2091/Down the Hydian Way

Down the Hydian Way
Date of Scene:	24 April 2015
Location:	The Citadel - Hangars
Synopsis:	While waiting out a hyperspace trip along the Hydian Way, Inquisitor Starkiller and his pilot get a little time to themselves away from prying Imperial eyes, and the Inquisitor gets to learn a bit more of his pilot's past before the Rogue Shadow.
Cast of Characters:	428, 731

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Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
Major corridors of defined hyperspace routes connect the galaxy, acting like highways in other worlds. These hyperlanes allow safe travel from one point to the other, connecting remote regions of space with the Core Worlds. Hyperspace travel takes time, though, and most pilots engage autopilot protocols once the courses are laid in.

The Rogue Shadow's pilot is no exception. Hyperspace is a great opportunity to do things like "shower" and "sleep." Having returned recently from the planet of Cadomai to assassinate a troublesome government official, the ship is now headed back down the Hydian Way to the Core Worlds.

It had been uneventful, if unpleasant, and consisted of a lot of searching through Cadomai's frigid conditions to find out where the man had holed up. The weather would have been enough to get to even Galen, and his loyal pilot had been waiting on the ramp with a blanket to throw around his shoulders and something hot to drink, once the hatch had sealed. Ever the dutiful one, his pilot; taking care of the assassin when he himself forgot to.

During the uneventful trip back, it's quiet. The dimmed lights suggest the wake cycle is long over, with the ship set to its artificial 'night.'

Juno Eclipse's trip to Nar Shaddaa had been a little more eventful. She'd sustained blaster fire through no fault of her own, and though non-fatal, it had been painful and messy. She'd patched up the worst at the Citadel, then showered for an hour to scrub Nar Shaddaa's filth out of her pores, and then after some sleep it had been off to Cadomai.

Now, bumbling official duly executed, both Inquisitor and pilot can reward themselves for a job well done with some peaceful, drop-dead rest until the ship's journey is through. Juno had showered again and stumbled off to the crew quarters to crumple into the cot, and presumably Galen had gone to meditate, as he often did after missions.

By the time he comes out, though, he won't find any peace and quiet if he joins the pilot for a nap of his own. His pilot must be having some kind of nightmare; her emotions roil in the Force, unguarded in sleep where she would otherwise control herself. If he bothers investigating, he'll find Juno curled up in a tangle of grey wool blanket, hair disheveled and brow knitted.

Occasionally she mumbles something in her sleep, but the words are too slurred to make out clearly. Whatever her nightmare is, it's obviously a bad one – waking her might be the kinder thing to do than leaving sleeping pilots lie.

Galen Marek (731) has posed:
Sometimes, his work would take him to some dangerous places. Some were because of combat. Some because of predators. This one, however, was because of terrain. The cold world of Cadomai had been unforgiving, and even with his vast skills of survival, Galen found himself overwhelmed by the sheer cold. With no sign of the subject he was pursuing, he had hidden himself in a cave, using meditation to preserve what little body heat he was able to. When Juno descended with the Rogue Shadow, Starkiller was grateful, dragging himself aboard the Shadow without hesitation. As warmth returned to his body, he soon succumbed to his exhaustion. He slept, almost through Juno's entire mission to Nar Shaddaa. When he was able to return to the Rogue Shadow, he immediately sought out his meditation chamber.

He sought solace through reflection, but as he meditates his connection to the Force transmits disturbances. He blinks, recognizing the disturbances as originating from Juno. Confused, he snaps from his meditation. He had been certain she was sleeping peacefully, but something was clearly going wrong. He makes his way toward the crew quarters, pushing the door open gently as to not disturb her.

Seeing her so unlike herself, curled into a blanket, somewhat desheveled and restless-looking, Galen recoils a bit mentally. It was clear something was eating at Juno, and letting her sleep and suffer through it alone seemed like a bad idea. He approaches the cot and kneels next to it, then rests a hand on her shoulder and shakes. "Juno, Juno wake up," he says, softly yet loud enough to hopefully wake her.

