He knew if he didn't leave now; he'd wind up ruining everything.
Everything she'd worked hard to build, everything she had done for them.
The Ebon Hawk hummed around him, the rain of Dxun falling against the plasteel windows. They had stopped here to run repairs before making their way to Onderon; but Atton had finished those hours ago. Now, with the Hawk in fit shape to leave, he knew they didn't need him anymore. Frack, in a day he could pay off the Mandalorians to shuttle him to Nar Shaddaa, and there, he could return to his two favourite pastimes; excessive drinking and excessive gambling.
Atton grabbed his gear, pushing his spare robes into his backpack. He was always good at travelling light, and now, he had decided to be sparing about what he left behind. Opening the compartment beneath his bed, he removed his blasters, a few medpacks, and enough spare credits to last him the trip.
He wondered what Mical would say when he found out Atton had abandoned them, consoling her as he always did with his honesty and chivalry. "Atton needs to find his own way" he would tell her, and she would cry, and Atton knew Mical would comfort her, and never push his judgement or emotions about Atton into the picture.
That was who Mical was. He was a doctor. He fixed people.
Who was Atton?
"I'm a deserter. It's what I do."
"Don't get too attached to me; I don't like it."
Slinging the pack over his shoulder, Atton made his way to the cockpit. He had spent the better part of his time there; playing cards with Mira, cracking wise at Visas, taking snarky quips at Mical.
Spending time with her, consoling her, sharing a drink with her.
A last gesture of good faith, Atton took his lightsaber from the sheath. Holding it in his palm, he felt the warmth and life flowing from it; the etchings he had carved into it to remind him to do better, to be better, to feel better, and he lay it down on the pilot seat. They were all out trekking in the jungle, and wouldn't return for some time; by the time they did, Atton would be long gone, and with him, he would take his negativity and unpredictable nature.
He wasn't giving up: he was giving in. He wasn't about to let her mission fail because of his emotions clouding her serenity. She needed to save the universe; he needed to save himself.
With one last look at the cockpit, his brown eyes heavy with regret, he turned and placed the note by the door, before stepping out into the rain, and into a new life.
"I told you it's what I do."
