A/N: Apologies to all my readers for dropping off the face of the planet. For, like, two months. My life has been in turmoil, and not the good kind, and I didn't have the inclination to write. But. Hopefull it's getting better. Sorry about the unscheduled hiatus.

This chapter is sort of choppy, as it's an interim/miscellany thing, but here it is anyway. Again, apologies.

The assault came when Atton was patching up the rest of the battle-droids, and he was so startled that he jumped and knocked his head against the droid's underbelly. It beeped at him in protest.

"Sorry," he told it, slamming its control panel shut. "Your aim's gonna be a bit off, but you better get going."

An affirmative beep this time, and it lumbered off in the direction of the blaring alarms. Atton drew his blasters and went the opposite direction. Someone had to make sure no one was sneaking around the back—

"Atton!"

He stifled a groan. It was Mical.

"Where are you going?" Mical wanted to know, jogging up to him.

"Around the back," Atton said, through gritted teeth. What was Mical doing here? Shouldn't he be, oh, you know, making a brave yet foolhardy charge in the front lines?

"Why?"

"To cover all the points of entry."

"Oh," said Mical. Then he nodded. "That is a good idea. I'll accompany you."

"No, really, you don't have to—"

But Mical wasn't listening. Atton bit back a frustrated curse and followed; they really didn't have the time to be standing around arguing.

--

Arguing, however, seemed to be on the agenda for the day.

The battle itself was a fairly short one. What Atton would remember afterward was standing around amidst the blood and twisted metal near the broken-down back door to the Khoonda complex, shouting at Mical for all he was worth.

It was made all the more embarrassing when Carra came looking for them and discovered that they were shouting about her. Atton fumed all the way to the medical ward. Amidst all the shouting he had failed to notice that he had been shot in the shoulder; Mical, of course, had gotten away completely unscathed.

He really did have stupid hair, Atton thought bitterly.

--

"Were you two arguing throughout the entire fight?" she asked him later, after his arm had been patched up and they were making their way back to the Hawk.

"Pretty much, yeah," Atton admitted. His shoulder was still sore. Carra had tried her Jedi healing powers on him, but as she said, it wasn't always perfect—and the medical ward had been crowded with injured fighters after the battle. She had, predictably, insisted on helping them. "Hey, don't worry," he added, trying for a lazy smile. "We still won, didn't we?"

"What was so important," she wanted to know, "that you couldn't have talked about it afterwards?"

The plains were dark; it was far past midnight now. Atton shrugged and regretted it immediately—his shoulder ached and she probably hadn't seen it anyway. "Nothing important," he told her.

She made a disbelieving sound. Atton sighed.

"He told me to leave you alone, I told him you could take care of yourself—there was some name-calling—you get the idea, yeah?"

"He's not so bad, you know," said Carra.

It was Atton's turn to make a disbelieving sound.

Carra stopped. "Atton," she said. "Please be nice to him."

He stared at her. "Why?"

Her face, what he could see of it in the dim light from the starport before them, was absolutely serious. "Because I think he might be in love with me," Carra said.

"Well, yeah—"

"It's not a pleasant feeling."

No, it wasn't—it ripped you apart and put you back together, but differently, and you were never quite the same again afterward; Atton sighed, because his shoulder hurt, and because he was remembering that woman who had died for him, and because, despite himself, he felt a twinge of pity for the other man. But hey, here was Carra worrying over Mical; what about Atton, huh?

"Sucks to be him, then," Atton said.

Carra sighed.

"What?" Atton demanded. "What do you want me to do? Because let me tell you, Carra, he's been getting laid more than everybody else on your crew put together, and that includes me, so—"

"That's not important," Carra said.

"Jedi," Atton groaned, turning away in disgust.

"Well, it shouldn't be—"

"Carra," Atton said, "you're a virgin."

There was silence. Atton peered out into the wild vast expanse of the darkened plains; the night wind was blowing through the grass with a sound like a lover's sigh. Quite romantic, he thought, if Jedi had been the sort to appreciate such things. But clearly they weren't.

"He'll be fine," Atton said. "Can we go, already? It's getting late."

--

They were off to Korriban a few days later, and on the way Carra taught him how to make a lightsaber.

Well. Not just him. Mical was invited to the lesson too, and Bao-Dur was there to help with the technical aspects, and of course the Miraluka—all right, fine, Visas—was there to give advice. Or, you know, just stand in the corner, brooding at the world from beneath her veil. Whichever.

She still had her lightsaber—the blood-red one, the sort the Sith carried, and Atton wondered why Carra had let her keep it. But then, Carra could be pretty strange sometimes. She had helped him harvest a crystal from the cave on Dantooine but refused to tell him what color it was; the crystal had looked clear and opaque in the daylight, but Carra had said, cryptically, that its true nature was for him to discover alone. Some days she was nearly as bad as Kreia.

