A month and a half.
It had been a month and a half since she last returned home. A month and a half since the knighting ceremony. A month and a half without joking with Noga, or making arts and crafts with Leda, or having tea with Cora. A month and a half since she last talked with Ruka outside of what was needed for her work in the clan.
A month and a half of missing her family.
It had taken her that long to get up the nerve to talk to Ruka about what happened and beg forgiveness, even with the reassurance from Zuza. Well it had taken a month to convince herself she was strong enough to do it, but had taken her two weeks to make what she had dubbed in her head as an “apology hoodie”.
Cora once had told her Ruka liked hoodies, when they were talking about the large knit sweaters she always wore. Comfort items to them both respectively— something to cover up with, to hide from the world with. She understood that feeling, a barrier against the things that stab a person at the core. So she decided she was going to handmake Ruka a hoodie, even though the gift paled in comparison to everything the Mirialan had given her.
It was made of a comfortable fabric in a deep forest green that reminded her of shadows in the forest. She had argued with herself over what fabric to use— it had to swaddle but be breathable, offer comfort but not restrict. The creation of the hoodie after the material was picked was easy. She followed patterns and holovids and asked for help on some sort of online sewing forum.
She had used a cleverly deceptive username in case anyone she knew was on it. The hoodie was supposed to be a surprise.
-
Once she was finished with the hoodie, she had embroidered the area over the left breast with two triangles that formed a square— one green, one blue. One for Ruka, one for Cora; in the exact shades of their skin. Eidetic memory wasn’t great for healing trauma, but remembering the exact shades of your family’s skin or their measurements? Apparently it was good for that.
For a moment the boy from Tekpantli filled her vision, defiant dark brown eyes, brown skin. Suffer. The light fading from his eyes, his blood pooling under her knees… She shook the memory away, now standing in front of the door to Ruka’s apartment. One door out of many, but she would have much rather knocked on literally any other door. Nausea rose in her and turned her skin paler.
Would he accept her gift? Her apology?
What would she even do if he turned her away? If he gave her that look, the look she had seen him give so many other Arconians? Disappointment and disgust, like Connor. She hugged the folded hoodie in her arms tighter, gripping at its fabric like it would save her from her anxiety. She took a deep breath and counted in her head. One, two, three, four. Then exhaled.
Whatever happened, at least she tried.
Siv raised her hand and knocked softly but hopefully loud enough for them to hear. It was mid-afternoon and the sun was beginning to set. While she doubted any member of the Tenebris-Ya-ir family was asleep, she didn’t want to startle anyone. She nervously fiddled with her fingers as she waited, listening for someone to approach. She had chosen another one of her large knit oversized sweaters, a dark gray one, to wear and had paired it with black slacks. But even with the sweater she felt a shiver pass through her.
-
It wasn’t long before she heard muffled voices. Cora and Ruka. What exact words they were sharing, she couldn’t make out. The door blocked the details. She stiffened, preparing herself.
She had this… right?
Ruka opened the door and she forced a soft smile to her face. The Mirialan looked surprised to see her, and she didn’t blame him. Her heart squeezed in her chest as the realization that he might have thought that she didn’t want to be around anymore dawned on her. She might have thought the same thing were she in his position. Gods, she had kriffed up. She really really had.
Before Ruka could even say anything, words spilled from her mouth. She wanted to get her thoughts out before she froze and ran off. Running seemed so much better right now. Her voice, quiet as always, trembled as she spilled her guts.
“I-I’m sorry…” She started, squeezing the hoodie more. It was a reminder of why she was here, why she was doing this, why she couldn’t run away. She was going to be brave. She was going to try. “I’m sorry for being gone. And I’m sorry if I disappointed you… with what happened on Tekpantli. I’m so sorry.”
Tears welled in her sanguine eyes and her voice cracked as she pushed on. “I’m so sorry I made things difficult for you and Ms. Q. I was… I just wanted to protect us. I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt. I’m not that kind of person, I don’t like hurting people. I’m a healer, a medic, I heal. I mend, not destroy… All I wanted to do is make Arcona proud… make you proud. Pay everyone back for the freedom and life and existence you have all given me! A-And… And I feel like I let everyone down. You, Cora, Zuji, Alex, Arcona… everyone.”
