Work Text:
By the time Jace wakes, it is to the bustle of the soldiers outside, an empty tent… and the lingering scent of moonflowers and her.
It doesn’t come as a complete surprise to him. The Jedi Order’s condemnation of attachments and emotions is a thing of legend and she is, first and foremost, a Jedi; he would be flattering himself far too much if he thinks one night would even begin to change that.
That does not stop him from cursing his convalescence, cursing his extended battle with Malgus, for sapping his energy; he should be awake long before dawn, is always up long before dawn so he can prepare for the day.
And - he can’t lie, not to himself - so he could have been awake to, for lack of a better term, see her off.
He almost snorts at his own thoughts. They are both adults, both major figures in the war against the Sith Empire, leading the combined forces of the Republic Army and the Jedi. Not fumbling, awkward teenagers, have not been anything of the sort since the flight from Korriban, and even then he had more control over himself.
Barely.
He chuckles softly as he forces himself to his feet, wondering what his squad would say if they could see him like this, mooning over a Jedi, of all people.
He is a complete and utter fool, and yet he finds himself smiling hard enough to pull at newly formed scars as he looks forward to seeing her again.
His good mood is detected by the troops almost as soon as he leaves his tent and they descend on him in full force with raucous laughter and bawdy jokes.
“Captain, you look well-rested.” Lieutenant Shi smirks at him, arms crossed over her chest.
Sergeant Lorren elbows her in the ribs as Jace rolls his eyes at their antics. “Of course he does. Look at that smile. Who's the lucky woman?” At a retaliatory nudge from Shi, he tacks on a flippant “sir,” looking completely unrepentant for his slip.
Before Jace can even decide whether he wants to bother protesting, laughter chimes from behind him and he fights to keep his face neutral. Of course it’s her, and he doesn’t need to see the twinkle in her eyes to know that she knows exactly what is being discussed.
“There you are, captain. Colonel Garza wants you to report in, if you’re free now.”
It would be extremely unprofessional of him to sigh with relief and he doesn’t, only exhales a little louder than usual as the men scatter and leave him with Satele, who grins up at him.
How she can look so smug whilst barely reaching up to his shoulder is beyond him, but she manages it phenomenally. “Is my saving you from unwelcome interactions to become a habit?”
In spite of himself, he returns the smile. “I suppose I owe you both my life and my dignity, then. I’ll have to pay you back someday.”
Her expression flickers for a moment, almost faster than he can catch, before she lowers her voice, cheeks reddening as she turns. “Just your presence is enough.”
He blinks, watching her hurry away before rousing himself to follow.
No attempt to school his face into a more acceptable expression succeeds and he is still grinning stupidly as he delivers his report of their successes on Alderaan to Colonel Garza.
He half-expects her to try sneaking over that night. Given the circumstances, there are a thousand reasons why it’s illogical, why they need to be cautious. The soldiers may be on the look-out, her fellow Jedi may be suspicious, and he knows without saying that this - whatever it is - needs to be kept quiet, something just between them.
Pragmatism and logic don’t stop him from waiting, forcing himself to stay awake for too long before falling asleep to the faintest whiff of evening glories.
He dreams of dark hair and pale blue eyes and warmth.
In spite of the chaos, the next days drag by with increasing lethargy. The preparations for a final assault against the Imperial force left on Alderaan leaves him coordinating plans with the other commanders and Colonel Garza for hours on end, hardly leaving time to breathe, let alone relax, and yet…
And yet, he can’t help but suspect that Satele is avoiding him, somehow. They still interact; it is impossible not to when she is acting as the commander of the Jedi brought in with the Republic’s military reinforcements and they must coordinate attacks, plan out tactics and strategy to drive off the Empire once and for all.
But where there were once shy smiles and stolen glances, there are averted eyes and awkward silences. At meetings, she skirts around him, staying out of reach, subtle but noticeable enough, at least, for him.
And he cannot for the life of him understand why.
He spots her across the crowded camp, a feat made easier by his height and the fact that he has been subconsciously tracking her for days, weeks. Worry pulls at her face, creasing her brows, and as he draws closer, he sees the tension that has settled into her shoulders as she turns to the Jedi walking beside her.
For a moment, it seems that they haven’t yet noticed his approach and he reaches for her instinctively. “Sa—”
She whips around too fast and he catches her by the arm as she stumbles, her eyes wide. Jace barely notices the other Jedi bow his head and merge back into the crowd, focused as he is on her. This near, he can see the shadows under her eyes and he recalls seeing the Jedi forces already seated at their meditation by the time he wakes up in the mornings.
