When the Sky Falls

Chapter 2

Draw seventeen, play +2 or -2? Eh, I'll drag this one out and play -2. Opponent draws 10, puts down +4. Draw 5, aha.

Atton considered his hand. Mira was cooking, humming some odd tune even though no one was in the mood to hear it. It was her way of coping, and it did help, if only a bit. Normally the Exile cooked, as a kind of gesture of gratitude for all of her companions sticking with her on the Ebon Hawk, but that was simply not plausible now. Mical was sprawled over the table, snoring a little. With Yiding occupying the medbay, and terrified of anyone approaching her, the blonde had taken to sleeping in the mess instead. She was mostly healed, other than the mysterious pain and unhealthily low weight, and was therefore unlikely to be in any danger unless someone freaked her out and she hurt herself with her telekinesis. Next to him, Bao-Dur was making some modifications to his blaster, while Brianna was mending a sock. Visas sat across from them, appearing to be meditating.

They had listened to Yiding sob for the better part of two days now, on and off. Frequently they heard her vomiting in the refresher, or at the very least retching, because Atton doubted she ate enough for anything to come back up. Going inside was out of the question for anyone other than Mical, another thing Atton had to resent the smug bastard for. Still, it gave him some pleasure to know that at least Yiding was not too thrilled with him either—far from it, in fact. She was, frankly, a mess, which was surprising only because Atton knew from personal experience that other Jedi had succumbed far sooner than she, either to the Dark Side, or to the regular old-fashioned madness, or to death, which ever came easiest. The others thought she was pretty insane right now, but the kind of lunacy Jaq had witnessed involved pure catatonia, with complete detachment from the real world. Yiding was doing surprisingly well. At least she was lucid.

Sort of.

He swept up his cards with a sigh. At least Blondie was doing something. What was Atton doing? All he did was fly the piece of metal they were on off planet and into hyperspace, where the Sith could not follow. Not directly, anyway. It was downright uncomfortable, being the brunt of everyone's anger, and truthfully, Atton did not know what they were all complaining about, especially Kreia. At least he went with Yiding when they docked. Everyone else except Blondie just stayed behind like complete cowards.

Not that any of this matters.

They were shaken, mostly because all of them expected things to just hop right back to normal once they found her. Kreia had insisted that she was still alive, something about a meditative bond through the Force, though it had been clouded by Sion's influence. None of them imagined that Yiding would return to them like this, except Atton, who still underestimated the sheer damage. She had hardly been recognizable when they found her in the snow, her bony body ridiculously small and almost blanketed by long, tangled hair matted with blood and dirt. T3 recognized her biosigns, but her Force signature had been weak, nonexistent. The cold had penetrated her frail form, and if Mical had been any less of a healer, she would have been dead.

Still, they had figured, just a few physical injuries—she would laugh it off. She usually did. She was a proper soldier, use to toughing things out, and on occasion it was difficult to remember that she was actually quite delicate even for a human. Once he had seen her in her underwear, and he remembered the part of him that was still Jaq thinking he could snap her spine in half with one hand. Since then, Yiding had proved incredibly difficult to kill or even capture. She was like a shadow, a wind, a bright light, a glowing star, and her presence exuded beyond her physical form. The Force, he suspected. She was more than a woman, more than a Jedi. She just was.

They simply could not imagine any other kind of Exile. Even Atton, with his dark past and the memories of a life devoted to torture and death, could not fathom what the Exile would be like if her light were extinguished. Reality was a rude blow. All of them had come to care for her, depend on her to maintain this uneasy dynamic between so many different personalities.

She had nearly died.

The thought filled him with more trepidation than it should have warranted. Force knew he tried to keep his distance. He knew he made her uncomfortable at times, sometimes even hurt her feelings, which was laughable because for crying out loud, there was a time when he was pretty certain Jedi did not have any. He was Atton Rand, he kept to himself, he cared only about himself and he was only sticking around because of that old crone. Otherwise he would have been long gone by now. He hated Jedi, even that one female Jedi who ultimately saved his life, and no matter what Yiding said she was still more Jedi than anything else. Still that passive…but she was not really passive, not where it matters. Still that emotionless…but she was not emotionless either. She was just sad and tired all the time, and who could blame her? She was not exactly seeing and doing happy things, and at least she bothered to try covering it all up by cracking lame jokes and doing housework on the ship, like cook and clean and help mend blaster holes.

It was honestly a comfortable living on the Ebon Hawk.

