~Ahsoka's POV~

"Cannonball, prepare and refuel the fighters. We've a long fight still ahead," Ahsoka ordered aloud to the clone suddenly walking at her side the second she had landed back on her own ship The Hope.

Walking from her starfighter, already flocked by maintenance clones, Ahsoka hurried back to the bridge. There was still work to do, despite the long fight and the weariness in her very bones.

"Yes, sir. By the way, General Camber contacted you," Intrepid. Ahsoka did not stop, nor allow any emotion to leak unto her features. "Is she alright?" She queried lightly; heart picking up gradual speed in the seconds before his answer. That was her best friend.

"Yes, general. She reports that also the others are safe as well," Good, Nava and Lux remained unscathed. Ahsoka could not say the same for many of her men, though the twins had saved dozens of lives with their ingenuity.

All the same, Intrepid and Master Luminara would have their hands full healing tonight.

Meanwhile, Ahsoka had battle strategies to form for the next assault, and men to see safely into rest, a report to give to the no-doubt already waiting Jedi council and the thoughtful rebel council.

"Very well, thank you Cannonball. After you fulfill your duties, make sure and get some sleep, alright?" She advised wisely, glancing at her first in command.

Cannonball gave her a tired grin and bowed his head slightly, somehow his huge form emitting an air of humbleness with additional grace.

"I'll do that, sir, thank you. Oh, and I nearly forgot, General Zadya is on board," Ahsoka inwardly started with confusion.

Jinx on board her ship? Why? "Is he injured?" She inquired with a hint of worry. "I don't believe so sir, He's merely…Here," Ahsoka was not sure how she should react to this bit of news.

She had spoken all of four sentences to Jinx since meeting him again, and the sentences they had spoken to one another during the clone wars had often been arguments, on account of Jinx's pessimistic outlook on life and Ahsoka's stubborn audacity to tell him this.

"Very well. Thank you for informing me, Commander. You are dismissed," she said, with a wave of one hand. With a final nod, Cannonball walked off to perform his remaining duties.

Ahsoka sighed and turned, peering down the sparsely crowded halls to wonder about a million things at once, foremost being a shower, then the unexpected guest she had aboard her ship.

Hands set characteristically on her hips, she swiveled her feet to handle the first dilemma, and then she would see about entertaining her unforeseen company.

Later:

By the time Ahsoka exited the fresher and began walking the halls once more, they were near to teeming with clones running about, repairing, communicating, and doing their daily duties with the grace of DNA bred efficiency.

She smiled resignedly, ignoring the internal knowledge that her body needed respite, a rest that her mind refused to give.

Ahsoka patted her twin lightsabers fondly and inhaled the singing force, present even in the desolate fields of space and after the aftermath of the light side's principle sin: the destruction of life.

Letting it settle and strengthen dry reserves of energy, she tracked the lustrous force signature, unhidden and undaunted. Jinx had never been one to let fear rule him; nor unease.

In the end, he was in the one place where no one else was; the briefing room. Of course. The light from the halls suddenly brightened the dim room as the door slid ajar smoothly.

Standing next to the holo-projector, hard eyes set on the star-charts before him was Jinx. Ahsoka wondered what she could say.

She did not have to say a word; Jinx spoke first. "Our casualties were not as high as they could have been," he pondered, not looking up.

Ahsoka glanced at the saber at his waist, and nodded, remembering a time when his waist had been bare. Having been kidnapped as a six-year-old initiate by Trandoshan hunters, Jinx had spent ten years with O'mer and Kalifa on the island, tracked and hunted the entire time.

She had brought him and O'mer home, but Kalifa haunted them all; she had not been the sort of person you can easily forget.

"I agree. Our little friends and their bird paid off," she observed. Jinx nodded absently. "Dear me, I wonder what the council is going to say about that," he muttered with a familiar dryness that could have caused a heat wave on Hoth.

"What can they say? The twins saved lives," Ahsoka pointed out. "And if the…Er… Rescue bird hadn't worked?" Jinx inquired, his voice was not threatening nor condensing, it was not even curious, but a monologue of no particular interest.

"Jedi do not dwell on the what if's," Ahsoka reminded him, moving from the doorway to settle at his side. The access panel skimmed closed, and once more, they were bathed in darkness.

