A/N: This chapter is the second half of the original chapter 1. I decided that it was a little too overwhelming in once piece and broke it down into two. There have been a few minor edits, but is otherwise the same as it was. Chapter 3 is new though!
In spite of the fact that his ship was at least three times the size of hers, the main room was much more cramped than her own living space. Against every wall, crates were stacked, evidence of his apparently thriving trade. He escorted her to the small table in a corner with only a circular booth for seating and busied himself making the caffa as she slid into the booth.
"It's not often we see a woman of your skills out here," he chatted, breaking the silence, "most of our women are farmers, or cantina rats."
She chuckled softly, "at least I've not been declared a cantina rat, yet…well, not by you anyhow."
"After the performance you gave tonight, I think there aren't too many people out there who would dare to insult you, for fear of invoking your wrath." She grinned wryly as he set the mugs on the table in front of her, and finally removed his coat, draping it over a nearby crate with a heavy clank.
Her heart caught in her throat as his tight short sleeved shirt showed off his well muscled chest and arms. She quickly grabbed the cup of caffa and took a quick gulp in order to try to distract her from his suddenly overwhelming presence.
He slid into the small booth across from her, his knees brushing against hers as he tried to fold them into the cramped space. She gulped as the rest of her body froze involuntarily.
He shook his head at her in amusement, "So, I'm guessing all those rumors you hear about jedi being celibate are true…" She flicked her gaze up to his eyes and then quickly back down to her caffa, nodding. "Damn, that seems a shame…" he added nonchalantly.
She looked at him again, puzzled, "A shame? Emotional attachments are dangerous." She said as if from wrote memorization.
"Mmmm, that they are…" he agreed with a smirk as his fingertips lightly caressed her closest hand, "but," he continued with a grin, "what's that got to do with sex?"
She almost choked on her caffa in shock, "I… uhh…" she stammered with bewilderment as his rich laugh broke out again.
"One thing's for sure, I never thought teasing a jedi could be this much fun," he said over his mug.
"Ah," she said with a smirk, "You would be right there… if I were still a Jedi, I wouldn't be here for you to tease, would I?"
He harrumphed into his caffa, "I suppose not." A look of curiosity crossed his face and she could see the question forming on his lips.
"I was exiled," she blurted out before he could ask the question, "for following Revan to war." He nodded, another question forming on his tongue and she cut him off again. "I haven't felt the force since…Malachor" she said the last word so softly he almost couldn't make it out, but when he finally did the realization that she had been present at that nightmare of a battle shook through him. He gripped her hand comfortingly.
"I'm sorry," he said, unsure what else to say.
She shrugged helplessly. "I'm getting used to it." She said simply as he patted her hand. She shirked from his sympathy, however. "I'd rather be ogled than pitied." She added flippantly trying to lighten the mood back up.
He grinned, "Well, there's not much to ogle at the moment. If I hadn't seen it for myself, I'm not sure I'd believe you even had a figure underneath that bulky coat."
She smiled and provocatively unzipped the coat, shrugging it off her shoulders, revealing a tight, low cut, but otherwise utilitarian shirt.
"Mmm, that's a little better," he said in a low voice, but I was hoping you'd still have your dancing outfit on under there.
She laughed, "Nothing would convince me to wear that cold metal out in this weather."
"Again, a shame," he said as he ran his fingertips up her arm, placed his left hand on her thigh and leaned in close, "cold has such a nice enhancing effect on a woman's body."
Her eyes widened again as she tensed, her whole body flushed by his touch. She moved away from his hands nervously and started to pull her coat back on. "I.. think I need to go…" she stammered.
He chuckled and nodded as she fastened her coat up. "It's nothing to be afraid of, you know." He said to her as she started toward the ramp.
She hesitated for a moment and glanced back at him, wanting to explain, not wanting to leave, but unable to stay.
"Now I feel bad," he said with a small frown. "Let me walk you to your ship to make it up to you." Without waiting for her agreement he stood and pulled his own coat back on.
It clanked again as he knocked it against one of the crates in the cramped space and he grinned as he fastened his staff back into the holster on his back.