Until now, at least. Before, the Exile was the one who planned expeditions to fund their supplies. For a well-respected general of the Mandalorian wars, she really did not know what "delegation" or "allocation" meant, at least in terms of responsibility, doing every stupid task herself and bringing along reinforcements only when necessary, but then Yiding was no longer leading an army. She was leading a bunch of misfits who had even less reason to stay than Atton did. As far as he knew, Kreia did not threaten the rest of them, use her ugly Sith powers to crack into their skulls and uproot what deep secrets were there. Then again, he supposed he would not know. None of the crew were the type to share their stories. Either way, no one could doubt that Yiding was an effective leader, and her style of leadership was perfectly suited to the company she kept.

Mira and Bao-Dur were less so. Mira did not have Yiding's foresight, and Bao-Dur did not have her authority. The two still managed to grab the duties of supervisor, though. Without Yiding, they still needed food and other things, and the bounty-hunter and Iridonian took it upon themselves to arrange missions in her place. Kreia and Mandalore took themselves off the roster, which did not surprise Atton. Mical took himself off long missions because he was afraid Yiding might make herself sicker than she already was. Visas also wanted to take herself off, but Brianna and Mira intimidated her into joining, and Atton was in because it gave him a reason to get off the ship and away from Yiding's weeping.

This would all be easier if the cursed woman would let someone approach her. How were they to help if she would not even let them near her?

Over the table, Mical groaned, but did not wake up.

Schutta, Atton thought viciously. Of all the former Jedi friends Yiding could have met, why did it have to be the Force-forsaken Disciple?

But even Atton knew that if it were not Mical and instead someone much less skilled in the healing arts, Yiding would probably be dead. They had been too close, much too close. The sheer damage done to her was beyond belief, and one of these days he was going to figure out how she got out of there and crawled a mile away. No. He was going to try to put that memory behind him. He did not want to remember how she looked, frozen in the snow, barely recognizable even as a human being, let alone the Exile. It was surreal, almost, to look at her and know that there was once a time when he enjoyed corrupting beauty like that. Yiding would have been one of the finest specimens, and he would have taken great delight in shattering her, piece by piece. He nearly got sick on the spot.

No. Atton squeezed his eyes shut. She's better now. Blondie healed her. Far from the loveliness she was when she was healthy and glowing in the Force—she was a shriveled thing now, all bones and skin and sharp tendons and large, almost crazed eyes, but noticeably Yiding, with Yiding's fighting defiance. Just because she never came out of the medbay did not mean she did not try.

Mira finally turned off the stove. "Any help with setting the table?" She called out in false cheer. Brianna and Bao-Dur instantly volunteered. Mical roused from his brief nap, wiping the drool from his lips. He glanced at the chrono.

"Oh." He rubbed his eyes.

Mira prepared a tray and headed over to the medbay. She often called in first before opening the door, so she would not startle the woman within. "Yiding?" She called gently. "I have food. You hungry, sweetie? Do you want me to leave it at the door? I'm going to open it, okay?" Atton heard the door slide open. "Hey there. Look, I cooked."

Yiding had gotten quiet over the past few hours, and had been inconsolable for the past two days, so it was a shock to hear her voice, hoarse and dry though it was.

"Thanks Mira," The Exile sounded tired, "I know you've been putting up with a lot from me."

"Nonsense, honey," Mira hid her surprise well. "Hey, do you want to eat with us? It's okay if you don't want to. Must be kind of dull here though, might be good for you to come out and stretch your legs a bit?"

Atton glanced around. Everyone had stopped what they were doing to listen. Sith, Mira, He thought vehemently, Don't you think Yiding is trying her best even without you pushing?

"O-okay," Yiding's voice sounded small, terrified, and Atton could not help but marvel at how brave she was. He could hear how hard this assent was for her.

"Great," Mira said a little too enthusiastically, but Yiding probably did not notice. "Come on. I'll bring your tray to the table."

Mira materialized into the mess hall, but everyone's attention was on the Exile. Clad in her nightshirt and pants, she looked small and delicate, the clothing loose and baggy over her starved frame. She managed to move to the entrance before huddling to one side, eyes flashing with panic and swallowing frantically.

Atton looked around and noticed everyone was staring. Well, isn't that a way to unnerve someone.

"Hey, what happened to setting the table? Schuttas!" He barked.

That got everyone moving.

"I don't see you helping Atton," Brianna reproached with exasperation, but at least everyone's attention was diverted. From the corner of his eye, Atton could see the Exile still lingering in the doorway, taking deep calming breaths. She looked almost sleepy, with her eyes drooped and her face sagged, but he could smell her fear as easily as if he were a hound. She was frightened.

"Ooh, this smells nice," Brianna said animatedly as she sat down. "You've outdone yourself today, Mira."

"Thanks." Mira looked up. "Yiding? Come join us."

Once again, everyone was staring at her.

He could see her struggling. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead. She held her arms as if to protect herself, shoulders hunched as if ready to curl up into a tight ball. Something about them scared her, spoke to a profound trauma at her core.