A ghost of a smile slithered around Jinx's mouth. His eyes brightened for a split moment before returning to the dullness of before. "I suppose you have a point, Master Tano," he replied.

Ahsoka bristled underneath the emphasis, and promptly retorted. "I do say so, Master Zadya," she hissed back.

Jinx chuckled darkly and slowly circled the projector. Ahsoka was tired of beating around the bush. "Jinx, why in the galaxy are you on my ship?" she demanded.

"Ah," Jinx nodded, and crossed his arms. Ahsoka studied him in the dim blue light. From this angle, he could have been underwater, and a mourning fish at that. Why did he look perpetually bothered and mournful?

"A good question. I was wondering when you would get around to that," he replied. "Why didn't you say so, then?" Ahsoka demanded, slightly irritated now.

She had too much work to do to stand here and bandy words with him. Jinx gave a nonchalant half-shrug, unawares or uncaring about her annoyance.

"I wanted to see how long it would take you," he answered mildly, some impish sparkle gaining way into his voice afloat his accent, distinct to the rocky mountain ranges of Ryloth and the indigenous people there.

"We haven't spoken in awhile, and currently talking isn't my best area of expertise. You've changed much, old friend," he reflected. Ahsoka glared, not sure if she should be amused, flattered or just plain irritated.

"You stowed away on my ship and engaged in useless small talk to see if I was still the same?" She demanded. "Well, we barely were compatible when we were Padawans. I was not sure if we'd be able to hold a steady conversation more than a minute and a half as Knights," he pointed out logically.

Ahsoka nodded in sudden understanding the unspoken phrase: "I wanted to see if I could still get along with you, or if you'd drive me to the Dark Side with your presence within five standard seconds," and crossed her arms, gazing at him from across the space. He still had not looked her in the eye.

"I'd say we're holding a steady conversation," she observed lightly. "It depends on how you depict the word steady," Jinx snorted. Ahsoka rolled her eyes. "Why isn't talking your area of expertise any longer?" She changed the subject.

Suddenly his eyes, hard to begin with, melted like a glacier with sadness. "Didn't you hear about O'mer?" He asked softly. A shiver of apprehension blazed down her spine.

She leaned forward on the console; O'mer had been like a brother to Jinx, they had spent ten years together, fighting the Trandoshan's for their lives. Even she had sensed the strong bond on them, the unbreakable cords of brotherhood that had compounded them together as one, instead of two.

"I have not," she said softly, watching his face. Jinx sighed and shifted uneasily. The force around spiked with lapsing grief for a split second, and then died away to leave the slick frost of Jinx's force signature once more.

"He was sent on a mission to retrieve Empire military tactics on Dantooine. That was two years ago. When the council hadn't heard back from him, they sent a team to find his ship, when they got there…."

Jinx leaned forward, setting trembling fists on the console, lips firmly set while his face remained in a deadlock with his raging emotions.

Ahsoka exhaled slowly, feeling the deep tension in the air, how Jinx was battling against the force, which strained to pour the truth into him.

"They only found the wreckage of his ship on the planet's surface. His cruiser had been shot down by Imperial troops. No one survived the crash," he explained softly.

Ahsoka bowed her head a moment in respect for the friend she had lost. O'mer had been a good man, and a kindhearted Jedi. She only wished she had heard of it sooner.

"Are you alright?" She wondered in a whisper. Jinx screwed his mouth into an even more severe and stubborn line. "There is no death, only the force. He is free," he answered with perfect Jedi restraint.

"Yes," Ahsoka agreed calmly. "But are you?" There was a stricken silence. Finally, Jinx looked up, and his eyes caught hers.

For a moment they held, opaque ice under scrutiny from bottomless radiance. Anguish wracked flames getting their first glimpse of the old healing waters he had once known intimately but had now abandoned him to mourn.

The force whispered in her ear that nothing happened by coincidence, Jinx was here for a reason, yet he knew not the reason himself. She did. O'mer had been his brother, his partner, his best friend, his other half.

What did you do when one-half of your heart leaves you empty and abandoned? The same thing she had done when Master Plo vanished into the force; you find a new piece of heart.

"There is no emotion," Jinx said softly. "There is peace," he recited hollowly. "There is no peace," Ahsoka shot back, holding his eyes steadier than any conversation they had ever had. "Without acceptance," she told him. Jinx favored her with a rueful grin.

