A/N: I simply cannot play the Knights of the Old Republic games without a notepad nearby. Honestly. My hard drive is full of drabbles and dabbles and other miscellaneous tidbits that came flying out of the game and onto my little bits of paper. I had always planned on writing a walk-through, but every time I sit down to attempt to quilt everything together, it doesn't work very well, and I keep realizing that my little stories work so much better on their own. So enter this motley collection. I hope you enjoy. -Sh1 n0 M1k0

A Quiet Thing

DSF Exile, Disciple

"It is such a quiet thing - to fall. But a far more terrible thing is to admit it."

() )) )) )):::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::o o:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::(( (( (( ()

She was beautiful.

Disciple watched the Exile sleep, entranced with the way her unnaturally pale skin seemed to glow in the darkness. Her dark hair spilled over her pillow, and strands fell gently across her face. He noticed the way her fingers curled slightly on the covers and how her lips parted, breathing easily.

Almost innocent.

Silently he crept forward, barely breathing for fear of waking this fallen angel. She sighed softly, and he froze as she readjusted herself and curled further under the thin blanket. Tenative fingers reached out slowly, gently brushing the rebellious strands of hair away from her face.

Quietly, he worshipped her - the line of her nose, the angle of her jaw, the fullness of her lips...

Again he reached to her, this time to lightly trace the curve of her ear. It was times like these that he treasured. She was always so distant - so unattainable. Even before the war. It was moments like this that he allowed himself to dream - to hope that someday she might look up and see him there, standing beside her and realize exactly how much she meant to him.

She silently stirred once more. He relaxed as her breathing remained slow and constant, cursing himself for such a foolish weakness. He loved her. The kind of desperate, hopeless love that a follower could hold for an untouchable goddess. Consuming. Disciple realized grimly that he would do anything for her - follow her to his death if she demanded it even. He was hers, totally and completely, and she could do no wrong in his eyes.

Disciple turned from her sleeping form, vowing that he'd never trespass upon her again. The same promise he made every night that he felt drawn to her quarters to watch her sleep. The same promise he could never keep. As he stepped toward the door, a sleepy voice stopped him.

"Mical?" Allyn sat where he had left her, blanket pooled about her waist. The robe she wore was two sizes too big and had fallen down her shoulder, giving him a clear view to the line of her neck and the cut of her collarbone. He blushed.

"I - I'm dreadfully sorry. I shouldn't have -" His stammering died in his throat as she pushed the cover to the side and slid off the bunk. His attention was drawn to the small, knowing smile that never seemed to leave her face, and the fact that the robe she wore was also one of his own. He swallowed hard as she padded toward him.

"Is something wrong?"

The expression on her face was concerned as his tongue continued to stick thickly in his mouth.

Mical coughed and tried again.

"N- no. There's nothing wrong. I just - I didn't mean -"

Her finger was cool against his lips, silencing him, "It's alright." Allyn smiled up at him for a moment before slowly rising on tiptoe to kiss him. Mical clutched her tightly, pouring his devotion into the gesture. And in that moment - that perfect moment - he could forget everything.

He could forget the looks on the faces of the innocents that had died on their quest. He could forget the gleeful way that this woman would charge into battle. Forget how brown her eyes used to be. Forget how the life seemed to be leeching out of her, leaving nothing but a hateful corpse. Forget how unfeeling and spiteful she could be, pitting her crewmembers against each other for her favor. Forget what a monster this lovely creature really was.

Forget. And drown in all the dark promises she stood for, all the temptations that she would waggle in front of his face every time she walked into the room. He was hers, and she could do no wrong in his eyes.

After they parted, she smiled at him again, that knowing smirk that held so little and hid so much, and reached for his hand.

"Come to bed."

And ever-so-quietly, he fell.

Disclaimer: No ownies.