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The pain was entirely manageable. Frankly it was irrelevant to the situation, but Mon didn’t seem to understand that. What mattered was that Kleya still had adequate mobility, strength, and power, and that those things were sustainable. Pain only became an issue when it interfered.
Mon hadn’t discovered the extent of her injuries until Hoth. They were something of together; not with any delusions of permanence, but enough that Mon was intimately acquainted with her body, and much of her life. Too much, Kleya realised, when Mon’s eyes picked up details she’d thought well hidden.
The cold had crept into her, as it always did, seizing on weaknesses she was unable to entirely wipe out. The ligaments in her left shoulder stiffened up and suddenly her arm was unable to fully vertically extend; her basal thumb joint seized up and then inflamed and repeated use; her knees crackled as the fluid dried up.
The biggest problem, inevitably, was her hip. An older injury, compounded by the lack of musculoskeletal knowledge she’d had in those early days, and the obvious fact that the trunk held the rest of the body together; a failing somewhere else put pressure on an existing weakness, and so every single injury to her back or ribs or legs was a punishment to her left hip.
Kleya should have known better. She could have increased her mobility exercises, monitored her sleeping position. But Mon’s presence next to her would make that hard to disguise, so she took a calculated risk.
When she attempted to get out of bed the next morning and her lower body buckled, she realised that risk had not paid off.
“Kleya?” Mon said in concern. “Kleya, what’s wrong?”
She was at the edge of the bed in seconds, reaching towards her.
“I’m fine.”
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” Kleya insisted, pushing Mon’s hands away. She felt, rather than saw her flinch.
Mon was quiet whilst she tried to ease herself off the bed, then gave up and edged back to rest against the pillows with a grimace. Kleya couldn’t meet her eyes. She felt the weight shift on the mattress, then Mon was bringing the thick blankets back on top of her.
“I’m not ill.”
“Whatever it is, I don’t think freezing will help.”
“It’s just stiff,” Kleya murmured, staring up at the ceiling. She tried to breathe through the pain, willing her muscles to subside, but they spasmed unrelentingly.
“Can I get you some pain relief?”
Kleya squeezed her eyes shut, mentally calculating the trajectory of where her body seemed to be heading.
“There’s a brown pouch in my bag. I need that.”
Mon fetched it, thankfully not needing to rifle through her things, but still sat back down on the bed as Kleya located the necessary medication.
“I’m just taking a pill. I think I can handle it,” she growled, reaching for her cantina by the bed.
“Your capability has no impact on my concern,” Mon said, in what felt like a pitying voice.
Kleya frowned, aggravation rising in her chest.
“Well it should.”
“Being able to care for yourself doesn’t mean you’re not in pain.”
Kleya stared at her, baffled. “But the pain is irrelevant. Why are you fixating on it?”
Mon’s expression flickered with hurt.
“I don’t have time for this,” Kleya said, avoiding her eyes again. She steeled herself, and sat further up in bed.
“I’ll use the fresher first then, if you don’t mind,” Mon said quietly.
The strained silence was palpable as she gathered her clothes. As soon as Kleya heard the door running she forced herself up, and managed to sit on the edge of the bed stable enough to mobilize her hips. Then she was able to limp to her trunk, grabbing the loosest and warmest clothes she could find.
Pain was shooting up her hip, but her iliopsoas muscles had stopped crippling her and were now spasming rhythmically. That was enough for Kleya to be able to dress sitting on her bed, as quickly as possible, with one ear trained to the refresher. She’d just tugged on her boots when the water stopped.
Kleya pushed herself up again, clenching her jaw through her body’s protest, then grabbed her thick coat, gloves, and workbag, then threw herself out the room.
*
She didn’t apologise for her sentiments. There was nothing she could apologise for, not without making it seem like Mon’s concern was reasonable or interference was necessary. The harshness of the interaction was unavoidable, though, and within this unfathomably open dynamic between them Kleya knew the hurt would linger. Shirking responsibility for that would be cowardly. Actions required ownership, otherwise the consequences would easily spiral out of control.
Kleya found Mon in the council room, where she habitually worked in the quiet between meetings. Her expression was closed when Kleya walked in; not cold, but a guarded neutral.
