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It’s dark when she wakes. The room is illuminated only by the light of the moons peeking through the open window.
Vel blinks a few times, still in the grey area somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. It’s cold. The breeze from the open window kisses her exposed spine. Shivering, she rolls over in search of a heat source. It’s muscle memory now, rolling over and draping herself over Kleya. Something her half-asleep brain is capable of doing without conscious thought.
What her half-asleep brain is not capable of doing is rolling over to find the bed empty without panicking. Vel at first makes herself comfortable, taking in Kleya’s scent—floral with a hint of citrus—and pulling the covers up over her own bare shoulders. It takes a moment for her conscious mind to catch up that Kleya’s scent left on her pillow is all there is.
Vel reaches up and rubs the sleep from her eyes before sitting up on her elbow and surveying the room. Kleya is not at the desk in the corner that she sometimes takes refuge at to write when sleep evades her. Vel glances towards the refresher, straining her ears to listen for the sound of running water. When she doesn’t hear it, Vel sits further up and swings her legs over the side, and throws back the covers.
She cracks her neck and sets off in search of her missing bedmate. Her first clue is Kleya’s robe is missing from the hook hanging by the door. Vel pulls her own on and smacks the terminals to slide open their bedroom door.
Her toes are cold as she pads her way down the halls of Sartha Manor. It’s hers—theirs—now. Her parents sit somewhere in a New Republic holding cell while they await charges for their years spent arming the Empire during the war. The Sartha fortune, originally built from the early development of protocol droids, was hers now. The Sartha plants, once devoted to manufacturing the droids, had during the war been retooled to make blasters and Imperial security droids.
The floors that her feet had memorized by the time she could remember anything echoed softly in the moonlight. It had never felt like home then. Not like it did now. As she traced Kleya’s footpath through the dark hallway.
They’ve slowly but surely been making the space their own. Taking down the self-indulgent family portraits and replacing them with paintings they’d found at local art markets. Swapping out the rugs that had been privy to Vel’s worst memories with ones Kleya had commissioned from a Ghorman refugee artist. The food, once cooked by servants, now made together over quiet music.
They were building a life in the after they never thought they would get. Or, at least, they were trying their best to.
Peacetime, it turned out, didn’t come easily to either of them.
Kleya didn’t sleep well without the pressure of necessity. Back then, in the fight, she’d had no choice but to sleep when she could. Now, the luxury of safety came with the burden of it, too.
Vel peeks her head into her office as she walks by it, not because she expects to find Kleya there but because she hopes not to. Her holotable there holds the latest coded transmission from Erskin on the disarmament process. Kleya had stormed from the room when she’d listened to him chronicle the idea of an Imperial amnesty program that was floating around the Senate.
Vel knows where she will likely find Kleya. Where she always finds her these sleepless nights.
The door to the library is already open when she gets there. The musky smell of the fireplace wafted into the hallway, drawing her in.
She expects to find Kleya tucked into her favorite spot on the couch by the fireplace. But Kleya’s perch lies empty. A ruffled blanket with a book lying open, spine up, is in the place where Kleya should be. The fire is crinkling softly, near the end of its life. The dying embers and the moonlight are all that keep the room from darkness.
The balcony doors are thrown open, and as Vel approaches, she finds Kleya standing out in the cold, looking out over the view. Kleya is wearing nothing but her thin robe in the cold spring air. Her long hair is down — the surest sign that Kleya’s guard is too — as the curls billow in the gentle wind.
She is so beautiful, Vel thinks.
Vel runs warm, but she shivers as she approaches. She clears her throat and makes her footfalls noisy to ensure she doesn’t spook Kleya from her stupor. Kleya doesn’t turn as Vel slips her arms around Kleya’s waist and presses her front to Kleya’s back. She just hums and covers Vel’s arms with her own.
“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” Kleya asks softly.
“No. I just missed you,” Vel says back, just as soft.
Kleya doesn’t respond with words, just a squeeze of Vel’s hand.
Like that, they stay for a few moments. Looking over the grounds of their new home.
Vel hadn’t checked her chrono before leaving their bedroom, but she’d guess it’s somewhere between 3 and 4 in the morning. Dawn is yet far off, Hanna city in the distance not yet waking for another day of rebuilding. The manor is quiet. There’s no one but them for a few kilometers. The grounds are empty and covered in dew. In the forest that meets the border gate, somewhere a lothwolf howls. A snowowl hoots. Nothing threatens.
Vel remembers running through the orchard to hide from her tutor or her parents or whoever else was there that day to make her feel small. Now, most mornings she walks through the garden barefoot, holding Kleya’s hand as they tend to the plants. The flowers are just starting to bloom in the warm spring days, but the nights, like this one, are holding onto the last remnants of the winter chill. Vel’s toes protest her contact with the ancient stone beneath her feet. She wonders how long Kleya has been here.
“I wish you would wake me,” Vel finally says and punctuates it with a soft kiss to Kleya’s neck.
“I can handle it,” Kleya responds. It’s not quite a snap, but it feels final.
“I know you can. I know how strong you are, Kleya,” Vel says, “But you don’t have to go it alone. That’s what we fought for.”
Kleya sighs, but doesn’t answer right away. A younger version of Vel might have felt the urge to fill the silence, but she gives Kleya the time and space to fill it when she’s ready. Instead, she plants a few more soft kisses on Kleya’s neck and shoulder.
