Him

He's so peaceful when he sleeps. It doesn't really seem to fit him, anymore. There's still that stillness to him, granted; that freakish awareness that persists even in his sleep. He's spent so much time worrying; he's always ready for an attack.

I suppose, maybe we all are.

When he's awake, he's always moving, always keeping people talking. He needs to have his hands on something. He needs to know everyone inside out. He thinks he has every piece of me. He has no idea.

When he isn't busy analyzing, fidgeting, fixing things... he's so strange, so quiet, so focused. He's too powerful, and it's terrifying. Something inside of him is black and heavy, straining against its bonds. It threatens to swallow everybody on this ship whole.

I love that. I love that sense of danger.

Now, in his sleep, he shifts. He's so beautiful when he sleeps. When he sleeps I can see every part of him. When he sleeps he isn't moving, isn't keeping things active. He isn't attracting attention so that he isn't left alone wondering... Because he does think so much, too much, and he almost never comes up with something good.

I suppose it excites me, to know that he trusts me. It excites me and it makes me sick.

I think he may have just mumbled my name. I wonder if he's dreaming of me. I wonder just how far I've pushed him. How much strain can he take?

I trace a line from his groin to the center of his chest, where his heart beats. His eyelashes flutter and he rolls his hips, but he doesn't wake.

I'm smiling. I haven't smiled in so long. It makes the corners of my face ache.

Maybe I love him. I can't tell. Some deep realm of me believes it, that I love him. I could. He's so devastating and so unique. So HIM.

I roll in the bed, reaching down into my napsack on the floor. The cold air is affronting.

Something cool and metal touches my hand. It's horrible and sleek, like me, like him. I grasp the handle of my blaster, studying the way it catches in the faint starlight. I can hear him breathing.

I turn back and gaze into his face. So still. So peaceful. Nothing can break through that surface. I love him. I love the way his hair falls heavily to one side. I love the curve of his hip, how sharp it is against the otherwise flat plain of his body.

Kissing his always was a vice of mine. One last time, I kiss him. The corners of his lips quirk into a smile; he's smiling for me.

I tuck my blaster against the underside of his chin and pull the trigger.

It's better this way.

I killed him because I loved him.

I loved him, but now he's gone.

He’s so still, now. The only motion is the one a body makes, settling back against the center of the earth. His lips press back and his jaw seems to sag a bit, but otherwise he is unbroken. Peaceful. Stopped.

Feeling cold, now, I put my blaster away. It's cold in this room, all by myself.

I hitch up some pants, pull on a shirt, and step out the door.

The night is moving. A new leader is moving in, a new universe is moving in, a new Force, without my Exile to stop it. I move along with time, never stopping. Never, ever stopping.

-- fin