-
She held out the hoodie to Ruka, her lower lip wobbling. Gods she was crying in public. Again. She felt so pathetic. Did Ruka think she was pathetic? It was hard to read his face past the tears she refused to let fall. She didn’t get to cry, she wasn’t the hurt party in this situation.
The dark hoodie seemed even darker against her pale fingers. It was well made and carefully folded so that the embroidery showed. The drawstrings were capped with dark durasteel tips engraved with geometric markings.
“I made you a hoodie. An apology hoodie.” Stupid name. Stupid. “C-Cora said you like them. I-it’s not nearly enough to make up for what I’ve done, not even close, but it’s a-a start…”
“Sivall,” Ruka finally got out as she finally tripped on a breath, catching in her throat between the cracks in her words. He didn’t sound angry, or disappointed, he sounded out of breath, as though having some cardiac event, her name torn out of him. Then gentler, softer, crooning almost, “Siva, kollecicia, can I touch you?”
Ruka saying her name finally halted her seemingly unending stream of apologies and explanations. She drew her bottom lip between her teeth, taking in a deep and shuttering breath, almost like she was physically forcing herself to stop talking. A heartbeat of silence passed as teary sanguine eyes frantically searched the Mirialan’s own amethyst ones, searching for… she wasn’t sure.
The Chiss nodded faintly as worry bubbled up in her stomach, giving him the permission to touch her. Partially because she was worried about Ruka’s appearance which rang several alarms in her medic brain, but also because– despite the lack of anger in his tone – the worry that the physical touch wouldn’t be a good one. Ruka had never given her any reason to believe he would ever hurt her, but all the same… Memories of the island flashed over her vision, of Ruka’s face, of his words, of the islanders giving her a wide birth, of words spit in her direction that she didn’t understand but didn’t need to to feel the venom and vitriol behind them.
Looking closely another long moment even after the permission granted by that tiny nod, mindful of it being only out of pressure or being revoked, Ruka finally shifted out of the doorway. He moved slowly, lifting his hands and then taking the hoodie from her outstretched arms with great care.
He knew how important gifts were, especially when they came from your children. She’d put so much obvious effort into it, displayed it, it was her apology. He didn’t give a damn about it right then, but she did, and he needed her to know it was accepted and not disregarded.
So quickly, but carefully, the Mirialan unzipped the sweater and put it on, despite the fact that he was already wearing a hoodie. He got his arms in the sleeves, smoothed the front down so the little symbols showed, and adjusted the hood.
“Right,” he said, very gently, “I’m gonna hug you now.”
Ruka’s arms wrapped around the young Chiss and gathered her up, just shy of yanking her into his chest. His hold was tight, and it was all he could do not to squeeze too hard, shoulders spasming with repressing it.
“Kolleciciami,” he cooed, tears in his eyes, “you never ay ay have to say no sorry to me, you hear, not for ay nothin’, I’m just glad you okay and here and come talk to me, thank you, thank you for coming home, vagracimi diosez se Bogan ey Ashla.”
He wasn’t mad? He wasn’t mad! He was happy to see her, happy that she had come back to them. Sivall’s slender fingers gripped tightly at the newly adorned hoodie as she buried her face into Ruka’s chest. Relief washed over her, breaking the dam of tears that she had been desperately holding back.
The hug felt like home.
She wanted to say so many more things; to reassure him that she would never hurt the kids, or to promise she would never mess up that bad again, or to tell him the past month and a half had been absolute hell without them. But those words didn’t come, they stayed stuck in her chest like food that went down too hard.
“I wanted to come sooner but… b-but…” She sobbed, her slender frame trembling, “I was scared you w-would be mad… That you wouldn’t… wouldn’t want me…” Like Connor. Like you would turn me away, that I’d have to start over again.
She had had nightmares of this moment going horribly wrong, of finding herself back at square one. Dreams of losing Ruka and Alex and all of her friends because she had been too eager, of being cast out from Arcona… of everything she worked for slipping away like sand between her fingers.
