Chapter 10

Dane awoke in the early morning hours in the port dormitory of the Ebon Hawk. She was amazed at how much she had missed the old ship—after four weeks, coming back to it felt like home in a way. It had been good to see T3 again as well. The little droid had beeped and whooped in happiness at seeing her, though the reunion was short-lived—she had been slightly preoccupied with maneuvering Atton out his clothes and being maneuvered herself—by his deft hands—out of her own. Dane smiled at the memory and lifted her head from the crook of his arm to look at him.

He slept deeply with his mouth slightly ajar and one arm—the one not holding her—thrown over his head. Even in sleep, he can't keep his mouth shut, Dane thought fondly, and she leaned forward and kissed him. She sighed contentedly. Her body still hummed with pleasure from the night's festivities and she was, really and truly, happy.

Atton stirred and opened his eyes. The smile that came instantly to his face when he saw her was worth a thousand "I love you's…"

…When Atton awoke to see Dane smiling at him, her hair hanging loose from its ponytail to frame her jaw and she wearing only the bed sheet, he thought to himself, Life…is good. Aloud, he said, "'Morning, sweets," and kissed her.

"Good morning," she returned.

There was a thick moment when the realization of everything that had happened the night before—everything they had said, and everything they had done—was right there between them and they both laughed, chagrined. .

"You're not…sorry, are you?" Atton asked.

"Ssshh," Dane admonished. "Of course not."

"Good," he said and leaned back. "I suppose you're going to want to be up and moving and getting on with our mission," he said around a yawn. "Always rushing, you Jedi."

Dane gave him a knowing smile. "Well, yes and no. I want us to get moving but we don't have to leave the Hawk just yet."

Atton smiled and pulled her close. "I was hoping you would say that."

"Do you have to always wear your hair in that ponytail?" Atton asked with a laugh several hours later and they donned their clothes.

Dane raised and eyebrow as she tied her hair up. "I can't have it in my way," she said. "Why? You think I look better with it down?"

"Yes. It looks like a little poofball stuck to the back of your head," Atton remarked, and patted the aforementioned 'poofball' until she swatted his hand away.

Dane laughed and smoothed her hair into place. "Well, you'll just have to put up with it," she said.

"Until bedtime," he murmured and came up behind her, his arms around her and his lips on her neck. "Then it comes down… for me."

"Yes," Dane said lazily, leaning back against him. He hadn't yet put his shirt back on, which she found to be incredibly distracting. But a growl in her stomach killed the moment quite nicely and she was glad her back was to him so he couldn't see her mortified expression. "I haven't had much to eat lately." That was the truth. Not since her rampage around the apartment could she remember eating more than a few bites here and there.

"Well, let's go get something to eat!" Atton exclaimed, finally pulling a shirt on over his head and tucking it into his trousers. "After last night, I sure could use some refueling."

"Don't be crass," Dane remarked. He was beaming like an idiot and she could only shake her head at him.

"Sorry babe," he said, taking her in his arms. "I love you," he said. She knew he meant it but the distinctly triumphant manner in which he was smiling down at her grated her nerves a little.

"You'd better," she replied, and couldn't think of anything smart to add in return. She never had a gift for being clever and witty, and sharp remarks didn't come easily to her. Atton must have read something in her expression for he immediately dropped his lopsided grin and looked at her intently.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I'm a pig, I know," he said. "But really, last night was…well," he ran a hand through his hair and finally shrugged. "I just…you know what I mean, right?"

Dane had to laugh. She knew. He was a lot of talk and swagger and she was fairly certain he had bedded more than his share of women in the past, but she knew she was probably the only one who saw him drop his façade. She smiled to herself as they left the Hawk and decided she might wear her hair down for him a little more often.

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They stepped out into the bright, morning sunshine, walking arm in arm towards a restaurant Atton recommended a few blocks from the docking bay.

"No one makes better nerf-and-pikka eggs than Chuba's," Atton had assured her.

