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'𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞' ════════════╝
━━ -ˋˏ★ˎˊ- ━━
𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 and a solitary figure exits. She tilts her face to the sky. Stars blink back.
The jungle trails are dark, but she knows her way home. Soon enough, the terra beneath her feet turns to a narrow stone path, and then a wooden porch.
The ring on her left hand catches in the dim light of the front door and she can't help the elation that still flows through her. It has been months since that wedding, a full year in a few days, but in her mind it was only yesterday.
Their guest list is small. Close friends and family only, which still manage to fill a yard. There is a smug I told you so whispered by a girl with brown curls to the bride before she walks. They all knew this would happen.
The groom just can't stop grinning as they say their vows, small understated things that mean more to the two of them than anyone else would ever know.
In life and beyond, where we shall meet, remember, and love again.
An old friend–a sister now–embraces her as she steps away from the altar.
For any bystander it is quite a sight: the galaxy's long lost Jedi officiating a wedding between the two most notorious members of the Resistance. Today, though, they are without rank, without responsibility.
There is no long vacation after the wedding for a couple such as this. There is work to be done, things to be repaired.
But she thinks of that wedding now as she enters their secluded home.
The first thing that catches her eye is the sleeping droid sitting at his charging station in the living room. The dim light catches on his round body. He needs a new paint job, she thinks to herself. It has only been a week since she left Yavin for Corellia, but never will she ever tire of the feeling of returning to this place.
She walks to the kitchen window and opens it, letting the cool night breeze flood through.
The house isn't very big; surely not some grand estate worthy of a General. The rooms have mismatched pillows and blankets and the photographs on the walls are in frames of all manner of shapes and sizes–neither of its residents know how to decorate a home, both of them had grown used to years in barracks. Home. It is the very thing she has dreamed of for most of her life without ever truly having the strength to grasp it.
Where the woman stands next to cabinets, ghosts flank her. Their names rustle past her in the quiet light: Georgie, Han, Leia, Cora, L'ulo and a hundred more. She has realized now that it was never within her hands to save everyone, but she stands now on land that hasn't been free-governed in decades and knows that she's managed to protect the thing that will survive. Legacy. What a tricky thing, she thinks to herself. The lost girl, the angry girl will always live on within her, and she can only hope that the years will show that girl that love is something to believe in.
There is a light creaking sound from the direction of the bedroom, and shuffling footsteps follow.
He moves into the kitchen light, surprised to see his wife standing there. She's still wearing rumpled traveling clothes and her long silver hair is falling out of its braid, but to him, she has never looked better.
She is his benediction, forever lovely and golden even without the flames that once lit her from within. They have known each other in different ways over the years, but this might just be his favorite version of them. The one where they come home after long days and fall into each other like there is no space between them.
"When did you get back?" he asks, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.
"Not too long ago."
"I didn't hear you come in," he says, coming up from behind and circling his arms around her waist. I missed you.
"I didn't want to wake you." She heaves a happy sigh as she leans into his hold.
"You should have."
Gently, he spins her around to face him and laces his fingers through hers like he has a hundred times over. Like he's begging her for one more dance.
He presses a kiss to her forehead. "Come to bed?"
She nods. They're both so tired. Maybe they always will be. Neither of them was ever disposed to a restful life.
It's late, or rather, it's early. Mist wreathes the grass in the yard outside. All over this planet, people will begin to wake soon because even without a war, responsibility never rests. There is a big bright future coming to life with every new choice. The sun is rising and chasing away the stars.
For now, though, they stand together in the kitchen.
This is where war has brought them: home.
-ˋˏ *.·:·. ★ .·:·.* ˎˊ- 𝐓𝐇𝐄
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