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“I am going into Nihil territory. I will find their leaders and bring them to justice,” she said when they fought that afternoon, the anger clear in her voice but not fully masking the still-audible edge of desperation.
Elzar looked taken aback. “Wait, you're leaving? After I just told you…” he hesitated then, like he just realised something. “Is that why? Because of what I did?”
It wasn't; of course it wasn't; she would never dream of leaving him because he had made a mistake. Normally, she would have explained herself and told him that she wanted to leave because of her own mistakes, not his, but she was too shaken up to properly explain herself, and he continued talking almost immediately.
“Or… is it something to do with us?”
“I can't make important decisions based on us, Elzar. I am a Jedi,” she answered, already turning on her heel and starting to walk away from him. “And so are you.”
She left him in their tent and went to help with the relief efforts until dusk, when the Eirami disaster relief workers told her to go and rest. She protested, of course, but they couldn't be persuaded to let her continue helping them.
She debated checking on the other Jedi, but she couldn't bring herself to face them at the moment. Ultimately, she decided to walk back to the refugee camp, hoping that Elzar wouldn't be in their tent. Out of all the people here, he was the one she wanted to see the least.
When Avar opens the door to the tent now, it's empty, and she lets out a breath of relief. Maybe I really should rest for a while, she thinks, even though deep down she knows she won't be able to, despite her tiredness. Nevertheless, she strips off her torn and singed cloak and washes her hands and face at the small sink in the corner.
Someone placed water and a small pile of ration bars on the low table between the bunks while she was away. Avar unwraps a bar and takes a bite. It tastes like nothing, like it always does, but unlike so many other times before, she's not bothered by it this time; she has no appetite anyways.
She takes another bite and lets her thoughts wander, almost desperately trying to avoid thinking of Stellan and Starlight. Amazingly enough, she succeeds. Instead, her thoughts travel back to Elzar and the argument they had this afternoon, which is only a marginally better thing to think about if she really intends to rest.
I can't make important decisions based on us, Elzar. I am a Jedi. And so are you, she told him and she meant it, she still means it. They are Jedi, after all. They can't put their feelings for each other above the wellbeing of the galaxy. Not that he had asked her too; he would never. Both of them believe in being Jedi too much for that.
Deep down, she knows that her desire to leave has nothing to do with them at all, and everything with her not being able to face her own failures. But it's easier to not think of that right now. Instead, she reminds herself that there is no them—there can't be, not like it's supposed to be, because they're Jedi and because Stellan is dead. They are a constellation missing a star, a composition with one note crossed out, an ocean devoid of life. They are forever incomplete. And there is nothing she can do to fix that. She has failed them all.
The pain manifests as a physical ache in her chest, and it becomes harder and harder to breathe. Before, Avar had hardly noticed the panic building up inside her, but now it threatens to overwhelm her. She clenches her trembling hands into fists and tries to breathe as deeply and evenly as possible. This is not supposed to happen to her. She is a Jedi; she doesn't let her emotions control her. She's not supposed to be overwhelmed by them or feel like she might die.
Avar tries to push the panic away, but the harder she tries, the worse it gets. Theoretically, she knows she has to calm herself, but it's hard to focus on anything but the fact that she can hardly breathe. Every single one of her senses is solely focused on the panic, until she abruptly senses something else—she expected him to return at some point, but she didn't expect that point to come so soon and even hoped to be gone by then. The shock snaps her out of the spiral she was threatening to go down and lets her focus on her breathing until she feels the panic subside. It's still there, but it's less overwhelming now.
She feels Elzar's presence before she hears the door open. At least one thing is still the same. He pauses at the open door, and there's a moment where neither of them say anything. Avar thinks he might just turn around and leave again, but he doesn't. Instead, he closes the door behind himself and walks over to her, stopping a few steps behind her. “Are you alright?” he asks then, his voice gentle yet heavy with concern. It makes her want to scream at him and break down crying at the same time. She chooses the former.
