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Riyo reaches for the blue makeup bottle at the back of her desk, trying to avoid knocking over the other neatly stacked jars and clasped cosmetics. She could skip her nails, today. She'd have to.
Of all the days for her maid to be out.
She'd barely managed to get dressed. Gone were her adornments, the intricate dresses and draped fabrics she preferred to wear. Insted, the only thing she could manage was a wrap tunic and soft leggings, both the color of berries from her homeworld.
Doing her makeup would be another beast entirely. Her right hand was broken, bound up in a cast, and her left was no master of the brush. Her best efforts so far had only yielded streaks of foundation, unblended, in all the wrong places. Nothing could be done properly without jostling her bad arm. Then of course was the pain.
With a sigh, she tried again to untwist the cap of the bottle. As half her fingers were holding the bottle up and the other half trying to break the seal, she wasn't having any luck. the bottle slipped from her grasp and clattered to the floor, under her desk.
Tears, an unwelcome surprise, stung in her eyes like ants. This was a ridiculous situation.
Either she manage to wipe off the work she'd already done, or try to finish the sloppy job as best she could. Neither would be taken well by the cameras in the senate. She can see it now, seated in her senate chair, arm broken, half dressed, determined- and a journalist slips a comment that would make her grandmother's lip curl. Riyo couldn't stand it. She endured enough of their commentary, trying to pass bills and make this tangle of war and ethics and finance into something workable. They were dogs, ready to jump at any sign of weakness. Which perhaps could be borne, if it didn't come with the immortality of screens. Goddess above, if only she could stay in, just for one day. Where no one would miss her, where the paperwork wouldn't stack up and the calls and cameras wouldn't keep coming.
She drops her head into her hands- hand, a headache brewing in her temples. What a situation. There's nothing she can do, really. No one to call. Padme's at a conference, Mon took time away to see her family. Her assistant had been out sick for days.
It wouldn't be so bad, she thought, picking at the carving on her table, if she wasn't going to be in front of a camera today.
The senate journalists would eat her alive.
Her lamentations are interrupted when she hears the soft sound of her apartment door in the distance, and heavy plastoid boots on the marble floors.
She doesn't have to turn to know who it is. Only one other person has the code to her room. The brush in her hand goes back to its place on the desk, and her smile is back in place by the time he makes it to her.
"Good morning." She says in voice with all the brightness she can muster. A smile is easier. She turns away from her mirror, spinning to face the hall where he walks. She's smiling now, and she's sure he is too, under that helmet of his. He won't take it off till the windows close.
She flips a switch on the wall, and the curtains come down, dimming the room of natural light. It makes him nervous, the windows. He won't say it, but she knows it does. People finding out.
He paces around the room, briefly pausing at each closed window to tip open the shades and look out. An unnecessary precaution, Riyo often reminds him. But he’s a man of routine. If it makes him feel better, and keeps him with her longer, she won't bother him too much about it.
When he's done, satisfied that no threat lingered just past the glass, he takes off his helmet and tucks it under his arm. In two steps, he's beside her, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.
"Fox," She says, returning the greeting, "long night?"
"Long." He says, exhaustion weighing down his voice. He lingers, the bridge of his nose pressed against the side of hers.
When he pulls away, a smear of blue makeup comes with him. He swipes it off, taking a closer look at her. "You alright?" He asks, glancing up at the clock above them. The message is clear enough. She's usually done with her morning routine by now.
She shrugs, motioning to her arm in a sling. "Bit slow at the moment."
He makes an apologetic sound, "That's a hell of a setback."
“Setbacks-“ she says, voice tired. “All these setbacks. I must find some way to keep out of them.”
“Not breaking your wrist would be a good start.” He says, half joking, has he heads to the dining room table to set down his helmet.
“Yes, well- unfortunately, we are past that point.” She says tersely, using her one hand to reorganize her makeup again.
His holsters come off next, undone and carefully folded over the back of a tall dining chair. "That hazard didn't just pop up out of nowhere. The guard informed all senate droids to steer you away from the protests. You should've been here, not going looking for trouble. You're a senator, not a journalist."