“I’m sorry for the way I communicated this morning,” Kleya said. “It was unnecessarily combative.”
Mon’s eyes softened, but she still maintained the careful control she always had in this room. That was unusual when it was just the two of them.
“You were in pain. I understand,” she said. “I’m sorry for aggravating you further.”
Kleya nodded shortly.
The air was still tense, however, and Mon remained haltingly at a distance. Her hands rested in her lap, not exactly waiting, but leaving space that only Kleya could fill.
She walked over to where Mon sat, glanced down at the table, then perched on the edge of it. Mon was looking up at her, and Kleya let out the tiniest of sighs, then met her eyes.
“I’ve been injured a lot, obviously,” she said matter-of-factly. “I can’t have it be a problem. It’s entirely in control, but - the cold causes some challenges.”
Mon nodded slowly. “I see.”
“I know how to handle them. It isn’t new.”
“Are you still in pain?”
Kleya swallowed, jaw twitching. “Who isn’t?”
Mon sighed. “Yes, I suppose. But I do fear your definition of too much pain is a little higher than generally acceptable.”
“Is this going to be a problem?”
Mon’s eyes focused penetratingly on her.
“I’m the last person to assume I know more about your health than you do. But if you think I’m not going to worry when I can see you suffering, then I suppose it will be a problem.”
Kleya’s chest tightened, an odd, suffocating feeling of guilt taking over her.
“Is that it, then?” she said quietly. “You worry about me now?”
Mon smiled a little sadly at her. “Do you think I never have before?”
*
Hoth was difficult. The cold didn’t stop wreaking havoc on her injuries, and the best she managed was making it tolerable. Altering her mobility exercises helped her daily movement, but masking the pain became a bigger challenge than before. She had learnt to manage her pain appropriate to the context; utilising adrenaline to cover the severity of injury in a fight, or covering her body in supportive tape under the protective layer of her gallery costume. She had years of hiding the truth in her expression from her customers.
Mon, however, was inescapable. Her discerning politician’s eyes picked up the slightest shifts in body language around her, and with Kleya they had become well trained. It seemed she was ready to spot every weakness, her eyes honing in on the tiniest limp or the smallest wince. Every time she noticed something there would inevitably be concern, and that was something Kleya needed to avoid.
Vel was a helpful co-conspirator. Surprising, but logical on investigation.
“Mon can’t worry about herself, so she worries about everyone else,” Vel told her, irritation evident in her voice, but with the pragmatic resignation of someone who had clearly learnt to deal with it.
“And she should have been worrying a lot about herself. For years,” Vel added. “So it gets spread pretty thickly now.”
Kleya was uncomfortably taken aback by this, both with new sadness about things she’d long been well aware of, and complicated guilt at how much her own actions had been involved.
Vel noticed her reaction, and pursed her lips. “What do you need?”
“Better pain medication. The kind of things we can’t get quietly here.”
Vel nodded.
“Leave it with me.”
Vel found her what she needed, and without fuss. Kleya kept the medication for the worst of her days, not wanting to become dependent or cloud her brain, and suddenly her pain was almost gone. It was something she’d never experienced before, and was surprised to find how much it made her feel like things were more under control. She woke up most mornings without an onslaught of warning aches and the days felt so much lighter.
Mon had no idea, and Kleya meticulously kept it that way.
They left Hoth, and Kleya hoped her pain with it - but for some inexplicable reason it barely lessened.
“It’s stress,” Vel told her.
Kleya gave her a scathing look. “Don’t embarrass yourself.”
“Give me a break,” Vel said, with the kind of derisive snort only possible when you did, in fact, know more than someone else.
Kleya pursed her lips.
“Fine. Diagnose me.”
“Pain triggers a stress response. Your body exists in a heightened state of stress, so any small thing sends it off,” Vel said plainly. “We just escaped with the skin of our teeth, barely kept the fleet together, and have been swapping ships every week trying to figure out some kind of order. That’s enough to cause problems when you’ve been in pain for a while.
“You know this,” Vel said, leaning forward. “You taught Cinta this.”
That was undeniable. She couldn’t lie about her own knowledge or the discipline of running Axis. Which Vel knew.