"I-I-I—" She swallowed, and visibly lost the battle. "I'm not hungry." She turned around and fled. The door hissed closed.

Silence fell.

"Sith," Atton cursed, "What were you all staring at her for?"

"You were too!" Brianna snapped back.

The former assassin slammed his fist on the table in frustration. He wanted to go to her, to gather her into his arms and hold her tight until she understood that she was safe, but given his past and now hers, grabbing her had a completely opposite meaning. He was going to kill Sion. He was going to rip the bastard with his bare hands. "Just how long are we supposed to put up with this?" He demanded out loud, because such sentiments unnerved him as much as Kreia's newfound gentleness did, and he needed some way to remind himself that he did not care about other people. "There's a Force-forsaken galaxy to save, I've got tons of better things to do with my life, and she's not getting any better!"

The others ignored him, use to his self-centered remarks.

"Well," Said Bao-Dur, "That's progress, right? At least she didn't break down this time."

The zabrak spoke too soon, because half an hour later they could hear soft sobs coming from the medbay.


It was the crowd.

It was people. It plagued her mind and filled her very instincts with tension. No amount of thinking it through dampened her instincts to run and hide. For what seemed like an eternity, any contact with another sentient being had resulted in pain and humiliation so unbearable she felt like her very soul was shattering to pieces. She thought her friends would somehow make all of it go away, but somehow her mind just grouped them with everyone else despite knowing through the Force that they were real, that they were here, that she was safe.

It was ridiculous. She could still remember when she had been well, washing dishes with Mira, mediating the rivalry between Atton and Mical, Brianna and Visas—she had been confident, at least, sure of herself, and if not entirely happy, at least she was not a nerve-wrecked mess. The terror was unbearable, much more so than the omnipresent pain all over her body. She ached and everything hurt and she was pretty sure it was just nerves and yet also sure that it was not. She really wanted the pain to stop but it refused to dissipate, no matter how she tried to meditate or focus her energies.

Why don't you just kill me?

I will have you by my side, Exile.

She shuddered, trying her best to repress her whimpers but they escaped unbidden. Thoughts of Darth Sion filled her with cold. If he had only hated her, she could understand, but it had been something else, and she had no idea what it was. It was twisted and terrifying and made him capable of doing unspeakable things. He wanted her to break, but he carved her like meat, and she could still feel the vile touch of his undead flesh, the stink of decomposition invading her nostrils as he pressed his body against hers, the mere contact somehow draining her energies away and changing her, warping her thoughts all she could see was death and torture.

Focus. That was in the past. She had to deal with her friends, and she had to be able to eat with them, and talk to them all at once, hold meetings…it was not so impossible, she had done it before. Except dark visions clouded her mind, visions from her captivity, when she had been offered the illusion of normalcy only to see her friends warp into assassins and attack her, bear her down to the floor and laugh as she screamed. No. In the now. Focus on the now. She had to get better. She had to get back to normal. The galaxy needed her. No no no no no. She did not want to fight for the galaxy if it meant facing the Sith again. Not after what had happened. No, focus. Yiding was the Exile, the last hope for the galaxy, and she had to save people, save them from the Sith, but no no no no no no…

What am I going to do? Her sobs softened to high-pitched whimpers, but no matter how she tried she could not stop them. How am I supposed to do anything now? I was so much better before, I've fallen so far. Why would any of them stay? Why would any of them follow me or help me? I couldn't even keep myself from being captured and now…now I hurt—

You will know pain, Exile, as I do…

She tightened, squeezing her eyes shut. Not in my head. He can't possibly be in my head. He's gone. He's away. I'm gone.

Some warrior she was.

"Yiding?" It was Mira again. The sweet bounty hunter had been so patient with her, cooking such a delicious meal only for Yiding to turn it away. A wave of bile rose in her throat. She could not leave the medbay again. She could not join them in the mess hall.

"I'm sorry," She whispered, hardly understanding it herself.

"Yiding, I have your tray, okay? I'm going to open the door and slide it in so you can eat, alright honey?"

Yiding buried her face in her hands. One step forward, five steps back. It had not been so bad to open the door and face Mira the first time, but now she could not get up from her corner. Don't look don't watch don't know don't know…but she heard the door open and a shriek erupted from her.

"Easy," Mira said soothingly, and she heard the tray slide across the floor. Instantly she smelled the aroma of cooked food. It was still warm. "I'm going to leave you alone now, alright? I'll check on you in an hour to collect you tray. Try to eat as much as you can, okay?"

Yiding did not look up or reply. After a few seconds, she heard the door close, and only then did she raise her head. The food was there, as promised, and the people were not. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she wondered when she suddenly became such a coward.