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There are lots of types of warriors. Choy'la knew her fair share of the traditional ones- men and women and those in-between who'd lost arms, legs, and minds on other planets or in the vast blackness of space fighting for whoever paid them enough to feed their families. Her wife, Sarad, battled against the dry, empty soil of this planet, playing midwife for seedlings that would eventually blossom and bear sweet, heavy fruit. Choy'la herself was a medic, fighting desperately to kill infections, staunch bleeding, and keep the last gasp of Death at bay. She loved her calling, truly. There was no pleasure like seeing the grateful tears of a partner whose love was saved, or watching a proud soldier flex his muscles after having them meticulously stitched back together. But, at times, it haunted her. Blank sightless eyes, pleas for help cut short, they're not breathing, why aren't they breathing, please, help them, why aren’t you helping them? Do something-
“You're up early.” A voice brought Choy'la rushing back to the present. She turned to see Sarad in a soft robe, leaning against the curved door frame. “Another nightmare?”
“I just thought you might like some breakfast?”
Sarad's face softened. “You don't have to lie to me.”
“We have fruit. You like fruit.” Choy’la forced a smile, gesturing to the bowl of freshly chopped Jogan fruit on the counter.
Instead of answering, Sarad wrapped a long blue arm around her wife’s waist and pressed her face into the side of Choy’la’s throat. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, cyar’ika.” The twi’lek sighed, leaned into the touch. She dropped her kitchen knife to wind her fingers through the other woman’s glossy hair. They stayed like this, watching the suns rise, breathing each other’s breath. Choy’la committed each beat of her wife’s heart to memory. It soothed the memory of how many final ones she had felt under her fingers.
The moment, as moments always are, was interrupted. Sarad blushed an embarrassed purple as her stomach rumbled. “You mentioned breakfast?”
Choy’la kissed one flushed cheek and pressed the bowl into her wife’s hand. “Eat.”
Sarad popped a Jogan cube into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “Are you going to keep avoiding talking about it?”
“Talking about what?”
A sigh. “Choy’la. My love. You can’t lie to me. What was this one about?”
The twi’lek shifted uncomfortably, staring out the kitchen window, probably trying to figure out if Sarad could catch her if she tried to crawl out through it. “The usual. That one kid… Just a baby.”
The man has been nearly her own age, but Choy’la had a bad habit of referring to anyone younger than herself as a baby. And he had been young. They all had been- Sarad barely into adulthood and Choy’la only a little older. War made everyone grow up fast but Choy’la couldn’t help but think of how smooth and unlined the dead soldier’s face had been when she pulled the bloodied sheet over it.
She thought about him the most- her first lost patient. Every medic had one and every medic saw their ghosts in the corner of their vision. He was alive when he was brought in, but only just. His pulsed fluttered weakly beneath Choy’la’s hands and he mouthed… something. She leaned in close to catch what he said.
“Ama .”
And then the light went out and his pulse stopped. Blood oozed between her fingers, but otherwise the world went still. Choy’la, fresh to the field and new to death, stared. His jaw was slack, his eyes open, his skin perfect beyond the gaping wounds in his gut. Young, calling for this mother. And dead.
Sarad wiped her thumb across her wife’s cheekbone, rubbing away the tears there. Choy’la sniffed, looking vaguely affronted when she realized she was crying.
“Why did we survive? Why us?”
Sarad chewed her lip. “I think about that a lot, you know. I don’t have an answer. Luck, maybe. Or the galaxy still has a purpose for us.”
Choy’la shook her head. “Those people had purposes, too. And it wasn’t to die. Not like that.”
“I have to believe there’s a reason for it.” Sarad, who’s life had consisted of so much fighting and killing for this moment to hold her wife in her arms, trembled, swallowing her fear and guilt.
“Maybe we should make one. A purpose, I mean.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know, like-” Choy’la paused, “Did you hear something outside?”
Sarad gestured to her deaf ear. “I did not but that is obviously not my strong suit.”
Choy’la pulled away slightly, still holding Sarad’s hand to pull her along to the door. In the distance, smoke twisted into the sky.