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Apr. 21st, 2017 11:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
imthepilotHe had been broken open. More than once now.
Bor Gullet.
The destruction of NiJedha.
Galen’s death.
His own death.
Cassian and K-2SO had helped. Cassian give him back his name, his context. He was the pilot. He’d brought the message. And then on Eadu as the others were meant to be retrieving Galen – He and Kay worked together. Just mechanical gestures – move their stuff, steal a ship, deactivate the trackers. Doing something had given him back the balance he needed. He was good at this. He was useful again. Not a broken husk.
Then on Yavin IV; Jyn’s fury, her determination, her fire. She was Lyra’s daughter. The Lyra Bodhi knew through Galen’s eyes. The woman Galen had loved. The woman Bodhi had come to admire. And Jyn, Bodhi would follow her, to the bitter end. Because she was Galen’s child, because she was Lyra’s, because she was herself.
And then Scarif.
It was a clean death. A good death.
He had honoured Galen’s sacrifice. He had done what needed to be done. For Jyn. For the Rebellion. But for Galen, first and foremost.
It should have been a good death.
It should have been over.
And then he was here. This place they called Milliways.
Not at peace. Not one with the Force and Galen’s spirit.
Here. Alone.
A cage of a different kind.
And he had come unravelled again. Everything he’d clawed back of self and sanity, it had come apart again. He remembered feeling whole, having purpose. But it was gone, fractured again.
They had died, all of them. And it had been worth it.
But now he was broken again.
The man who looked like Galen, who had Galen’s eyes. He had been Galen. And for a brief and shining moment Bodhi had felt whole. Had remembered love.
And it had been a lie.
The deepest cut of all.
Something happened after that. Like a dream of being someone else. Of losing Bodhi and becoming someone… someone certain and kind and gentle.
And that was gone too.
There was nothing left.
Nothing but sharp and shattered pieces.
The pieces that use to be Bodhi. The pieces that use to be whole. And would never be whole again.
It hurt too much, those jagged, broken shards that use to be Bodhi.
Time for it to end.
The cuts were easy, too easy. He never felt the pain; the clean, cool rush he usually felt when the blade brushed his skin.
He didn’t feel the heat of the blood flowing over his palms, down his fingers.
The red of it didn’t dazzle and push back the ashen grey of all things.
This time he felt nothing.
Which was all he wanted to feel.
In the middle of his little room on the 3.5th floor of Milliways, Bodhi began to bleed out.
Bor Gullet.
The destruction of NiJedha.
Galen’s death.
His own death.
Cassian and K-2SO had helped. Cassian give him back his name, his context. He was the pilot. He’d brought the message. And then on Eadu as the others were meant to be retrieving Galen – He and Kay worked together. Just mechanical gestures – move their stuff, steal a ship, deactivate the trackers. Doing something had given him back the balance he needed. He was good at this. He was useful again. Not a broken husk.
Then on Yavin IV; Jyn’s fury, her determination, her fire. She was Lyra’s daughter. The Lyra Bodhi knew through Galen’s eyes. The woman Galen had loved. The woman Bodhi had come to admire. And Jyn, Bodhi would follow her, to the bitter end. Because she was Galen’s child, because she was Lyra’s, because she was herself.
And then Scarif.
It was a clean death. A good death.
He had honoured Galen’s sacrifice. He had done what needed to be done. For Jyn. For the Rebellion. But for Galen, first and foremost.
It should have been a good death.
It should have been over.
And then he was here. This place they called Milliways.
Not at peace. Not one with the Force and Galen’s spirit.
Here. Alone.
A cage of a different kind.
And he had come unravelled again. Everything he’d clawed back of self and sanity, it had come apart again. He remembered feeling whole, having purpose. But it was gone, fractured again.
They had died, all of them. And it had been worth it.
But now he was broken again.
The man who looked like Galen, who had Galen’s eyes. He had been Galen. And for a brief and shining moment Bodhi had felt whole. Had remembered love.
And it had been a lie.
The deepest cut of all.
Something happened after that. Like a dream of being someone else. Of losing Bodhi and becoming someone… someone certain and kind and gentle.
And that was gone too.
There was nothing left.
Nothing but sharp and shattered pieces.
The pieces that use to be Bodhi. The pieces that use to be whole. And would never be whole again.
It hurt too much, those jagged, broken shards that use to be Bodhi.
Time for it to end.
The cuts were easy, too easy. He never felt the pain; the clean, cool rush he usually felt when the blade brushed his skin.
He didn’t feel the heat of the blood flowing over his palms, down his fingers.
The red of it didn’t dazzle and push back the ashen grey of all things.
This time he felt nothing.
Which was all he wanted to feel.
In the middle of his little room on the 3.5th floor of Milliways, Bodhi began to bleed out.