Dane could only smile up at him and nod, the sunshine warm on her face and her arm tucked tightly into his. Mission wasn't due to meet them at the apartment until later that evening; Dane had the whole day—or what was left of it after they had dragged themselves out of bed—to spend at leisure with him. She couldn't remember being happier.

The Jedi Code forbids any of their order to take a mate. Of all of the Code's edicts, none was more fiercely debated—nor broken as often—as that one. The happiness of love, it could be said, while pleasurable, can distract. By no means should it be construed that what happened next was a punishment to Dane and Atton for breaking the Code, but is likely the kind of thing that inspired the writers of the Code to include that particular edict in the first place…

A man stepped round the corner, his head bent down intently over the map he held, and crashed right into Dane and Atton, breaking them apart. "I'm sorry," the man muttered, looking up from his map. "I am very lost," he said. "Would you tell me where Chimera Street is?" He leaned close to Atton, holding the map before the pilot's face.

"Sure," Atton began and then saw a flurry of movement in his peripheral vision. It took him a moment to realize the stranger had, while bent over the map with Atton, struck out with his elbow, catching Dane at the temple. The blow must have caught her completely by surprise for she crumpled to the ground, striking her head on the hard pavement with a sickening thud. Her eyes fluttered once and then she was still.

"What?" Atton choked but before he could move the man's fist caught him full in the throat. He went down in a haze of pain, choking and coughing. Four other men rounded the corner, all dressed in similar dark garb with an orange flame-shaped insignia stitched onto their sleeves, and surrounded them. Atton, struggling for breath, reached out his hand to Dane beside him. The first man laid his blaster against Atton's temple and brought his boot down on his outstretched hand.

"Don't move," the man said in a voice completely devoid of emotion.

"Let her go," Atton said, his voice hardly a whisper. But the man brought sound from Atton's bruised throat by twisting his boot; the bones in Atton's hands cracked and broke and then he screamed.

What is happening? he thought, his mind swimming in sudden fear and pain. He watched in horror as one of the men in black lifted Dane's still body and began carrying her away. His similarly dressed brethren followed him and they rounded the corner, out of sight.

"Dane!" he screamed. "Dane, no! NO!" But the men were gone. He craned his neck frantically to the man who held the blaster to his head and his broken hand under his boot. "Take me instead," he pleaded. "Please, don't—don't hurt her. Take me. DANE!" But the man's face was as implacable as stone.

The man holstered his blaster. "Hey," he said to Atton, who was still screaming after the four men—now long out of sight. "Hey," the man repeated in that same dead voice. He pressed his boot harder onto Atton's ruined hand to get his attention. "She killed Dibbuk. My boss wants to talk to her about that. Don't follow."

And like that, he was gone.

Atton instantly struggled to his feet, clutching his right hand to his stomach. He ambled around the corner, but there was no sign of their attackers. No men in black, no stony-faced man with the map--nothing but Nar Shaddaa's typical mid-morning crowd.

"Dane," Atton muttered. His hand was a mangled mass of torture and he was pretty sure he didn't want to look at it. But he couldn't worry about that now. I should have protected her. I should have… Atton, staggering and nearly nauseous with pain, plunged into the streets, asking over and over to anyone he passed if they had seen the four men in black. No one had. They had simply vanished and they had taken Dane with them.

Hours passed and Atton had to stop. The screaming agony of his hand had drained his strength, as the horror of losing Dane drained his will. He staggered back to the apartment she had rented and collapsed as soon as the door slid open. HK-47 hauled him inside and stood over him for a moment.

"Irritated Statement: There is a reason why sophisticated protocol droids such as myself are hired to protect: because you meatbags are far from up to the task. Wake up, meatbag," HK-47 ordered, tapping his cold metallic fingers against Atton's cheek. "Wake up and tell me who I have to kill to bring my master back."

pikka bird. Borrowed from another book that I have no stake in ownership. Here's hoping the estate of Douglas Adams will appreciate the reference and not sue me into oblivion.