Love isn't all wine and flower petals. It isn't moonlight walks on the beach or tearful confessions of mutual adoration or sighing kisses.
Maybe it's a rose, Mara concedes, bleary-eyed. Beautiful on the outside, seemingly delicate, sweetly scented, but full of thorns. Reach out for it with an open hand and you'll come away bloody.
She doesn't want to dream of him.
"Mara?"
He's too nice, she decides. It's hard to tell if he's being nice because that's how he is, or because he has a particular reason to be nice to her. Like attraction. Or love.
And he's too damn oblivious.
"Mara, are you all right?"
She blinks, looks up, clears her throat. "Good morning, Talon."
He looks at her--or at least, she thinks he's looking at her. Her vision is strangely blurry right now. Her focus on the break room, almost empty at this hour of the day, seems to fade in and out.
"Mara," he says, slowly and carefully, "are you all right?"
She shrugs. "Fine."
Yes. Fine. Certainly not drunk. Or dizzy from lack of sleep, because she has to wake herself up whenever she starts to dream, and she doesn't know how to stop the dreams.
He probably does, but she's not about to ask him. That would require seeing him, and she can't do that right now, not now. Not until she has better control over herself.
What happened to being able to go even three days without sleep? The forests of Myrkr weren't even that long ago, really...
"Mara, you're not 'fine'," he says firmly, putting a hand on her shoulder. She contemplates brushing it off and walking away, but instead she just closes her eyes and leaves it alone.
It's Talon. He's seen her worse off than this, and never breathed a word to anyone, or given any indication that he thinks less of her for her weakness. It's Talon, and he's safe. He takes care of his people.
She sighs and opens her eyes again, then narrows them in an attempt to get rid of the fuzzy edges. "I'll be fine soon, then," she says.
"Isn't it a bit early in the day to be drinking?" he asks. She looks at the chrono strapped to her wrist, but after deciphering the seven, she leaves it alone, not caring enough to try to make out the rest of the numbers.
"Not that much," she replies. " 'S just 'cause I'm tired. Just wanted to not think for a bit..." She slumps against the wall and leans her head back against it.
But the wine hasn't stopped her thinking. It's blunted the sharp edges of thoughts she doesn't like, but bluntness leaves bruises.
Why can't she stop thinking about him? He's invaded her mind, but not in the way she's accused him of before. It's not his fault, not really, that those eyes of his won't leave her mind, or that smile, the uncertain one he gives her when he offers something he's not sure she'll take, whether it's friendship or training.
"Take the day off, Mara," Talon tells her. "Get some sleep. Aves will cover for you."
Oh, Talon. He's the best employer she's ever had, and she's not ashamed to admit that she cares for him. He's done so much for her, helping her without asking, believing in her, enduring her bitterness and giving her acceptance.
She shakes her head, slightly, just enough to be clear without making her head swim. "I'm fine," she insists. "I can sleep later."
Maybe later she'll be tired enough that she doesn't see him the moment she closes her eyes. Maybe, too, if she has another glass of wine, it will grant her a night free of him saying things he would never say, not to her--
"Mara." Talon puts his other hand on her shoulder, and turns her to face him. "You need to sleep."
"Can't," she whispers, not looking at his face. "Always wake up. Dreams..."
He's haunted her dreams for too long. First the implanted ones, with the thunderous, hateful voice and spiteful command, and now the gentle ones, the loving ones, the ones she can't help wanting to be real.
Is this what love is supposed to be? she wonders bleakly. Thinking about him, wondering about him, imagining conversations where something she says makes his eyes light up, something she does prompts an infectious grin and laugh--
She doesn't want to dwell on this. It's interfering with her work, and that's inexcusable.
Talon plucks the wine glass from her hand, picks the bottle up from the table. "Everyone has off days," he says. "Even you. Get some sleep, Mara. I know you won't let your dreams control you."
No, she wouldn't, but never has she both loved and hated a dream, longed for it and feared it at the same time.
Still, slowly, she nods. She has been letting the dreams control her--why? What is it about them that scares her so much that she would prefer drinking and staying awake to sleeping? The dreams are not reality, yes, and that hurts, but--
This is love, isn't it? She's never been in love before, but she doesn't know what else could be this strong, this lasting, this hard to deal with.
Perhaps she should try an inordinately difficult thing, and stop fighting it.
Talon squeezes her shoulder, as if sensing her decision, though she knows he doesn’t have the Force. But he knows how to read people, which is sometimes even better, and she is glad that she doesn't have to say anything. She smiles at him, and knows he understands.
"Good morning, Mara," he says, softly, as she makes her way out of the break room and to her quarters.
When she lets herself sink into sleep, she's greeted by those familiar blue eyes and a warm embrace, and doesn't pull away.