She was right, because Kleya herself was right. She had drilled into them the danger they posed to themselves and others when they were flippant with their health. Skipping recovery, ignoring symptoms, all of those were unknown risk factors they brought into operations. This work took a toll. Ignoring that was foolhardy.
Somehow that only made her more frustrated with Mon.
*
The next few months saw the Alliance dispersed across the galaxy. Command and central control remained roughly in one place, as did the core of Kleya’s Intelligence Force. It was impossible, however, to realistically accommodate all three branches on Home One or its periphery ships, meaning Kleya spent a large amount of time flying around the galaxy.
She got called back a few weeks after Organa had miraculously returned - miraculous, at least, to anyone who wasn’t familiar with the Falcon’s sporadically functioning hyperdrive. She was needed to guide the intelligence gathering for Organa’s proposed rescue op to get Solo. A do-or-die attempt, but Kleya had seen over a decade of those. She would have gone with her if they hadn’t been so tight on resources. No one except Skywalker and Calrissian could be spared as it was. Thank god that she didn’t.
The incident was minor, on the face of it. A small error in docking, Mon getting knocked against the side of the shuttle. No one at the time noticed anything wrong; the bang to her head was missed in the disruption, and she hid her reaction effectively. There didn’t appear to be much reaction, and short of a smashball-sized bump or bleeding from her skull, Mon evidently didn’t think it was necessary to visit the medbay.
Kleya was the one who noticed.
“Your pupils are dilated.”
“What?”
She gently cupped Mon’s chin with her fingers, turning it towards her so she could properly examine her eyes.
“Your pupils are dilated,” she repeated.
Mon stared at her blankly, apparently unable to come up with either an explanation or a deflection. That was the second sign.
“Did you hit your head when you were away?”
“No,” Mon said carefully, avoiding her gaze. An impressive feat considering they were inches away.
“On Home One?”
Kleya waited patiently for an answer, and Mon, sensing the inevitable, gave a little sigh.
“There was a slight miscalculation when the shuttle docked with Home One, and I bumped the side of the ship slightly.”
“Your head?” Kleya asked instantly, ignoring ‘slightly’.
“Kleya, it was barely a hit.”
Kleya was already feeling gently through her hair, checking for signs of injury. No blood, but a sizeable bump—
“Ow!” Mon winced.
“Sorry.”
She pulled her hands away, then looked Mon intently in the eyes.
“You need to go to the medbay.”
“Kleya…”
“You’ve hit your head hard enough to cause secondary trauma. You need to be examined.”
“We’re expecting news from the Bothans within a week. I cannot shirk my duties just because I have a small headache.”
Kleya sucked in a sharp breath and her throat tightened.
“Mon, you need to go,” she said as calmly as possible. “I need to take you.”
Mon’s eyes flickered with worry, not for herself, but at the expression Kleya knew was on her face. She gave a fraction of a nod, then allowed herself to be walked firmly to the medbay. Kleya pretended not to notice the wobble in her step.
A moderate concussion, the medical droid said. She was confined to her bed for one standard day before re-evaluation. Satisfied Mon wouldn’t leave, Kleya left her to return to work. It was only when her shift ended several hours later that she came back to find Mon moaning in pain.
“Mon? Mon, look at me,” Kleya said, forcing calm into her voice. Mon could barely focus.
“It’s my headache,” she groaned. “It’s… gotten worse.”
Kleya commed the medic, Vel, and Cinta for good measure.
“It’s a severe migraine,” the medic said, after Mon had been extensively examined, scanned by the medical droid, then examined again.
“You’re sure there’s no bleeding?” Cinta said seriously.
“I’m sure.”
“You can’t make a mistake here, she’s the head of the Alliance,” Vel said.
“I’m aware of how important Senator Mothma is,” the medic said coolly.
She turned back to address Kleya, who caught Vel making a face behind her.
“What are you giving her?”
“Enkephalin for the pain, and a mild sedative so she can get some sleep. One of the medical droids will check her vitals every half hour.”
