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She's reading on a data pad when he startles awake next to her, breathless and disoriented. She sets the data pad down on the bedside table and turns to watch him as his eyes scan the room, scrambling, trying to place himself. The rapid rise and fall of his chest begins to stabilize as he blinks away whatever memories were plaguing him. He gulps down air like it's the first time he's ever tasted it.
His arm shoots out to the side, testing his surroundings. He touches her thigh and startles again until he turns his heard toward her, focusing his gaze on her face in the dim light and relaxing slightly at the familiarity of it. At that first glimpse of recognition, she gingerly reaches out her hand to hold his.
He licks his lips a few times, opens and closes his mouth. Almost like a fish taken from the water. It isn't funny—Kleya knows that it isn't funny, that none of this is funny—but it is, in a sort of wretched kind of way. Not that she lets it show, not in front of him. She knows it's hard enough without her tainted, irreverent humor.
"Canteen on the table," she murmurs, watching as he flounders for it for a moment before flipping open the lid and gulping it down. Still supine, though, he sputters as the water goes down wrong, and she lets go of his hand to help him sit up and cough it back up.
"Fuck," he chokes out as he tries to catch his breath again. "Fucking—"
She lays her hand lightly on the center of his back. "Stop trying to take deep breaths," she tells him. She starts to move her hand in slow, soothing circles. "Just breathe normally."
"Insult to fucking injury," he mutters.
Yes, it is, she thinks. She doesn't think she knows anyone who's made it to the other side of the war without it sinking deep into their bones and lingering there, rearing its ugly head without consideration for want or convenience. For Melshi, the war lives on in his mind at night, forcing Kleya to bear helpless witness.
She isn't without her own ghosts, her own echoes and tremors of the past. She can't step into a hospital without wanting to die. She can't hear the crackling of radio static without being vaulted backward in time. She can't listen to the speeches of Chancellor Mothma without being reminded of that very first speech, the one that set her apart from the rest, the one that changed everything for them. For everyone.
But her own problems aren't important now.
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asks.
He shakes his head. "I don't remember what it was about."
If it were anyone else, she would think that they were lying. But Melshi doesn't lie, not to her. He knows she can handle whatever it is he throws at her—as if he's ever asked for more than he's given tenfold.
He takes a deep breath, but it comes out roughly. "Think I just want to go back to sleep."
"Then go back to sleep." She leans over and places a kiss on his cheek. "I don't mind."
He turns his head to catch another kiss on the lips. "You should sleep, too. You're no good to anyone if you can't stay awake during the day."
She wants to bristle at his gentle chastisement, but of course, he's right. She doubts that the New Republic Intelligence Service will want her with anything less than the sharpest of minds. Reluctantly, she reaches over to the lamp beside the bed and switches it off, then waits for Melshi to get comfortable before arranging herself around him like a loth-cat.
In the quiet dark, though, it seems neither of them is quite ready for sleep. "Kleya?"
"Hmm?"
"Sometimes I'm glad there are things I don't remember. What do you make of that?"
She clings to him even more tightly. "That you're human," she whispers into his skin. There are so many things I wish I could forget.
"Do you think we'll ever let it all go? Can we do all that, let the past be the past?"
"I don't know, Rue," she says, not sure whether or not she's telling the truth. The wistfulness in his voice makes her eyes sting with tears. But now, now is not the time. She focuses on mirroring the pace and depth of his breathing, shutting out the melancholy. "Those days are over."
There is a long pause between her words and his next ones. She almost thinks he's fallen asleep until he speaks again.
"I don't know if they'll ever be over."
Kleya does not have it in her to contradict him.