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
The Rogue Shadow's pilot is a very well-controlled woman. She has to be, to have survived for so long in the Imperial ranks, or to have indirectly served someone like Darth Vader. No matter her suffering for the senseless brutality of Imperial service, Juno Eclipse has never allowed that to show in her waking hours, at least not past the shadows beneath her eyes.

But she has no control over her dreams.

There's no immediate reaction when a hand settles over her shoulder. She does curl up even further, drawing in on herself as though to hide from whatever it is haunting her; brow knitting, and it isn't until he calls her name that the pilot startles awake with a jerk, eyes snapping open, glassy and unfocused.

"Galen?" Her voice is still rough from sleep, and it takes her several seconds to focus. Slowly, stiffly, she shifts to push herself up onto her elbows, frowning and dragging a hand over her face. She seems oblivious to the way her hand trembles slightly, or the cold sweat at her brow. It may be she's ignoring them in the hopes that he does, too, but... if he woke her, it probably isn't something wrong with the ship.

She knows the ship as well as the backs of her own hands. The slightest difference in the hyperdrive's thrumming, and she'd know it; so it probably is't that. "What's wrong? Is something wrong with the ship?" She blinks to try and focus, pulling herself upright and tugging the blanket around herself; an uncharacteristically vulnerable (and perhaps entirely unconscious) gesture. "Have we alredy reached the warpgate at Corellia...?"

Galen Marek (731) has posed:
Galen frowns as Juno awakens, concern plain on his face. When not meditating or so deep into a mission that most else was forgotten, Galen could see the toll that missions took on Juno, at least what she would show him. He didn't attempt to probe any deeper out of respect for her privacy, but when he was alone, it weighed heavily on his mind. He could close it out, of course. It was his training with Vader that made his mind the way it is, but often he would let it permeate his thoughts, waiting for a proper time to bring it up.

This seemed like one of those times. Something was clearly tormenting her subconscious.

"Yeah, it's me," he says, his tone low. He allows her a moment to wake up, keeping his hand resting on her shoulder gently. She immediately attempts to maintain a professional appearance, but her state isn't unnoticed by a long shot. He shakes his head as she inquires about the ship.

"You know the Shadow better than anyone," he says, "If something weren't right, you'd be pushing me out of the way to go fix it," he says. Her skill with the Rogue Shadow never ceased to impress the Inquisitor. He keeps kneeling in front of her, eyebrow quirking as she pulls the blanket around herself.

"You were casting off heavy disturbances," he says, "When I got here, you looked like you were having a nightmare of some kind. You still look rattled. What's going on?"

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
Once she's reasonably certain that nothing's on fire and they're not going to die out in the middle of hyperspace, Juno's eyes drift nearly closed again. She keeps them open, but only a little, leaning companionably against the assassin.

She doesn't look completely awake. There are shadows under her eyes, and her head and shoulders still droop a little. Once she seems more alert, she puffs out a sigh.

"You're right." She knows the ship almost as well as its engineers, if not better. "Have a seat. You're not going to leave it alone." One hand reaches out to pat the side of the cot. "You may as well be comfortable."

Wrapping the blanket more securely around her shoulders, she lowers her head, yawning widely. "Ugh," she mutters. "I feel like I didn't even sleep..."

"How much do you know about the Bombing of Callos?" Canting her head slightly to one side, she fixes him with those clear blue eyes. "I know you have access to the standard performance records, but I don't know what else you have clearance to access, and I don't know what else exists in the Imperial systems."

Galen Marek (731) has posed:
Galen straightens up a bit, supporting Juno as she leans against him. The warmth causes his mind to race for a moment, and he glances toward the door out of instinct. Of course Vader wasn't there. He turns his attention back to Juno, expression softening a bit. Her exhaustion is clear, and she doesn't seem to be trying to mask it. So he lets a barrier down as well, sitting beside her and draping a comforting arm around her shoulders. He hopes that his warmth has returned enough to help her.