The three of them alternated shifts for the next couple of days. Mon was drowsy, drifting in and out of sleep, and given Kleya’s responsibilities it was mostly Vel and Cinta who kept watch. She would trust them with Mon’s life, but she was still deeply, deeply relieved it was her at Mon’s bedside when she woke up somewhat conscious.
“Are you still in pain?” Kleya asked, feeling her forehead.
“It’s fine.”
Kleya frowned deeply.
“I’ll speak to the medic.”
“Kleya,” Mon said urgently, grabbing her hand. “We don’t have enough medication. Please.”
She looked up at her with glassy, desperate eyes.
“I’ll be fine.”
Kleya clenched her jaw, mentally running through what options she had to solve this. There was only one.
“Okay. I won’t go to the medbay. But you need medication.”
She squeezed Mon’s hand then slipped away. This wasn’t ideal. It was far from ideal. She wasn’t thinking this through fully and there were too many potential things that could go wrong. But there was no other choice. Mon was in pain, and that was unacceptable.
“Take this,” Kleya said when she returned, handing Mon one of her smuggled painkillers and a glass of water.
Mon frowned in hazy confusion, but was in too much pain to disagree, so swallowed the pill without question then lay back down against the pillow.
“Get some sleep,” Kleya said quietly.
She reached out and hesitantly brushed Mon’s head, trying to hold back the trembling forcing its way out of her chest. Mon couldn’t quite manage a smile, but it shone in her eyes anyway, and Kleya managed a shaky one in return.
*
“Kleya, where are you getting this from?”
She’d dodged that question the first three times, but by the fourth Mon was now lucid again, and unwilling to do anything with the pill Kleya had pushed into her hand before she had an answer.
“It’s not from the medbay,” Kleya said simply.
“That’s not what I asked, and you know it.”
Kleya ground her jaw.
“I keep my own supply. For emergencies.”
“This is not an emergency,” Mon said, holding her hand back out.
Kleya made a noise of aggravation, barely fighting back an eyeroll.
“You’re in pain, and this is the only thing that helps.”
“I am not going to use up your small supply—”
“I’ve got plenty of them and I barely use them!”
Mon froze, and Kleya went still in return. She was looking up with the kind of concerned realisation usually reserved for bad news from Rieekan.
“How many emergencies have you been in recently?” Mon asked, fully aware of the answer.
Kleya grit her teeth, staring anywhere but Mon as she tried to find an answer.
“Sometimes, when I have pain with old injuries, I need to take something,” she admitted quietly. “And this is the only thing that works.”
When she met Mon’s eyes again, her concern had morphed into something overwhelming.
“How much pain have you been in?” she said in horror.
“Look, it’s not that often.”
“Kleya, I saw how you were on Hoth, before you got better…” Mon’s face did something terrible. “Is that - were you taking these all that time?”
She couldn’t lie. She couldn’t. She could only look at Mon and beg her to understand.
“Kleya…”
“Please will you take it,” Kleya implored.
“I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this from me.”
“Why do you need to know?”
“Because I care! Because I can help you!” Mon burst out. “Because I can make things easier for you in the morning, because I can make sure your duties are adjusted—”
“That is the last thing I want!” Kleya shouted.
Mon stared at her in despair, and Kleya felt guilt and shame wash over her.
“I’m sorry, I’m - sorry.”
“No, I shouldn’t have pushed,” Mon said quietly.
She looked away with sad eyes, and they stood there in awkward silence. Kleya shifted, trying to adjust her weight.
“There are things in this fight we just have to push through. There are things we don’t.”
They met each other’s eyes again, and despite the hurt expression on Mon’s, Kleya stayed resolute.
“This is one of those things. It’s an easy fix, and it’s only temporary.”
“You’re not taking no for an answer, are you?” Mon said, resigned, and took the pills from her.
“Not on this I’m not.”
*
They won the war, and then they began winning the peace. It was… not what Kleya had expected. She’d let herself imagine, after the destruction of the first Death Star; a half-formed thing, percolating in the recesses of her mind. It was Vel and Mon’s fault, they simply had that kind of effect eventually, but Kleya began to construct something for herself.
What she’d never imagined was the uncomfortable feeling of longevity. Not an interminable fight that endured with the hope of an end, but the need for things to keep growing, keep building, something that would not just endure but evolve.