“Oh, sweetheart,” the Mirialan murmured, sounding heartbroken. He rubbed up and down her back with one hand in slow, soothing strokes, keeping up a quiet, rhythmic shushing when not speaking, trying to ease her breathing, hold her up through letting all the tears she needed to out. “If anybody’s let anyone down, it’s us and whoever else made you feel like you’d ever be unwanted or like you had to be scared.” His jaw tightened, wondering who might have had a hand in it – shit for all parents, or even worse, abusers or captors, who knew? – but he didn’t let any of that anger out. He just turned his head enough to kiss the top of her head and shush again.
“Just breathe with me, sweetheart. I’m so sorry you were scared to come home. If there’s anything, ay, anything we can do, even if ya don’t know, we can figure it out together, make it better, okay? We’ll do it. But Siva, even if I’m mad, even if I’m disappointed, listen, I will never not want you in our lives. I hope you can be safe and happy, that’s all. I hope we can give you knowing your home ain’t going anywhere, someday. It’s okay, it’s okay, you’re okay…”
How could it feel like you could breathe, but were suffocating all in one go? It felt like she was letting out decades of loneliness, decades of hidden tears, but also like she had hope. Hope things could change, hope that she could belong. It was terrifying. She pulled away from Ruka enough to look at him, puffy eyes starting to dry, and filled with unsureness.
“Promise?” It was a whisper, a strangled and choked thing. It was a desperate, pleading request. She felt so small, like a child again. Like she was staring up at her parents begging them to keep her, like she was crying for her former owners to love her. She so deeply needed to hear the Mirialan promise– promise that she was wanted, that she was needed, that she had a home and people who wouldn’t leave her.
Promise that he wouldn’t sell her off for research funds. That he wouldn’t toss her away into the slums when she didn’t meet his expectations. That he wouldn’t give up on her when she messed up. So many people had thrown in the towel on her, that it was hard to believe that anyone wanted her, that she was worthy of a home or family.
But Ruka made it feel like things could be different. Like she could trust.
Ruka’s wet eyes blinked back at her as he cupped both cheeks to thumb away the last of tears, bunching one hoodie cuff – the one he’d been wearing underneath, not her apology made manifest – against the heel of his hand to wipe at her nose gently. Kissed her forehead.
“I promise,” he confided, and then stuck out a single pinkie finger. “It’s a promise, ay, okay? Swear and shake on it special.” Then, in a softer tone, “If you’d want, we could draft some papers by tomorrow. Take our name and all, tattoos even. But it’s real to us so long as it’s real to you. I promise, you have a home, kollecicia. Little cookie,” he tacked on in explanation, smiling at her.
A little half-laugh, half sob slipped from her lips as Ruka mentioned getting a contract written up. She shook her head at that, a faint smile playing on her lips. No, she didn’t need a contract. This was enough. She reached up and wrapped her comparatively small blue finger around Ruka’s and shook them. She remembered pinkie promises– had pinkie promised one of the servants on Coruscant that she wouldn’t tell that they stole a little extra food.
Not that it mattered. Connor found out anyways, and she never saw the pretty Pantoran again.
“Little cookie…” She mumbled softly, her smile growing. Nicknames were her weakness, filled a hole somewhere in her heart. Maybe because she gave nicknames to the people she cared for, so it felt the same when someone gave her a nickname back. “Thank you, vamci. Vacmi means um… well, literally means home but it’s more than that, too. Like a place for your heart.” She tapped her chest over her heart, as if to drive the thought home.
Ruka smiled at her so happily at that, all tender around the edges. He touched the back of her hand over her heart.
“Vamci,” he repeated carefully, though his accent, spice and sweat heavy, rolling, didn’t lend well to the proper Cheuh syllables. “It’s my honor, cookie, to be a place for your heart, ay.”
Pulling his hand back, he mirrored her gesture, tapping.
“Ahminna. Heart. Comes from the root of loving, ahm. And home, like house, is Ssredma. But home, for your heart? For you soul? That’s the same word as family– teljvriovi. And I’m glad you’re mine. No matter what.”
