overly saturated, it was still a familiar face. He wouldn't be able to forget it even if he wanted to, not after spending years training side by side.
And there can be only one reason why a general of an Imperial Army would be studying information about a rogue Jedi Knight.
"That–"
"George," Max moves towards him, his hands rising.
For what? To placate him, wrap him in a hug and feed him lies? Or to restrain him, put cuffs on his wrists, and drag him onto an Imperial cruiser? George can't allow him to do either. He recoils from Max's touch, putting distance between them that feels like a chasm so deep it could hollow out a planet.
"T-that was Lando. It was Lando, I know it. This–this whole time you were looking for him. That's your mission, right?" His voice gets higher with each syllable that pushes past his lips. George can't remember the last time he was so distraught, his heart thrashing against his ribs like a spooked bird in a too-small cage.
"George, please, let me–"
His thoughts are too clouded with fear and anger to hear what’s said, to consider that the Max he knows had never asked, let alone begged. He took, and if he couldn't receive what he wanted, he moved on, making it feel like it was their loss for not giving in. "Please" was a word he rarely uttered, if ever.
None of that crosses George's mind.
He succumbs to panic like a freshly initiated youngling at his first immersive training session. His vision fills with the horrors of the past, faces of everyone he lost flashing in front of him until he forgets he's on a ship and not in the middle of a burning building, drops of flame raining down, the roar of a crumbling structure drowning the screams. He couldn't save anyone back then. He was too late, too far away. Too weak. And now Lando...They've never been best friends, but they were close. George hoped he had gotten away, that Master Webber had helped him just like Lewis had managed to get the two of them out. He has never known for sure, but he hoped.
Now he knows. Lando is alive, and Max Verstappen's mission, the one that allows him to roam across the galaxy freely on his private spaceship, is to catch him for the Empire.
"I-I should've known," George rasps out. It gets harder to breathe, the air around him becoming solid, landing heavily in his lungs. There's a low hum in his ears. He shakes his head to get rid of it, but it only gets louder, angrier. He can barely hear Max, picking out the frustration but not the actual words.
As if it matters. As if anything matters. George should've never hoped. His Max, the one he remembered, the one he...That guy died along with George's old life and the entire district housing the Jedi Temple. The man standing in front of him is not Max; he wears his face like a mask and cleverly manipulates George like an instrument. Force, he brought Kimi to this ship. Led him to this trap, all while saying they were the safest here.
"I should've known, I should've known, I should've known," he mumbles to himself without even realizing it. His vision blurs, and he hastily rubs the heels of his palms against his eyes, refusing to cry in front of Max. "What else would you've been doing? Right."
"For kriff's sake, can you listen to me for a second?" Max shouts at him. It cuts through the fog in his mind, and George rapidly blinks a few times, clearing his vision and focusing on the man in front of him. He looks angry, his cheeks splashed with splotches of red.
How dare he sound so offended?
"Save it, I don't need to hear it," George says through gritted teeth. Every breath he takes makes his lungs feel like they are about to collapse. He needs to get away. But where? Not somewhere where Kimi can see him right away. He doesn't want to burst his bubble of happiness just yet. But if Max is going to turn them in, he should warn Kimi. Give him a chance to fight. Maybe together they can–
He doesn't register reaching out to push the button to unlock the door. But he feels Max grabbing his forearm. Trying to stop him. Saying, "George, no, wait, hold on," in that urgent, demanding tone. Like he owned him. His hand wraps around George's arm like a cuff, fingers digging into his skin, and George sees red.
He reaches into the Force and shoves. The grip vanishes when Max, not expecting the push, lets go and stumbles back with a muffled curse. Not looking back, George slams his palm against the button, the door sliding open, his vision tunneling onto the sliver of the lounge room visible at the end of a short corridor leading from the cockpit. But before he rushes out, a yell, frustrated, helpless, powerful enough to reverberate in the Force, slams into his back. "I'm trying to save him!"
That makes George pause.
He shouldn't listen to him; it's just a ruse, either to buy time to reach a blaster hidden somewhere under the console or to lull his suspicion. George should use the momentum, get to Kimi, wake him up, and grab his lightsaber–
Instead, he turns around to face Max.
Because no matter how much of a fool it makes him, he will always hope that there's still good left in him.
Max is standing pressed against the console, hunched over, one hand bunching up his shirt over his chest, the other clutching the pilot seat's headrest for support. Every breath he takes makes his face contort with pain.
Belatedly, George realizes that he doesn't remember just how strong he pushed.
