A/N: This is something of a long belated companion to "Not Her", because while Mical is not my favorite character, he's not a bad one and I thought he deserved a say.
It was… one of those moments you recall perfectly for the rest of your life, that you find yourself remembering at odd moments for years afterward. The wry curve of her smile, the gleam of the light on her hair. The smell of smoke on the early morning wind. It was summertime on Dantooine, warm enough even as the sun broke over the low ridges surrounding the Enclave. Julima stood on an overlook with her hands thrust in her pockets, awash in dawn light that was stained red from a rash of grassfires.
No one else remembers her like this. Her Master was already dead, and the few friends she had in those days are all either dead or Sith. The crew certainly doesn't- even Bao-Dur hadn't met her until she'd traded in her robes for a Republic uniform. Atton never saw her like this. It's a part of her that's mine- the memory of her, young and hopeful, clean and unscarred under the light of a red dawn. Sometimes I think even Julima has forgotten it.
I was fourteen, a Padawan who had not yet been chosen by a Master. I'd always believed that Juli would. I was there when she found out Revan and Malak left. For a moment she looked like she was going to cry, but all she said was "Good. Perhaps now my archives will stay quiet."
She was angry that they had left her out of their grandest trick. Always, Revan and Malak had been up to their ears in mischief, and always, Julima had been behind them, saying "Are you sure this is a good idea?" and "Let's be smart about this." and soothing ruffled feathers afterward. That is, I think, what tipped the scales between her desire to protect the Republic and her adherence to discipline. What trouble would Ren and Mal (as she called them) get up to without her keeping an eye on them?
I caught her as she was leaving, on a shuttle in the early hours of the morning, and she at least had the grace to act embarrassed. She made no excuses, gave no explanations. "I am leaving," she said simply."I would be disappointed if you did not take good care of yourself while I was gone. Do not let Padawan Shan walk all over you just because the Masters insist on filling her head with that protégé nonsense."
She brusquely straightening the collar of my tunic in that maternal way of hers, and then it registered on me that she really was leaving. This wasn't just another spate of irritable fuming over Revan and Malak's departure; she was really going after them.
"What…" will I do without you? I almost said. Instead I cleared my throat and asked, "What will the Masters say?" Julima frowned for a moment, then her chin came up and she squared her shoulders against her robes.
"The Masters-" and we both knew she meant Atris "-will learn to live with disappointment." She looked at me, and surprised me by answering the question I hadn't asked. "I am sorry, Mical. I know I am doing you a disservice, I know. But I believe… I believe you will be fine."
I wanted to ask her to stay, or to take me with her, but I knew better. Instead, I watched her board the shuttle, bright and untarnished, and I never saw her again the way I remember.