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So'lek loved the way the cave was alive. Bioluminescent moss pulsates patiently along the walls, and gentle winds curl through the stone. Somewhere further down, water trickled steadily and carelessly. He liked the lingering silence.
As he was mending the hilt of his knife, Nimun's shadow moved across the entrance to the cave. The ikran landed carefully, his talons clicking softly against the perch he had strengthened weeks earlier—not really for himself, though. Nimun folded her wings with a huff, head tilting as if already aware of what came next.
Then Tamtey was there. She did not announce herself—she never did. “So,” she said, bright and breathless. “You would not believe the day I had.”
So’lek exhaled through his nose.
He set the hilt aside slowly, deliberately, as if sudden movement might make her run away. His gaze swept her without permission—hair loose from its tie, braid frayed at the end, a shallow cut along her forearm, bruising darkening the skin near her ribs where armor had failed or been abandoned entirely.
Nothing life-threatening and his chest eased despite himself.
“You are injured,” he said.
Tamtey waved a hand. “I am scratched. There’s a difference. Also—” she leaned in carefully, lowering her voice like someone might be listening “—I won.”
This time, he allowed the corner of his mouth to lift. “I assumed,” he said. “You always do.”
She grinned at that, wide and unapologetic, then flopped down onto one of the woven mats to clean her weapons like she had not just dismantled an RDA drill at the far edge of the forest.
“They were dug in,” she continued, already talking with her hands. “Like really dug in. Turrets, AMPs everywhere, one of those stupid rigs that hums so loud it makes my teeth itch. I almost respected the effort… Almost.”
So’lek rose, retrieving a water skin and a small bundle of salves from where they hung. He moved around her without touching. Practiced in this strange, unspoken ritual they had developed—her arriving half bloodied and buzzing, him grounding the moment back into something safe.
“You destroyed it?” He asked, kneeling in front of her.
“Flattened,” she corrected cheerfully.
He tilted his head slightly. “You did not have backup today.”
“I had Nimun.”
“That is not the same.”
“She would disagree.”
Outside, as if summoned by the conversation, Nimun let out a low chirrup.
Tamtey grinned toward the entrance. “See? She knows.”
So’lek shook his head faintly but the corner of his mouth lifted. “You rely too much on improvisation,” he said.
“You rely too much on planning.”
“Planning keeps people alive.”
“So does blowing up their power supply before they realize I’m even there.”
“That was reckless.”
“That was efficient.”
“It was irresponsible.”
“It was cool,” she shrugged.
He sighed.
Tamtey leaned back on her hands, watching him with open amusement. “You are going to argue with me forever about this, huh?”
“If I have to.”
“Even when the RDA is gone?”
“Yes.”
“Wow.” She finished cleaning the blade and slid it back into its sheath before she looked up at him. “You know,” she added casually, “Ri’nela told me I should try diplomacy more.”
So’lek glanced over. “And?”
“I told her diplomacy is just fighting with more steps.”
He stared at her. “That is not diplomacy.”
“Agree to disagree.”
He turned back to the fire before she could see the small smile tugging at his mouth.
After a moment, he reached for her arm again, returning to the original task.
“Hold still.”
She did, mostly. He cleaned a cut with careful fingers, making precise but gentle movements. Tamtey watched him work, chin propped in her palm, eyes too soft for someone who treated human camps like chores. He applied a salve and tied a cloth snug but not tight. His hands lingered a moment longer than necessary before pulling back.
“You should rest,” he murmured. “You have been taking those sites down daily.”
“Not daily,” she protested quickly. “Like… three days a week. Four if they annoy me.”
“That is still excessive.”
“Tell that to the RDA,” she shot back, then softened. “I’m fine, So’lek. Promise.”
“You always say this,” he replied. “And, yet, you always return injured.”
She shrugged and So’lek rose, turning to stir the pot hanging over the fire. He had burned crushed sap before she arrived to keep nighttime insects away.
The scent of it lingered faintly in the cave now—sharp, earthy, something Tamtey had come to associate with this place and nowhere else.
She smiled up at him, eyes bright. “You like me better like this. Keeps things interesting.”
“That is incorrect.”
“Liar.”
His hands stilled and his expression was soft around the edges but unreadable as he met her gaze.
“I like you breathing,” he said. “Everything else is secondary.”
Her smile faltered, then reassembled into something quieter. He returned to tending her injuries, rewrapping a cloth that had loosened. Tamtey tucked her chin and watched him work, far more compliant now.