She raised an eyebrow at him, "We're just going across the dock. I really don't think you'll need your weapons."
"Ah, but I don't go anywhere without them." He replied, "Besides, you just hit the top of this crummy little town's most wanted encounter, and who knows what kinds of undesirables might be lurking out there, waiting to ambush you."
"I can take care of myself," she said proudly.
"I've no doubt you could fend off one or two attackers, easily, but anyone stupid enough to try to attack you, would likely bring friends, lots of them, and you're not even carrying a weapon."
"No," she said softly, "I've not carried anything since my sabers were taken from me."
He gave her a scathing look and then placing his hand on her shoulder directed her into the ship's main cargo bay. He stopped in front of a tall cabinet and opened it, revealing an extensive display of weapons ranging from knives to pikes. "Now, miss, what can I get for you today?" She stepped towards the arsenal and began to run her fingers lightly over each of the weapons, her fingers paused on a vibroblade much like one of the ones he had let her use tonight. Seeing her fingers pause, he took the blade and handed it to her. "Anything else I can get for you, ma'am? Another, shorter blade, perhaps?" He reached over and pulled out another blade and handed it to her. She grinned and he reached into one of the drawers and pulled out a handle of an energy whip and handed that to her as well.
"Looks like I just need a pike now," she said with a chuckle.
He looked at her for a moment and shook his head, "No, you need one of these." From the very end of the cabinet he pulled out a monstrous double bladed sword, as tall as she was, with a very sharp blade on each end, its central grip a soft leather. As soon as she picked it up she had to resist the urge to spin it due to the tight quarters. He grinned and nudged her to the door.
As soon as they were outside she shed her coat, the cold air blasting at her. She sprinted a few yards away, twisted towards him and started spinning the sharp blades in front of her, grinning at him predatorily.
He pulled his force pike out of its holster and dropping his own coat in the snow slipped into a combat stance returning her grin, silently daring her to make the first attack. She did, bringing the full force of her weight, strength and weapon downward toward his chest, he blocked it easily with his pike as she'd known he would, but what she hadn't expected was the jarring in her hands and elbows when their weapons collided. She grimaced in discomfort for a split second as she instinctively reversed the spin on her weapon and made a jab at his foot.
He knocked her blade off course with his pike and it stabbed into the icy ground and became stuck there. She was caught for a moment as she tried to wrench the blade from the ground and he spun around her quickly, aiming his staff for the back of her knees. She jumped, pushing her weight into her weapon, and instinctively tucked her legs into her chest rolling into a backwards flip. His pike slammed into the blade just as Vashti freed it from the ground. Her hands were still on the grip, and the extra momentum from his strike overbalanced her flip and she landed on her rump in the snow with a heavy thud.
She sat in the snow for a moment trying to catch her breath and figure out what had gone wrong. Rhyke crouched in front of her and offered her a hand. "A little different without the force?" he asked, the concern evident in his voice.
She nodded as she took his hand and they stood, "I knew I used it during combat," she said thoughtfully, "but I hadn't realized how much I used it to augment my strength and control my movements." She paused for a moment rubbing her elbows and shoulders where the impact had been greatest. "I've never been handicapped by being weaker than my opponent before."
He nodded with understanding, "You'll have to adjust your fighting style some. Try to take advantage of your size and quickness rather than manhandling your opponent. Remember, now you're mortal like the rest of us non-jedi," he said teasingly.
While he had meant his comment playfully he was instantly sorry when a darkness crawled over her expression. "I can assure you, Jedi are all too mortal," she said with an unbearable sadness, as the memory of their cries through the force on Malachor shuddered through her mind.
He reached out and touched her shoulder and she shied away from his sympathy once again. Shaking her head she leaned the double bladed sword against the ship and picked up the vibroblades she had laid there. She gripped their hilts tightly, trying to fight off the emotions that had suddenly welled up inside her. Her eyes dark, she turned back to him and flourished her swords.
The emptiness that emanated from her now was chilling and he settled into a defensive posture with his pike as much out of fear as of an unexplainable desire to meet her sudden need for physical expression of whatever this was that had settled on her.