“Of course I'm not!” she snaps, whirling around to face him with so much force she nearly stumbles. “Starlight is lost at the bottom of the ocean, along with Stellan and Maru and so many others, and it's all my fault!”
He doesn't seem taken aback by her anger. A part of her wishes he was, wishes he would shout back. He doesn't. His voice remains gentle when he shakes his head and says, “It's not, Avar. I said this earlier too, but you can't put all the weight on yourself. I know you blame yourself, but no one else does, I promise you.”
“And how would you know that?” Her voice is raised and full of anger, she's almost shouting. It's unnecessarily mean, she knows that. Elzar is just as hurt as she is, he doesn't deserve to be the target of her rage at all, but he's here right now, and the anger is simmering hot beneath her skin. She knows she shouldn't give into it, but she's afraid of what will be left once the rage is gone.
“I know,” he responds, still infuriatingly calm, “because everyone out there has made mistakes as well, and some of those mistakes have set something in motion that got people hurt in the end, but no one blames them for that. How could they? Making a mistake that gives people who want to harm others the opportunity to do so doesn't make you wholly responsible for the harm caused. Sometimes it doesn't make you responsible at all.”
He's right. She knows he's right, but she can't quiet the song of fault and failure the Force has been singing to her all day. It's as overwhelming as the panic had been before.
Elzar continues talking. “Yes, you've made mistakes that indirectly led to all this happening, but so did I, so did Stellan, so did the Council, so did the Chancellor, and so did lot's and lot's of other people. But in the end, it's the Nihil alone who blew up Starlight. They caused all of this. They are to blame for all the deaths and all the hurt.”
He still sounds calm, but there's a clear edge of desperation in his voice now. “I know it's hard to accept that no one else blames you, when you blame yourself.” He doesn't say, I blame myself, too, doesn't say, If you blame anyone but the Nihil, it should be me, doesn't say, Logically, I know what I said is true, but I won't stop thinking it's all my fault, but she knows anyways. Normally, she would try to comfort him, like he's trying for her now, but she is unable to comfort anyone right now, not even herself.
“But I need you to know that the galaxy doesn't blame you, Avar. I don't blame you, and I know that Stellan doesn't-, didn't… that he didn't either.”
And that's what makes her tip over the edge she has been so precariously balancing on. “You have no idea what Stellan thinks of me or if he would blame me!” She's definitely shouting now. “The last thing we ever did was fight! It's the only thing we've done the past year, and now Stellan is dead and I can't ever tell him that I'm sorry and that I didn't mean any of it and that he will always be my best friend and that I… that I…” her voice breaks, effectively interrupting her rambling outburst. She has to take a deep, shaky breath before continuing, only to find that she can't. At last, her voice has failed too. That's when all the emotions she had been so carefully pushing down finally spill over and she just breaks down.
Elzar is there to catch her. He takes two quick steps forward and wraps his arms around her. Avar allows him to pull her close and clings to him like a lifeline. She buries her face against his shoulder and starts sobbing uncontrollably. He holds her for what feels like hours and lets her cry for as long and as hard as she needs to, while gently caressing her back and occasionally stroking her hair.
Eventually, the tears stop coming, and her breathing steadies enough to allow her to speak again. She pulls away slowly, not enough to create any real distance between them, but just enough to look him in the eyes. Elzar’s been crying too, she realises. His face is stained with tears, and his eyes are just as red as hers probably are. She brings one hand up to cup his face and he leans into it like it's instinct.
Avar leans her forehead against his and closes her eyes. They’re so close now that they are sharing breaths. She can't remember the last time they've been this close to each other. She missed this; she missed him.
“I'm sorry I yelled at you,” she whispers, her voice hoarse from all the crying. “It's just… I miss Stellan. I miss him so much, and I can't stop blaming myself for Starlight and for never apologising to him.”
