and you will surely be the death of me
but how could I have known?
-The Oh Hellos, Like the Dawn
"One has to wonder exactly what a Sith Master would find impressive."
Dismaying, how quickly Bastila had to abandon the initial plan of facing Revan, and defeating him through straight honorable combat, using her Battle Meditation, through the combined skills of her fellow Jedi. Bastila had been warned of this, had been prepared, but still, it hadn't been enough. Kriff. She was kriffed—but it was not fear that made her hesitate, not exactly.
Plan B.
Revan stood, nearly on top of a Republic soldier, shadow and darkness, the Force alive with his power. Her hands did not shake, but were sweaty, almost unsteady. He waited.
Repulsive, to have to do this. All based on conjecture and gossip and even questions from what he'd learned from his own first master. Perhaps it said more about the Jedi that this was their plan. But they had heard that he sought her out, and not solely for her Battle Meditation powers.
Force help her.
She would have to feign interest. Play the part of the doe-eyed curious student that wanted to hear all about his plans. Remembering a dry joke made by one of Revan's teacher about the obsession certain male Jedi had over lightsabers, ah, the strange twist of fate that led to all of this. Pitch her voice a certain way and look up at him with large eyes. Her pride prickled.
"Revan." Let every instinct be ignored, and let her weapon fall to her side. "You are Revan?"
A twit, she felt. A fool. Obviously this was the Revanchist. Let him think she was an idiot.
Breathlessly, she allowed what was not entirely a lie but could be construed in many way, "I have always wondered about the dark side. About the Sith Lords."
His lightsaber was still raised. But he did answer. The voice modifier sent a sick thrill through her stomach. Revan, Revan was talking to her. Bastila nearly missed what he said. "You are not the first."
He seemed to be concentrating on something, searching her. "You will not be the last."
They had questioned her for hours before this mission. Probed every weakness. Listened to every word as she explained why she should be able to go, why she could handle it. The careful blend of sincerity and willfulness.
It will be dangerous.
What other options do we have, though?
You must not forget yourself, Padawan Shan.
The Revanchist was raising his free hand, he was going to shock her, kill her—
Revan removed that absurd mask.
He had not been handsome, but striking, in the images she'd seen before. They had been shown for clarification for those like her that had not been sure of what gender Revan even was. Now he had, strangely, acquired a certain attractiveness in that blurred face that had softened his rough features and removed hollows, smoothed his jutting nose and carved cheekbones. Slim eyebrows. Eyes paler.
Only a man, really, for all the stories that were told, horror stories to scare Padawans replacing the ones told of his heroism and bravery out there in the Outer Rim, fighting for the sake of the Republic. Hard to remember those days, when she'd still been half a girl that would have been hard pressed to have picked Revan out of a lineup. Even his gender had been questionable for those outside the Order that could ask Knights and Masters about the once promising student. All hidden away as though to hide any weakness for the Mandalorians, and then later the Republic who were discovering that he really didn't have any obvious weaknesses anymore.
They looked at each other.
He spoke first. "Ah."
What did he see when he looked at her?
Was her distress and fear, sign of one falling towards the dark side, so readily apparent? She wasn't afraid, she wasn't, there was only peace.
"You don't have to be afraid of me, Bastila. I'm not your enemy, though you might now know it yet." He inclined his head towards her. "I have been waiting a long time to meet you. This past year you have been a continuous thorn in my side. You must know that. So many times you were there, able to give just the right touch to stop me. So many of my soldiers' deaths you are responsible for."
"I'm responsible?"
"They would have lived if you'd not been there to help the other side. You sneer? That's all it is. Another side. If the Force favors the light side, why did it not stop me so many times? Strangle me in the womb? Have me choke on a bite of rare nerf steak?"
Her eyes must have widened too much. Her anger was becoming too apparent. "So it's the Force's fault you fell? That you have not been stopped yet?"
"You think I have fallen, Shan? You are the impassioned one, the one so angry." His lips, pale and the skin around it so smooth, twitched. "You think I don't sense your feelings, that I don't know you? You are in many ways a counterpart to me. Do you not see it? Do you not sense our synergy? You are another prodigal Jedi with doubts. Not since the Mandalorians have I had any real challenge like you could prove to be. We've killed so many together."
"You know nothing about my feelings!" She was ruining everything, but how could she let such lies stand?
"Bastila, of course I know you. I've studied you. As much as you have me." What was that in his voice, roughening it? "You will be my equal in time. With proper preparation. My true apprentice. Of course we'd end up on the same side, in the end. War breaks Jedi and rebuilds them in certain ways."
No.
They'd been wrong, Force, so wrong about that disgusting theory concerning his fascination with her. The reports had been incorrect Bastila was pleased to note: Revan had not been spying her to such an insane degree. Spies could be wrong. Sure they were.
He really did just care about power, and such human passions that might have to do with some form of 'love' and 'affection' were beyond his reach. Those things needed some degree of trust, and Revan could not afford such a thing. A Sith Lord had to remain free of attachments that could be weaknesses. He had lusted only after her talent, thank the Force.
"There is courage in seeking out more knowledge. Not all of the Jedi Code is a lie, but it falls so short of recognizing the full expanse of the Force. You have such talent, Padawan. It was so wasted with the Jedi Order. You must have heard about how I can awaken potential in Force users."
Though, she hadn't been entirely correct about his capabilities of affection; Revan really did love the sound of his voice.
"All Jedi wonder. It takes only the most talented to take the first step. You're lucky I saved you from that stagnant Order," Revan continued.
…Moving much too close.
Her gasp was loud, yet Revan ignored it. "With you at my side, no one will stop us."
What?
"You will be my future apprentice. The shining example of the Orders' lies. All that was denied will be given to you. Entire planets will burn as a tribute to you. I will give you everything you've ever desired, Bastila Shan."
Horribly, she remembered awful holovids snuck onto the Enclave by Padawans, and the various courting gestures she had seen. Something about flowers and chocolates. Distantly recalling vague hints of this, of certain young Jedi Padawans that might stare at her for too long, of soldiers making comments before she could clear things up. None of them had any appeal, but even the catcalling of strangers was welcome in comparison to stared down by this Sith Lord and the horror of his flirting. At least she could yell at those idiots.
She wanted to run away. Or vomit. Both. One, then the other.
Was this him being seductive? No wonder for all his talk of leaving the Order, the one closest to him had not been a loyal loving partner, but Malak. Only another fellow monster could deal with this. With that awful smirk.