She came at him again, with an intensity and focus to her attacks that had not been there before. The familiarity of the two weapons in her hands allowed her to forget what she was doing and she fought from pure reflex. Almost twenty years of training flowed through her now. With each attack she worked to drive away the invisible demons that were eating at her soul. With each parry, she felt her own strength lessening with exhaustion, but she fought on. She fought in spite of the failing of her defenses and the subsequent smacks of his pike on her body. Each impending bruise only made her fight harder, searching for holes in his defenses. When she found them she would strike with the flats of her blades repaying the physical beating she received.
Finally he raised his hand, in a plea to stop, doubled over, trying to catch his breath, his muscles screaming in protest at the lack of oxygen. She stopped then, her own body sore and shaking from exhaustion. She collapsed into the snow on her back thankful for the reprieve and looked up at the stars of this world for the first time. She was struck suddenly not by the number or brightness of the stars, but rather the darkness of the sky behind them. In her exhaustion filled mind the void between the stars sung a dirge of grief and emptiness that her own soul answered with a shudder of unimaginable longing.
His face appeared over her, blocking her view of the sky. The concern in his eyes made her want to scream, but the loneliness in her being craved his comfort. He crouched next to her and gently swept a loose piece of hair behind her ear, his fingers grazing her jaw as he withdrew them.
He studied her face for a moment, then without a word, he offered her his hand. She took it and he helped her to her feet. She was shivering now from the cold as well as exhaustion and he picked up her coat and helped her into it. He picked up the weapons she had laid down and wrapping his arm around her waist protectively, escorted her to her ship.
She followed without vocal protest, but internally she was reeling. This was how it always happened. People were drawn to her and regardless of their initial intentions they instinctively protected her. Always before she had willingly accepted their attentions and reached to them through the force weaving a small part of their consciousness into her own. But it wasn't supposed to be like that anymore. Now that she was without the force, people weren't supposed to be drawn to her like this. And they certainly weren't supposed to be showing the early signs of an impending force bond, a bond she could not feel.
She let him guide her to her bunk and pull her boots off. She didn't protest when he started pulling damp clothes off of her, but when he stopped at her underwear and pulled her blanket up around her chin, she wanted to cry. He kissed her lightly on the temple and patted her shoulder. Getting up to go he finally broke the silence asking, "Are you gonna be all right here by yourself?" She nodded, a lump swelling in her throat. She didn't want him to go, but she didn't want him here like this either. With a sigh, he sat himself down on the bunk across from her and began removing his gear. She started to protest, but he shook his head at her as he curled up across from her. "You get some sleep. I'm just going to stay here to make sure you do."
She sighed heavily and nodded imperceptibly, closing her eyes and trying to surrender herself to the fatigue. He watched her until he noticed her breathing change, and then he let himself drift off to sleep as well.
He was awakened sometime later by frantic cries of distress. Disoriented, he jumped out of bed and reached for his weapon, trying to discern their origin. Vashti cried out again then, and an indiscernible plea for help left her sleeping form again. He touched her shoulder lightly, and her eyes sprang open meeting his.
"You were having a nightmare," he whispered. "Are you ok?"
She nodded, and closed her eyes again, he started to move back to his bunk, but as he did, she grabbed his hand and held him there. "Stay with me," she said in a quiet plea, pulling him closer, her eyes still closed.
Unable to deny her request he slipped into the bunk and wrapped his arms around her. As he held her close, they drifted off to sleep again.
When she woke, light was streaming in through the window and she knew that it had to be midday already. His arms were still wrapped around her and now with the fatigue of the night before gone, all that was left was the longing. His hand brushed her stomach sleepily and then he nuzzled her neck as his fingers followed the curve of her waist, and his hand cupped her breast gently. Her body responded eagerly to his touch and she gasped at the tingling thrill that shot through her body. She could tell he wasn't really awake yet, and she was afraid to breathe for fear that he would wake up and move his hand. Each breath she did take, though, altered his touch slightly and soon her breathing had quickened in spite of her fears.