Galen frowns. "I don't doubt it," he says, "You were clearly in a restless state. You seemed... like you were trying to run from something, or needed to run from it." He listens carefully, then nods a little bit. "I browsed what I could get my hands on after I learned you were involved. Callos was completely devestated, and your file was flagged with notes regarding you not having enough of an edge to deal with it." He closes his eyes. "I think the actual wording was... something regarding a lack of ruthlessness on your end."

He tightens his grip slightly. "So that is what's bothering you? What actually happened to Callos? I know the Imperial report isn't completely honest."

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
Slowly, Juno lets herself lean against Galen, relaxing a little at the weight of his arm around her shoulder. Still a little fuzzy around the edges, she closes her eyes and nuzzles into his shoulder, as though to hide; her sigh is a puff of warm breath as she tries to arrange her thoughts into some semblance of order.

Blue eyes slide open to half-mast at his observation.

"I have nightmares sometimes. Doesn't everyone?" Her voice is too low to be properly defensive. Her retort lacks any real spark, though, and she seems to shrink a little at the description of Callos. He might feel the heat at his shoulder – her sudden flush, not of embarrassment, but shame.

She takes a second or two before speaking to ensure her voice remains level. "I was hand-picked by Lord Vader to lead the Black Eight Squadron. There were a few missions before it, but the Bombing of Callos was given to me to lead. Our mission was a surgical strike against the planetary reactor. It went with textbook simplicity; not so much as a single TIE's wingtip out of place."

"Callos was a forest world, like Felucia, or Kashyyyk. Vibrant. Lively. We left it in poisoned ruins in our wake. I didn't know what destroying that reactor would cause – I suppose I was naive, and assumed there were failsafes in place that would have simply shut it down once it was damaged."

She rests her head on his shoulder, trembling slightly. "I commed a friend of mine in the environmental sciences afterward. He confirmed what I'd dreaded. Knocking out that reactor poisoned the oceans, belched fumes into the air, and once it passed a certain point, the pollutants began a chain reaction that was out of control. Callos was a dead world. We didn't just murder a few officials; we murdered every living thing on an entire planet."

"My squadron second, Redline, wanted to stay and 'finish the job' after we'd neutralised the reactor. But there was nothing to finish." She seems to shrink inward a little, huddling against his side. "Those people were already going to die. That entire biosphere. I asked Lord Vader to give me an alternative after we'd bombed the planet's major facilities. His solution was to attack the planetary reactor. I... I had no idea, Galen..."

"It was years ago, now. Callos itself is probably nothing more than ash and dirt; a poisoned ruin. But... I still dream about it, sometimes. I'll be flying my TIE bomber. I can't stop myself from firing. I watch the ordinance follow its firing arc to the reactor. Or I'll be filing reports, except I'm filing them for my father, not Lord Vader; and he's telling me how I've shamed the Eclipse family; and Callos is on the holoscreens, big and bright and collapsing in front of my eyes."

She's definitely trembling, and one hand is curled into a fist.

"It's like it happened yesterday, instead of years ago. And I'm still powerless to stop it."

Galen Marek (731) has posed:
Didn't everyone have nightmares? Sure they did. Even Galen, though he had the advantage of not having a Force user being able to detect when he slipped into one. He could keep those hidden from everyone so long as he didn't sleep in Vader or the Emperor's presence. Dreams of Juno and the Shadow going up in flames. Dreams of himself being cut down by Jedi. Being cut down by Vader. Being forced to watch Vader kill Juno.

He trembles slightly. "Yes. I guess we all have nightmares sometimes," he says, and he holds her a bit closer as she nuzzles in a bit more. He rests his head against hers gently, listening to her speak without interruption. Information fills his brain, and he tries to place himself in her shoes. He had been hand-trained by Lord Vader, so that part isn't hard to follow. Sent on a mission to take out a target without full information of the result... Imperial standard, there. She had pulled off her mission to the letter. It had unforseen consequences, however, and Callos was now a dustball, unable to sustain even basic life. And she, along with the other members of the Black Eights, had been the cause of it. He had caused his fair share of collateral damage, but never on that scale. He hugs her a bit closer, moving his other arm to complete the embrace.