Amethyst eyes glanced back inside, then settled again on Sivall, and he smiled again, softer for her, though his brow grew serious.
“Kollecicia, I…ay. We should…whenever you’re ready, and want to, if you ever want to…we can talk. About everything. But no pressure, ay? I’m not demanding. Not as your boss, not as family, okay? But if you want to, we can. And right now… If you want, you can come in, and we can, I dunno, make cookies, and watch some holos, I’m sure Cor and the kids will be all over you, unless you want space…? It’s your call, cookie.”
The Mirialan angled to give her open entry if she decided to take it, looking at her with patiently.
Sivall carefully memorized each of the Mirialan words, slotting them in her brain where she could remember them later. She memorized their pronunciations and meanings, the intonations and accent. Teljvriovi. Family. She was family. Her heart was singing with happiness. She was family!
Her smile got softer as Ruka mentioned talking, talking about her, talking about her past. It… felt okay, felt right. Something about this conversation only further solidified that she could trust Ruka, that he wouldn’t use that knowledge against her. That she wouldn’t come to regret letting that part of her show.
“Yeah, we can talk. I think I’m ready. Can we talk and make cookies? I’ve never made cookies before…” With Ruka giving her the okay to come in, she took a step inside.
“Well then, you’re gonna learn two things today. How to make cookies, and that cookie dough is even better.” He held up a warding finger as they crossed the threshold and the door shut softly behind them, closing out the gray hallway and cocooning her in the warm light and smells of her home: spices, faint perfume, laundry, people– something made up of the sweat of and soaps of two parents, two teenagers and one young adult. It was wonderfully lived in. And she was part of it. “But you can only eat a spoonful or two, okay, ay? Usually got raw egg in it and that’s not good for you tummy.”
Corazon was on the couch as they came in, and to anyone who knew him, he was failing miserably at looking like he was reading a holo instead of waiting to see whether or not Sivall joined them. Golden eyes darted over once again and settled on her before he leapt up, nearly pirouetting, and managed to slow himself to a more proper gait before all out throwing himself at her.
“Sivall,” the Pantoran enthused, smiling blindingly, clasping his hands to his chest.
And then his lip wobbled.
And then he threw himself at her, sweeping her into a hug despite their similarly sized, petite frames.
“Oh, dear heart, welcome home,” he murmured into her hair. “You were missed.”
Walking into Cora and Ruka’s home and feeling that lived-in-ness, of that belonging, stirred emotions inside her that she couldn’t put words to. It was better than walking into her own quiet home, or walking into Alex’s with the void his lack of presence left.
The idea of making cookies have her a giddy, jittery feeling. She had always wanted to secretly make them, but hadn’t had the heart to try on her own.
“Wouldn’t the raw eggs make it taste worse, though? Like…” Her attention was caught by the Pantoran trying so very hard to seem busy. Luckily, Cora jumped up not soon after and rushed to her. The wobble of his lip, his embrace, and his words broke her heart. She had worried him, too, it seemed.
She wondered how much of her frantic word vomit he had heard.
The Chiss’ own lip trembled as she returned Cora’s hug, trying her best to squeeze him. She had missed him, too. The lack of her little family had left a hole in her life. She swallowed past the reappearing lump in her throat.
“I missed you too, Cora… Life isn’t the same without your light in it.”
And the words were true. Ruka was like the earth— steady, stable, stalwart. Held you when you couldn’t hold yourself. Cora on the other hand was light and air; finesse and hope and grace. A grace she hoped she would have some day.
“I won’t be leaving like that again. I promise,” she muttered softly, her body wanting to cry but having run fresh out of tears.
The Pantoran hummed at her, a tutting thing, squeezing and rocking back and forth with her for a long time before he finally pulled back juuuust enough to meet her eyes again, his own visibly pinked with tears that blinked delicately free. He sniffled but was all smiles.
“I’ll treasure that promise,” he told her respectfully, and let go at last to draw a gold-lined, pale blue handkerchief from his breast pocket. He dabbed at his eyes, then offered it to her. “Goodness me. Here, I think we both need it. Did I hear something about cookies? You don’t want me helping, but I will be happy to provide moral support.”