He made a lightsaber. It wasn't hard.

Green, it turned out—green, like the grass of the Dantooine plains, green like the color of Carra's eyes.

--

Atton was awoken in the middle of the sleep-cycle by a pair of yellow eyes and the feel of a blaster barrel against his forehead.

"Threat," said a raspy, whining mechanical voice. "Move, meatbag, and you will be terminated."

"Meatbag?" Atton demanded indignantly, and kneed the droid in its control cluster.

It staggered sideways, the blaster firing off a wild shot that would leave a nasty mark on the wall later, and Atton rolled off his bunk and rammed into the droid with his shoulder. It went down with a clatter. Atton stomped down hard on the blaster. It cracked in two; good thing these HK models were useless at hand to hand, or he would be dead—

Two things happened at once: the door slammed open, and Bao-Dur had the presence of mind to wake up and shoot Atton in the leg.

There was some blood. There was some shouting. There was, on Atton's part, a lot of furious cursing, at least until someone turned the lights on and pushed him to the ground.

"Stay still," Mira snapped. "You're losing blood."

"What in space is that fracking droid doing in here—"

"Outraged exclamation: I was under orders from my master to search and destroy all threats onboard this ship—"

"And shut up," Mira added. "Both of you."

Atton shut up. The droid subsided, glaring; Bao-Dur, who looked rather confused, was still holding a blaster. Carra came charging in at that moment, followed by Mical—what were they doing together?—and then, of course, T3 had to come in, too, beeping wildly. Atton scowled at them all.

"Oh, great," he complained. "Why don't we just invite the Sith and that old scow in here, too? Might as well make it a party."

"Atton," Mical said. "You appear to be bleeding quite profusely."

"Thanks, captain obvious—"

"What happened here?" Carra demanded.

"I was attacked!" Atton snapped. The HK unit, upon closer inspection, was rust-red instead of steel, and with sudden dawning horror he glared at Carra. "You rebuilt it?" he demanded. "You actually rebuild the assassin droid? Carra, you've done a lot of stupid things but this really tops it all—"

"Statement: Call me that again, meatbag, and—"

"HK," Carra said, quiet and fierce. "Go to the main cabin. Stay there and put yourself on standby mode. You are not to move until I tell you otherwise. That is an order, do you understand?"

"Statement—"

"You are not to speak until I tell you otherwise."

Atton hadn't thought it was possible for a droid to look sulky, but HK somehow managed it. It clanked to its feet and stalked out. T3 followed, beeping furiously about—taking orders too literally? Atton frowned.

"Uh," Mira said, kneeling next to Atton. "Not to ruin the moment, or anything, but anyone have a medpack?"

Oh, yeah. He was still bleeding. The pillowcase that Mira had wrapped around his leg seemed to be helping, though.

"We're out," Mical said.

Frack.

"Why'd it even come in here?" Atton demanded.

Carra came toward him, frowning, and bent down to examine his leg. "I think it considered you a threat," she said.

"Well," Atton said, sarcastically, "I'm glad someone here still takes me seriously."

The blood loss hit him at that point. The next few hours were a bit of a blur.

--

Bao-Dur came in to apologize later, trailing into the medbay after Mira, and looking rather sheepish.

"Sorry, Atton," the tech said. "I didn't mean to shoot you."

"Do you know how boring it is in here?" Atton complained, sitting up. "Carra couldn't do anything and we're all out of kolto, and I won't be able to walk properly for a week—"

"If there's anything I can do—"

Atton scowled. "You can dismantle that damned droid."

"Yeah," Mira said, leaning over to check the diagnostics on the computer. "I told him he should have left it alone, but he wouldn't listen to me."

Bao-Dur sighed. "The General said—"

Atton rolled his eyes. "Carra's a Jedi," he said. "They're all crazy." The tech had worked with them for years, and hadn't realized that yet?

"Carra's one of the saner ones," Mira added. "Ever heard Vrook talk?"

Bao-Dur cast her a reproachful look. "You're supposed to be here for moral support," he accused.

That was interesting. Atton tried not to look too curious. "Moral support?"

"Bao-Dur here was afraid you'd bite his head off," Mira said.

"You know, Mira," Atton drawled, "I could use some moral support—"

"Shove it, Rand." She nudged Bao-Dur with her elbow. "I have to get back to the cockpit. Are you coming, or what?"

Another apology, and they left together. Huh. Atton leaned back in the bunk and contemplated the medbay door. Mira and Bao-Dur, in the cockpit together—

He couldn't help but smirk. Bao-Dur had shot him; perhaps a bit of teasing was in order.

A/N: I've included a link to my website on my profile page, and it's got some more of my writing there in case anyone is interested.