"I'm a mouthpiece for the people. I need to be there with them." She argues. A mob of raving madman was hardly the most dangerous situation she'd ever been in. Goddess knows she'd seen worse.
"You were supposed to avoid it, not show up and gawk." He retorts. "Leave the crowd control to me and the men."
"I wasn't gawking. And it was a protest. Hardly a hazard."
He gives a disbelieving huff, taking a seat on the cushy bench behind her. "Your arm says otherwise."
"A hairline fracture." She retorts, wheeling around in her chair to face him, fingers tracing the edge of the sling. "Hardly anything. Just inconvenient is all."
She can almost sense him roll his eyes. "Right. And how'd that happen? By being a mouthpiece for the people?"
She glares at him. "I got pushed against a wall. It was an accident."
"Sure it was." He says, looking up at the ceiling. He doesn't know what he was thinking, arguing with a senator. "A real lucky accident. Could've been your head."
Before she can spit out another reply, he thinks of something better to say.
"Just- if you want to go join a protest, call for one of the guard. You're a senator. You want people to hear you? You need to be alive for them to hear." He gestures to her arm. "And preferably in one piece."
Riyo taps her foot, pausing a few seconds to stew on it. Ultimately, she concedes. It's a compromise she's willing to make. "Fine. Next time, the guard."
They drift into a content silence, all their grievances aired out and over with.
She runs her eyes down the length of him. For all his irritation, he looks... comfortable. helmet off, blasters out of reach. He used to worry so about them. He might as well have been leaving his hands or ears behind. She's glad for it. He's comfortable now. He wasn't always.
In the silence, her thoughts drift back to the issue of the makeup. It would be a few hours before she was due in the senate, but she needed time to prepare and rehearse. If she kept going at this rate, she'd be lucky if she made it at all. Disheveled and late would be a terrible combination for a debate.
"What's wrong?" Fox asks, taking in the array of makeup and hair products strewn about the room, the smears of blue and purple all over her face. It wouldn't take a genius to figure out what was bothering her. "Having trouble?"
She sighs, her positive mask deflating a little. "That obvious?"
He shrugs his shoulders, reclining back a bit. "Not hyperspace science. Your arm's broken. Can't really walk that one off."
She hesitates a moment. She could tell him everything was fine. It would be a little vindicating, if not true. Her desire for help wins out over her desire to win, and she admits her issue with a sigh. "I have a debate scheduled in a few hours. I can't put myself together at all. My hair, my clothes, my face, all of it requires dexterity I don't have."
He listens, concentrating on her face. A debate. "Is it really necessary?" He asks. And it's a fair question. She spends plenty of time without makeup. All the days of back-to-back paperwork, holocalls, conference rehersals- if there won't be a camera, Riyo doesn't see a need for all the pomp and circumstance. But today is different. All of Coruscant is waiting to hear this debate. Much of the core world, bored and far from the frontlines, is. There's not really a good answer. "No- Yes. I don't know. You know how they all are."
She sighs, anxiously tugging at her skin in the mirror. She would make do, of course she would. But it was going to be altogether unpleasant. The coruscant publications would grasp at any straw, and she didn't want to be the next poor fool caught in their crosshairs.
Fox has the grace not to question her about it. As far as he's concerned, the makeup is as much part of her uniform as his helmet. Part of her power came from her presentation. The Senate didn't need another reason to find the fiery young senator distasteful.
"I'll do it."
Riyo blinks twice, looking him up and down. "You?"
He shrugged, leaning against the wall. "Yes me."
"But-" she starts, faltering at the idea. Fox, doing makeup? She would expect more cosmetic skill of a battle droid. "Do you even know how?"
"Sure." He says, unclasping the armor plates on his hands and forearms, and carefully setting them aside. "I've seen you do it."
Still unconvinced, she starts trying to think of some other question. "I don't know..." Riyo said hesitantly.
He gave her a sidelong glance. "What's worse, you sit in here all day grumbling, or let me give it a try?"
"Fox-"
"Riyo."
Fox holds eye contact with her, picking up one of her brushes. "Trust me."
