Leave it

Dust and evening rose perfume was what he associated with his grandmother, Na'an. She hated being called by any other name and once threw a plate at him when he was younger and called her 'Nanners.' She missed on purpose, but the plate shattered across the floor. "Leave it," she said. And they all did.

That was what he remembered. How even when everything looked its worst, if they all came to visit his Na'an everything would be put in perspective. All the problems in the universe were easily solved by a quick wave of her old hand and a knowing smile. 'Leave it.' And they all would.

It was what kept him sustained when he was taking off for training, what really kept him going in the midst of it all. A solid truth and substance accounted to it all. She had an unshakable strength that supported the entirety of his misfit group of family.

Her light shone above them all and helped them stay together in times of turmoil and doubt. She was and always would be in their eyes, the pillar that supported their house of family.

But now, as she was - lying frail with the life slipping from her tepid grasp -- she never looked more alien to him. She was not the light in the darkness. She was the darkness. She was not the strength in the wind. She was the wind.

She represented everything he was afraid of: Death; Weakness; Loneliness. She was not the image that he had carried in his mind through constant nights of shallow terror as he wondered if he would ever have that sense of family again. During tireless training and lessons, where he was ostracized and kept out he held her image close.

When he had to hide his fear of himself and what he was capable of, she was what he thought on. She was the image of truth, honor, and strength that he desperately wished to achieve.

But now all that existed was as an old woman lying on her deathbed. Her long frail fingers reached out to him. He felt stiff and uncomfortable, but he came towards her all the same. He could sense her desperate clinging to this world and his heart lurched forward. He did not want to be able to sense this weakness in her. If she was weak, then the world stood no chance.

He took her hand in his own and stared at the difference. His own hands were strong and pale, with the calluses of training and the softness of youth. Hers were withered, dry, and tiny in his grasp.

"Malak," she managed through her dried, chapping lips.

"Yes, Na'an?" he spoke with a tone much more calm than he felt. His breath was beginning to catch and he could feel the beginnings of his calm exterior begin to deteriorate. A sudden pouring of strength built into him and he could feel the bond between his friend standing outside the door pour into him. He mentally thanked Revan and used the newfound strength to stop from shaking.

His grandmother, his Na'an, met his gaze and turned her lips into a sallow little smile. "You've done well for yourself, grandson."

Malak smiled at that. He had done well. "How are you feeling?" he asked, not actually wanting to know how she felt. He wanted her to jump out of bed and start making dinner, telling him he didn't have enough meat on his growing body. He didn't want her to say that the creaking in her bones and the taste of death nipped at her even now.

He could sense it and it was killing him the same as it was literally killing her.

She tried to conjure up some remnant of the woman she used to be and a sound that should have been a scoff ended up as a coughing fit. When she stopped she lifted her hand slowly and brought it to her chest.

"Does that answer your question, grandson?" she smiled a small smile and almost laughed, but that too came out as a cough.

He frowned and tried to hold down more strength from himself. He tried to remember every bit of teaching he had learned over the years to prepare himself for this. None of it was coming to mind. Not a word of the code would whisper in his ear, all he could think about was his Na'an lying on her deathbed and the fact that he could do nothing about it.

"Do you need me to get you anything?" he asked.

This time she did laugh and it sounded like a laugh instead of a hacking cough. It wasn't quite as enthused as he remembered, but the sound warmed him and brought a stinging feeling to his eyes.

She rested her head back against the pillow, showing the effect of keeping it up and the pain it caused. "You were always a helpful boy, much more than your cousins. The lazy slobs."

He laughed a little at that. "They were just normal for their age."

She turned her head on the pillow and eyed him. "And you weren't. Is what you're saying?"

His mouth turned to a thin line. "I know that I wasn't normal for my age -- that's why I was sent away."

She tried to lift her hand and make a quick gesture, but it failed and just her fingers made the lift. "Do you really believe that?"

"I don't know what to believe. I was eight," he said stiffly, even with the realization that now was neither the time nor the situation for his old feelings of abandonment.

She gave a feeble nod. "You were young, but you were also bright -- " She had to catch the effort to breathe and took a few labored breaths in before returning to her speech. "It was the best chance for you, grandson, I hope that one day you'll realize that," she scoffed and the vestiges of sweat and exhaustion trickled down her forehead. "What would you rather be doing? Working in some tiny factory, producing things with your father? Or making a difference and putting those skills of yours to good work, useful work."

He could not muster up any words and the entirety of the situation came to him. "I'm sorry. This isn't the time."

She lifted her fingers again in the subtle gesture that she was trying to attempt. "There isn't any more time, so you might as well make the best of it."

"I can feel your pain," he said through a choked breath. His eyes were fogging now and he was trying with all his strength to stay standing.

She caught his gaze through clouded eyes. "You can, can you?" She made a noise and it was hard to distinguish if it was from pain or annoyance. "The only pain I feel is the knowledge that my grandson is worrying about some tired old woman going in for a nice long vacation, when he should be worrying about himself and his friend outside."

He felt no humor as he tried to smile, "Vacation?"

She gave a light grin. "What is that line? There is no death... there is... ah what was it -- you sent me a recording once..."

"There is the Force," he said out of pure habit and it felt like acid on his tongue.

She gave a delicate nod and closed her eyes for a moment. "That was it," she matched his vision again and bore into him. "I figure this Force thing is all powerful, so it's got to have a nice retirement place for nice tough old broads like me. I plan on stretching out in the sun and catching up on some sleep, maybe making your grandfather cook for me for once."

His eyes drifted towards his hand where her grip was fading fast and slipping from his. "Na'an?" he choked out.

She smiled softly as her hand fell on the bed. "Leave it," she said and that was it.

He did not know how long he stood staring at her now lifeless body and he did not know when he fell to the floor and wept like a small child.

All he could remember was a careful embrace and support from his friend, with no look of disgust on his outburst.

And he could remember Na'an's last words and how she had, left it.