“It's alright, I understand. I miss him too.” Elzar's whispering too, his voice as hoarse as hers. “And I know that he didn't blame you—he would never. He wanted to apologise and make things right with you. He missed you, Avar, and he wasn't angry with you in the end.”
She had thought she physically couldn't cry anymore, but she feels the telltale pressure of tears behind her eyes return at his words. “If he didn't blame me, he didn't blame you either, El.” It’s the only thing she manages to say before she has to bury her face against his shoulder, as her body is once again wracked by sobs. Elzar is crying too, she can tell by the way he's trembling in her embrace.
She doesn't have to question if what he told her is true or not; he wouldn't lie to her, she knows that. She also knows that he believes what she told him. It makes everything a little better. Still, neither of them will stop blaming themselves. Starlight is still gone, and Stellan is still dead, and there is nothing they can do to change that. The grief is something they have to accept and work through, as is the Jedi way. And as much as each of them wants the other to be okay, it's not something they can offer one another. Elzar and her—they're as broken as the song of the Force and all they can do is hold each other so they don't fall apart. It's a painful realisation, but Avar is grateful for it nonetheless. It's better than the panic or the anger.
It's then that she truly realises how tired she is. Her body feels heavy with exhaustion, and she doesn't think she can stay on her feet a moment longer without collapsing. “I think we should try to sleep,” she tells him.
Elzar nods. “Yeah, we should. I can go and find another tent if you-”
“No,” she interrupts him firmly. She doesn't want to be alone tonight, not anymore, and she imagines he doesn't either.
“Alright,” he answers, and Avar can hear the relief in his voice.
They pull away from each other fully, and while she toes off her boots and takes off her belt, outer tunic, and gloves, Elzar strips off his cloak and washes his hands and face like she had done earlier tonight. He takes off his boots, belt, and outer tunic as well, but leaves his gloves on, which should strike her as odd, but she's too tired to even question it right now.
They sit down on the edges of their respective bunks, facing each other. After everything, the physical distance between them feels too far like this. It's something both of them know, but neither is brave enough to address in fear of overstepping the boundaries they've so carefully drawn up between them. It's not something Avar can deal with tonight, she decides. So she walks over to him, sidestepping the low table, until she's standing right in front of him and he's looking up at her. There is a question in his gaze, he doesn't dare assume anything. She cups his face again, this time with both hands, to reassure him and because she wants to.
“El,” she whispers his name. There's more she had planned to say, but all the words are wiped from her head when his hands find her hips. This doesn't need to be discussed; they understand each other just fine without words. He gently squeezes her hips before letting go and scooting back on the narrow bunk. She climbs in beside him. It's clearly not made for two adult humans to comfortably sleep next to each other, but they make it work. They lie down side by side, faces turned to each other, and Elzar pulls the blanket over both of them. They don't speak, both of them are too exhausted to have a conversation.
Elzar softly brushes his lips against her forehead in lieu of saying good night, and she presses her hand against his chest, right over his heart.
They fall asleep like this. Lying on their sides, facing each other, arms slung over waists and legs intertwined. It's a surprisingly deep and restful sleep considering the events of the day. For a moment, it feels like maybe they'll be okay after all.
In the end, though, that night changes very little in the grand scheme of things. Avar still leaves in the morning. She wakes before he does and slips out of his arms and the bunk as quietly as possible. As much as it hurts her to leave Elzar like this, she knows in her heart that she can't go back to Coruscant. She can't face her own failures, so she tells herself someone needs to be out there fighting the Nihil and runs, even if she hates herself for it a little.
(Six days later, the Stormwall goes up and she's trapped in the Occlusion Zone with no way home. Three hundred seventy-six days later, she finally hears Elzar's message and his words make her sob once again. Three hundred and seventy-eight days after she left him on Eiram, she steps into the Council Chambers in the Temple on Coruscant and he's there. It takes her three hundred seventy-eight days to find her way home, but she gets there in the end.)