“Ay, don’t sell yourself short,” Ruka commented, smiling at them from where he’d stopped to recline by the bar top counter dividing open kitchen from open living room. “And nah, Siva, you don’t really taste the raw eggs. Everything else covers it up.” His eyes crinkled at her, thick facial scars pulling at his mirthful smile. “The kids will be home from school in about an hour. They’re gonna be happy to see you safe. Kept they own kinda watch. Don’t mind em if they’re a little prickly at all, okay? It’s just our frang, bad thoughts, worries. They care about you.”
The Chiss’ smile fell a little bit at the comment about the kids, taking on a more somber look. Ktah, she hadn’t prepared for that. Maybe she’d make Leda a dress? Noga… she’d have to think about Noga. More apology presents, presents that said ‘I really suck at this but I want to keep trying’— because she did. This was the closest she had ever gotten to a true family; not one made from contract or some inane parental obligation.
“It’s okay,” she murmured, “S’my fault, I ran away. I’d be upset too, I think.” She respectfully waved off Cora’s offered handkerchief. It was so pretty, she didn’t want to ruin it. Sivall gave Cora’s arm a light squeeze before moving to join Ruka near the kitchen.
The couple shared a look over – barely, in Cora’s case – the Chiss’s head as she moved.
“It’s not okay,” Ruka began gently, “that you felt like you needed to run away in the first place. That’s not your fault, kollecicia. And you bet they know that. They’re not upset at you. They upset for you.” He grimaced. “And a little bit wondering what they did wrong. But they know better too, that it’s not their fault either. Feeling like that’s… It’s just part of not being used to having people who stay, or having people treat you bad. I’m way worse than either of them.”
As the Mirialan spoke, he started flicking fingers, telekinetically opening cabinets and floating out stacked mixing bowls. Smaller ones lifted up and spun a little dance around Sivall cheerily before they collapsed back into the larger ones once he picked out a middle size. Purple eyes rested on ruby ones, regretful in a soft, warring way, like the edges of a still healing wound.
“I’ve spent a lotta time thinkin’ the worst of myself and that I don’t deserve – anything, yeah, but especially not. Not this. You. Them. The love and the good stuff. When people compliment me I wanna scream and also like, hide under the floor. But I figured out eventually how much it hurt the people who loved me that I acted like that. Like I was unworthy. And I mean. Knowing that djdnt make it better, ay. Not like,” he snapped his fingers, “poof, okay, just cause you know you’re kriffing making it worse doesn’t mean you can just. Stop! But you can start. Little bit. Every day’s a chance, and all that.”
“And we’ll love you,” Corazon assured, taking a seat primly at the bar top counter to spectate, golden gaze warm for Sivall and Ruka both. “All the while, all the same.”
Ruka offered her the mixing bowl, holding it out with reverence and pride, like some sort of second knighting ceremony.
Sanguine eyes flicked between the pair as she listened to them, a soft smile growing in her face. It was hard to take in some of what Ruka was saying, especially when it came to how him acting a certain way hurt the people who loved him… it was so very hard to imagine she deserved that kind of love— but maybe she did.
Maybe this family would show her.
She happily took the bowl from Ruka, trying very hard not to cry. She had wanted to make cookies since she was too short to see over tables— but her mother hadn’t been the motherly type, and the Grants… they didn’t love her like that.
A tool. To kill and maim and corrupt.
She physically shook the memories from her mind, moving the bowl to the countertop.
“So… um. I guess this is my part, yeah? Cause I gotta tell… someone. I can’t just let it boil inside. And I don’t trust anyone as much as I trust you two,” she spared a glance at the couple, offering a slightly tense but soft smile.
Why couldn’t they had been her parents?
“I had a family once, you know, like this? Well sort of… my parents were both scientists, part of the Ascendency. They weren’t around a lot— busy, you know? Lots of work. Important jobs, or so my Nanny told me. I was… a mistake. They hadn’t planned for me, hadn’t wanted me.”
She moved to the fridge in the kitchen to start taking out ingredients. The medic needed to busy her hands with something, anything, to stop her from picking at the already chipped paint on her nails.