"I... wish I could tell you that it's in the past and nothing can be done, and while that's true, I know it won't help." He closes his eyes. "What you did can't be undone. I think the fact that you feel bad about it, however, is something to be respected. If you had responded like Redline, you would just be another Imperial pilot instead of Juno Eclipse."

He smiles a bit. "I think that's something to be respected, off of Imperial record. Most soldiers couldn't carry on with your sort of conscience."

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
"Everybody does." Juno sounds as though she's trying to convince herself of this more than anything else. Sometimes her dreams are other things. Vader finding out about their closeness, and forcing Galen wholly into the part of himself he has rejected for so long; the part of himself that her very existence holds at bay.

She draws in a deep breath, letting it go in a shuddering sigh. Though still trembling, those echoes in the Force around her are beginning to ease, however slightly. Slowly but surely she's calming down.

"I'm sorry." Her admission is quiet when he curls his other arm around her, seeming to shrink into herself; hunched and miserable, tired, and stretched far too thin. "I... you're right, though. It's in the past. There's nothing I can do about it now, no more than I could then. All I can do is move onward. What else am I going to do about it? What else could I do?"

"Redline was a class of his own." Her words are quiet, and there's a certain degree of venom in them. "I think he was the coldest, cruelest, least considerate being I've ever flown with. I'm fairly certain he was psychopathic. I suppose it's not surprising that he became the squadron leader after I was assigned to the Rogue Shadow."

She eases against him, though, letting her head hang to rest on the arm around her. "Maybe. I think the only thing that lets me function at all is having you. Flying the Rogue Shadow... it means that I can't be assigned to another Callos. I... can accept one or two people. I can't accept another planet. I used to be proud of my service, of piloting Imperial TIE fighters and bombers, but..."

"I don't know." She huffs a sigh, leaning into him and burying her face in his arm. "I just don't know any more. I'm exhausted, Galen. Not because I'm tired. It's exhausting. Every day I wonder if someone's found out. I wonder if I'll be reassigned. If I'll be given command of some other squadron, to bomb some other Callos..."

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, again. "You probably have enough on your mind."

Galen Marek (731) has posed:
Galen smiles sadly. If she only knew... Maybe he could explain them, for a bonding experience. Some other time, though. He is content to be her rock for now. He could do little to assuage her fear and insecurity, but he could at least listen and be there to support her in these moments, away from prying eyes. He feels her shudder against him, and he can feel her sadness almost like his own for just a moment.

The Force is calming down, and he smiles. Juno was starting to return to normal, and it was allowing him to relax a bit around her. He listens silently, his face placid as she speaks.

"Sounds like a real piece of work," he says in regards to Redline, "The perfect Imperial soldier." He pulls her closer, even as she buries her face into his arm. It's times like this he wished they could just be open about their relationship and not have to worry. But they can't. That's just not in the cards. It would present too much risk. As she mentions being exhausted, an idea flickers in his head. He opens his mouth, but he can't say it. Not yet.

He hugs her close. "Trust me," he says, "No one knows. No one will know. It's only at times like this that anyone would have a case, and no one is here to see." His voice is surprisingly warm.

He shakes his head. "What's on my mind is you, Juno. I want to make sure you're okay."

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
Likely she wouldn't mind hearing about his nightmares, even if she doesn't like to think of him suffering in any way. Even more than a bonding experience, it would help him to get those fears and worries off his chest, just as much as it helps her to. A bonding experience would be for someone who weren't already close to him – but she is close, just as he is close to her; someone she would do anything for.

"He was," she sighs quietly. "I had to lock horns with him on a regular basis. If he was in a foul mood, he would take it out on other people. It was up to me to keep him in line. I had to shield even some of the other Black Eight pilots from him. While I didn't enjoy pulling rank, I did so just to keep him from causing a scene, and for the most part it worked. I made my stance clear in my official reports but I suppose that's what his superiors were looking for."