Apparently for all his abandonment and betray, he was still the man that had been raised by the Jedi Order. And as someone that had grown up in an Enclave as well and seen the ricocheting hormones, Bastila could definitely confirm a certain fact to the galaxy at large: Jedi were taught many things, and flirting was not one of them.
"We will do so much together," he promised, "You will be more than my pupil, Bastila. I will show you how to use those passions they wanted you to deny even having to good use."
Bastila wanted to put that mask back on him.
Something softened on that face. "This is not such a surprise. Brought together as we were. Not solely through the Force but through our mutual attraction."
She had come onboard this ship through acts of sabotage and careful planning. The Force had a hand in everything, yes, but no this. Never this. It would never be so cruel.
"All you risked to meet me…No? You have been watching and following me."
Trying to stop him. From destroying the Republic. Following his trail of destruction in hopes of ending his mad reign of evil.
"Now at this moment, the Force had brought us to meet."
Only a Sith Lord would find this environment conductive to…to romance.
His grin was a hideous thing. "We were meant to be together. We're made for each other, Bastila. You have seen it as well."
She was supposed to sneak Revan close, and slap a neural collar on him, if she couldn't convince him of to join the Order and repent. Use the stun baton at her side on him and take him back. If it came down to it and Revan could not be redeemed, then to use self-defense to end his life as a last resort. And if all of that failed, Bastila was to join him and go undercover, even if it meant having to use her all of her wits, sacrifice her reputation and even her…body if necessary.
Those were her orders, and what she was supposed to do.
Not drive her fist into him so hard using the Force that if he'd been wearing that mask, it would have gone flying, if not as far as the rest of him did. Perhaps not for mere vanity did he wear that mocking imitation of Mandalorian armor on his face, given the severity of the damage that would be found later. Her full strength had put behind it, and it must have been aided by the dark side, the amount of passion she'd had. All the while screaming, "You are the most repulsive man I have ever met!"
Still, Bastila did restrain herself quite a bit for how bad it could have been, she tried to reassure herself, as she dragged him through the hallways and corridors in search of an escape pod. That he seemed incapable of doing anything more than drooling was not her fault, exactly.
Her mission had been to retrieve him alive, after all, and he was technically that.
"The Force fights with me."
It had been a joke. All of it. Her hopes of defeating him, of being victories, so close to helping stop the war, it had all been her ego and not a dream that bordering on being a vision. For this arrogance, Bastila would pay the price.
He would murder her now, and for that Bastila could find peace.
Better to die fighting evil than risk the chance of turning to the dark side as others had.
She would not give him that option, and despite the raw strength of him, her lightsaber was held in one unshaking hand.
"If only you Jedi could understand," Revan said to her, lifting his own weapon, the blade the color of fresh blood. Actually talking to her, this man, once a hero that had made so many doubt the Council. Once, years ago, Bastila would have liked to ask him a thousand questions. That voice. She'd been lucky to have never spoken to him before. He sounded so dry, so sincere that she felt the tug of revulsion for all he was. Die with his mocking voice in her ears as he tainted all around him. The others had at least been spared having to listen to his taunts.
They were at her feet, and she can see the marks on their bodies and a part of her screams out at the blank eyes the gaping mouths the silence of them, no life without the Force, no death only the Force.
"Perhaps you will, in time. It's not too late, Padawan, for you to join me. I can feel the strength in you. It's not too late. Every day is a chance to continue one's learning, my first Master always told me. And we can have so many days together."
"I could say the same for you, Darth Revan. Put down your weapon, and we will return to the temple for judgment."
Bastila had once wanted to fight this man, had that been her, had she ever thought she could defeat this monster?
Did those eyes, hidden, see her resolve? What did they see when they looked at her.
Behind that mask, his lips must be pulled back in whatever passed for a smile.
"A good try. For all of you. But I'm afraid the Force is with me today. As it always is."
Yet, she had been the only one to feel the shiver of a warning before a loose pipe overhead swung free with a hideous creeeeaaaaak to smack the back of his head and send him falling to his knees with the noisy clatter of a lightsaber falling from limp fingers.
"Perhaps he became the Dark Lord out of necessity?"
He took off his mask, waving it about frantically. Bastila tried not to flinch at the gesture, or stare at his face. "Oh, no, you've got it all wrong! I'm not really a Sith, I'm not. Yes, I know I have a red lightsaber. But I've never hurt any Jedi."
He continued on for some time,
"I'll put the lightsaber down here, now.
"Oh, come now, I just kicked it towards you.
"That was Malak that did all those awful things."
"It was." He flapped his hands around wildly, and Bastila ducked out of instinct even as nothing flew at her. "I've been preparing to fight another enemy. The Republic was just caught in the crossfire."
Finally, Bastila could speak. "That's absurd!"
He was strange-looking, perhaps, but not as hideous as she would have thought, considering. The eyes were far from yellow, after all, and through the Force, she felt no deception…but she was after all just a Padawan.
"It's very easy to convince Dark Sided Jedi that you're evil. Just smirk a lot." He was not smirking now. There was sweat on his forehead. "But really, all you need to do is use the Force to convince others. Yes, perhaps it's not the more honorable thing, but at least I've never murdered anyone. In cold blood. In a way that wasn't self-defense. I'm not helping my case, am I?"
A disarming smile only made her grip on her weapon grow tighter.
"I'll come with you. You can even tie me up. Uh. I mean, as your prisoner, you can apprehend me. Not that you couldn't—excuse me, I'm just glad this day has finally come, and that it was you here. I've wanted to meet you for some time."
A trap. Her grip on her weapon tightened.
"I've spent a long time trying to capture you, and explain myself. We just keep prolonging this war. And in general, I've wanted to meet you." His expression was not one of a Sith Lord. But it wasn't one Bastila could recall seeing on the face of any Jedi either. Open, and strangely embarrassed. He had dimples. "I saw what you did to my fleet outside Corellia. When you had them stand down and surrender? It was very brave of you."
"If things were different, I'd shake your hand. No? Alright. Perhaps later, after we've sort this out. Excuse me. It's just a bit exciting to meet a hero. Are you sure that you wouldn't feel better if I was restrained in some manner? A brawl? You know what the Echani say about combat! Excuse me. Was that rude, we should be comfortable together, we will be seeing more of each other in the upcoming future." His hands came together in a soft clap.