“They did something, I don’t remember what. Lost a lot of money and their lives’ research was in jeopardy. So they… they sold me. They sold me to a Human couple on Coruscant. The Grants. I was four but already showing signs, you know, of force sensitivity. That was… that was a selling point, I guess. They liked to bring it up a lot.”
There was a soft crack as the countertop beside Ruka split down the middle. Not a large split, no wider than a grain of rice, but a deep one, halving the Selenian granite. He swore something soft and emphatic in Mirialan, passing a hand over his eyes briefly to hide their burn.
Corazon was quick to cover for him, buy a breath, rounding into the kitchen proper from his seat in order be closer to Sivall. His expression was devastated, but for all the flash of fury at first it was gentle for her. He didn’t smile, but he did nod, encouraging.
“We’re listening,” the Pantoran assured her. “We just want to make sure you say everything you want to first.”
Ruka’s hand dropped with another good breath – a four count – before purple eyes stared back at her again and he nodded too. His voice was considerably rougher, accent thick, when he rattled out, “Butter, eggs, flour, molasses, salt, cinnamon, cocoa powder…good, yeah, ay. Ay.”
Sivall jumped slightly when the counter cracked, eyes quickly snapping to look at and assess Ruka’s reaction.
Did she say something wrong? Did she make him angry.
She relaxed a bit once Cora swooped in, reassuring her that she was okay to continue. She began to fiddle with her fingers now, picking at them.
“They changed my name, raised me like a Human… They wanted me to be a Sith. A real bad one, an assassin. It’s why they bought me. But I… I wasn’t good at it, yeah? I’m more middle ground than that. Not a Sith, not a Jedi. And well… well Sith training is harsh. When I didn’t go willingly into the dark they…” her breath hitched and the picking increased.
“They tried to force me, to break me. Connor— o-one of the owners, my previous master —had very… severe punishments for not meeting his expectations, passing his tests.” She had moved on to starting to measure out ingredients with Ruka’s quiet instruction, combining wet ingredients first.
“Ice baths amongst others. His favorites were the psychological ones. When I didn’t break, didn’t improve, wasn’t worth keeping around… they… t-they dumped me, quite literally, on the lowest levels of Coruscant. With nothing but clothes… t-they probably think I’m still there. Connor and his wife Ju’lia…” she bit her lip, then added. “S-she didn’t like me much either.”
Corazon’s face was flushed purple, tears flowing freely as he leaned towards her while she measured, seeming like he wanted to fold her in his arms and never let go. Ruka wasn’t much better a state, his grip on the counter so hard that his green knuckles and fingertips bleached white under black paint that matched Sivall’s.
The silence was too heavy to let stretch; they needed to reassure. Cora’s soft hand reached for her shoulder only to hesitate.
“May I?” he asked, voice cracking. Ruka loosed another soft, violent stream of Mirialan words, shoving off the counter.
But back in Basic, he growled, “They idiots, and monsters, and you – Ancestors, Siva, I–” he cut off, shook, took a careful step to offer her his arms too. “Can we? Do you want a hug? Sweetheart I’m so sorry, for– you deserve so much. So much better. We’ll throw out all the ice cream, ay, I’ll fix the taps to only run warm, turn up the thermostat, get more blankets…you can have anything you want, you know that? Nobody gonna hurt you here nobody ever again, you’re so so much, worth so much, like you? We love you. Kriff them, you beautiful, wonderful, good soul, Siv– kriff, do you want to go by Sivall?”
Corazon gasped then, “Oh, goodness! Honey, don’t let us deaden your name at all, please. You can be whoever you want. If that’s their name– or if you want what you were born…” He seemed to fail a little then, recalling the people who had named her at birth had sold her. Tear filled golden eyes welled again. “Oh, dear heart, dear, what can we do for you?”
Siv watched with sad eyes as Cora and Ruka flocked to her. The looks in their eyes, the way they talked, it sounded like pity but it felt…. different. It hurt different. It felt like salve on a wound, the burning stinging of healing. Her lip wobbled when Cora asked her if there was anything they could do, one hand grasping the neck of her sweater while her other hand gripped at that hand’s wrist. She didn’t know, didn’t expect this kind of reaction. Despite knowing they cared for her she had expected them to either brush it off or turn her away.