Kleya had never conceived of herself as someone capable of longevity. She’d never anticipated her body would grow old, that it would be sustainable longer than the fight. Of all the things she needed to think about, though, this wasn’t high on her list of priorities. She carried on as she always had, and she couldn’t see any means or need to change that.
Mon clearly felt differently. She was careful not to say anything explicit, and she didn’t question Kleya directly, but the subtle hints were obvious. Comments about the new medical centres for veterans, the benefits of physiotherapy. Even Vel felt the need to share her opinion.
“Cinta’s training in trauma rehabilitation,” she commented, when Kleya came by their new apartment to review its security. Inadequate, as expected.
She’d stayed for lunch afterwards, because life did get too grey without Vel’s regular presence in it.
“That sounds like a valuable use of her abilities.”
Vel was quiet for a moment, always an ominous sign.
“They’ve had a lot of people with chronic pain come in. She’s seen great results.”
Kleya raised an unimpressed eyebrow, not interested in this line of conversation.
“Could be good for you,” Vel continued, undeterred.
“Did Mon set you up to this?”
“You know Mon and I don’t talk about you. Much,” she added, at Kleya’s expression. “This is me speaking. I think giving it a go could really help.”
Kleya sighed. She was running out of excuses, and every reminder of that set her nerves further on edge.
“As we’re on the subject of Mon - I’d like to make plans for her Life Day.”
Vel pressed her lips together, surveying her far too knowingly, then nodded, clearly accepting the subject had changed.
“I think a surprise party would go down brilliantly,” she said, which drew a pleased smirk from Kleya.
“Excellent. She’s off planet for another week, so we can do some initial preparation without suspicion.”
Mon’s trips were still reasonably frequent, although no longer usually as long as this, and Kleya found herself slightly restlessly waiting for her to come back. She let out an unexpected sigh of relief when Mon landed outside their building, not realising how anxious she’d been about her safety.
“Successful trip?” Kleya asked, as she walked her upstairs to their apartment.
“As much as can be expected,” Mon said, sounding predictably tired. “I am very glad to be home.”
Kleya bit her lip back against how broad her smile threatened to become, and instead welcomed Mon inside.
Mon took a long shower, emerging significantly brighter, then found Kleya on the sofa, where she was scanning her planned tasks for the following day. She slipped in next to her, and Kleya put her holopad to the side, turning to Mon and pressing an affectionate kiss on her shoulder.
“It’s nice to find you at home,” Mon said.
“Waiting for you?” Kleya replied, amused.
“Getting some rest.”
“Mm.”
Mon tiptoed her fingers along Kleya’s thigh, eliciting a familiar tingle.
“Did you want to… get some rest?” Kleya asked.
“That’s not exactly what I’d like to get right now,” Mon said, voice unexpectedly low and gravely and completely irresistible.
They were on each other in a second, swaying against the sofa until Mon tugged Kleya onto her lap. She swung an eager leg over, twisting her hips slightly the wrong way, and felt a stab of pain as she landed on Mon’s thighs.
Mon caught the wince, and Kleya felt her stomach sink.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Kleya said, trying to laugh it off.
She leaned into Mon, then was hit with a sharp spasm up her back, and the groan of pain was out her mouth before she could stop it.
“Kleya, darling,” Mon said, reaching to stabilise her. She stroked a soothing hand down Kleya’s back as her eyes filled with worry. “Come and sit next to me.”
Kleya ground her jaw, trying to push the pain away, but it was useless. She gingerly climbed off Mon, nerves firing in anger, and sank into the cushions.
“How long has this been going on?”
“It hasn’t. I’ve been fine.”
“It’s just out of nowhere?”
“It’s always out of nowhere.”
Mon surveyed her in deep concern.
“Darling, you shouldn’t have to suffer like this,” she said, resting a hand on her knee. “There are treatments, now. There are things you can do.”
Kleya’s aggravation rose, and she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.
“They’re old injuries. They’re my injuries. This isn’t something new, some broken bone or torn ligament that can be healed. It’s just something that I live with.”
“We’ve been at war for such a long time. You’ve never had the chance to really look, see if anything can be done,” Mon said carefully.
