Ficathon Entry!!
Title: To Be Broken
Rating: T/PG-13
Pairing: Corran/Mirax
For:
A soft tapping against the steel door slowly drew Corran from his sleep. He irritably rolled over, tucking his head beneath a pillow.
“Go away!” he growled, but the visitor persisted. The Corellian pilot sighed in defeat and tossed the covers aside. He stumbled through his room, trying desperately to remember where the door was. He followed the sound of the incessant knocking and fumbled for the lock. He punched the button with a knuckle and glared as the door slid back.
Mirax looked up from her feet at the sound of the door sliding open. Her eyes trailed from his bare feet up his legs, cloaked in an old grey pair of sweatpants. Brown eyes turned black as they swept over his bare chest. His hair was mussed from fitful sleep and her tongue darted across her lips as they locked gazes.
Neither said a word for what felt like an eternity. Honestly, she didn’t know what to say to him. They had only spoken briefly since he had virtually returned from the dead and only then in public. Finally, she lifted the bundle in her hands as explanation for her visit.
“Sorry to wake you, but I figured you probably haven’t had any decent food in a while, so I picked up some mounder potato rice.” Corran continued to stare blankly at her so she sighed and pulled a colored glass bottle from beneath her arm. “And a bottle of Whyrren’s Reserve.”
A grin spread across his face and he stepped aside to allow her entrance. She walked inside and immediately headed for the kitchen. Corran shook his head at her straight-forwardness, though he had to smother a smile before joining her.
Mirax rooted through the cabinets, leaving all the doors open as she went, searching for a pan. He heaved a sigh and, closing all the doors as he passed, pulled one out for her. Her nimble fingers unwrapped the tan paper around the potato rice and flipped it over, effectively dumping it in the pan. She spun around, hit the lighter and tossed the pan onto the stove.
Corran leaned against the edge of the counter, folding his arms over his naked chest. He ran a hand over his face, pausing to cover a wide yawn. “You seem awfully comfortable in my apartment,” he commented as she dug a spatula out of a drawer. Mirax took so long answering that at first, he thought perhaps she hadn’t heard him.
However, as she tipped the Corellian meal into a bowl and grabbed him a fork, she replied quickly, “I spent some time here while you were gone.” She pushed the bowl into his hands and reached for the Reserve. She uncorked it and took a swift sip on her way to the couch.
Corran dug into the potato rice, grateful for Mirax’s thoughtfulness. He sat beside her and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. The silence hung between them like a tightrope. “How much time?” Corran asked suddenly.
“What?”
“How much time did you spend here?” His voice dropped an octave as he spoke, though he kept his eyes on the bowl in his hands.
Mirax toyed with the bottle before answering. “First it was just when I was lonely. But each day you got farther and farther away and I- I had trouble with it. I was here every night for the last two weeks.” She stood silently and wound her way through the dark house to the window overlooking the vast cityworld.
Corran set the bowl of mounder potato rice on the coffee table and pushed himself off the couch. He followed her path through the room and, coming to stand behind her, gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Mirax,” he began but she shushed him.
“Don’t, Corran. Words can’t fix this.” She took another drink from the Whyrren’s Reserve.
“Fix what?” he demanded, spinning her around by her shoulders to face him, “There’s nothing to fix. Not here. Not with us. Sure, there’s plenty to fix out there, with Isard and the rest of the galaxy, but you can’t fix something that’s not broken, Mirax!”
“How are we not broken? How can you say I’m not broken?” she shot back, her voice cracking.
Corran let go of her shoulders and took a step backwards. “You? Mirax, I’ve been imprisoned for the past- I don’t even know how long. I didn’t think I was ever going to see you or the Rogues or Iella or anybody else ever again. If anyone in this room is broken, it’s me.”
“You don’t think I suffered while you were dead? You think I wore black for a week and then bragged to strangers that I knew the famous Corran Horn when he was alive?”
“We barely know each other. We know each other by reputation. By our fathers’ reputations even! We shouldn’t matter so much!”
She shrugged exaggeratedly, shaking her head. “I don’t know why I matter to you, but I love you, Horn! I shouldn’t and and I don’t want to, but there it is! All right? I love you!”
Corran stared at her, taken aback by her words and her harsh tone. He stumbled over his words for a moment, attempting to sort through the shock. Finding that he couldn’t put together a coherent sentence, he pried the bottle from her hand and took a swig. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and, eyeing her distraught form, put the bottle back to his lips.
He tried to sense her with the Force, to figure out what she was feeling, but her heart and her mind were blocked. She rolled her eyes, knowing what he was attempting, obviously having steeled herself against him. Mirax ran a hand through her black hair, looking away to the bright city lights. She blinked back uncharacteristic tears, afraid to wipe them away for fear he would notice them.
Unfortunately, he was too quick for her. He hesitantly brought a hand up to her cheek and softly brushed the unbidden drops away with his fingers. Mirax grit her teeth, trying desperately to keep him out and knowing she was failing miserably. He ran his hand down her cheek and stroked the smooth skin at her throat. She swallowed hard as he leaned in.
“Well if being broken means being in love, maybe we both are,” he murmured, his voice husky and low. He tipped her chin toward him with the crook of his finger, forcing her to look him in the eye.
At her lack of denial, he pulled her to him, pressing their lips together. She ran the back of her hand across his month-old stubble; he dragged his fingers through her hair. Her arms wound around his neck and her legs around his waist as he lifted her in the air. Her fresh tears ran across his cheeks, salt mixing with the alchohol on their lips.
Hours later, as she lay tangled between him and the sheets, Mirax lazily trailed a finger across his bare chest. Corran tightened his arm around her waist, pulling her just that much closer. He lifted the abandoned bottle of Whyrren’s Reserve from the nightstand and pressed the neck to his lips. Swallowing, he pulled it back to read the label.
“You shouldn’t have gotten this for me. This stuff’s expensive, Mirax,” he admonished.
She took it from him and took a sip herself. “I’m a smuggler, remember? I can get anything you want.” She grinned, rolling over on top of him and setting the Reserve down again.
Corran mischievously raised an eyebrow at her. “Anything?” he inquired cheekily.
She folded her hands over his chest and rested her chin on them. “Mhmm. Anything.”
“Well, it seems that your talents are going to be wasted then, because you’ve already given me the only thing I need.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
He tucked a stray lock of black hair behind her ear, murmuring, “You.”
inyron's Ficathon prompt
Summary: Mirax shows up at Corran's apartment with food and a bottle of Whyren's Reserve soon after he returns from captivity.