Instead they would change how their lives were to keep her comfortable.
The Chiss let out a strangled breath as she tried not to choke on the sob in her chest that just wouldn’t come out. The question about her name wasn’t expected either and Cora had hit the nail square on the head– between her names, both were given by people who didn’t want her. The fingers surrounding her wrist gripped tighter and Siv bit her lip.
“I… I don’t know…” she stammered, eyes welling with tears as she looked between Ruka and his husband, “I-I’m sorry…”
Why she was apologizing, she didn’t know, but she felt like she had to. Felt like she had ruined the atmosphere of the home, ruined the warmth it had. Now it was cold and sad like her and it hurt.
“I-I don’t know what I need, I’m so sorry…”
“Oh, kollecicia,” Ruka said, at nearly the same time Cora cried, “oh, dearest, no.”
The Pantoran didn’t reach for her, dropping his hesitant hand and stepping back a bit to give her space as she hugged herself. Ruka put one arm around the smaller man, but the other remained low, hand sliding across the counter to be there if Sivall wanted to take it.
“No, we’re sorry,” the Mirialan hushed. “Shhh, shh, it’s okay, it’s okay, just breathe. We’re sorry. Us asking what you need– it’s not helping you. It’s just making you come up with answers. But you don’t need to have those right now. You don’t, it’s okay, cookie, we’ll figure it out together as we go, ay? If you do want something…you can always ask, okay? But until then…we can just figure it out.”
“Perhaps,” Cora suggested gently, wiping at his handkerchief again. “Perhaps we stick to nicknames for now? Something personal, and generic, but comfortable…easy to respond to. Siv, Siva, kollecicia,” his pronunciation was much posher and stiffer than Ruka’s native accent, but still smoothed right over the word as he’d been speaking for years, “cookie, what have you. And…turning up the heat in here, that’s a good one! We’ll get all the blankets. Oh, let me introduce you to heating pads, they’re the absolute buzz. And…we can bake, yes?”
Somehow, Corazon smiled at her, tear stained but bright and sincere.
Hands released their death grip on herself and her sweater and she tossed herself at the couple, one arm each wrapping around them. Her body shuttered with a held back sob, not wanting to cry more, dreading making their hearts hurt worse. She didn’t want to cause them anguish, she didn’t want them to change their way of living or go out of their way to accommodate her.
Even if a surplus of blankets sounded nice. She’d never step into another bath though, no matter how hot the water, no matter how long she lived.
“Nicknames sound good. I-I can do with nicknames…” she responded after a moment of gathering herself so the wobble in her soul didn’t echo in her voice, “Siv, Siva, whatever… Because I don’t know, yeah? I don’t know what I want to be called.” Sivall or Zosi'val'ria, both were names given to her by people who didn’t want her. People who tossed her away. The only time she had ever liked her “human” name was when it came from Alex’s lips.
“And baking, lets do more of that. I-I like baking.”
Two pairs of arms, one green and one blue, just like the emblem she’d stitched on her hand-made hoodie, encircled the wobbly Chiss tightly. Hands fumbled over one another to make soothing strokes up and down her back, to pat her shoulders, pet her hair, cradle the back of her head. They at least had the coordination to exchange glances and take turns kissing the top of her head – barely, in Corazon’s case. All the while there was ever so soft soothing and shushing in short bursts, careful not to dissuade or interrupt her when she spoke.
“Okay, kollecicia,” Ruka murmured, squeezing and breathing the words into her scalp as if he could imprint the warmth there. “We can bake as much as you want, we can bake every day, I’ll teach you every crap cheap recipe I’ve ever come up with, we’ll grab Zujenia, she’s a way better baker, she amazing.”
“As long as we eat dinner too between it all,” Cora chimed in, choked but tutting. “And when you know what you want you just tell us, anytime, alright, dearest heart? You’ll have it. We’re here for you, our darling girl.”