Her eyes hood. "I believe I referred to him directly as psychotic in at least two official documents, but he was given command nonetheless. I can only imagine what the squadron must look like at this point. That none of the pilots I remember are in it any more is what I've got to console myself with, I suppose. No one stays in the Black Eights for long. That's the entire point and purpose. The squadron was results-oriented."

"Maybe." Juno closes her eyes, resting her head against him. "But we can't hide it forever. Someone's going to find out, eventually." A stir of worry, but subtle. "I just hope that..."

She trails off, sighing at the warmth in his voice. How can he be so confident in that? Inquisitors attract all sorts of enemies, enemies willing to go to any length to disparage the competition; power games and ambition, virtually unchecked due to the secrecy of the institution.

"I'm alright." Her admission is quiet, and that worry eases, if only a little. "I'm sorry to upset you. I... I'm just tired. It's exhausting. We're hiding this – us – and I've got to hide my affiliations from the Syndicate and the Flotilla, as well. I don't know how long I can keep it up."

She sighs, breath warm over his arm, eyes closing. "I used to think it was difficult to maintain my decorum as an Imperial officer." Chuckling, she shakes her head; little more than a twitch, mostly because she doesn't want to pick her head up from him. "I had no idea how easy that was. No idea."

"But... thanks." She finally does pick her head up, but only to press the side of her face into his shoulder. "I just... I worry, sometimes. It's hard not to."

Understatement of the year. If she thinks about it too hard, it's enough to send her into dry-mouthed terror at the thought of what might happen if anyone within the Empire found out that Starkiller had anything but a professional relationship with his pilot; if he had anything he cared so deeply about. Nothing would be the same after that point – she would be reduced to leverage, and certainly she would never fly the ship again.

More than that, she couldn't bear the thought of causing him any pain.

Slowly, she leans against him, settling her head back down, cheek resting against his arm, eyes unfocused as she looks at the far wall without really seeing it. When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet, as though she were reluctant to speak at all.

"...Galen...?"

Galen Marek (731) has posed:
Galen frowns a bit. This seemed like a big moment between them, and he just wanted to do what came naturally. For now, that was letting her speak and hold onto her. They were still in hyperspace, and probably would be for awhile yet. Plenty of time for them to have this moment without interruption. These moments are a nice refresher after missions, but they are often so far between that they're usually just sleeping through them. Right now, though, even with the weight of the conversation, he is happy. A happy Inquisitor is... usually a dead Inquisitor.

"That sort of brutality makes an Imperial soldier great. I have no doubt he is still the leader, and might be until he dies," he says, squeezing Juno a bit, "I'm glad he took over, so I could have you as my pilot." He smiles a bit more, then frowns as she mentions they can't hide their secret forever. He thinks about it, and nods. It would be near impossible to hide it forever. One day, they'd have a careless exchange, or his mind would weaken. Or they would try to make accusations. His mind races as he thinks of all the things that could reveal them, and his arms tense a bit around her. There would be only one way to have a chance of escaping death at the hands of the Empire. And that would be to escape the Empire. "You hope that we can make it work if we are discovered?" he tries to complete helpfully. He shakes his head. As she mentions not being able to keep up her many alliances and their secret, he frowns again. He's almost afraid to voice it. In fact, he doesn't consider saying anything until he boots the door of the quarters closed.

"If it comes down to it... I would turn my back on the Empire for you..." He glances around nervously. It was a thought he has harbored for some time, but he has never vocalized it.

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
"I'm sure, if he hasn't yet. The life expectancy of most TIE pilots isn't exactly high, even elite pilots like the Black Eight Squadron's." She shrugs, leaning back against him a little. "That's probably what drew attention to my records. Aside from completing my missions, I came back alive. After one hundred missions, I had still survived."

Considering his psychotic tendencies, Juno fully expects that Redline is still the squadron commander. He's exactly the sort of thing they're looking for in an Imperial officer. She was able to demonstrate all of the professionality and punctuality expected of an officer, but according to those records he'd had access to, she had none of the expected ruthlessness.