She pauses, tapping her foot on the cold marble. "Alright," she concedes, "but let me watch, as you go."
He nods, practically jumping up to sort through the makeup jars on her table. She's surprised at that, but more surprised he has any idea where to start.
"What first?" She asks, cautiously quizzing him. On any other day, she'd fight the whole trade federation blindfolded and upside down to have Fox doing her makeup. But moon goddess- the senate was a different beast.
"Base, eyes, brows, powder, lips, jewelry." He says, organizing bottles in neat lines down the wall. "Something like that. I assume you'd like help with your hair too."
"If it's no trouble." She says, watching him work with equal parts eagerness and anxiety.
He pulls the bench closer, sitting in front of her now and close enough to reach her face and the tools with ease. He rests his hand against her chin, gently tilting her face upward.
"Remember to let me see." She warns, watching as he uses his other hand to grab the first tool.
He starts with a sponge, spreading out the large blobs of blue she'd streaked across her face earlier. He's surprisingly gentle with the tool, for having a soldier's hands.
"Mhm." He says. "You'll see. Don't worry."
He spreads the light blue under her eyes and on her brow bones, and takes up a fluffy brush with some dark powder. With this, he continues sharpening the lovely lines of her face, and rounding the edges out with soft little circles.
"Fox- are you sure? This isn't really your-"
“Shhh. you’re creasing it.” He mutters, setting the brush down to take up another.
He dusts a rich shade of purple blush onto her cheeks, taking care to wipe stray powder off her tattoos.
“Eyes closed.” He orders in a soft murmur.
She hears a soft tap of the brush on the side of the eyeshadow palette, and her brows twitch in confusion.
"A professional." She jokes, opening one eye to inspect his progress.
"Creasing." He reiterates, tapping the brush again. She reluctantly closes her eyes again. Oh well. no matter what he does now, It'll be at least better than what she started with.
He pats in a little smear of pastel purple on her eyelids. It shimmers a little, in the soft white light of her lamp.
For all his gruffness, Riyo thinks. He’s quite gentle with a makeup brush. The same hands that would shoot a man with no hesitation are now rubbing stray blue powder from the wispy edges of her hair.
He takes his time on her eyes, shading and highlighting her eyelids and painting a soft, dark purple into her eyelids. The only sound he makes is the tap of the brush when he dips into another color.
She doesn't usually put this much work into it. The purple and shimmer palettes were for special occasions, dinners and galas where doing her makeup would be the most fun she'd have all night. Surely he'd only seen her do this once, yet here he was, like it was second nature.
She feels the brush glide back over the corner of her eyelids, a third shade she didn't usually use. Deep, berry red flung out in a little wing. An iridescent shimmer in the corners.
She's not thinking about the senate now. It could evaporate into space and she wouldn't care if Fox stayed and kept doing this forever.
He takes one of her largest brushes, dusting a fine film of powder over his work, setting everything in place.
She feels a cool misting spray over her skin, which is her cue to open her eyes. The mirror looks like a different woman entirely. Yet- it was right. And skillfully done. She'd had less professional makeup done by the artists who showed up to the senate for special events. He'd done an excellent job.
"Lipstick?" He asks, handing her two of her favored colors. She selects the lighter one, a pastel purple that would complement her eyes well.
She could, realistically, do this bit herself. But he looks so handsome, focused on her lips and applying smooth layer of product to them.
“There.” He murmurs, the final piece in place. He studies his work, eyes no more than a nose's length from hers.
His eyes flit back down to his work. But she doesn't miss the flush of color in his face as he reaches for a tube of mascara.
Her lashes are done with the same precision as the rest of her face. He's steady with the brush, diligent about brushing out clumps, and careful not to let any transfer to her eyeshadow.
It's calming, the ritual nature of it all. He's taking his time, but Riyo knows it hasn't been long. At least, not long enough.
The rest is simple. He brushes out her hair, looping it into two even buns at the back of her head. Low enough to be comfortable in a high-backed chair. She selects earrings, thick gold droplets carved with her family's crest, which he helps her put on.