"True enough," he managed. "Though I don't remember you as the most devout follower of the code-or authority in general for that matter," yes, well. Things had happened.

People had died. She had lost some things and gained more wisdom in return. The wheels of time had turned; she had changed. "As you have said: I've changed," she replied stoically. Jinx nodded in understanding. "We all have, I think," he agreed.

Ahsoka sighed. "Come on, I'm famished, and by the laws of hospitality have to feed your trespassing self," she called over her shoulder, walking past him. Jinx chortled softly and followed her.

"You're taking compassion on me now? Force, you have changed," he grunted. Ahsoka punched his shoulder. "Not that much, Jinxy-boy," she shot back, using his old nickname.

"Remember that," she told him. Jinx gave her a smoldering look, rubbing the sore spot on his arm peevishly. "I don't like being told what to do, sunshine," he retorted, with a smirk and a gallant bow, also using an old nickname that drove her to distraction.

Ahsoka glared. "You know what? For that, you're getting the poisoned ration bars," she told him contemptuously, strutting past. "Not to worry, I shall be sure to switch them with yours," Jinx replied sourly. "You know what, you…You… scruffy looking nerf herder…"

"Who are you calling scruffy looking, your royal highness?"

"Who else? I don't see any other half-witted ruffians in the area,"

"I do, there's a certain spy slash pirate walking next to me, and she's bossy, too. Such an unattractive trait in a lady, whatever shall we do with you?"

So, they argued, bickered and drove each other to madness all the way to the cafeteria, and beyond that still. After all, in the end, peace came at a fighting price.

~Nava's POV~

Battle always took something from her. Something deep and internal, it left Nava overwhelmed, for with battle came the mirroring affects of the after battle, were she felt the pain from the wounded, the tiredness of the volunteers, and the contained morbid sadness from the clones and Jedi. She felt all of it, as if it were all her own.

Their pain brought back memories. Memories of a young boy, half a man, and a lightsaber through his chest as he leapt to shield her…

Or of a humid, airless swamp where a great woman died of exhaustion and torture…Then began the thoughts, the insistent nagging wonder of could I have saved them?

Jedi training dictated that those feelings were wrong, incorrect, destructive, but they were human. After battles, Nava felt very much human, not even close to being Jedi and as such, very vulnerable.

That was the reason she went to Obi-wan, secretly of course.

Silently, shoulders drooping, spirits dark and unpromising, she walked into his small quarters. Her eyes traveled over the modest and clean surroundings, everything appeared shadowed and calm in the dim light.

At the desk sat her man himself. He did not turn when she walked in, so engrossed was he by whatever it was he was listening too off his data pad.

Fluidly, his large hands crafted spiraling words on the data pad as he listened, his brow scrunched in concentration. She sighed, desperate for release and closed the door behind her.

Obi-wan cocked his head at the noise, and a small smile lit his face. Nava tried to smile back, but it must have come out as a grimace. Obi-wan took out one earphone, his expression worried, as artificial eyes fell away to reveal blind pupils that sometimes saw too much.

"Are you alright?" he asked. Nava nodded and pulled a second chair over, tiredly. "I dislike war," she replied to the obvious. Obi-wan studied her thoughtfully a moment. After said minute was over, he nodded understandingly.

"We all do, Nava. We all do. Come take a break," he invited. Nava nodded and straddled her seat beside him. Obi-wan once more focused on the work before him, and his swift, exact movements mesmerized her.

Nava watched his hands, large, tendon knotted skeletons, with skin so fair she could see several large veins, bulging and life-filled underneath the thin layer of flesh. Scars crisscrossed his hands, and calluses from hard work and fighting.

To an ordinary observer, Obi-wan did not appear to have worked harder than lifting a sheet of paper in his life. How appearances could deceive.

Nava sighed and leaned back, closing her eyes. The force was awash with emotions, with loss, grief, pain, horror, rage…She inhaled sharply, determined to keep her sanity, to remain strong while everyone around her succumbed to the effects of battle and war. Release, release…

But how could she release emotions not her own? How could she accept and comprehend things that came from not inside sources but outside tomfoolery? So many emotions…

Nava could not find her own in the disorderly disarray in which she drowned. In her lap, her fists clenched.

She was a master of the blasted Order; she should know this by now. She should know this. Where was she in this great labyrinth of people? So many people and reactions, yet her own were belittled and lost.

