"You twist the knife
And I'll take the bullet
You start the fire
And the world then turns for you"

The Knife – Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

"You seem balanced."

Meetra only glanced slightly sideways at Mical while pouring herself a cup of coffee.

"Hmmm?"

"Considering we're en route to Korriban of all places, I expected you would be rather more… unsettled."

Meetra waved a hand through the air dismissively and smiled.

"Don't be ridiculous. Just one more place we have to go... what do I care if it's the sacred training ground of the Sith?"

Mical always did this one thing that made her quite uncomfortable: He'd look at her like he was trying to say something, or ask her something but in the end always seemed to think better of it. The man held a spark for her that was indisputable and impossible to overlook or mistake for something else; as always, the nature of her bonds were deeply rooted in a short time.

"Are you okay?"

Why yes, yes of course I am. She wanted to answer. I've found myself against all better judgement having a passionately burning affair with the one person on this ship who I really should stay well away from. But we live only once and when we go to sleep at night even that we will wake up the next morning is an assumption, so why the hell not? I may not make it out of this alive, he might not make it out of this alive, so fuck it: I want to be happy.

Late-night liaisons in the cockpit and the bathroom left little room for error from either of them as the Ebon Hawk cruised through space towards Korriban. What started as a small collection of companions had become a veritable family of sorts with the inclusion of bounty hunter Mira and Goto's foul droid – sneaking around the ship so late at night was becoming risky, especially when she and Atton discovered the other night that Mira had a bladder the size of a gizka's brain.

It had been early dawn when she there was a rapping at the bathroom door while Meetra was perched on the counter, her fingers clenched tight around the edges of the steel sink as Atton rolled his hips against hers, the pair of them keeping relatively silent apart from their breathing which was deep and hurried.

Her head dropped forward and immediately snapped to the source of the sound and surprise consumed her already flushed features. She looked at her equally caught off guard cavalier with round eyes and slid off the counter.

"Get out!" She hissed.

"Me? What about you?" He whispered back, clutching his pants shut with a spare hand.

"I'll hide."

"Where?"

"In the shower." She pursed her lips shut in a terse look that wordlessly stressed that they didn't have time to argue about it.

"Open the friggin' door... I hafta pee!" Mira's fist thumped against the door again a few more times. Meetra bit her lip to stifle laughter: Despite the awkward knowledge Mira would know about her late night activities, there was something rather comical about the situation.

"She'll be way less freaked out if she finds me hiding in the shower." Meetra explained quickly keeping her voice as low as she could, hauling her tank-top back down over her breasts with one hand and attempting to tame her hair with the other.

Atton rolled his eyes as Meetra ducked into the shower and pressed herself flat against the wall that hid her from view from anyone who happened to be using the toilet, and she heard a flush and the sound of a zipper being drawn up.

"About damn time." Meetra heard Mira growl and she knew that Atton had opened the door.

"Sometimes a guy just needs to set aside time to think." Came his effortless reply as she heard him clip his belt shut.

"At quarter past three in the morning, Atton? Gross. You didn't even wash your hands."

"Can't blame me, can you? Gets lonely in this piece of junk and the female company around here isn't very friendly." He sneered.

"You try and touch me flyboy and you're gonna find yourself short a piece of equipment."

"Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart. Red-heads aren't my type."

Meetra heard Mira slam the door in Atton's face and once again had to bite back laughter; in his own sleazy way, Atton managed to possess a suaveness that was laughably effective.

"I'm fine, Mical. Thank you for asking." She looked up and threw her spoon in the sink, taking a sip of her coffee. "What causes you such concern for my well-being?"

"I suppose... nothing really." He admitted, setting the datapad he had been scrolling through on the table. "There's absolutely nothing about you right now that causes concern, which also causes me to be curious... something changed on Nar Shaddaa."

"Did it?" She said, loading the toaster with some bread. "I know I'll never get that smell out of my nose, but other than that, it was everything I expected it to be: Filthy, loud and far too depressing for my liking. Can't imagine why anyone would want to spend any length of time there." Although that apartment and more specifically the bed inside it will be sorely missed…

Mical shook his head. "Your meeting with Master Zez-Kai Ell... you haven't spoken of it."

"What's to speak of?" She took a large swig of coffee and made a face; she had burnt it again. "Always got along well with him. He was a gentle soul, always patient and able to keep up with me when I was a wild youngling. I'm glad to see he remains so peaceful despite all of this bloodshed."