"Perhaps it would be better to explain myself. I've become a bit of a fan, I'm afraid. You probably get that a lot. I won't ask for an autograph. It just seems like everything is falling into place for the first time in a long time. Finally free of Malak's watchful eye."
Bastila stopped counting the stars visible on the starboard side exposure. "How do I know you're not just trying to get my guard down?"
"You'll just have to trust me." Revan shrugged. "This has really gotten out of hand anyway. We'll all need to work together to defeat what waits in the Outer Rim."
"What?"
"Not here. We don't have enough time. One of the guards might realize something is amiss and inform Alek. Here, I'll just turn around, slowly, and you can put me in handcuffs."
"I don't have any handcuffs."
"Neutral collars? Stun batons? Just the lightsaber then?" Revan turned back around. Eyes dark and solely human. Deep. His jaw was firm and he looked…like a Jedi Knight from a holo. "You have my word I won't try to escape you, but is that enough for you?
Bastila needed a moment to calm herself. Reflect on choices, and search the Force for any malevolence, anything that could be construed as dangerous. Instead, there was only a gentle patience. I know, I know, but I'm not so bad, am I?
"Really, you can just rip this cloak and use that to restrain me."
"I'm not going to tie you up!"
"Why not?"
She ignored that, just as she did the spreading fires, the soft shaking of the ship, the blooms of light behind him this supposed-Sith Lord. Bastila held her lightsaber, still lit, to his face and watched the golden glow spread across his face. Now, finally, his eyes were the color they should have been. "Jedi Knight Revan, I am placing you under arrest for treason against the Republic."
"I plead not-guilty. Can I request that you represent me at the trial?"
"Wait a minute... I have you to blame for being on that ship?"
Being a soldier so far had been pretty much alright. He hadn't even seen real combat yet. Or needed to do any heavy translation with his life on the line and his boss insisting that he somehow negotiate the offer to 'free' or else they were going out the airlock. And he'd been so scared when the freighter had been captured, the goods confiscated and him and ship mates tossed into the brig told cheerfully that the Republic had found a real use for them and weren't they lucky to be more than mercenary scum?
Kal hadn't been crazy about being a smuggler anyway. Or at least not overly attached. It was too rough a life for a guy with him. Always fearing pirates or a merchant that wanted a fight or bad jump in hyperspace, always unsure of what you were carrying in the cargo hold and if it would kill you, and if this client would be the one to finally decide they wanted their merchandise and to keep their money. He didn't deal well with that stress. It was no way to live for long, and maybe it was a relief to have that choice between walking away or keep going taken away from him maybe.
Being a soldier was kind of fun too. It wasn't as bad as some of the holos showed, even if it wasn't as amazing either. The people were like anyone else, decent but for a few supposed bad apples and if you kept your head down you believed you might even make it out of the war in one piece. Kal made friends easily and he liked this ship. There was less fear of being shot, actually, if you were just a translator, and he didn't even have to help carry things! He didn't mind saluting. Or bowing awkwardly when you saw someone wearing a robe and weren't sure exactly what their rank was.
You could just nod and turn your brain off, drift along.
That's what he'd been doing, ever since he was a kid and still having to listen to his dear mom. There were good people here, and he didn't mind his job. No one yanked him by the ear and told him to listen up or else he was grounded. Besides, he looked good in his uniform.
None of this was as bad as Basic had suggested. Definitely not. Here, no one called him names. Like worthless scum. Maggot. And the drill instructor that had always looked at him like something stuck to their shoes, he sure wasn't around anymore. Kal didn't need to crawl through fences set in the mud as it rained. Less soggy food and hard socks. Running laps, endless painful laps, no more. As he'd argued back then, he was just a translator and none of this was necessary.
He had done some gross things though. Scrubbed some refreshers. Made some bad bets. Made an ass of himself when drunk and hitting on the wrong person. Once or twice. Plenty of people here didn't mind a few moments in an empty bunk. It was even easy. Much easier than hanging around a bar and hoping the person you were talking wasn't going to shoot and rob you the second you closed your door. There were so many people around here with nothing better to do.
Especially at parties where alcohol was up supposed to be absent after a minor victory between multiple Republic ships in some place they weren't supposed to talk about. Really, it would be easy. Nothing serious ever happened, and any rejection could be taken with a shrug.
Anything could really happen at these parties. He felt a renewal of his usual hope and cheer. Kal held his beer, if only literally, and hoped he didn't look too dumb blinking owlishly at his friend. She was almost done trying to talk him out of it. "This is so stupid."
"I'm going to do it," he vowed, again.
"Man, they won't be able to scrape you up."
"She won't." He argued with all the depth of his knowledge of Jedi and of this one in particular. "I don't think she'll kill me."
"You don't know what she can do."
"That just makes it more fun. C'mon, c'mon, she's a Jedi, she won't kill me." They were supposed to be good guys. Unless they went crazy and started a war. Again. But no, she wasn't like that. Those guys wore black and had red lightsabers and yellow eyes and hissed stupid threats and looked half-dead, Kal knew; he had seen vids of them.
He would be brave though. Do something spontaneous and interesting for once in his life. Live a little. He would make the decision for himself and not let someone do that for him. He was going to be brave and go flirt with a pretty girl.
It would be pretty awesome, if anything. All those rumors about Jedi control and celibacy and crazy magic, and how eager they must be to get out of those itchy robes. Even though this one didn't wear some cowl. In fact, she didn't seem to be much like the mystical hermits he'd heard about over the years. She was all very neat and controlled, more like some high-level officer or business executive or university student, with that perfect hair and boots. This one didn't look gibbering or mad at all. Kal had seen her a couple of times, and that was probably enough to tell.
In fact, Kal thought he saw something compassionate in her.
There had been a moment, when he he'd been caught screwing around at the wrong moment and having to scrub toilets, and they had seen each other. She had seen him, and reacted. There had been a look in her eyes. Pity, maybe. Studious pity. A little, uh, creepy, actually, considering he'd last seen that exact look on the face of his crewmates when they watched a nature holo about a three-legged kath hound that had been adopted by a stupid, loving family. Hell, made that expression himself when watching those, particularly when the family came down with a case of mange and rabies.
But it had been a sign of something. Another sign, considering how he'd noticed her staring at him more than one across the room when she'd first come aboard the ship. Clearly, she had been checking him out. Kal should have said something then, even with those dumb gloves on and struggling with his bucket. She wasn't anywhere as cold as the others said, not really. Kal bet she might be sweet, once you got to know her better. Warm. Hot.
