AYLEE

The headache returned.

Two hours grading at her desk under the spotlight glow of a single overhead light in the otherwise dark classroom-she supposed she deserved a headache. Aylee set her datapad down and rubbed at her temples. Every single hair pulled tight into a bun ached individually. She let her eyes fall shut and pulled some of the pins out. The bun slid apart, and she sighed with the release of tension, but the headache continued gathering itself for a full assault.

It was a strange sort of pain. Nebulous. Not quite behind her eyes. Not a base of the skull tension. It felt like jak-jaks buzzing around a hive, agitated and pointy. Visualizations earlier in the day had calmed it some, let her get through class. Maybe with another cup of caf she could focus enough to try it again...

She rubbed two fingers around each temple slowly and breathed through the prickly pain.

Or maybe... two hours of grading essays was enough for one night.

Aylee drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. She opened her eyes, wincing a little at the light, and gave the empty space around her contemplative look. It was a good thing the Council needed teachers; a dearth of able Jedi and a swell of new students had forced the reallocation of resources that brought her here. That, for the time being, hadn't changed. Though she did wonder what conversations went on behind closed doors.

Pointless conjecture. She shook herself, conscious of the wandering worrying thoughts and stood. A walking meditation, she decided. The perfect balm. She tucked the datapad into the top drawer of her desk and set the lock. Then turned with deliberate slowness for the door.

A walking meditation is simple in concept. Focus on the moving foot. Pay attention to the heel as it lowers to the ground. To the sole as it comes in contact with the floor. Your weight as it distributes across the bones. Feel the ground, the articulation. Next step, other foot. Placed slowly, rolling and heavy, all awareness on the body. From the feet, up the legs, hips, back, and shoulders-with each step searching for places of tension or pain.

Aylee scanned her body as her master had taught, soles to crown, over and over. She moved through the night-dimmed hallways unhurried, her unfocused gaze trained on the floor a few feet ahead. The headache faded. She found a new ache in one leg, a pinch of tension in her left shoulder. The few passersby got a quick look followed by a reminder to herself to come back and feel her foot against the inside of her boot.

She lost track of time. The flow of the Force brushed against her senses as she forgot to worry about the Council or getting the essays done or the latest research proposal sure to rewrite history. There was only the sense of motion; the Force living and being, pushing at her back, swirling at her sides. So much life.

A deep breath full to the belly.

Flowers.

Aylee blinked and lifted her gaze to see the entrance to the western gardens at her side. Beyond the clear glass, the promise of verdant flora and the coming sunset. Longing tugged at her breastbone, and she followed it out onto the main garden path. Far in the distance, the ever-present traffic whisked through the air, soundless as birds. The sky yawned above, Coruscant's moons just visible as pale discs.

She wandered further in, stepping lightly through the entrance labyrinth, almost dancing along its winding lines as a faint breeze toyed with her cloak. Aylee moved into the hedges, each heavy with blooming flowers of a different kind. A journey of scents, cloying, then light. Sweet, repulsive. Whoever kept these gardens had a bit of the old ways in them, she thought, as each one evoked a feeling different from the one before. She touched petals and vines, moving closer to the outer wall and the long drop to the city beyond.

She was not, she discovered, alone.

Aylee stopped when she saw him, gripping the edge of the wall with white knuckles, tension in the set of his shoulders.

Ben...

He hadn't yet noticed her presence. She could leave... theoretically. He heaved a breath and bowed his head and kicked at the wall lightly.

She couldn't look away. He was an artist's rendering-"Beauty in Frustration, no. 9 'Weight of the World.'" She didn't think he knew how many games she'd lost to the mark below his eye, the shape of his mouth, the sound of his voice. Or that she gathered those small, secretive smiles like talismans. He never noticed heads turning to watch him for more than the symbol of the cloak. Oh, how the galaxy might tremble if a different heart had such knowledge.

A passion agitated in him now, a struggle of emotion echoed by all life's scrabbling against darkness and death. Here, amidst a garden, he'd surrounded himself with fertile energy and yet tried, by the huffing and white knuckles, to be the stoic Jedi he was supposed to be.

Aylee frowned, decision made before she realized she was making one. She edged forward, keeping her mental shields down to advertise herself. She kept the sanctity of silence as she moved beyond the last hedge row and watched him. His shoulders relaxed as he stared out into the city at dusk, awash in orange light, and she slipped onto a nearby bench facing back the way she had come.

She let her hands fall into her lap, her eyes naturally close, and thought back on her day. The youngest had the earliest classes, and she pictured their expressive faces and eager eyes. Histories for the younglings were more like story time. She told them tales of fantastic worlds and the galaxy long ago, or had them read in turn to improve their skills. Nivilicanthy sounded out a new word, and his face burst into a smile at getting it right.

Aylee held the image of that moment in her mind, letting the feeling of pride suffuse her body and her heart warm with joy.

She heard Ben let out a long sigh, followed by the sounds of footsteps and rustling. His presence settled beside her on the bench, humming and glowing. She opened her eyes and gazed at the sea of green. Trestles stood robed with twining flora. White blooms picked out the fading light of the sun, looking iridescent gold against the darkening leaves.

Above them, somewhere, Aylee felt a razorbeak flapping and circling lazily. The thread of its small life felt strong, and she glanced up trying to see it. She sent a pulse through the Force in its direction, an invitation and measure of kindness.