"I–"
"You haven't changed at all, Russell," Max spits out, and George recoils, the words landing like a slap. "You still think you're the most righteous person ever to grace this galaxy, no one coming nearly close. Got into your pretty head that you and only you are always right. Well, guess what? You aren't."
Stifling a groan, Max reaches out and clicks a few buttons, making the hologram reappear between them. George takes a tentative step closer, studying it: Lando's face, his height, blood type, his home planet, family status, and so on. Under the table with his basic information, there are two columns, listing coordinates and names of systems and planets. Tracing his movements. However, George quickly notices some discrepancies: a few locations are missing, and some are placed in a different order. Only a few of them overlap.
"I am following him," Max mutters, pointing at the first column, "That's what the Empire knows about his whereabouts. That's," he gestures at the second list, "is the actual route. I need to keep track of both to cover his tracks."
George's eyes dart between the lists, taking it all in. At first, he feels relieved, then suspicious again, then guilty, hopeful, yet again. His emotions clash, tangling in a lump lodged in his throat, heavy and hard to swallow.
"Does–" George croaks out, his voice choked up, "does he know?"
"Of course not. Don't forget, I knew him too. He'd get cocky and start making mistakes. Or worse, tried to meet me. It's better this way."
"Are there more? Is he the only one you're helping?" George asks before he can think better of it.
Max doesn't reply right away. He drags his palms over his face, looking several years older, and crosses his hands over his chest, looking at George with a gaze so cold he involuntarily shivers.
"Are you going to try and reach them?" Max asks evenly. Like he's asserting George and how much of a threat he is to his plans.
So there are more. George's knees nearly buckle with the relief and immediate hunger for more, names burning at the tip of his tongue. But doubt comes immediately after it.
Maybe he shouldn't ask. Because in his mind, all of his friends, fellow apprentices, and Masters are alive as long as he isn't told otherwise. Once he asks, there won't be going back.
Somehow, Max understands him. He switches the projector off, Lando's face disappearing like a mirage in a desert. It gets darker in the cockpit right away, the dull blur of the hyperspace outside casting sharp shadows onto Max's face. Neither of them moves. It feels like something precious is pulled taut between them, like a thread, and any wrong movement can make it snap.
"As far as I'm aware, Alex is alive. I won't tell you more," Max says after all, his words quiet but unmistakable.
The sheer, undiluted joy is so blinding that for a moment, nothing else exists to George but a chanting of he's-alive-he's-alive-he's-alive. Nothing else matters, because his best friend is alive, still out there, still faring well, because of course he would. He's Alex. George is so blinded with happiness that his body moves forward on its own, arms rising and stretching out, ready to encompass Max in a hug. It doesn't matter that neither of them is fond of skinship, or that they have argued; nothing matters but the fact that Alex is alive.
"Thank you, thank you," George exhales with the stupidest smile on his face, his hands bare centimeters away from reaching Max's shoulders.
Max has other plans, though. His face is blank, void of any emotion, when he takes one pointed step aside. Just enough to escape his grasp.
The snap back into reality is so violent that it gives George whiplash. He freezes in place, hands still hovering awkwardly in the air, the sweetness of joy turning bitter in his mouth. For a split second, he forgot about the fight and the hurtful words he said. Now they come back to him, blurry but still sharp.
"Max, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have–"
"Doesn't matter," Max jerks one shoulder up in a half-shrug. He doesn't look at him. His eyes are focused on a point slightly above George's shoulder, and something sharp dislodges from George's heart, a shard he didn't know was loose until it broke off.
"No, it does," he says, frantic in his attempt to make it right. He starts fidgeting with his hands, suddenly too aware of his body. "I was wrong, I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. You didn't deserve it. I should've given you a chance to explain."
"You are a Jedi, and I serve in the Imperial Army. I shouldn't have expected anything less," Max dismisses him and heads towards the exit. Brushing past George like he's not there.
Without thinking, George reaches out to cling to his hand, to stop him, to make him listen.
Max slaps his hand away like it's nothing, the sting of the flesh nothing compared to how deeply it hurts George's soul.
The door opens and then closes shortly, separating them. Leaving him behind. Again.
George stays in the dimly lit cockpit, illuminated only by the blue streaks of hyperspace. He wonders why he keeps getting everything wrong lately, taking one step forward with Max, then jumping a whole-ass light-year back the next moment.
And why, even as the bubble of hope finally bursts, his only regret is that he couldn't keep it up for much longer.