Maybe it was that small pert nose. Or something about her cold eyes and that tight dangerous outfit meant for fighting—and she was into him too. No one believed it when Kal told them, but he'd seen her checking him out. And more than once. Like when they would pass in the halls or another inspection would take place. She always had this look on her face, like she wanted to talk to him too but just couldn't find the right words. Well, Kal could do all the talking and hell, there really didn't need to be very much of that anyway.
"She's like that blockade on Corellia: no one gets in." His friend made an obscene gesture that should have gotten her a visit from a superior officer.
Instead, all she got was Kal poking his tongue into his cheek and giving her a knowing look. "Didn't I tell you I was the best smuggler this side of Corellia?"
Dark purplish eyebrows contracted. "Didn't you get captured and forced into joining the Fleet?"
"…aren't you the one that drools over that pilot?"
She had too much dignity to be insulted by him, some reject smuggler that had a thing for an uptight, possibly dangerous Jedi. "I have a better shot than you do. Besides, so what if he rejects me? I'll just mess with his fuel tank and take of that. What are you going to do? Get murdered."
"We'll see about that."
He grabbed another beer. She didn't have alcohol, but would need it, he reasoned. They would have a drink like any two people, like they were normal, and then…whatever. Whatever Jedi could do. He breathed. Then he went to her, finally.
…Even if he couldn't remember her full name at this moment. The scary Jedi. This scary Jedi that he was currently approaching, coming closer, and closer, an iceberg, a meteorite flashing before his eyes and he couldn't stop his feet.
Krif. What the hell was her name again? Bah—Bah? Bas. Bast something something. Bast something. Or maybe something Bast.
Eh. He could figure it out later.
Maybe he could play it off. Haha, who are you again? Like he didn't know. Like he did know. Whatever her name was, she was not a thrilled to be here. It was all over that wary, young face. If not bitter, then uncomfortable. If she stooped to their level and felt emotion. They had pushed her into this. Demanded that the fleet commander be here as they celebrated, relax, you're the hero, we owe you so much, everything. You must attend. For the troops, it would be said. All straight backed in a chair against the wall, nearly right up against it. Surrounded by no one. There seemed to be space cleared around her.
Her head was down, and her discomfort was apparent from ten yards away. He can nearly see those thoughts, read her feelings like a lit datapad. She didn't like this music, she disliked the taste of the alcohol and hated when people grew intoxicated, she could only just handle the curious, worshipful glances from the soldiers, she wanted this to be over with, she wanted her quiet little room and her bed with its sheets neatly made.
Kal nearly stopped.
Sometimes, you will actually come face to face with a person you thought you had a chance with. Inevitably, you will be unable to come up with a single witty line. Sometimes, too, the moment will last a very long time. You will be stuck there, exploring purgatory, and you will suddenly become very conscious of your hair and the size of your nose and the last time you had looked at a mirror.
What the hell was he thinking? She was some head Jedi, known throughout the Republic for killing Sith and having special powers to win entire battles. The entire Republic relied on her. He was a soldier drafted through threat of prison time, and with features that might be called 'striking' (yes that was the word) if someone wanted to be nice, and he definitely didn't have the clean sharp looks of a Holo star that she would clearly only deign to be interested in.
But it was too late then. Like an iriaz that smelled a kath in the air, she looked up. Wide-eyed and alarmed. He couldn't have ducked and pretended this second beer was for this random guy right there. Hey buddy. It was really, really too late. Fight or flight. He tripped over his feet and just barely managed to avoid spilling beer on her.
There was eye contact.
That one mutual long look, the cheesiest thing, but the music dropped away and the people turned to furniture to be sidestepped. Her face cleared a little, her arms uncrossed, and you could read a lot into that. You. It's you.
It was delightful, wonderful sunshine and baby gizka vids. You know who I am? Yes, Kal nearly nodded. Oh yeah it's me.
Up close, krif, she looked even better. Those long dark eyelashes and blue eyes, and those small hands and that dangerous weapon at her side. Pretty. Sexy. Those legs could make him believe there was some magic force out there that controlled everything and that yes, it made him approach her. Fate. They would hookup and then get a long successful relationship full of mindblowing magic sex, have the honeymoon at Corellia, and wind up with three kids; he'd make his purple-haired idiot friend give the speech at the wedding and she and the pilot could babysit those kids. What was a Jedi wedding like? Meditation and glow sticks and tea. What?
Shen (that was it, her last name, Commander Shen) swallowed loudly. Then looked annoyed.
"Thank the Force you're here! I was afraid no one would ever rescue me from this mess! Can you believe how boring this all is? I think I would have died if you weren't around." He held a hand to his heart and looked deep into her blue, blue eyes…that were actually grey but never mind that. Not like he'd written the poetry down or anything.
Oh damn, she didn't get it. He was a weirdo and she needed to escape. She was still armed. Oh god. Kal held his hands up. "Let me try again: hey there."
"Hello." She nodded at him slowly. She was speaking to him!
That accent nearly toppled him over. Clipped and professional, and haughty and the voice of some woman that had somewhere important to be. Mmm, that voice. Kal could get used to it. He wanted to poke her. Say something else. Maybe purr it. Right by my ear. Say my name, nice and slow. But you couldn't ask that, not yet, and she probably didn't know his name anyway.
That wasn't a bad start, not really. No one had gotten stabbed with a laser sword. He hadn't actually spilled anything on her (except maybe a few drops on her boots). No big angry spouse around to get in the way. There were way worse ways for two people to meet.
Even with this awkward silence starting to grow larger and larger.
Kal tried to leap that distance and reach her. "You're not drinking?"
The pale eyes glanced at what he was holding. "I don't drink alcohol."
Don't look down. "Is that a Jedi thing…?"
All neat and distant. Kind of staring him down. Taking him in. "No. I simple choose to not drink."
"Oh." He nodded and raised his eyebrows, tried to look sophisticated and handsome. "Interesting."
Even though it wasn't, everyone had been right, she had been a total nerd, the buzzkill dork, and all the more charming for it. She was charming, he chose to believe. Kal wanted to know more. Ask her a million things just to get a reply back because it was so satisfying.
Could Jedi read minds, after all? She looked annoyed suddenly, discomforted. Trying to not be freaked out. But if she could read his mind, Shin would have run right the krif out of there.
