Categories > Games > Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic > Telos


by Plutospawn 0 reviews

So Carth screamed as loud as he could. And then she was dead and he kept screaming, anyway.

Category: Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama - Characters: Carth Onasi - Published: 2007-11-11 - Updated: 2007-11-11 - 1026 words

It was still weird to think about. He should have been cynical by now. Or at least be able to accept it enough to focus on the now. On the living people who needed him. On his son who was still alive, somewhere, no matter what anyone else said or thought.

He should have known. The medics should have known.

It was a self-centered thing, in retrospect. Running as fast as he could to the toppled remains of his home. It wasn't like it was the building with the most damage on the planet or there weren't other people with more demanding injuries.

Maybe that's why it had been fatal. It hadn't seemed life-threatening at the time.

Morgana had been so alert. She was breathing a little fast, but he rationalized that anyone would have been breathing fast if they just narrowly missed having the bulk of a house fall on them. She'd been lucky. She was supposed to be lucky.

So he'd stood her up and brushed her off. Medics rushed past and he felt momentarily selfish. There were people crushed under rubble, broken bones, bleeding inside and out, a planet's worth of agony and he was pushing tangled blonde hair away from a scratched cheek.

They'd talked. About silly things. A quick joke to prove to themselves that they could function before they both started to backtrack, both started to look for their son. There was a panic cold and building in the pit of his stomach and spreading outwards. At the time, he'd thought it had to do with Dustil and his pace sped up to the point that he was dragging Morgana along.

It was only when he glanced back and he noticed that her lips were turning blue that he realized his world was rapidly spinning out of control.

"Wait. Give me a minute, I just feel a little…" And then her legs wobbled and then she was in his arms and his voice felt hoarse, but he used it anyway.

The medics that seemed to be everywhere just minutes, even seconds, ago, had since vanished. When a single woman in an onslaught of carnage appears outwardly to only have some scratches, some bruises, she's easy to overlook.

So Carth screamed as loud as he could. And then she was dead and he kept screaming, anyway.

They tried to pull him away. Tried to tell him that the woman was dead and that he had a job to do. By that time he had her head cradled against his shoulder so he didn't have to see that expressionless look on her face and all he had to do was snarl, "my wife," to get them to back off and move along.

Morgana was still there, right in front of him and in one piece. His arms were around her keeping her safe. There was no way, it didn't make sense, he could still touch her, look at her, there was absolutely no way…

The autopsy listed cause of death as a ruptured aorta. He wasn't sure why it was important, but it felt like it mattered at the time. He should have felt grateful that there was a body to autopsy.

In the weeks that followed, the numbness faded away into a burn. He’d lie awake in bed, frantic, convinced that when he inhaled, he could smell her. The scent would linger just outside his senses and it was only when he curled up, fetal, would he realize that he was just smelling the laundry detergent on his own clothing.

At first, he refused to even consider the morgues. Then it was only if he was so drunk he could barely walk. After a time, it became some sick comedy of errors. On the upside, none of the unidentified male bodies aged approximately seven to fifteen were Dustil. But Dustil was still missing. They eventually had to bury all the John Does and Carth had to rely on things like DNA for answers instead of visual proof.

Not that any proof ever came his way. It was hope that seemed to cut deeper than any reality he could be presented with.

Three months into it, his brother chased him down. With the full beard and long hair, Carth wasn’t sure if Tam was trying at Bohemian or hobo. His little, well, younger brother threw his arms around Carth and the two of them just stayed like that for a while. Carth didn’t feel like talking; Tam didn’t seem to know how to start up the conversation.

“What’re you doing running away like a douchebag?” was what Tam finally came up with.

“I’m not running, there’s a- it’s just that there’s a morgue here I haven’t been to, yet,” Carth said.

He didn’t like the look Tam was giving. That dewback of a man wasn’t supposed to ever have to take the role of nurturer. “Yeah, but we’re on the complete opposite side of the planet. It’s insane to think they’d have shipped him all the way here.”

“Yeah?” Carth wasn’t sure where the anger came from. He just needed to wake up.

“Not that he’d be there, anyway.” Tam scratched at his beard. “We’ll find him, Carth.”

“When? I’m not finding anything standing here.”

A long silence followed. Carth wasn’t sure what he’d say if he was in Tam’s position, he just wished his brother would say something. Something that made sense, something that could make everything better.

“Can I buy you a beer?” Tam asked.

“That’s not—“ Carth shook his head. “That won’t fix anything.”

“Didn’t say it would.” Tam clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “But I want to. Can I?”

“I don’t know—“


Carth raked a hand through his hair. “Fine.”

“Great. Let’s go.” Tam never seemed to have grown out of that awkward stage. His hands looked about as oversized as his grin. Carth couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be able to smile back.
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