All told, that's not surprising. She'd suspected something to that effect had been flagged in her records; although they were sealed to most Imperial personnel, Inquisitors aren't exactly part of the ordinary rank and file.

Juno shrugs against him, though it isn't much more than a twitch of one shoulder. She's loathe to move too much. Time like this, and privacy away from prying and potentially dangerous eyes, is a rarity. Hyperspace is about the only place and time they're afforded such solitude. "Maybe. It certainly wouldn't surprise me if they had already decided well before I was rotated out of the squadron."

"As I recall, you weren't so thrilled about it at the time," she points out, but her banter lacks the usual zest. "In fact, you were quite upset that I'd made some improvements to the ship..." She doesn't have the heart even for their normal back-and-forth, though, and trails off somewhat lamely.

When he finishes her sentence for her, her eyes drift toward some nondescript point on the wall, expression one of worry. "I only hope that we aren't killed," she corrects him, softly.

She blinks, looking over as he boots the door shut, frowning as the latch engages with a hollow 'clunk.' Her eyes flit back to him, brow furrowing in concern and puzzlement.

When he gives his quiet admission, her jaw doesn't quite drop, but she does stare at him, somewhat wide-eyed.

"What?"

She had heard him, though, there's no mistaking that. The Force swirls around her – but not in fear or worry, or even shame or humiliation. No – in shock, and wonder.

"You would—" Her voice hushes, almost a whisper, even in the one place they couldn't be overheard. "Galen, you–you would turn–?"

She knows what the Empire means to him. She knows the completion he feels for serving, and his desire to please the Dark Lord. He is a creature of the Empire, although perhaps not completely; but it is an enormous factor in what he is, and how he's behaved over the years. He is not a Sith – but he is not a Jedi, either.

"Galen..." Slowly, carefully, she reaches up and touches his face, as though reassuring herself that she's not actually dreaming this. She's not imagining something she might just like to hear; but actually hearing it. Those blue eyes stare up at him in evident awe. The way he looks around so furtively is confirmation enough.

Her eyes close; she rests her head against his shoulder, exhaling slowly.

"I would leave the Empire for you. But... it doesn't mean the same thing, coming from me. I haven't been... committed to it. Not... not since Callos. But I'd do it. I'd risk it. For you, I'd do anything. Anything," she repeats, almost fiercely. She'd even fight Vader himself for him. The fire fades. "But thank you. It... it isn't fair to say 'it means a lot to me.' It's more than that. I know what the Empire is to you."

She smiles; it shows in her voice. "I'm glad Redline took over, too. I can't think of anyone else I'd want to pilot for."

Galen Marek (731) has posed:
Galen nods a bit. "Yes, TIE pilots don't tend to survive very long. I know that from... well... collateral damage again." He had crushed TIEs like tin cans with the Force in pursuit of a greater goal. Because of people like him, that life expectency would likely only get worse. His service record, hidden from most everyone, was likely quite stellar because of this lack of regard. He had never actually seen it, but he guessed that, as he was still alive, the Empire had no complaints.

Or they were afraid. That was possible.

"They probably did make that call before transferring you to the Shadow," he says, "The Empire is... ruthlessly efficient at times." Promotions were rampant when the Empire was suffering fools. Which was quite a lot, if the death toll was anything to go by. When your command structure has two Sith at the top and one in Internal Affairs, things tend to move via assassination and execution.

What a place.

He chuckles slightly, "That was a thing that happened, yes," he says, "I've since learned that you are an amazing mechanic. I didn't know that back then." He chuckles, resting his head against hers. He frowns slightly. "Yeah, I know..." he says, "I'll do what I can to prevent that."

"The Empire has been my life," he says, "I can't deny that. I've lived in service of the empire, in service to Lord Vader and the Emperor. It's all I've known, until you came along." As she touches his face, one of his hands moves up to press against hers, letting her know he's solid.

"If it came down to that choice, though..." he says, and then he offers a small smile. "I would choose you. Because you would choose me, too."