“What do you think I was doing before the Alliance? Sitting in ignorance?”
“I think you did what you needed to do to survive.” Mon’s eyes were fixed on her, unwilling to let her escape this conversation. “Life is no longer about survival.”
“And yet you’re working yourself to the bone,” Kleya snapped back. “Every day. It’s not just the hours, Mon, it’s the pressure and expectations you put on yourself. It’s unsustainable. It’s certainly not survival.”
“We are not talking about me right now.”
“Aren’t we?” Kleya demanded.
She resolutely pushed herself up from the sofa, gripping her hip as the pain assuaged her again.
“I am so sick of the pain I am in becoming a target for your worry. Your fears.”
“What fears?” Mon asked, getting up after her. “Other than the person I love suffering unnecessarily?"
“You are terrified this is all going to fall apart!” Kleya shouted. “You have lived so long with everyone telling you that this is impossible, part of you still believes it. You think this can’t last. The Republic. Us.”
Mon was staring at her in shock.
“And instead of facing that you fixate on me and this situation you think you can control. But you can’t. You can’t control everything.”
Kleya’s heart was pounding, and for some reason she found herself out of breath. Mon seemed unable to move, frozen in front of her with a terrible look on her face. Broken.
When she turned her head away Kleya saw her jaw was trembling. Kleya closed her eyes, trying to inhale long and slow, trying to will away the horror that was descending around her.
“I think…” Mon began shakingly. “I think perhaps I could use a night away.”
“What?” Kleya said quietly.
“A little space would do us good.”
Mon’s eyes searched around the room, unfocused and disoriented. She couldn’t possibly go out like that.
“It’s not safe,” Kleya said, stepping forward.
“I’ll go to Vel’s,” Mon told her.
She moved through the apartment, locating her comm and her bag, then dialled the callpad in their small foyer.
“Could you call up a driver for me, thank you,” she requested.
“Mon–”
“Kleya, please.”
There was an indiscernible look in her eyes, anger and fear and worry, and a deep heartbreak Kleya had never seen before.
“Let me know you’re safe,” Kleya croaked.
Mon gave her the tiniest, weakest of smiles, then she was gone.
*
She got a holomessage from Vel saying Mon was with her, and no more information than that. Kleya didn’t ask for any. Vel was in the middle of this, but when it came down to it, Kleya’s wasn’t the side she would pick.
Her entire body was in pain now. It radiated out from her hip, throbbing relentlessly no matter how she moved, and spread along her nerves until everything simply hurt. She tried to mobilise her joints for all of thirty seconds, but the hopelessness of it all overcame her.
In the end she dug into her pill supply, then lay in the darkness in painless but fractured sleep.
Kleya had to work the next day, as she did most days, but for the first time in years her body simply would not cooperate. She took more medication, but this time the pain stubbornly persisted, reappearing every time she had the audacity to shift her hips. Or her legs, or back. Or in a wonderful turn of events, stand.
She commed her deputy, asking him to conduct the morning brief and giving no further explanation. He didn’t need one. Neither did the crippling sense of failure that was creeping in.
There was nothing for it but to lie alternately on the bed or couch, attempting to work via her holopads. Her brain was full of fog - possibly the pain medication, possibly the pain itself, or maybe even… Well, she didn’t have the energy to dwell on it.
Mon was silent, and she didn’t attempt to contact her. That could only make things worse, no matter how desperately Kleya wanted to make them better. In the late afternoon she hit a new low, and looked up Cinta’s rehab centre, before throwing her holopad across the couch.
Whether she had disassociated or fallen asleep was hard to say, but in early evening she heard the first in a series of apartment alerts, and shortly after, the sound of Mon walking in the door. Kleya pushed herself up, shifting to try and ease the protest from her hip, and watched the archway to the foyer.
Her heart seemed to pound out of her chest, then Mon stepped through. She found Kleya instantly, and stood there with sad, red-rimmed eyes, looking every bit as desolate as Kleya felt. Her instinct was to just apologise, but none of this was that simple.
“You came back,” Kleya said. Her voice was croaky, a weak and vulnerable thing she hated to hear.
“I did.” She sounded so desperately, unfairly desolate.
