Archive of Our Own

. . .

Rais is in his blacks beside you, flipping through reports and plans for your next mission on his data-pad. Like your boots, lightsaber, and Jedi robes, his armor has been neatly discarded on the small dresser.

“Remind me why the 104th needs to be there for this mission,” he grumbles, propped up on his elbows and looking down at the plan you had made with Master Plo.

You lift an eyebrow and smile, keeping your attention fixed on the ration bar currently suspended in the air above you. You flex your fingers, slowly turning it in circles as the Force energy around Rais shifts to something bordering anxiety.

“You like the Wolfpack.”

“I do.” He rubs his face and looks so helpless you almost laugh. “But you haven’t seen Swimmer and Boost together. We might as well just send those two in alone with all the havoc they would wreak.”

You chuckle and turn the bar over in the air again, watching the candlelight flicker across the wrappings.

“They’ll be fine, Rais. We won’t even meet up with them until the rendezvous past the cliffs.”

It’s late. The twinkling lights of Coruscant outside and the exhaustion beginning to pull at you are testaments to that, but you aren’t in a hurry to head back to the Temple. It’s been weeks since you’d had a chance to be here with him like this.

He opens up another report and reaches for the stack of maps you had brought him. He rolls one out, bumping your elbow with his in the process, but doesn’t bother to move away.

The touch sends something warm and familiar through you and you turn your attention back to the ration bar, twirling your finger and watching it flip twice.

“Civilians shouldn’t be in our sector at Point C,” he mutters, running his finger along the lines you had drawn and comparing it to the data-pad in his hand.

“Yes,” you confirm. He knows you’ve already been over the reports and memorized all the intel, but double-checking the plans helps him prepare for briefings and puts his mind at ease. After a year into your command, it would seem he had picked up on your thoroughness.

He has you explain the area surrounding the landing zone, then some systems of caves as he flips to the next map. His brow is furrowed in contemplation as you respond, eyes scanning the documents meticulously.

The candlelight dancing in his eyes makes them look even more honeyed, almost amber.

The rest of the 500th left for 79s not long ago. Without their teasing and knowing looks, you allow yourself a moment to study his features. The soft white collar of your shirt brushes your jaw as you turn your head towards him.

Absent-mindedly, he reaches for your braid with his free hand and runs the dark plait through his calloused fingers. Your breath hitches just slightly, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Will General Plo have enough men to cover the city wall?” he asks, but you barely register the words as your gaze drifts to your hair between his fingers.

At your silence, he looks down at you. He catches you staring and smirks just as you look away hastily and fight the blush creeping up under your neck.

You answer his question about Master Plo, but he doesn’t respond. He pauses what he’s doing and slowly slips your hair tie off and begins undoing the braid strand by strand.

Your heart does a strange flip and you watch him curiously.

“What are you—“ You stop when he leans over you, still smiling softly, and presses his lips to yours. 

The maps and reports lay forgotten for a moment, strewn out over the floor between you. Thankfully, he catches the ration bar when it drops.

He pulls away and places it on the floor between you and something in you relaxes. He goes back to the data-pad, slightly more pink than before.

You can see his finger moving, flipping through the pages, but his eyes don’t flit back and forth like before. He isn’t reading.

You wait.

After a moment, he sets the reports down and wordlessly returns to undoing your braid. He untucks some of it from your collar and slowly moves his fingers through it as he goes, working out the tangles.

You tilt your head slightly when he gets to the end, letting him undo the last bit before resting it on the floor.

It’s strange that something so small could feel so intimate. So warm. His fingers touch the shell of your ear and he finally meets your gaze.

You don’t hide the way you look at each other. Not in the privacy of his quarters. His eyes hold everything you have never voiced.

“I— do you think we’ll ever...” He pauses and slowly pulls his hand away.

“I don’t know, Rais,” you admit softly, “but the Force is at peace between us.”

With a sigh, you slowly sit up and rub the soreness from your neck. You shake your head lightly to feel the dark waves you’re so unaccustomed to brush against your back. Everything’s lighter somehow.

He sits up too, watching you for a moment before glancing towards the door. It’s not locked, but no one would come looking for you for a little while longer and he knows it.

His fingers brush your cheek and you lean into his touch, gently holding his hand there for a moment before he leans in.

When his nose brushes yours, your eyelids flutter closed. His breath fans across your lips and you sit there for a moment, breathing each other in.

You smile softly and he must see it, because he pulls you into his lap and squeezes your waist lightly.

“Tara.” Your lips meet again.

The kiss is slow and soft and breaks down any wall you’d ever built. He tastes like the fyrefruit you’d brought him from your last solo mission. Your fingers work their way through his thick hair and you don’t know why, but there are tears stinging your eyes before long.

You mold to him there like this is all you’ve ever known. He tilts your head to one side to kiss you a one way, then another.

You pull back to breathe, resting your forehead on his for a moment before the pad of his thumb traces over you chin affectionately. His chest rises and falls against yours. Sure, steady, like the kyber crystal thrumming within the strong walls of your saber.

The data-pad beeps softly with the time. You needed to get going.

“I thought you didn’t like fyrefruit,” you breathe.

He chuckles, the sound echoing in your bones, and mutters, “Surprise.”

You can practically feel his smile against yours.

He hums and cups your cheek to press his lips to yours again, the kiss long and breathless and sweet.

You pull away and he leans back against the wall, letting you reposition yourself so your cheek is pressed to his chest.

He rubs circles into your back and runs his fingers through your hair as you sit there curled in the comfort of his embrace.

You stare at the candle flickering nearest you, watching its little flame wobble.

This is what you had now. Someone who understood, who had always understood you. He hadn’t needed the Force to work his way through your defences and see your mind, your heart. You curl your fist into his blacks and hold him tighter.

“Where’d you go?” he asks quietly against your hair.

You draw your face up to look at him and he searches your eyes before pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingertips graze your brow.

“I‘m here.” You pause, considering your words. “Thank you, Rais. You mean... you mean everything to me.”

He’s not surprised at your words and neither are you. He just smiles and leans forward, bumping his forehead against yours again. You sigh and lean into him.

“Well, I’d hope so. Otherwise this whole thing would be awfully one-sided.”

You laugh and playfully tap his chest three times, a invitation for him to kiss you again and one he happily accepts.

As you leave that night, you comm your men to make sure they’d make it home safe before heading back to the Temple. On your way up the steps, you pause and stare up at the vast expanse of space above you, holding your maps closer to your chest.

You smile.

For once, the stars you know are just beyond the veil of inky blackness don’t call to you.

You think, as you make your way down the dimly lit corridors of the Temple, that it’s because you’ve found something better.