No self, no future, no past, no heart or soul. Just a mirror…Mirrors could break, mirrors could shatter, glass was fragile, and had to be forged by fire and tongs.

She had not realized she was whimpering softly. Her eyes opened, and without feeling, Nava knew her cheeks were wet. She let out a sigh, disgusted with herself, or maybe by someone else.

She did not know. It was hard to find who you were when constantly you were feeling for everyone else, with everyone else and flooded by everyone else.

"Ah, my dear. You really must stop lowering your shields before a battle," Obi-wan sighed sympathetically. Nava opened her eyes to see him staring at her with concern. She shook her head and looked away.

Obi-wan did not care. Removing his earphones, he walked behind her and started undoing the single plait she had devised out of her braids.

"It makes me sick, Obi-wan," Nava muttered, fists clenching on the back of the chair. "We are Jedi. Unnatural death alone makes us sick. You must begin strengthening your shields again before battles, Nava," Obi-wan scolded softly, as her braid was untangled. He ran a hand through long braided tresses. Nava shook her head. "I won't," she scoffed, defiant.

She would never stop letting the emotions come. Sometimes it was her own personal warning of a death. She could save people if she could feel that flash of panic before an explosion.

The growing alarm of a failed starfighter. If she could feel those emotions, she might get there in time. Like she hadn't done with Annex, and Kapli. She had let them down. She refused to fail another person ever again.

Obi-wan rested his large hands on her shoulders, exasperated. "You're impossible," it was spoken with affection, though, and admiration. "I know," that was a lie.

What did she know? At the moment, blaring, grieving pain made it a bit hard for her to recall anything of her own, knowledge included.

"Relax. The feelings may be someone else's, but while you are harboring them, they become yours. Command and exile them, Nava," he instructed, as if she were a youngling again.

As if they were younglings and he as helping her study for a test. Easy days, full of mischief and laughter…Why did he need to remind her of such moments? Those times were gone. War was their life now; service had become their mistress, and justice came in when it could.

"To release you need acceptance, you need an anchor," she growled back, too exhausted to fight with him about this.

He did not need to teach everyone all the time… "What do you suppose I'm here for? Breathe. I will help you," he whispered, squeezing her shoulders.

Nava exhaled slowly. "I can do it myself," she reminded him. "I know. The only stipulation with that is I don't intend to let you do it by yourself. We will face the emotions together, as one. Allow me to ground you with me in the force, and we will release together," as one.

As a team. Yes, teamwork, it did not always have to be alone.

Strength and peace were earned at the side of another, occasionally. Certainly, the two titles were dance partners, two fingers from the same hand, like the fish living in the anemone.

They sheltered one another, and with one came the other. It was merely a matter of finding one and then holding them both, because like all dance partners, they could come apart.

"Very well," she stood, and turned, letting her freed hair swish around her shoulders. "Let's do it," he nodded and sat on the ground. The ground was always best. For they were the force's lowly servants, and when they called upon it, they called on their knees.

She let her hands drift into his. He held them as if they were delicate and fragile flowers given into his keeping, dutifully loose, ready to release at the order, but still close and warmed.

This was love, not attachment.

Then, they bowed their heads and inhaled deeply, calling on the force together, once more pledging themselves to a thing unknown but present.

Hearts, minds, bodies, lives…They all belonged to the force. It swirled around them, lifting spirits beyond gross matter in its tumulus oceans.

They were stones, being thrashed about in the murky depths; yet Nava knew that in this grand sea, they would emerge smooth.

She clung to Obi-wan's force signature, a soothing beacon of light and confidence swaying gently on the bottom of the sea. Nava grasped herself to him, and slowly exhaled, releasing, laying her breaking heart out as an offering.

A Jedi had nothing to give but his heart, his soul, his life, his service. In the outside world, their lightsabers rose in unison, and began disassembling, the force filtering through every minor crack and swelter in the weapons-in their lives- to cleanse and renew the vibrant blade back to life.

She was a mirror, mirrors could shatter; and they could also cut. They could reflect light, love, the truth. Emotions swept over them, violent waters in horrible rebel, but she and Obi-wan remained nestled at the bottom, two river stones being smoothed by the vicious attacks.

And hours later, she would be glowing with committed life and nourishing shine, like a freshly polished and cleaned mirror.

After all, in the end, peace came at a fighting price.