❝you wanna help me get to sleep?❞ she asks the question quietly, low and full of implications.  one hand trails across his neck, the other presses to his chest, and she sways slightly as she sits, hips already ghosting a path that could easily be achieved.  she keeps her eyes on him, though, head tilted so that her hair falls aside, revealing neck, and collarbone, and anything he wants to touch.  it’s been a hard day - uhura’s pretty sure she deserves something mind-numbing.

     he SHIFTS under her weight, a part of him trying to avoid doing anything more for the night. hands, out of HABIT, trail up her sides gently before GRASPING her and keeping her still. ❝you SURE you can take it? you’re a little sluggish today. not one minute ago you were whining about the PAIN.❞ half of him is truly concerned, but the other half knows she’ll ask anyway.

she wants to make fun, to pull the emotion out of the moment and leave this to the side.  but she doesn’t, because he’s trying to convey something here, and she’s not a total asshole.  ❝straight out of a movie.❞ it comes out quiet, and she can’t help the smile that wraps around it.  she also can’t help the little sway she gives into as he prods her.  she’s tired down to her bones, and her hands ache like nothing she’s ever felt.  ❝can i sleep now? is that allowed?❞

          ❝i WON’T. i’m not stupid enough to think you’re capable of that.❞ he makes the joke in her stead, and pulls away. back to the couch, the CUSHIONS that held his tired ass. he worked hard, mentally, and never quite QUIT the gym. it was one thing, however, to say he worked hard, and another to say he worked as hard as uhura. never in his life has he worked with someone as DEDICATED and willing (albeit more STUBBORN and irritating) as she.

her arms drop without ceremony, and she stands in place looking at him, the barest of smiles pulling at her lips.  ❝alright, i get it.  you win.❞ she’s a good fighter, she knows she is.  one of the best, even if she’s not being cocky about it.  but these last few days - she’s fucked up, burned herself out.  her hands feel like they’ll never stop being cramped, and she’s gotten a handful of hours of sleep.  point made, she needs to fucking relax.  ❝congratulations, you finally taught me something.❞

     he drops his guard, and steps closer to her, eyes not for a MOMENT missing her gaze. he had faith that this would go differently ---- but he was FULL of just as many doubts as she. what IF it all went wrong? he tried not to think about that. if it does go badly, it’s just another FAILURE in his books. ❝i’ve taught you PLENTY, you’re just ignoring me.❞ he’s not one to express faith, to SHOW how he feels ----- but he’d be damned if he didn’t try.

                 he had thought about the question at hand, the reasons of the attack had been unknown to them and therefor all more to DANGEROUS. an attack without reason would be suicide for both parties. DEATH and DESPAIR  would fall upon them all if they continued on this path. “ there are no winners if they continue this way, neither side shall truly made progress. ” qui-gon looks at the other, hand resting upon the table before them.  “ we must figure out their motives, infiltrate them perhaps ? ”

❝fuck you.❞ he’s right, she was too slow.  it’s not out of line, but it makes her jaw clench, her fists tighten, and she adjusts her stance, pauses, swings again.  she has to land a hit - just one.  it shouldn’t feel like she has something to prove, but goddamn if it doesn’t anyway. 

❝you’re gonna lose mzee.❞ it’s not cocky so much as challenging - because these types of dirty fights never go down without some shit talking.  for a moment they’re static, and she clears her expression, forces herself to be unreadable.  it’s only once everything else is gone, once she’s focused that she moves.  she feints left, strikes right, and waits for her fist to make a solid hit.

     he hardly MOVES ---- stance shifts slightly and he advances a single step, hand lifting only to GRASP a thrown fist. his grip is HARD and unforgiving, and he brings up his other arm with a BALLED FIST. it is brought down HARD against her shoulder ---- only to stop before he makes contact. she’s in enough pain as it is, and he’s only trying to prove a point.

he’s talking sense, as well, which pisses her off.  there’s no reason, logically, for it to, but that tends to happen around him.  it’s a whole lot of nonsensical reaction to his fairly ordinary actions.  she’s learned to tune out her own intuition in these cases.  her eyes narrow, for a moment, and then she moves forwards, shoves his leg aside and lets herself drop down.  the rest of the water disappears, and she tosses the bottle onto the table, watches as it bounces away, across the floor.  she’ll get that later, probably.  ❝it’s not enough.  nothing is ever enough.❞ she’s so wrapped up in her thoughts, she doesn’t even react to the pet name like she normally does.  she’s got a fight in two and a half days, and she’s never felt more unsure about anything in her life.  ❝what if i lose? what if this time i lose?❞

he GROANS, almost growls, as he stands up ---- downing the LAST of his coffee as if it were from a shot-glass. he offers her a hand, pulling her up with him. she was being STUPID ; a smart girl like her doesn’t have room to be STUPID. ❝you’re unsure and for WHAT? let me give you something to be unsure about.❞ his training gloves rest on the floor, he doesn’t bother putting them on. the fight they have coming up is unprofessional and DIRTY ; such is its reputation.

she’s being dramatic, cynicism dripping from every word.  their conversations usually go this way.  she moves away from the bag again, rolling her shoulders as she shakes out her hands, walking in circles.  ❝it’s like everything in me is knotted up, and i don’t know what to - do about it.  mimi nina kwenda kuvunja.❞ the last part comes out quiet, under her breath, like a prayer.  it rolls off her tongue easily, and she comes to a snap facing him, curling and uncurling her fingers.  ❝so what then? just stop?❞

     it’s his NATURE to take up space --- and so he SPREADS himself over the couch, feet dangling off of the side like a full-time college student after a long day of nothing. he, quite noisily, takes a sip from his coffee, the SCALDING liquid pouring down his throat. BITTER, much like himself, and unsweetened in ANY aspect. after an elongated drink, he nods. ❝you won’t get very far scattered across the floor.❞