Finally, he settles her hairpiece onto her head, tracing along the delicate metalwork with his fingers. They work together on this bit, Riyo clicking one side of her headdress into place while he manages the other half.
Just like that, she's done. Hair, makeup, jewelry.
"Now can I see?" She asks, turning toward the mirror. He gives an affirmative hum, helping her turn her chair the rest of the way.
She can't lie. She's a little awestruck.
Her face is a smooth shade of blue, wiped carefully away around her yellow tattoos. He's done her eyes in layers of shadow, topped with a sharkling shimmer finish. Her cheeks are dusted a warm magenta, circling her in a halo of warm color. Not a hair falls too far, not a single piece asymmetric or sloppy.
“It’s perfect.” She says softly, rubbing some stray powder from her hairline with the pad of her thumb. “Thank you, Fox. I didn’t know you were such an artist.”
“I don’t know about all that.” He says, eyes fixed on hers from the side.
“I do. I mean it. This is just how I always do it.” She insists, entranced. "Better. Lovely."
"Glad you like it. Those hawks can't say a word now."
"Not a one." She declares. "Fox, you may have a future in cosmetics."
He chuckles. "No. Only you, "
She sits in the mirror a few more minutes, marveling at the work he'd just done. Every line blended. The hues of eyeshadow shifted perfectly from one color to another, the glitter at the end a subtle sheen. It's A mirror copy of how she does it any other day of the week. An impossible copy.
"Seriously," she says, turning toward him again. "How'd you do it?"
“Well.” He says, rolling the brush between his thumb and forefinger. "I’ve seen you at it plenty of times."
She laughs a little, looking up at his face. Weariness pulls at his eyes, but they sparkle a little more, now. “Is that so, commander? Nothing else? No other artistic help?”
Fox leans down, looking into her face from above,. “...Maybe."
"From who? Who's taught you to do eyes?" She teases, thinking of him having done someone else's makeup. A little envy follows that.
He hesitates, but admits to it. "...Thorn."
She blinks in surprise. She'd never seen Thorn in makeup. Granted, she didn't see him without a helmet too often, but she thought she would know if he did. "Thorn does his eyes?"
He shrugs, sorting through the bottles. "Not really. Girl he was seeing left some stuff in the barracks, he wanted to impress her. The boys and I worked it out."
"Worked it out?" She giggles, thinking of Fox's men crowded around a mirror, each trying to coach their brother into properly applying sparkles and creams and powders.
He chuckles too, laughing at the memory. "Yeah. You should've seen him. Enough glitter to put a diamond to shame."
They laugh together, the sound fading into a comfortable silence. The clock overhead stares down at Riyo. Not long now to enjoy each other's company.
A steady beep interrupts pops their bubble of enjoyment, the sound of a call coming in for Fox. His hand slips out of hers as he disappears into the hall, leaving her alone again in the room.
He might be willing to leave his blasters in another room, but his comm stayed by his side night and day. A direct line to the chancellor, he'd told her once. She'd heard Fox's voice mix with the chancellor's through that comm on a few occasions. She didn't know what the supreme chancellor would have to say to Fox, but she knew the drained look on his face that always followed.
Its minutes of nothing before he returns, seeking his armor.
"What was it?" She asks, concerned. He was moving quickly, with an urgency beyond his usual brisk manner. Something's wrong.
“It's nothing.” He grunts, clicking his arm plates back into place. "Just some trouble by the warehouse. Hound and I will take care of it."
“Oh.” She says, her smile faltering. He dealt with the dangerous side of Coruscant day in and day out. But this seemed different. “Well-” she says, seeking the response that would offend him the least. “Good luck.”
Fox steps over to the table to pick up his holsters, strapping them back on his sides. When the weapons come back to him, so too did his stiff, unyielding demeanor. Those guns, that helmet- a part of his body as much as any arm or finger. He was vulnerable without them.
He was so beautiful, wearing all his plates and helmet and military attire. A soldier, flesh and blood.
But moon goddess, how she wished he wasn't.
“…Come home safe.” She says, feigning a steady voice. She was already longing for him to be back.
“Will do.” He says, his stiff, unmovable demeanor back in place as soon as his helmet secures.