Kal knew why she felt that way though. He could see into those grey eyes and into her soul. It wasn't her fault. She was edgy, and new to all of this. A little afraid of how she felt. That someone would see them and figure it out, and maybe she might get in trouble with the other Jedi for it. He was the dangerous smuggler trying to redeem himself and find his place. She was the upright commanding officer. It was all pretty simple. There were holos about this sort of thing.
Assuming everything went well. They would mess around and then get dressed and leave. It wouldn't have to be awkward the next time they met. People did it all the time, and Kal swore now that he wouldn't brag or tell anyone about hooking up with the Jedi. No one would believe him anyway. She was the Commander, after all. Even though Shun seemed…alright. Not crazy, especially from a warrior monk with magic powers. Young and hotter up close and maybe a little new at this but not stupid and all the more adorable for being nervous.
Though, if he messed up and got bounced from the Republic fleet, he might face jail time…
Commander Shen just watched him, eyes sometimes darting into the crowd for some way out.
He really could read her mind. It was like magic. 'What is he doing here? Why is he hanging around me? Force, but is he ever drunk.'
This could be awkward.
This could go very badly, Kal realized.
Now she was trying to close the silence. A merciful angel and never say that aloud. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah, sure. I just wanted to get to know you better."
"Why?"
Because I wanted to see what's up with this Jedi thing. Because you're pretty. I like your accent. Where are you from?
"I just wanted to." The cups in his hands were sweaty. The beer was getting lukewarm, and foamy.
"I see."
"Because we never talked," Kal stabbed out. "But maybe we should? Since we work together now."
"That does makes sense." She sounded reluctant. "I see no harm in that."
They were connecting.
Her posture was perfect. Her hair was perfect. Good gods. How was her back so stiff? At this hour, with no one paying attention? Yet her posture was perfect. And her posterior too. He bet. He hadn't actually seen it, really. What was with that leather there? Was it nerf? Was that makeup. Must be. Sure. Or maybe she was just naturally perfect? What did she do on this ship anyway? Like. What she actually did. Jedi magic? Was she a pilot? General inspiration of the crew; if you did something right she smiled at you and it was all worth this war.
"You are drunk." She looked like she had never seen someone pissed before, even though behind her there was beer pong going on. "Aren't you? Are you sure you should be drinking?"
"Why not?"
She looked confused. "Don't you have duty soon?"
"Not for awhile." We have hours. "I can handle it." Kal smiled right at her. "I can handle lots of things."
Those eyes were narrowing. "I'm sure."
Maybe his friend had been wrong all along: maybe she was into 'slumming'? Handsome soldiers with stubble and rough hands and alcohol on their breath that made them all the more attractive. Kal was willing to believe that about her. And Kal was willing to believe he was those things.
The soldier gave Shen his best smile, slow and tight. "You want to get out of here?"
"Yes. I would rather not be here."
He nearly fell over. He really was the luckiest person in the galaxy. No one would ever believe him. Jedi really were freaks, but in a good way. "Really? Your room or mine?"
She blinked in confusion. "Mine of course. Why would I go to yours?"
Hers did have more privacy. But he had to continue with his best smile, "I think you know why."
"No, I don't."
The important thing was to be alone with her. To work his charm. They had all wondered about the Jedi that were assigned on ships, and supposed rules on celibacy and what they could do with that Force stuff. All self-righteous and mysterious. How they were never allowed to party and so were all wound up. Now he was about to find out the truth. "Well, I guess we can go to yours."
It would be a little awkward with her being stone sober, but nothing that couldn't be dealt with. Just grab a few cups before they left.
"Why would we go to my room?" There was frost in that snooty voice.
He replayed their conversation. Oh. Oh, no.
Oh, damnit.
Commander Shun was all sheltered, and needed further explanation. Gentle, light explanation and not detailed fantasies that had popped into his head from the moment he'd seen her and heard her voice. When he had asked her name and tried to find out exactly what she did on this ship, only to be reprimanded for not shining his boots enough. Her so annoyed at something Kal didn't know.
Wait. How much did Jedi know about that stuff?
Kal tried again. "So we can hook up a power coupling?"
He still didn't know what she did on the ship, he realized again.
"There's something wrong with the power?" Her dark eyebrows drew inward. "You should take to the maintenance crew then."
The smuggler might have to go into detail. Was that what she wanted? Flirt, a little back-and-forth before the real foreplay. Kal could picture her being the type to corner a man and take charge. He put down one cup, and turned to her, and wished he wasn't so honest. "You know what I mean? Hook up? While everyone's busy here? We don't have to tell anyone about it. I won't file a report, you know."
He was making an ass out of himself, but couldn't stop. Somehow, Kal ended up sitting right next to her, right next to her, and mysteriously, his hands were becoming clammy. "I happen to like you, and I've seen you checking me out. Am I being too forward here? I can't help it. You're really the most beautiful woman in the room. In any room."
That mouth was slowly widening, and the eyes were growing huge, alarmed, frightened, confused. Terrified.
Why the hell was his hand reaching for her knee? How the hell did that get there, on her leg like that? Oh, it was warm and smooth through the leggings she wore. "I've wanted to get to know you better ever since we met."
You could see the bulb going off. Lighting up and the temperature increasing. Watch the glass shatter and fly all over the room.
The Jedi literally recoiled from him.
An entire foot away.
Right up against the wall, which she nearly scratched the paint from as she began to hyperventilate. Her teeth were perfect too. Square and white and gritted. "I am afraid you are very badly mistaken."
"Really?"
"I never—I never made a pass at you. How could you think that?"
But she always stared at him every time they passed—Maybe she was disgusted. Oh, krif, maybe she really could read minds?
Kal should have listened to his friend. Why hadn't he listened to her? She was going to cut him in half and he wouldn't even run.
He removed his hand from her relative vicinity.
They stared at each other for a long, long moment.
Sometimes, too, you will wish you had only embarrassed yourself badly by vomiting all over your shirt and then passing out. You might one day long for the alternative universe where you had done that. You might wish, just briefly, that you had taken the prison sentence instead of being here.
"I'm sorry.
"Really. I apologize.
"Normally I'm more gentlemanly. I am."
She was turned away from him, still pale. "I believe you." But she didn't. She didn't at all.
You didn't need to read minds to know that. Still, Bastila let him linger around her, and act like the sack of self-pity he was.
