He had known he'd burned through some fat. But he'd always told himself when he was afraid he was getting too thin that there was still some fat left, he had pinched his skin and felt skin between his fingers and told himself there was some time still to keep at this, that he was safe, that he wouldn't have to risk another episode. There was always some kind of excess something his well-trained eyes could find to excuse one more missed meal, one more day, just one more time.
His first impulse was to tell the Doctor she was wrong. It was a foolish impulse, but it was his first thought. How could he be out of fat to burn when this wasn't the lowest he'd weighed? How could he be so close to the edge when he had gained weight since he'd come home? It didn't make sense. He had eaten several full meals, one with Rey, one with Poe and his gaggle of pilot friends, one, at a snail's pace, with Han, sitting around listening and discussing old stories of Han's glory days. He had forced himself not to run laps afterwards, made himself sleep, fought off the panic because if they saw him they would worry. All that effort not to push the food away and work himself to collapse when that was all he wanted to, and it wasn't enough? It was all for nothing?
He went pale and still. His mind raced. What would he have to do to try to save himself? Would he even be able to do it when his attempts at fixing the problem himself had been so hard and done so little? He looked over at his mother, whose face was unreadable to him. She was willful and hopeful, but all he could see was a mountain to climb that he wasn't sure he could scale.
Ben pulled his jacket on and wrapped his arms around his torso protectively. "I can't give up training with Rey. She needs to be able to fight the First Order. I know Force Healing, I can mend a fracture. I'll just - I'll just take vitamins, or something, so I can keep up with the work."
Denial settled over him. This was all wrong. He wasn't weak, he wasn't breakable. He didn't have the time to be. There's a war to win. Fractures are nothing he hadn't endured before.
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Date: 2016-12-21 07:33 am (UTC)His first impulse was to tell the Doctor she was wrong. It was a foolish impulse, but it was his first thought. How could he be out of fat to burn when this wasn't the lowest he'd weighed? How could he be so close to the edge when he had gained weight since he'd come home? It didn't make sense. He had eaten several full meals, one with Rey, one with Poe and his gaggle of pilot friends, one, at a snail's pace, with Han, sitting around listening and discussing old stories of Han's glory days. He had forced himself not to run laps afterwards, made himself sleep, fought off the panic because if they saw him they would worry. All that effort not to push the food away and work himself to collapse when that was all he wanted to, and it wasn't enough? It was all for nothing?
He went pale and still. His mind raced. What would he have to do to try to save himself? Would he even be able to do it when his attempts at fixing the problem himself had been so hard and done so little? He looked over at his mother, whose face was unreadable to him. She was willful and hopeful, but all he could see was a mountain to climb that he wasn't sure he could scale.
Ben pulled his jacket on and wrapped his arms around his torso protectively. "I can't give up training with Rey. She needs to be able to fight the First Order. I know Force Healing, I can mend a fracture. I'll just - I'll just take vitamins, or something, so I can keep up with the work."
Denial settled over him. This was all wrong. He wasn't weak, he wasn't breakable. He didn't have the time to be. There's a war to win. Fractures are nothing he hadn't endured before.