He stirred again, squeezing her tightly to him and slipping his hand down her stomach again, burying his fingertips just below her waistline. She involuntarily moaned softly and pushed her hips against his hand. After the sensation died down she wriggled onto her back. His hand continued resting lightly on her abdomen as she turned to study his face.
Her eyes met his and as their eyes locked she thought she saw a flash of connection, she could almost feel him, almost read his thoughts and emotions and for a fleeting moment she thought that perhaps she could find her connection to the force somewhere in him.
He smiled, "Good morning, gorgeous." He whispered, his breath hot on her ear.
She trembled and tried to smile as he propped himself up on his right elbow and began running his left hand more deliberately over her body. Each curve he explored with his fingertips made her moan again, softly but instinctively. She rolled onto her side and pushed her hips against his longingly as she wrapped her arms around him, her fingers exploring every inch they could reach ravenously. Her mouth met his and she kissed him, probing his mouth gently, her tongue dripping with desire.
He paused, looking into her eyes, silently questioning if he should continue where his instincts were pushing him to go. She answered his unspoken question by tugging at his shirt impatiently.
Some time later, she lay with her head on his chest, breathing deeply. She relished the contact of his skin against hers as the lingering spasms of delight shuddered through her body.
"Thank you," she whispered softly. She received a deep chuckle in reply, as he pulled her tight against him. He whispered his reply, "Anytime."
She clung to the small shimmer of connection she felt. She realized now that it wasn't the force, but rather an after effect of the trust and vulnerability involved in this most primitive and instinctive act. No, it wasn't the force, but in this moment, it was good enough.
"Sith spit!" she cursed loudly as she stared at herself in the mirror in her dressing room.
Mac poked his head in to see what the problem was and his eyebrows rose in surprise. "What the hell happened?" He asked protectively as his eyes darted from bruise to bruise.
"Just a little sparring," she replied with a frown as she twisted to look at one particularly nasty bruise across her lower back.
"Sparring? I take it you lost?" He asked dryly.
"Nah, you should see the other guy," she smiled broadly remembering the red welts her hands had traced earlier in the day. "Of course, he doesn't have to try to wear this piece of cloth and twine in front of a room full of men tonight."
"Thank the force," Rhyke said as he entered the small room, handing her one of the glasses of juma he was holding and kissing her lightly on the cheek. "No one wants to see that"
Mac's eyes darkened at the large man's arrival and at the aura of familiarity between the two. He started to say something, but Vashti interrupted him, "Show Mac your side," she prodded the larger man playfully as she began braiding her hair.
He growled lightly at her but then smiled and obediently lifted his shirt, revealing a long red welt the width of the flat of a vibroblade that wrapped from his side to his back.
"You wouldn't think a blade could leave a mark like that, would you?" He smirked. "I've got others too, but you probably don't want to see them."
Mac stared at the pair evaluating them for a moment. The older man didn't really approve of this match, but at the same time, there was a light in her eyes that hadn't been there before. And he liked that. It was good for business. The bruises however, were not.
He frowned at her, "If you'd injected those spots with kolto right after you got them, they could have been prevented." He chided her as he headed out the door, "As long as you're working for me, I expect you to take care of yourself."
"Forgive me, master," she said reflexively then stifled a giggle as she realized what she'd said. "I will try to be more mindful in the future." She added with a snort, "but what should I do about them now?" she asked. "I tried makeup… but it just looks weird."
"You could paint yourself blue and braid your hair into lekku," Rhyke teased her.
She rolled her eyes at him. "Any other brilliant ideas?"
"Wear them proudly." He said after a moment, "I think that's your only other choice."
In the end, that's what she did. She danced with the weapons with a fervency that hadn't been there the night before, all traces of nervousness gone. Her audience was captivated and as she finished her final bow for the evening, they showed her just how much they'd enjoyed it, cheering and stamping and chanting her name.