"I swear, I'm not this drunk pig that goes around hitting on women all the time."
Kal finished his beer. Then hers.
Then he found a few more.
"I'm not."
"I believe you." She was grimacing, making sure to keep a healthy distance between them.
It would have been a good idea to return to the party. To run, to flee, back into the loving arms of his laughing friends that would never let him live this down. 'You did what to Commander Shyn? Bantha droppings. No way. No way.' They might believe he had approached her, if only it meant he'd been painfully rejected. But instead he had stayed to try and calm Bastila down, and now he wasn't entire sure he could get up. And stumbling away from her seemed worse somehow. Maybe she would leave, and forget about him? Maybe she would hook up with that tall soldier over there, with the longer hair and nicer smile. Yeah, he looked more her type. Jerk.
He slumped, lower and lower.
"Are you alright?"
"Fiiine."
Kal watched certain people making eye contact, teasing, joking. Leaving. Jerks.
"Just fine."
Jedi Shine wanted to leave, but didn't know how. To even get out of this corner involved maneuvering closer to him, and she couldn't risk that.
He wanted to cry. The Jedi had seen him at his most embarrassing. He was going to be forced to scrub the floors tomorrow, hungover, and never be able to look the Commander in the eye again. Yet he held back his tears. "You can just leave me here."
Her spine became a little straighter. "I'm afraid I cannot. You are a soldier on this ship, and your safety is paramount."
"I'm not going to choke on my own vomit. I'm not that drunk." But it came out slurred, lost half the consonants on the way out, and she looked even more worried.
"You need help back to your quarters." It was a question, maybe. Or maybe she was looking for an excuse to be alone with him. Yeah. Maybe. …Was that dread on her face? What was that? Well, he could didn't need her to show him where his room was, he could just pass out here! He still had his dignity, he didn't need to be insulted.
Kal stood, he stumbled, but she caught him. She was very strong. Muscles and it was kinda thrilling to know that he could collapse on her and she would drag him to safety. She could carry him on her back like a Wookie. Her skin was pale against her dark brown, auburnish hair. Brass and brown. Kal nearly wanted to nuzzle against her neck, but knew better.
She helped him step over passed out guards. "Never again." She was huffing. Her hands were small, but mighty. "This is ridiculous."
Kal felt very safe with this Jedi.
Thank you. Mm, thanks.
Her eyes, narrow and light, looked into his. "You are welcome."
Had he said that aloud, or could she really read minds?
"We Jedi can't actually read thoughts, usually. The Force allows us to mostly sense another's emotions and intentions."
Oh.
Uh-oh.
But she did not let him drop.
They finally ran into a sober soldier in the hallway as she helped him rediscover his legs. He saluted them both. Kal didn't dare attempt returning the move. So what if he got in trouble later. "Commander Shan."
Who?
Damnit.
Shan stood a little further from him and Kal teetered. "I am escorting this soldier back to his room."
Something flickered on the man's face. It was judgment. "I see. Carry on then."
There might be rumors later, but Shan didn't know that. Or didn't care. She continued to just act dignified while half dragging Kal through the halls. Admirable. Commander Shan was adorable and nice to him.
"Is that what you're doing? Escorting me?" Kal gave her a warm look. Maybe the evening wasn't ruined after all.
It was sort of funny to watch the blood leaving her face. And how she tried to play it off, all while swallowing deeply and looking away. Haha, she was horrified by him. Yeah, that was great, hilarious, awesome. Oh, why hadn't he listened to his friend? Kal just barely managed to keep from weeping on the Jedi's shoulder.
Well. At least she didn't actually know his name, probably. Maybe we'll never see each other again. She's famous. She'll go somewhere else, and probably will never tell anyone about this, ever. Maybe, in her autobiography. That's how the book would open. With a joke. Being nothing more than footnote and a joke in history sounded about right for Kal.
Shan picked up the pace. "Is this your room?"
"Sure."
Well, he'd taken a Jedi back to his room, and so that was a victory. Good enough. He had also never puked on anyone before, but there was always a first time. Maybe she would read thoughts, or just noticed how sick he looked, cause the Jedi was spinning him around and pushing him away.
Kal fell for roughly forever.
It didn't hurt that much.
The ground wasn't so hard. This was probably his room. He looked up at her boots. Perfectly shined. Everywhere was comfortable when you were unconscious. But someone was tugging him up, grumbling. Grabbing his arm and bringing it around her shoulder. Sorry, sorry. She was way stronger than she looked. Killing Sith with her bare hands. That's what she did. He laughed into her hair.
The short Jedi shoved him away from her again.
But he landed on something softer than the ground.
Sheets and a pillow, somewhere. Somewhere.
This was his bed, probably.
Kal realized he was on his stomach. He tried to get up, to turn around and face her. Say 'goodnight' and 'thanks.' Or maybe ask if she was free sometime. Her room number. Yeah. That was it. He just needed to get up. Smile and act friendly. Yet his body did not move. "Huhn."
Shan grabbed him by his tunic. It was not to rip it off. She rolled him to his side, and checked on his breathing, apparently afraid he really was drunk enough to choke on his own vomit. He giggled into his pillow. "I just can only hope you will be sober tomorrow, and can reflect on your poor behavior this evening. And…please, in the future refrain from making any advances towards me. And please stop drinking to excess. Your health is nothing to take lightly."
"Huwah?"
"Never mind."
"Hopefully in the morning you won't remember this. Like everything else." She snorted. "If only I couldn't remember."
Huh? "Huw."
The Jedi was huffing. She looked so pretty and tall, even though she wasn't tall at all. Short and small, and kind and nice and still pretty. She was a Jedi, and so strange, so wonderful and kind; she had saved him. Now she was startled, looking around him, at his face. Her hand rose, almost touching her chin. Alarmed. Her eyes weren't exactly blue. "Good night, Kal."
Everything was slipping away.
He would forget, repress most of the night by the horrible time morning came, when his friends demanded details on where he'd gone, when he was chewed out by his jerk of a boss for not saluting and was sent back to scrubbing the refreshers. Kal would not even quite recall what he'd said, or which Jedi he might have flirted with. The exact details would elude him. He would not even be able to guess whether or not he had been the one to pull the blankets around him.
He wouldn't even remember that he had never told that Jedi his name.
"So you've drawn me into your little trap, Bastila."
She hadn't even the time to mourn for the others.
