There's a feeling of separation and then reunification in a way she could never explain - as though not only atom and blood and cellular organelle have combined, but beyond that - above that - stardust and interplanetary existence and moonbeam. Like the proverbial fabric and twine of their lives have met, joined, fused .. until one is no longer able to separate one from the other, know where one ends and one begins, where one dissolves and the other is birthed.
If she were to try to explain it, it would be the splicing of holos - only the holos are their memories, their pasts, their very beings. Succinctly and expertly traced and cut from one, joined with the other's, until even the most discerning and expert of eyes could no longer delineate fiction from reality. Of course they'd passed the years alongside each other; of course they shared their childhoods -
mourned the loss of parents and silently revered the shadows they'd left behind found each other's most tender annoyances and, after one too many times of poking at the wounds, vowed to never do it again stared at the glittering blackness overhead and whispered secrets and fears they'd not yet even admitted to themselves carried the other, arm slung over shoulder, to nurse and tend and heal existed in the silence of a shared room with no urgency, no falsified need to fill it or dispel it, content to breathe the same air
She carried him with her through her own flickering reel of history. A hand on her shoulder and murmur of hope as she cried for Beeny and Blue Has Obitt, left behind and abandoned on Coruscant. Talk of theorems and the pungent smell of sterile uniform exchanged for talk of seasons and the smell of fertile earth. He'd been the one who kept bringing the light back in that damp, dark shelter as the lantern flickered. The one who'd helped push herself off the ground, take another swing, dodge another fist through those years of training. The one whose lips she'd searched for instead of Codo's in the grotto. When she'd found herself back in a bunker, when she'd found herself alone, when she'd given up at Five Points. He was the tingle in her molars when the prospect of another day in Wobani seemed too much, too suffocating, too oppressive.
They know. Then and now.
"Two halves of one," she replies, as simple as a greeting. "Stardust separated and then brought back together again."
god this was beautiful /lays down and contemplates life/
If she were to try to explain it, it would be the splicing of holos - only the holos are their memories, their pasts, their very beings. Succinctly and expertly traced and cut from one, joined with the other's, until even the most discerning and expert of eyes could no longer delineate fiction from reality. Of course they'd passed the years alongside each other; of course they shared their childhoods -
mourned the loss of parents and silently revered the shadows they'd left behind
found each other's most tender annoyances and, after one too many times of poking at the wounds, vowed to never do it again
stared at the glittering blackness overhead and whispered secrets and fears they'd not yet even admitted to themselves
carried the other, arm slung over shoulder, to nurse and tend and heal
existed in the silence of a shared room with no urgency, no falsified need to fill it or dispel it, content to breathe the same air
She carried him with her through her own flickering reel of history. A hand on her shoulder and murmur of hope as she cried for Beeny and Blue Has Obitt, left behind and abandoned on Coruscant. Talk of theorems and the pungent smell of sterile uniform exchanged for talk of seasons and the smell of fertile earth. He'd been the one who kept bringing the light back in that damp, dark shelter as the lantern flickered. The one who'd helped push herself off the ground, take another swing, dodge another fist through those years of training. The one whose lips she'd searched for instead of Codo's in the grotto. When she'd found herself back in a bunker, when she'd found herself alone, when she'd given up at Five Points. He was the tingle in her molars when the prospect of another day in Wobani seemed too much, too suffocating, too oppressive.
They know. Then and now.
"Two halves of one," she replies, as simple as a greeting. "Stardust separated and then brought back together again."