The bird dropped to the ground suddenly in front of them, and Ben jerked in startlement as it flapped its wings to tuck them in proper. Aylee pretended not to notice, hiding her smile, and dug into a pouch on her belt for some food. She found a cookie Uulin had slipped her at breakfast and leaned forward, offering a morsel on an open palm. The razorbeak opened its wings in a wide display and hopped forward, blinking and tilting its head. It hopped again, just close enough, and snatched the crumb before lifting off again with a great flap. It's black body disappeared almost immediately into the reddening sky.

She took a breath, drawing in more of the fresh air, unfiltered and scented with earth and green, and got up to touch some of the life she could feel tickling across her sense of the Force. She slid a fern frond around her fingers, its small, soft leaves springing back into place. She touched the waxy, flat surface of a vine leaf, the soft velvet of an orchid bloom. Each a small shiver of delicate life, each radiating the Living Force upward and outward. Her thoughts flowed in a simple, single line, a relief from the usual chaos.

Aylee turned toward the edge of the garden and paced to the wall. She leaned against it and watched the sky as the blood of the sun spilled out in glorious shades, golden clouds hung in a purple gem sea. She heard Ben moving on the bench and felt his gentle attention as she watched the colors shift and fade. Coruscant was warmer than she remembered. So many hard surfaces, it was easy to recall it as cold, like the chill of space. Hadn't it been cold? All she felt now was warmth against her back. The sun dropped behind spacescrapers in another district, sending a flare of light through their glass facades as a farewell.

And then it was night.

Aylee turned and met his gaze with a small shock of energy spreading across her skin. The first acknowledgment of one another's presence. A warm breeze traveled up her arms, touched her cheeks. She buried her hands into her sleeves and bowed to him.

A strange expression crossed his face as he returned the gesture-one she could not read.

And still, the sanctity of silence.

Aylee hadn't felt the persistent headache for some time and took it as a sign that a trip to the gardens was what she needed. She aligned her feet on the main path back inside and moved quietly across the paving stones. She could see him turning, watching, something not quite settled in him yet.

"I don't know how to deal with him sometimes," Ben said, breaking the silence with hushed tones.

Aylee stopped by the hedge and turned. She hadn't been sure he would say anything. But people often do when given a silence. "Anakin?"

He nodded, his hands curling into loose fists in his lap. "Do you know what he did?"

She shook her had and came to sit next to him again, the city black and brilliant stars beyond the wall.

He made a disgusted, annoyed sound, shaking his head at the ground. "He disassembled nearly all the astromech droids! And some of the maintenance ones! Without asking!" Tension wound around him again, and Aylee watched his shoulders hitching higher, wanting to press them back down.

"Why?" she asked instead.

He jerked his head up to look at her. "That isn't the point!"

"I know"-she touched his arm-"but why?"

Ben's body sagged in defeat, and he shrugged, casting a hopeless, lost look skyward. "He won't tell me."

"It's a secret?"

"A surprise." A sour twist to his lips.

Aylee went quiet for a moment, studying his face while he played with his hands.

He turned with a look of hurt cut deep in his features, and his voice came out strained."Why is he hiding something from me? If he just told me, I could have gotten him what he needed." Pleading swam in his eyes, begging to be soothed away.

Aylee dropped her gaze to her lap and thought back on the conversations they'd had between chal'tek moves. Ben's presence pulsed in her awareness, an ache now more than anger, a wound. "You said he was a slave before you took him in?"

He nodded.

"Slaves... learn to express their freedom in secret. If they're not allowed to write, they write where no one can find it. If they're not allowed to sing, they sing where they can't be heard. The things they're not allowed to do are the most important ones, the prime rebellions. It's how they reject their enslavement, even just in the confines of their own minds."

She glanced at him, watched him turn the thought over. He frowned, scowled, and shook his head as he looked at her, more torn than before."But I'm not a slaver!" So earnest, even a little offended.

"No..." Aylee touched his arm again. "But you are an authority. And it's just a different set of rules."

He crumpled under the idea, propped his elbows on his knees and held his face in his hands, covering his mouth. His eyes traced speeders lancing through the sky, and he shook his head almost imperceptibly. But he didn't argue.

Aylee watched him, wishing she had something better to say, something not quite so close to her own brand of defiance. Something that didn't leave him morose. After a few moments, she leaned closer and faked a whisper. "I'm sure we didn't need the droids anyway."

He huffed a laugh and sat up slowly, smirking. "Tell the Council that."

Aylee grinned and got up. Leave on a high note, as they say.

Ben turned, watchful and curious. "How'd you know I was here?"

She blinked at him. "I didn't. Classes are done. I was heading back."

He nodded, his expression sinking into a frown.

"What?"

"Aylee..." He spoke cautiously, a bit unsure. "The classrooms and dorms are on the other side of the building. There's no way you'd pass by here."

She took a breath to answer and stumbled to a halt. He was right. She tried to remember leaving the classroom. Or making a decision to turn the wrong way-to turn any way. It was all a blank. Just one smooth-shelled pocket of undifferentiated time. "I... I guess I just followed my feet. I wasn't really thinking."

He looked more concerned than she felt, but nodded anyway and kept himself from saying more.

The urge to brush her fingers across his forehead struck hard. Don't worry. You don't have to worry. But instead she smiled and turned on her heel to go back inside, her head clear of jak-jaks and soul light as the breeze.