Friends and acquaintances, woman and men she'd served with. They had not known each other well, and never would. Only briefly had she even met that young man there, a Padawan like her. The older man with the long hair and mustache that always told her that she had to be protected above all else, and the only other woman that had been here, red hair and steely eyes. Names half-forgotten. Yet she had to move on. Even grief was an attachment.
She still lived and they had completed their mission, it seemed.
Now might be the time to leave.
Yet Bastila had to move closer to make sure, to see if he still drew breathe after all, if he could be…
With one glance, Bastila knew he would not be any help. On his back, hands to the side. She had felt it through the Force, the connection suddenly severed inside him, as though a door had swung shut and blocked out all sounds within.
He looked utterly pathetic.
Fallen, again.
A pool of fresh blood trickling through the armor. His mask was so easily removed. Just a thing of polished metal and smooth straps that kept it in place. A man that could bleed.
A man.
The dark side had left its mark on that face. One that had been hidden for so many years, against so many of his enemies, a list that spiraled as the war continued. Features gone oddly soft like a corpse that had been left to decompose in water. Grey skin, veined, and yellow eyes, glazed, and she saw nothing flicker in them when she stared down.
Something rushed through her stomach, a twinge, pity and sorrow. You were supposed to be the hero of the Republic.
Was that what made her reach out through the Force?
Alive. She could feel him, dim and flickering, and she raised her hand to shelter it.
Save it.
The last two survivors.
A moment: of cupping his life through the Force, of wondering, of deciding.
Yes.
Bastila pulled him upright, to her side. Heavier than she would have thought. The armor must have added weight. His hair clumped with blood, dark, and his head rolled limply on his neck. Mouth open, and eyes still unseeing. Alive, still, but barely. More red on his forehead. Using the Force, she could pull him along and get them to Republic space.
Soon.
Around them, the world shuddered and reminded all onboard that they were in ship of metal that could be harmed.
She kicked away his lightsaber, wishing he had been the one to do that and spare everyone so much grief. Where was her own—belatedly, she realized that her lightsaber had slipped away, fallen somewhere.
Clutching him to her side, dragging him, trying not to shudder at the contact. He still breathed, and the sensation of that against her exposed neck was nauseating.
It wasn't far.
Not so far.
Bodies scattered, with less blood on them than Revan. Lightsaber wounds did not bleed. Bastila gripped her (captive, victim, prisoner, patient?) by his waist and did not look at the dead soldiers too closely. So many of them, and she had not personally killed all of them, had not put them in this place, but it was hard not to feel some guilt. At the least, she was helping not common soldiers but the man that had started the war and put them in this situation.
Left and away from the heart of the ship, until she heard others.
"There. Go there, fool."
"It's Malak!"
"Of course it is. He's finally turned against his Master."
"Does Revan still—"
"It doesn't matter. We have to find the escape pods."
"But…"
"Do you want to take your chances on this ship?"
Cowards. She rejoiced even as she hope they would flee for their lives. For a moment, Bastila didn't feel his breath, soft and weak. Six of them? Could she handle six of them while Revan slumped against her? She turned around, the best she could.
Another way then. Deeper into the ship.
Faster, this time.
Hanging from his belt was the second lightsaber he was known for. The one he hadn't deigned to draw when the Jedi had approached him. Disgusting, to hold this weapon. Through the Force, she could feel its echoes, pain and efficient skills. If she turned it on, would it spill out a red light, or was this his other blade, the amethyst one so peculiarly. A good weapon, well balanced, Revan would not have used it so much if it were not.
Awkwardly, she held in her right hand, the same arm that clutched the Sith Lord to her. Nearly touching his back, just to make sure that he didn't try anything, and while Revan might be skilled with either hand, Bastila had never been able to build up enough strength in her off-hand.
It was a rounded ship. Two ways in and out, she hoped. Any second the blasts from Malak's own ships would overpower the shields here, or the scattered Siths would find the ship she and the other Jedi had snuck onboard in.
Here. A door that had managed to closed, streaming sparks from the panel on the right. Broken from what rocked the ship, and from perhaps a blade gripped by a careless hand. Fixable? Workable? Was there a code? She would never have time to figure that out.
Hand prints? Of course Revan had some security in effect.
It took a second of struggling to remove the gauntlet, the glove.
His hand was disturbingly warm in hers. Stretch out his fingers. Clean, the veins on the backs of his hands prominent as the ones on his face, but the nails ragged and down to the quick. Had he bit them? What made someone like Revan so anxious? Did he know the Jedi would be coming for him, that his apprentice was not to be trusted?
A flash of silver and black, a soldier stepped out from the room to the right, completely unannounced by the Force that seemed to have abandoned her at this point.
"Master Revan! Lord Malak has—"
She could not attack him. Weaponless. Use the Force to incapacitate him? Force convince him to leave? Her concentration was diverted towards Revan and his shattered body. Even her right side, her good right hand that held the lightsaber, was occupied by his presence. He was practically draped over her, depending on her to hold him up, head on her shoulder.
"Leave us."
Her voice. Her accent. The soldier would see right through this. The lightsaber in her hands.
He must have seen their hands.
Krif.
A bow, despite the alarms sounding. "Yes, Master. I'll leave you two be." All but running and not taking any double-takes or stares back.
What?
Why had he believed that?
—Why had he believed that?
What had Revan been doing?
No. Bastila had to put that aside. Let that go as well, and make it back to the ship. With him.
Maybe, maybe she could ask him about that, should they survive this. She could ask him all sorts of things. About his Empire, about how he had lost himself, how he got all those ships, everything. He would explain everything to her—to the Jedi Council.
There was that hallway. This ship was of Republic make after all. She knew where to go from here.
Just a little longer, she asked of the ship, please just hold together a bit longer.
Revan seemed to be gaining weight with every step. Sirens screeched around them, nearly blocking out Bastila's heartbeat and the sound of her boots.
Just a little bit longer.
Now which one?
Here, something whispered. There.
Bastila nearly smiled. The Force. Then she had to drag Revan inside, getting far too close to the Sith. Thankfully, he was still concussed and only semi-conscious.
The door closed with a neat hiss.
She had done exactly what she a Jedi would have. Yes. …Hadn't she? They had been told to capture Revan, to bring him back to the Jedi, to the light side. With his help, the Republic could win this war. With his defeat, the Sith might crumble and implode. She looked at that broken face.
He did not look to be ready to help anyone with anything.
Even himself.