He hugs her, then stifles a yawn. "If you want to try sleeping again, I'll be here for you. We still have enough time in hyperspace to get a good nap in, I think."

Juno Eclipse (428) has posed:
In fairness to the assassin, the starfighters could be crushed like tin cans like just about anybody. They're notoriously cheap and fragile, even though the standards for training pilots are so stringent. Pilots are as much under threat from their own starfighters as the very rebels they're designed to fight against.

Although she doesn't answer his suspicions out loud, there's a swirl of uneasy agreement. They are ruthlessly efficient at times; more often than not.

"No, I suppose you had no reason to trust me. You'd already been through seven other pilots, and going by some of the cleanup work I'd had to do between missions, I suspect some of them tried to be mechanics without the proper training." Juno hoods her eyes, closing them when he rests his head against hers. It's a comfort, even though some part of her is reluctant to fully relax. "Well, it helped me to learn the ship. I suppose I've always preferred hands-on experience."

She listens to his comments in silence, as though she weren't certain whether she quite wanted to believe him or not. The words are heartening, and they're almost enough to make her think there's hope for them after all.

They could flee. Take the Rogue Shadow and PROXY, and escape whatever fate awaited them with the Empire. If they were found out, they could gun the ship for all it was worth – run before the wind, before the naval fleet; before the very stars themselves.

It's an attractive daydream, but it's only that. Vader wouldn't let his prize attack dog get away so easily.

Would he?

Juno tightens her arms around the assassin, burying her face into the side of his neck.

He might notice something damp, in spite of the complex tangle of relief and anxiety that seems to radiate from her. Affection, too; warmth, and the kind of quiet, determined love for which she would do anything, anything, even face down the Emperor himself, for his sake.

"I know, Galen," she whispers, closing her eyes. "I know."

She runs her thumb along the line of his cheekbone, reluctantly pulling away and sitting up, reachign for the desk and retrieving a datapad from the surface. Flicking through a few displays, she glances over a few figures on it. The screen's blue-white light of the screen only throwing into sharp relief the shadows under her eyes.

"We still have eleven hours and sixteen minutes left until we arrive in Corellia. When I laid in the coordinates, I decided not to push the engines. That should be plenty of time to rest," she confirms, sending the datapad sliding back onto the desk.

She'll give him just enough time to make himself comfortable before one arm loops around him, tugging him back down; once he's settled, she'll curl up against him to rest her head against his shoulder. "Stay," she murmurs, eyes drifting closed. "Get some sleep. You need it as much as I do."

For a moment the silence is only broken by the hyperdrive's low thrumming.

"Good night, Galen. I..." She hesitates, nerves taut as harp strings for a brief instant. The moment passes, anxety washing out of her, too tired to maintain it. "Thank you," she murmurs instead.

Her eyes close again, and this time, they don't open.

Galen Marek (731) has posed:
Galen chuckles. "Seven morons that I am convinced had never seen a ship before," he says, "Did you find any tape or other makeshift adhesives in the guts while you were working?" He doesn't expect an answer. He is sure there was some. "It's not so bad when the pilot knows what they're doing," he says, "I wouldn't let anyone else work on it now." He smiles softly, his eyes fluttering closed. He was so comfortable that he didn't want this moment to ever end. Her body against his was warm, and the situation is keeping him relaxed despite the heavy talk.

He could honestly let himself be happy without worry. And even though they had discussed one of Juno's darkest memories, he still feels cozy and comfortable.

As she places her head against his neck, he feels a bit of moisture and causes him to place a hand on the back of her head softly. "We'll make it through together," he says softly.

Juno lets him go, and he slides onto the cot and opens his arms. Her head settles on his shoulder, and he offers a tired smile. He grabs the blanket and makes sure it's securely covering her as she relaxes, listening to the hyperdrive for a long moment. As she speaks up again, he wraps his other arm around her and holds her close.

"Thank you, too," he says, eyes closing slowly. "Sleep well, Juno."