“I - I can’t get up right now.”
Mon nodded, then hesitantly, she walked across the apartment to where Kleya sat. She must look a sight.
“Can I sit next to you?”
Kleya nodded quickly. She moved gingerly as Mon sat down, turning to face her whilst keeping her body supported by a pile of cushions.
“I’m hesitant to ask if you’re in a lot of pain.”
“I am,” Kleya said simply.
Mon’s face crumpled, and she bit her lip, dipping her head in understanding.
“I’m sorry for the part I’ve played in that.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Well, you would know best.”
“I don’t think you believe that,” Kleya said, resigned.
Mon pressed her lips together. It was her senatorial way of hiding uncertainty.
“Do you think it’s wise that I do?”
The question threw her completely. Kleya frowned, trying to gauge her meaning through the fog in her mind.
Was it wise? Were there situations where she had a blindspot? Did she always need Mon’s perspective, or would she risk missing something without it? Or was the question more simple: did she want this woman to ever silence the sharp, discerning mind that she adored?
“No,” Kleya answered. “But in this instance… I think you’re fixed on a specific outcome, and that your judgement isn’t always sound.”
Mon nodded. “Well then,” she sighed, and gave Kleya a small, feigned smile. It seemed like she had nothing left to say.
“This doesn’t feel resolved.”
Mon’s restrained expression cracked, lip wobbling and eyes turning glassy. She swallowed heavily.
“What’s wrong?” Kleya asked gently.
Mon laughed darkly. “How can you read me like that?” she said, voice cracking. She shook her head, as if trying to clear it.
“Perrin…” she began shakily. Kleya’s heart clenched at the sound of that name on her lips. “I know I played my part, I’m perfectly capable of losing my temper. But… when he got upset, it could become something else entirely.”
Kleya felt her mouth go dry, and as if reading her thoughts, Mon quickly shook her head.
“No, nothing like that,” she said. “Not really. He would crowd into me, sometimes, but mostly he would just yell. He would - stand there, in the middle of the house, his voice echoing around so loudly it was inescapable.”
Kleya’s jaw was working silently. There was a lump in her throat, nausea forcing its way up from her stomach.
“I always worried in the back of my mind what would happen if the two of us ever crossed some unspoken line,” Mon said. “Yesterday wasn’t like Perrin, but I - I’m terrified of the idea that one day it could be. That we would lose that much respect for each other.”
Kleya was shaking her head in horror. “I am so sorry.”
“It wasn’t just you,” Mon told her. “I was there too. I feel we’ve been arguing about this for years and we’ve gone an awful way about it.”
“We’re used to being right.”
Mon’s lips cracked with a smile, and Kleya felt like a beam of sunlight had appeared through the clouds.
“Yes, that may be it.”
She reached across and took Kleya’s hand, who turned it up so their fingers tangled together.
“I looked at the physio. Briefly.”
Mon opened her mouth to respond in predictable worry.
“You didn’t bully me into it. It would be my choice,” Kleya told her. “I can see when I’m being unnecessarily stubborn, and I don’t want you to hold back because of that. You never have before. But I can’t have you… looking at me like I’m about to fall apart every time my injuries flare up. I have a lot of them.”
“I know. I know.”
Mon stared sadly at her lap, which Kleya couldn’t bear, so she gently lifted Mon’s chin up with her hand.
“It’s not the end of the world,” she said softly.
“You shouldn’t have to suffer for everything you’ve done. I know that sounds trite…”
“The scars just mean we won. Which also sounds trite, but it’s true.”
Mon gave her a bittersweet smile, letting the sentiment resonate with her.
“I suppose this is the price that we pay. But promise me that we’ll share it.”
Kleya paused, before she took Mon’s other hand in hers. “I can promise that,” she said simply. “I promise that I will share all of this with you.”
Mon’s smile was wider, now, the weight of the past day - or perhaps much longer - lifting from her shoulders. The word seemed to brighten around her.
“What do you need?” she asked Kleya gently.
Kleya sighed.
“Food. A hot bath. Maybe some more medication.”
Mon reached up to stroke her cheek, thumb rubbing tenderly below her ear.
“Those are all things I can help with,” she smiled.