She stared, mouth a little open at the full extent of his injuries. What she could make out through the blood, anyway.
There were some teeth there. Partially. Black drool spilled over his split lower lip (He was a man, yes?) and black blood ran from a broken nose. That jaw might be broken, those cheekbones misshapen. Those eyes, half-massed, might have once been brown or blue or green, but were an unseeing clouded amber now. There were hints of gold in there. They seemed to know something, as they studied an object only he could see. She could not look away.
Until—the ship was given an abrupt shove sideways.
The world twisted and bobbed. Bastila nearly landed right on top of Revan and saw stars and black flowers bloom in her eyes. Thankfully, the sharp turn had sent the Sith flying sideways as well. Jedi did not hold grudges, especially for things their imagination conjured up. Still, she felt the slightest bit of satisfaction at him lying there, face down, backside in the air.
Bastila had time to feel the corners of her mouth turn, to feel the wild, unstable elation and desire to throw back her head to laugh-and then she had to catch Revan as the pod spun around and sent them both colliding into each other.
"You must have banked a turn too sharply, because it sounds like all the blood has rushed from your brain!"
Huh. So, this was a Jedi? This was what he'd been the last week chasing around and hoping to save? This is what Malak wanted so much?
The only other Jedi he'd seen had a laser sword, an unusually plain outfit without a single piece of armor, and had been fighting a Sith before dying in one of the explosions that had rocked the ship. She had been brave, that nameless young woman, and losing her been a bad sign—before Trask also heroically, tragically sacrificed himself to try and save Kal.
This one stood, listless, in a cage surrounded by surly guards. Her forehead nearly touched the bars. Somehow, miraculously, she looked both unharmed, and her hair perfectly coifed. It was reassuring, in its odd way, and he decided he still believed in this supposedly-vital Jedi that would save the Republic and defeat Malak and make rainbows and sunshine appear on stormy days.
Some Jedi.
This one was younger than that one that had died on the Endor Spire, almost unsettlingly so considering how important she was to everyone. Paleish olive-skin and a delicate nose. Maybe she'd been strong-looking but she seemed a little too thin, with that glazed look in blue eyes from that heavy-looking collar around her thin neck. Oh, kinda attractive, if you were into that sort of thing. And Kal decided he would not be. That outfit was just embarrassing though. Kal saw shoulder blades and a collarbone and lower, and would not be gross about it.
Kal decided to pity her. Look at her. A beautiful caged bird that needed his help. Well, she could rest easy now. Kal was here, and soon this disaster would be over for them both. His grin was hearty and eager, that of a man used to getting his way and knowing any reservations could be worked around. He spoke very clearly, even though she couldn't understand a word. "My name is Kal, and I'm here to rescue you."
Then she was looking up, those eyes suddenly not so glazed and not so blue, she was determine and not pissed, even as she was reaching out with something invisible and bashed the Vulkar's head into her cage bars, even as her hand slipped out lightning fast to grab a weapon. Yellow, gold and sunshine, spilled out and lit the world, twice. The cage door flew open and she was threatening scumbags and spinning around, oh, gods, Kal wanted to warn the gang members to watch out, he wanted to yell to everyone including himself to run, because damn.
Jedi were kind of badass.
"Perhaps you can help me. And I will try to help you if I can."
Bastila had spent hours meditating before his body. She had been there when they'd pasted together his new face. His continued existence had lost all novelty. At the Master's questions, the Padawan had assured them that she was prepared to deal with meeting Revan.
It had not been a lie, but rather, an over-estimation.
Or, perhaps, Bastila had been prepared to deal with Revan, and not this man, this soldier, that had just saluted her and handed her a mug of caffe and a datapad.
Seeing him was more effective at waking her than any amount of caffeine.
Her mouth automatically worked before her brain could. For once, that was not a bad thing. "Hello."
So much of his facial skin been peeled away with his mask. The dark side had left deep scars on that puckered flesh. Eventually, as surgeries to reconstruct the bones and tissue and his teeth, his hair had begun to finally grow back, and they all learned that it turned out that he might look even worse with a patchy growth of beard. Even Master Vrook had winced at that, as the Council had inspected him before trying to piece together more of his shattered psyche and skull.
Now he smiled at her. "Hi."
Revan. Smiling at her.
She nearly fumbled with what he handed her. Nearly spilled the boiling caffe all over herself, and wouldn't that make a fine scene. She found a seat near the front, leaving Revan behind, and refused to look back at him. Calmness and peace must be found, and just reminding herself of that fact helped Bastila. If she panicked every time she saw him, surely the soldier would get suspicious.
Revan.
He hadn't recognized her. He hadn't. Of course not. What was his name now, how could she have forgotten it, when she'd helped create it. That was the name she had to keep fresh in her mind. No slip ups; Force forbid she refer to him by the wrong name.
It was difficult to turn back to the datapad.
He was sitting behind her. Bastila needed to concentrate on this presentation. Yes, the Sith forces, all those vast amounts of ships that needed to be dealt with, that commander right there, exactly...
But her back was to him, and who was to say her presence hadn't awoken some remnant of his past, some stirring of memory? Just one little look. Just to make certain that he was alright. It was her job, her true mission, to make sure that Revan did not return in that healed body and run amok. She just had to steel herself and remember him half-drowned like a swamp rat in the sonic shower, or (better yet), him face down on the table with his bowl of oatmeal on his head after one mishap involving trying to get Revan to feed himself. One look, and then she could avoid his presence again. Through her eyelashes, over her shoulder, Bastila gave him a quick stare.
He stared back at her. Legs crossed with the knees together, comfortable. Head cocked and eyebrows rose politely and he looked right into her eyes and treated her to the reassuring fact that his eyes weren't yellow anymore. Had he been waiting for her, had he known she would want to see him, had he been staring at her? The slightest movement on that face that might have been almost confusingly smug. There was nearly audible friction in the spare air between them, and she quickly turned back around.
…had he just—no. Surely not.
He no longer had any memories, could not know what he'd done or who'd he been or her role to play in his downfall and change. Her imagination had simple gotten out of control, again. An overactive imagination is unbecoming to a Jedi, as her Master had warned her about countless times. Keep your mind on this moment here, Padawan. Why would he have done that, after all? She had been mistaken. Simple as that.
Bastila could manage to fight a Sith Lord, and could even handle rescuing one and then serving onboard the same ship as him.
But she couldn't live with the thought that the man that had once been Revan might have just winked at her.