Afterward, she went back to her dressing room to change where Rhyke joined her. He ran his hands over her body, tracing each bruise with his fingertips, and sending a shiver up her spine. "I'm the luckiest guy here tonight… getting to do to you what they'll all be dreaming about in their beds." He kissed her slowly and deeply. His hands rested on her hips and he began to massage a spot just under her pelvic bone with his thumb. She let out a soft sigh of desire and then wriggled out of his grasp, and began working on pulling the long braid out of her hair. He sat in a chair near her, then, and occasionally his hand would reach out and gently caress one of her bruises.
"You wore them well," he said, "a testament to your heart of a warrior."
She blinked, his words too reminiscent of cries she had heard on the battlefields from her opponents, and for the first time, she was curious about this man's past. "You'd better be careful," she said playfully, "You're starting to sound like a Mandalorian."
"Mmm," he mumbled an agreement, "that's probably because I was raised by them."
She shot him a quick look, wondering if he knew who she was, trying to find the answer in his eyes. "I was an Onderonian orphan," he explained. "They took me in, taught me everything I know." He paused a brief moment, puzzled by the new darkness that hung over her. "They didn't like it much when I left to be a lowly merchant, but I went anyhow. Never could stomach all the killing they did."
Her own stomach clenched. She had killed more with one single order than any Mandalorian ever had. She fumbled with her hairbrush nervously.
His face showed his concern at her sudden change in demeanor, "I guess having fought in the war, you probably don't care much for them," he said, fishing for an idea of what was bothering her so badly.
She shook her head. "It's not like that.." she said quietly, "I…" she tried to explain but her jaw snapped shut and she just gave him a half hearted smile, her eyes pleading with him to not ask anymore questions.
He nodded, "It's all still too fresh, isn't it?" He stood and wrapped his arms around her, "You can tell me all about it one day." She buried her face in his shoulder, hoping he would take her silence for an answer.
"Take me home," she finally whispered in his ear, "make love to me," she said with a light kiss on his earlobe, "help me forget." She added in an almost inaudible whisper.
Hours later, he held her tight to his chest, their limbs still entangled, her breathing still irregular. He spoke in a low tone, "I have to leave tomorrow. I have a shipment I have to get delivered." He paused for a moment, his hand stroking her hair lightly. "Come with me," he added in a whisper. She tensed in his arms surprised at his invitation. He kissed her temple gently, "You didn't think I could stay here forever, did you?" he asked teasingly.
"I hadn't really thought about it," she answered quietly.
"Well, you've got a few hours to think about it and I'll be back in a week either way."
She clung to him then, confused by the conflict that had built up inside her. The fervency of her embrace was worrisome to him, but he held her tight and tried to reassure her with his touch.
Vashti woke early in the morning snuggled into his arms, the euphoria of the night's activities still hanging on her in a warm glow. She tried to go back to sleep, but there was a nagging in the back of her mind and slowly anxiety began to creep over her. She turned onto her side and looked at the sleeping man's face.
His strong jaw was covered in coarse stubble and her eyes traced a faint scar that ran across his forehead. He was beautiful. What drew her to him the most wasn't physical though, it was his brimming self-assuredness. In a lot of ways he reminded her of the Jedi Masters back at the temple. He knew his place in the world. She wished she could say the same about herself.
She wondered if he had any idea what had happened on Malachor. So many had died there, and she had been personally responsible for the most devastating war acts that anyone could remember. And more significantly at this moment, she was probably responsible for the deaths of people he cared about.
He had asked her to come with him, but she knew he didn't know what he was getting. No matter how much he had let her forget her past, it was still there, still such a huge part of who she was and sooner or later, he would know. And then he would feel betrayed because she hadn't told him in the beginning. Or at the very least told him last night when she'd found out he'd been raised by the people she had slaughtered.
She had come to these unknown regions to try to escape from her past, but it had caught up with her. It always would, she realized, as long as she still had breath. He stirred slightly under her gaze and she ached at the thought of letting him leave without her, but knew it was the best way.
His eyes flickered open, meeting hers sleepily. "You're staring at me." He mumbled.
She smiled softly. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself," she said as she reached out and ran her fingers along the scar on his forehead. "You're just so beautiful." She added with quiet admiration.
