Satisfied

Two lovers sat together in a bedroom. The man sat, staring at nothing. He was tall, the muscles in his chest and arms were clearly defined. His lover lay in the crook of his arm, blue-green eyes focused and thinking. Honey-colored hair cascaded down her shoulders. Her hand gently lay on the man's chest. His arm was slung lazily around her, his had drew meandering circles across her upper arm. The woman looked up into his steel-blue eyes.

"I love you, Neva," she whispered, smiling wistfully. He stiffened, and the circles stopped. He didn't reply. "Neva?" she asked, a slight frown tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"The Order," he began absently. A laugh escaped her lips, like light pealing bells.

"Look where I am, Neva. After what I just did at Malachor?" she laughed softly for a moment longer as the muscles in Neva's jaw tightened. His mind worked furiously. "Do you really think I care anything of what the Order says anymore?"

"Such feelings lead to the Dark Side," he said automatically. The bells rang again with her laughter. There was a pregnant pause. "I love you, too," he said, wooden and emotionless. She was satisfied.

Two standard weeks later

Tears flowed freely across her cheeks as she stood, watching him desperately. Neva stormed through their apartment, shoving things in a sack, refusing to meet her gaze.

"Neva?" she asked softly. "Neva, please. Please," she sobbed. She quietly stepped behind him, and gently placed a hand on his back. He whirled around and flung her crashing into a wall across the room. She slid to the floor, sobbing.

"Leave me alone!" he roared.

"Neva," she pleaded through her tears. I need you now! After I went to the Council, and the exiled me, you are all I have left! Neva, please."

He finally met her gaze, a wild look in his eyes. "Never talk to me again. Don't look at me, don't touch me, don't talk to me. Ever. I never loved you! I hate you!" he spat with utter loathing. She looked at her former lover with pure horror. "You brought this on yourself, murderer, and this is what you get," he snarled, and spat on the ground before her. He turned to leave. Rage filled and blinded her, and she leapt after him, plunging a knife in his neck. He fell; blood pooled at her feet. She looked in horror at what she had done. She turned and fled for the Outer Rim.

Rasha often contemplated the circumstances which brought her on this wild chase for the Jedi Masters that had condemned her so long ago. She later mourned Neva's death, but never regretted killing him. His words still bit and clawed at her when she was most alone, and afraid, scarring her. Before the Ebon Hawk, she avoided men, an uneasy task. She was attractive, and she knew it. But over time, her natural inclination became to find a man, and manipulate him for whatever he was worth. She never expected to grow attached to any of them, and she never did. They were merely pawns to be used and discarded. So it had begun with Atton. She released him from his prison, and used his unremarkable skills to leave Peragus. She expected to drop him somewhere—Nar Shadaa, most likely—and never to think on him again. But it seemed he had other plans.

It was no matter, men were easy to forget. But the social side of her took over, and she grew lonely, and in need of companionship. Kreia was a crone, and good for nothing but being cryptic. Bao-Dur was weak and easily manipulated, never a good thing. Rasha liked a challenge, and he was never able to present one for long. The Disciple disgusted her. His blind following of whatever anyone told him was utterly repellent. Mira proved to be a good companion, but there was an air of competition between the two. For what, she did not know. Visas Marr seemed to be as spineless and useless as Bao-Dur and Mical. Rasha couldn't really say, she had barely said 3 words to her. The droids were nothing more than scrap metal to her.

Atton, though. He was quick and sharp-tongued, and never backed down from a challenge. From the very first time they met, on Peragus, he intrigued her, with his shameless self-preservation. He would prove to be a valuable asset in combat, with his skill with a blaster. And, of course, his dry and unfailing humor. After he told her the truth of his past, her fondness for the fool grew. It must have taken a lot of balls to tell a Jedi that he once killed Jedi, she thought to herself. Then again, she had long ago turned her back on the Jedi.

As far as she was concerned, there was no Dark or Light side. Only whether or not one chose to use the Force to their advantage. Who were they to condemn her for fighting for what she thought was right, claiming she had turned away from "the Light"? Rasha scoffed. She hadn't turned from the Light. She had decided that she wasn't going to blindly follow what "the Masters" told her, and that scared them—that anyone would dare question their authority. The fact that Atton had killed Jedi gave her a twisted feeling of satisfaction, undoubtedly "signs of her journey down the path to the Dark Side," she thought, channeling Vrook and Atris. She didn't care.

But things were changing between her and Atton. She could feel it. She didn't like it. She often caught him staring at her. It has started out innocently enough—blatant lust clearly written on his face. But it grew to become something more pure. He began watching her with admiration and… love. The word, the very idea disgusted her. Neva had done that much for her.

One day he came forward. "I love you. Loved you from the moment I saw you." Rasha glared at him fiercely, fury glittered behind in her eyes. She slapped him clean on the face, forcing him to the floor. She stood over him and uttered dangerously,

"If you ever say that to me again, I'll make what Revan did to Malak look like a papercut." He looked up at her, dazed from the blow, confused and frightened by her words. She stepped across his sprawled form, kicking his side as she went stalking into the common area, a smile on her face.

He stayed away after that, brooding in the cockpit. But the feelings did not fade. She knew. She clawed her way into his thoughts and feelings, ripping them out, and keeping them as her own. She contemplated what to do with him, and, as ever, social and physical need consumed her. She quietly walked into the cockpit and shut the door behind her. Atton forced himself to meet her eyes. She stepped forward and fiercely kissed him.

Not long after, when they were alone, his head rested in her lap as she absently pulled at the tufts of dark hair. She could feel his hesitation.

"Jaq, if you have something to ask, then do so. You know you can't hide a thing from me." She had taken to calling him "Jaq" in private.

"Rasha—do you love me?" He braced himself for the rage he knew would come, but it did not. She calmly continued stroking his head.

"No," she stated flatly, "but you have your uses."

And he was satisfied.

a/n: Mmkay, this is my first attempt at anything not Light Side. Let me know how I did.