“I was thinking of Hoth,” Kleya says finally, “And I wanted to feel the cool air on my face.”
Vel hums in understanding. “Well. My toes sure are as cold as they also were on that kriffing base,” Vel starts with humor but finishes with something more, “What’s on your mind?”
“I was so afraid,” Kleya swallows, “Of losing you. Sometimes the battle comes back to me in blurs. Sometimes it's as vivid as though it's happening right now. Sometimes I can hardly even picture it.”
“Which is it tonight?”
“The latter. I can’t see it in my mind's eye. But I keep feeling it. The cold. The sound of the blaster bolts. Your blood under my fingernails.”
“I’m here,” Vel soothes, “I’m still here. We’re both safe.”
“I know,” Kleya says as she interlaces her fingers with Vel’s hand at her stomach. “I know. Logically, I know. But I just can’t sleep when my mind is trying to play tricks on me.”
Before Vel can even ask, Kleya answers her next unsaid question, “No, I haven’t taken the meds.”
Vel sighs. The New Republic doctor she’d seen — after Kleya could no longer pretend that the insomnia wasn’t a problem — had given her a medication that could help her fall asleep and stay that way. Kleya, her stubborn Kleya, had the bottle in her nightstand, still unopened.
“Will you please wake me next time?” Vel asks instead of pushing.
“Okay.”
It’s a lie. And they both know it. But Vel doesn’t call her on it. Not tonight. Instead, she unfurls her arms from around Kleya’s body and nudges her hips until Kleya turns to face her.
Vel rubs her hands up Kleya's sides, then her arms to warm her a bit before settling her hands back on Kleya’s waist. Kleya snakes her arms around Vel’s neck, but her soft eyes still avoid Vel's.
Vel lets her hide and waits patiently for Kleya to meet her when she’s ready. Vel kisses her cheek, her neck, her collarbone. She reaches up and parts the neck of Kleya’s robe, just giving herself more room to work while Kleya finds her way back to herself.
Kleya’s fingers find purchase at Vel’s nape. She scratches softly there, and Vel knows that’s Kleya’s way of communicating her love when the words and the fear still haunt her. It tugs something loose in Vel, when Kleya is soft like this. She leaves one last kiss on Kleya’s neck before tipping their foreheads together and connecting their lips in a soft kiss.
Vel knows she must taste stale like sleep, but Kleya doesn’t seem to mind. Vel feels her own arms raise with goosebumps that have nothing to do with the cold as Kleya deepens the kiss, sliding her tongue in with Vel’s and pulling her in tighter by the back of Vel’s neck.
When they pull back for air, Vel whispers against Kleya’s lips, “Can I warm you up a bit before we go back to bed?”
“Yes,” Kleya breathes and makes to push Vel towards the couch inside.
Vel steadies her with a hand on her waist and with the other, slowly tugs at the knot holding Kleya’s robe shut. She unties the knot and pushes the sides open. Vel is pleased to find Kleya bare beneath it.
She sinks to her knees.
“Oh,” Kleya says, her wide eyes finally meeting Vel’s before her.
Vel just grins and nudges Kleya’s legs apart before leaning in and taking Kleya into her mouth.
Kleya’s hands fly to the back of Vel’s head, at first just for purchase, before she runs her fingers through Vel’s hair and helps to hold it back from Vel’s face.
Her breath comes out in stutters as Vel laps at her, and Vel is a little sad about how quickly Kleya will come at this rate. But not sad enough to stop her mouth from working her in an unhurried cycle between slow and gentle and fast and hard. Slow and gentle, fast and hard.
She slides her tongue lower, gathering the wetness there before replacing her tongue with a finger as she slides her tongue back up to suck at Kleya’s clit. Kleya’s legs start to tremble, and Vel knows that’s her body’s way of telling Vel to pick up the pace. She does, not because it’s late and she’s tired, but because Kleya wants her to. And that’s all the only motivation that Vel ever needs.
It’s just them in the dark. Looking over the house that they were slowly turning into a home. With no one and nothing looking at or threatening them.
And in that pocket of safety, Kleya comes with a low moan. Her arching back pressed against the railing, and her hands tightening their hold on Vel’s hair. Vel reduces the pressure, but doesn’t pull away, letting Kleya ride out the waves until it becomes too much. When Kleya sags with a long exhale, Vel pulls back, lips wet, and looks up at her.
There’s a sparkle back in Kleya’s eye when she meets Vel’s gaze. She relinquishes her hold on Vel’s hair and caresses Vel’s jaw before grabbing a hold of her chin.
Vel just grins up at her and waits.
Kleya shakes her head with a low laugh and says, “Take me to bed, love.”
Vel laughs, gently pulling out of Kleya before getting to her feet. She helps right Kleya’s robe and tie the knot at her waist. Kleya swats her hand away playfully and reties the knot to her liking.
Vel laughs more, but doesn’t protest. She just grabs Kleya by the hand and leads her back inside, shutting the balcony doors behind them and making their way back to bed.
With their robes hung back up on the hook by the door, Vel slides into bed and slots herself behind Kleya. Kleya hums and scoots back into Vel's chest, reaching back for Vel’s hand to pull Vel’s arm over her waist.
Vel is exhausted, but she forces her eyes to stay open until Kleya’s breathing finally evens out. Dawn isn’t far off now, she knows, but Vel hopes that they might find a little reprieve together under the covers, hiding from the cold morning air.
Nothing is pressing. Nothing threatens. Everything is quiet.