For a while, the only sounds were the crackle of the small fire and the quiet drip of water further inside the cave.
He finished tying the bandage and sat back on his heels. Silence stretched—not uncomfortable, just thick with things neither of them named.
Tamtey broke it, of course.
“So,” she said lightly. “You gonna yell at me for taking on that camp alone?”
“Yes,” he said.
She grinned. “Okay. Go.”
“You should not engage fortified positions without backup,” he began. “You are reckless. You underestimate your injuries. And you assume you will survive because you always have.”
She nodded along, mock-serious. “Uh-huh. Strong points. Valid concerns.”
“You do not take me seriously.”
“I do,” she protested. “I just also enjoy making you mad.”
“I am not mad.”
“You are so mad.”
“I am concerned.”
She leaned closer, invading his space deliberately. “You only get that tone when you care.”
He did not move away.
“You risk yourself too easily,” he huffed.
“Someone has to finish what they started.”
“I don't like it—you—out there. You know you are not alone anymore, right?”
She paused and just stared at him. “Yeah,” she said after a moment. “Neither are you.”
Silence hovered over them again, but they did not let it bother them. They shared the meal quietly, shoulders brushing occasionally, even the world narrowed to their simplicity. Outside, the wind shifted, carrying distant echoes of a world healing slowly. Tamtey eventually leaned sideways, her head bumping gently against his shoulder. He froze for exactly one heartbeat—then allowed it.
She sighed, content. “You know, one day I am going to come here without blood on me.”
“I will believe this when I see it.”
“Rude.” She smiled against his shoulder. “You are stuck with me, So’lek.”
“I know,” he said.
And for the first time in a long while, neither of them ran from the quiet. It stretched—not empty, not fragile. Just… present. The kind of silence that came after storms, when the air still smelled of rain, but nothing was actively burning anymore. Tamtey shifted slightly, testing the weight of his arm. When he did not pull away, she allowed herself to settle closer, her head resting lightly against him rather than fully leaning.
“Your cave is warmer than I remember,” she murmured, wanting to break the stillness.
“The fire is the same,” he replied. “You are colder.”
He adjusted without thinking, arm angling just enough to shield her from the draft coming through the cave mouth. The movement surprised him. He went still again immediately, as if waiting to see whether he had overstepped.
She did not comment. Instead, she sighed—long and deep, the sound of someone finally setting something down. “You ever notice that I only sleep after I come here?”
His chest tightened. “Yes,” he admitted.
“I do not dream as much either, well, like nightmares,” she added. “Which is wild. Considering you literally live in a rock.”
“This rock is very safe,” he said dryly.
She snorted softly. “Yeah, it is.”
Another pause. Light danced along the cave walls, catching on the curve of her cheek, the faint scar near her brow he had traced once, long ago, when he thought she was asleep and would not notice.
“You could stay,” he said, the words leaving him before he could consider them properly.
Her breath hitched, just a little. “Tonight?” she asked, carefully casual.
“Yes.”
“Because I am injured,” she teased. “Or because you would rather I did.”
“Both,” he said honestly.
She turned her head slightly, looking up at him. “Careful,” she murmured. “I might start thinking you like me.”
His ear twitched. “I do like you.”
Her mouth opened, then closed again. She laughed under her breath, softer than before. “Oh,” she said. “You are dangerous when you’re sincere.”
“I am always sincere.”
“That is somehow worse.”
She shifted again, turning a little more toward him, knee brushing his thigh briefly before settling. He did not move away, did not tighten his arm. He simply stayed where he was.
Outside, Nimun and Iley trilled quietly, settling for the night.
Tamtey’s voice dropped. “So’lek?”
“Mm?”
“If… when the last human camp is gone,” she said, her words carefully calculated, “and there is nothing left for me to tear apart—will you still let me come bother you?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Yes, I would prefer it.” It is soft before he quickly adds, “You are safer up here.”
Her eyes relax. “Good,” she breathed. “Because I like places that feel like home.”
His thumb shifted, touching her shoulder lightly, deliberately, and then not moving. “Then do not leave.”
She rested her forehead lightly on his shoulder. Not leaning on him. Not resting. Just touching enough to count. “Okay,” she breathed.
They stayed like that as the fire burned low, the world beyond the cave drifting and distant. No promises spoken. No lines crossed that could not be uncrossed. Just two people choosing, again and again, not to pull away.