“Yes, Captain Malcom?” He resists the urge to flinch at the sharp warning in her tone, at the brusque way she tugs herself out of his grip.
“My apologies, Master Jedi.” The words feel strange coming out of his mouth, to say her title instead of her name, and he has to remind himself that they are in front of the entire camp. “I was wondering whether we could discuss something. Preferably a bit more… private.”
She gives him a long look and for a second, he sees a hint of the woman who has been in his thoughts since he first met her, who saved him from the Sith, whom he has missed.
Who already holds his heart.
It is gone the next moment as she considers. “There are a few things I need to discuss with my men. I’ll let you know if I’m free later.”
He knows it wasn’t meant to feel like she has just punched him in the chest, and yet it still does.
When Lieutenant Shi informs him that someone is waiting for him at his tent, he scowls at the interruption of the first break he has had in what feels like months before making his way back with what little energy he can muster up.
He nearly backs out, wondering if he took a wrong turn, when he sees her, arms crossed over her chest. But no, the Spartan room is his, with his makeshift desk taking up most of the space and papers scattered about.
As he steps closer to mirror her, her expression softens, the commander persona she seems to always wear dropping off of her shoulders. “Jace.”
“Satele,” he returns, his voice flat, and he notes her flinch with a twinge of something that feels like satisfaction.
She hesitates, then relaxes, her arms falling to her sides as she offers him a small smile. “I deserved that.”
Another pause as he says nothing, stretching onward until she breaks the silence with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Jace. I can’t give you a good reason. I just… panicked.” Her quiet laugh is tinged with audible sorrow. “You’d think having Tasiele Shan as my mother would make it easier for me to… do this.”
The distress in her tone is almost enough to make him relent. “‘Do this’?”
“This. Us.” Her lips curl into the hint of a smile for the first time, though regret still darkens her gaze as she looks down, her voice nearly inaudible. “To care about you.”
Warmth floods his chest as he steps closer, gently nudging her head up to look him in the eyes as he shoots her a teasing grin. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs again, and he bends to capture her lips, cutting her words off as she stretches up to meet him, taking advantage of the momentary calm before another concern is inevitably brought to their attention.
When she slips out a few minutes with a parting apology, he only shakes his head at her. He already knows he will always forgive her.
He scowls into the darkness as sleep eludes him yet again.
There is absolutely no reason he should miss her when there has barely been enough time for them to steal a few moments for themselves between the planning, no time for him to get used to being around her, no matter how natural being in her presence may feel.
And yet he still does.
They settle into a sort of rhythm before long. On days that permit it, which are far too few in between, he wakes early to the precious feeling of her in his arms, both enjoying the momentary respite from duties as long as they can before she sneaks out to rejoin the rest of her Order, leaving only the sweetness of evening glories in her wake.
He has never been so thankful that his subordinates do not choose to use his tent as a meeting grounds; he is not sure he would live it down otherwise.
The days are filled with training, supervising his men, and coordinating attacks. With sidelong glances that are just short enough to be undetected and accidental brushing of hands at the war table. With words unspoken but shining in their eyes when nobody else is watching.
With dark corners and stolen kisses and brief moments between just the two of them. Moments that linger in his memory, even when she’s returned to her Knights and he really should get back to his own troops.
Moments that he replays in his mind during free seconds, leading to a distraction that his lieutenants have begun to question but which, to his own surprise, he ignores with ease. Their teasing doesn’t matter. Not when she smiles at him, blue eyes sparkling. Not when the taste of her lips is forever burned in his memory.
Not when she is in his arms, in his heart, those nights when she can sneak to him, blissful and tender and unspeakably, impossibly, radiant.
As he undergoes the last minute preparations for the next day’s final assault, it occurs to him that without the Sith invasion and the war, he might never have known her. Not known the peace of her presence, the rightness of being together. Not like this.
He wonders briefly whether the thought that he might have something to be thankful for is disrespectful towards all of the destruction and chaos before a light hand on his arm catches his attention.
“A credit for your thoughts?” Her voice is quiet, tinged with concern, and he smiles.
“They’re not worth nearly that much. Just thinking about…” He trails off, waving a hand around vaguely before cupping her cheek, letting his fingers drift over the now-familiar curves, committing them to memory.
Though they are prepared, there is no telling what might come in the battle, no telling what might go wrong.
No telling who they might lose.
“Jace?” Worry furrows her brows as she watches him and it strikes him yet again that, in the gentle light of the lamps, she is beautiful.
As he kisses her, it occurs to him that he would be perfectly content to stay like this forever.