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It's easy to tell herself that she's only doing this as part of her job. After all, she's a commander, she needs to know how the other high-ranking officers are handling the war.
It's not so easy to calm her hearts when she sees Apanna listed as wounded after an assault on a Dalek outpost.
Thank Rassilon it wasn't fatal, Veklin thinks, relief washing through her, before she snaps at herself for allowing the ache inside her to worm its way into her thoughts. She should have killed that feeling long ago. She thought she had.
(You only buried it.)
She drops the datapad on the desk with an dull thud, and stalks off to lose herself in hours of target practice. She'd been letting her aim slip lately. Unacceptable.
Veklin feels every sharp breath in her chest, unable to push away the hot, sickening shame knifing through her. She should not want this. Want her. She cannot want it.
(Why can't you?)
She is suffocating, the collar buckled tight around her neck choking her. Ollistra's hand around her leash, yanking her back from her…what? They weren't friends. Not anymore. She was a ghost, a vision, a stranger who lived hidden in the back of Veklin's mind.
(You still care.)
The memories came, vivid and disorientating. Apanna's arms circling around her, lying in the sunlight, a rare smile playing on her lips. Her bright gentle laugh. Fingers running softly through the bristles of her close-cropped hair. Eyes closed, just them, alone, undisturbed. Then, Veklin could almost believe she was wanted, that she belonged somewhere.
Almost.
Now, the doubts battle harder for her attention. She doesn't know if it's worth fighting them.
(Will Apanna's smile be just as you remember?)
Worst of all, it makes her feel lost. On the battlefield, it's simple. She knows who she is. Her every action and thought is guided by her orders. By what she knows will please her cardinal. And what won't.
Now, it was like the blinding chaos of the battlefield without the clarity of orders.
She's here, standing in Apanna's chambers, Unsure. And at the same time, so very certain.
She can't leave Apanna out there.
(Because she's a soldier too and you shouldn't leave another soldier behind.) (And because she is was your friend.)
That's all she stays focused on.
Not imagining how Apanna will look at her. Not imagining the way her eyes will soften with pity and sadness. Or worse, hope. She can't entertain the possibility of forgiveness. Or the nagging feeling that tells her it's more than a possibility. The memories she tried to forget tell her that.
She doesn't want forgiveness. Can't want it. Doesn't deserve it. There's nothing worth forgiving.
(Are you sure?)
(No.)
And she definitely shouldn't imagine Apanna slipping her hand into hers again, leaning her head on her shoulder. Shouldn't imagine curling up to her and feeling her heartsbeat loud in her chest, shouldn't—
Stop it.
There's a fervent ache to run away, to hide, to lose herself in the fight. She wants to take this wretched feeling in her teeth and tear it to shreds, bury it in the depths of her mind. She needs to forget it, keep her vision locked on the targets Ollistra aims her at. Because she cannot lose Ollistra. She doesn't want to keep feeling like this, untethered and off-balance.
Still, there is a pull inside her for the person just outside that door. And there is the twisting knotted shame creeping up on her, knowing that she should not long for this and cannot stop herself.
(Do you even want to stop yourself?)
Her armour cannot shield her from Rennis's words, his smug, arrogant features, his mouth that should not dare to speak Apanna's name. She growls and stays by Susan's side. Until she can't. Until she launches herself at him, spitting and snarling with rage at this traitor, this murderer.
The anger feels good. She knows the anger, knows where to hit, where will cause the most pain.
And she knows the danger she is putting herself in by allowing her emotions to overtake her. How much danger she is putting Apanna in. Ollistra will not be pleased when she hears. Because she will hear, there is no question of it. And she will make sure Veklin feels her disappointment and knows just how much of bad dog she's been. She will let her know all the ways she can make Apanna suffer. Somehow, the fear that chokes her at that thought is worse than a thousand blows from her cardinal. Worse than a thousand cold, disappointed glares.
At least, that is what Veklin will agonise over later, alone, in the moments in between sleeping and waking.
Now, all she thinks about is how right the traitor looks, with his own blood smeared over his face. How much he deserves it, for what he's done to her friend.
They're back in the TARDIS. Susan is elsewhere, Veklin doesn't know. She looks at the scanner set into the console, with its easy access to mission reports and personnel data and…hospital admissions.
She shivers, skin prickling at the memory of an old accident. That keen, excruciating moment that stretched into spans of dull, aching loneliness. She wants to…no.
Virtually without thinking, Veklin slams her fist into the console, a low growl rising in her throat. This mission is over. It's just a regeneration. Apanna can handle it. Why would she need Veklin? Why would she want her?
Besides. She's gone now. Changed.
There, Veklin thinks bitterly, the decision is made for me.
(You know that it doesn't have to be.)
The pain in her fist feels good as it pulsed through her. Enough hurt and she might be able to shatter the wanting that tugged at her hearts. Stupid, childish, below her. She doesn't need friends. She was Ollistra's best agent. She had a purpose, a job, and she would prove she could do it well.
So why could she not shake this feeling off, leave it behind in the past where it belonged?
It was a defect, a fault, a lapse of judgement, and she could not afford those.
She was not weak.
(You still miss her.)
She punches the console again, harder.
(She's only dead regenerated because of you.)
Veklin's hearts are pounding in her ears, deafening. She turns on her heel and storms out, into the corridors, staring intensely at the shadows on the walls as she passes them, clenching her fists harder, letting the prickling, throbbing pain grow stronger, all the while desperately hoping the TARDIS will won't lead her to Susan.
(What does Apanna's smile look like, on her new face?)