He snorted, "I knew you were crazy, but I didn't know you were that crazy…"
She let out a melancholy chuckle as she sat up and drew her knees up to her chest, "Oh, I'm much crazier than that, I can assure you." Sadness hung over her.
"So I take it you're not going with me then." He said in quiet recognition of her mood as he looked up into her eyes.
She shook her head, "I can't."
"Will you be here when I get back?" he asked her.
She shrugged, "I'm getting restless again. The people here are nice, but they expect things from me, things I can't give… yet."
He sat up and tilted her face up towards his staring into her eyes. "Then come with me." He saw the fear there as she gulped and tried to find words to explain.
"You don't even know my last name," she blurted out in frustration.
He chuckled, "Surely you don't think I would care about a name."
"It's Meres." She said quietly, watching his face closely for a reaction. Understanding slowly crept over his face. "Formerly, Jedi Knight Meres".
"Hero of the battle of Malachor V," he added for her, "Destroyer of Mandalorians and Jedi alike." She knew that he was just repeating the titles that the holonet stories had given her, but coming from his mouth it sounded like a death sentence. Tears welled up in her eyes and she buried her face in her knees.
He reached toward her and stroked the back of her neck comfortingly. "Come with me." He repeated.
She shook her head again. "I can't," she repeated. "For a day I got to pretend I was someone else and be happy. But this void I carry inside me… You can't fill it. No one can."
"I can try," he said gruffly.
"And then it would destroy us both."
Hours later, she watched Rhyke as he made his final checks before take off. She wanted so badly to run up the ramp and throw herself into his bed, never to leave, but she just stood there, watching, waiting for the inevitable goodbyes.
He walked to her, "You're sure you won't come with me?" He asked her again. She nodded as he gave her an enormous hug. "I have something for you," he said as he fumbled in his pocket explaining, "Every dancer needs some jewelry." He handed her a small package made from a soft piece of fabric. As soon as she took it from him her cheeks flushed and her skin took on a more healthy glow. She untied the package revealing a golden armband with ornate scrollwork wrapped around the cloudy white crystal from the clerk's box. Her fingers ran over the lightsaber crystal lovingly. "I had one of the locals here set the crystal into it for you. You may not be able to carry a saber anymore, but that doesn't mean you can't carry a piece of your past with you into the future."
She threw her arms around him then, clinging to him desperately for a moment. "Thank you," she said softly, "I'll wear it always."
12 years later, somewhere on the outer rim.
Vashti sat in the noisy cantina, sipping her juma, reading her datapad. She had come to this planet to follow a lead she'd had about G0-T0's droid production factories, but so far the investigation had been fruitless. So she had come to the cantina to sit and think and feel the world around her, hoping that her mind could perhaps bump into a force sensitive and that the trip wouldn't be completely wasted.
She had gotten pretty good at picking them out of a crowded room, actually. It had been seven months since she had started her search for force sensitives and in those months they had recruited over 200 men and women of varying ages and races. They had been everywhere, she found, and it had become one of her favorite past times to sit in a cantina and read and scan the room mentally for a hint of an undiscovered force sensitive.
Most of the people in this particular cantina were uninteresting to her, but there was one mind, faint at first, that touched hers. She was surprised by it, because it wasn't quite like the mind of an untrained, but rather seemed to have more of the presence of one of her students, with whom she had already bonded. As she rubbed the golden armband she still wore under her robes absentmindedly, she explored the consciousness gently, trying to ascertain if it was one of her troops, here for some other reason, but it wasn't one of them. Each of her students had their own signature, almost like a voice in her mind. It was the bonding of the minds that allowed her to be able to distinguish between them so well. What puzzled her about this bond was that while the bond was there, she did not recognize the soul behind it.
Finally she looked up from her datapad, scanning the room for the source of this bond. When their eyes met, she knew him instantly. Rhyke crossed the room quickly and pulling her to her feet, snatched her to his chest, kissing her hair softly. Her heart leapt at his embrace.
"What the hell was that?" Atton's voice echoed sharply in her head.
"Oh force," she thought to herself , "Atton's NOT gonna like this.