"But did he train you? Did he teach you anything or perhaps offer some advice to help heal your wound?"

Meetra snatched the toast out of the air as it popped from the toaster and crammed the corner of one piece in her mouth.

"No." She said through the bread. "Feigned ignorance about it like Vrook did. He taught me a lightsaber form though... for all the good that does me."

"Why won't you use a lightsaber?"

"Because I'm not a Jedi." She said, sitting across from Mical. "A blaster is far more useful for what we're doing anyway. Besides, the entire bounty on Jedi thing lends one to believe that igniting a saber every time someone challenged us would be… well… foolish." Discretion and subtly were what was going to keep herself and the ever-growing crew under her safe for now. She knew there would come a time when flitting under the radar of the Republic and their enemies would not be a possibility, but for now this was working fine. After all, there was a very specific reason she usually travelled only with Atton when they left the ship: If they were being consistently watched, they needed to counter by being consistently… consistent. She kept him constantly by her side for the fact that he solidified nearly any alibi she could come up with on the fly. Atton was a talented liar, as he had proven on Dantooine, and what could be more unassuming than a pair of card players cruising the cantinas, or an adventurous couple on a trip across the galaxy to explore some of its more forgotten history?

"I would think that training... Atton would incline you to pick one up again." The deliberate pause before Atton's name did not go un-noticed by Meetra who only shrugged again.

"I'm leaving that decision entirely up to him. If he wants to, great: He'll have to make his own, and I'll train him using a sword." She tore off another piece of bread with her teeth and studied the handsome man; as soon as anything to do with Atton came up his eyes automatically turned down and his voice lost the distinct, interested quality it usually held. "What?" She prompted.

"Why him?"

"Atton? What about him?"

"Why did you choose to train him?"

Meetra sighed but kept her calm, biting down on any flippant remarks that might wound the poor man any further. She was beginning to consider printing out a memo and plastering it across every door on the Hawk if it meant not having to answer this question again.

"Because he asked me to." She explained gently, taking into account her friendship with Mical and her own affections for him. "Because he was born with the Force and was never trained to use it and I mean in case you haven't noticed the galaxy is a bit short on Jedi right now..." She let her words hang and took another sip of coffee. "I also figured I sort of owe it to someone who it turns out is long dead. I always try to square my debts, Mical, when the time allows it." She quirked her mouth to the side in a half smile, hoping he would understand… hoping he wouldn't hate her or think that she had malignantly overlooked every single kindness he had lavished on her; incense sticks and her favourite shampoo and sandwiches made just the way she liked them and the poetry he would read to her sometimes after they meditated. She hoped that he knew that she didn't choose Atton purely to spite him, and that it had really just come down to a matter of what felt right… but how do you say that to someone, you know?

The urge to say something appeared to take Mical again, and this time he was unable to hold back his words and bury them behind a cunning glance.

"I just don't want to see you put in a position where you may have to make a difficult choice… and get hurt in the process." He said quietly, his eyes lingering on the floor.

So young. He was so young. He was beyond his years with book-smarts and philosophical dreamings but at his core, Mical at this very moment was the most miserable man who had ever lived; a young man, convinced of his unrequited feelings.

"Mical…" She began, her tone softening. "I understand that you're concerned but I can –"

"Take care of yourself?" He interjected, and disdain crept into his voice and caused Meetra's heart to crack a little more as she continued slowly chewing on her toast for a lack of anything more poised to do. "That must be what you told everyone at the academy who warned you not to leave for the war. You also must have said the same thing to dozens of people during the war and look at how well that turned out for you. People don't warn you to be annoying, Meetra. They warn you against the dangers of your actions because they care for you. So far in your life it appears you have managed to ignore almost every single one of them… do you ever stop to wonder why many of these people are now either dead or gone from your life?"

"Surely being exiled for a decade didn't help my social life." She said curtly, pouring another coffee; Mical was usually so passive, to see him actually exude any measure of passion about something other than a book or an idea was uncommon. "Tea?" She waited for Mical to nod and set about heating up some water; this may well have been her first proper argument with the man, but she wasn't surprised to find it so far to be terribly civil.

"You don't even know his real name, Meetra." He offered with exasperation. "How can you trust someone who won't even tell you their name?"

Those exact words were part of the reason that Meetra would not yet offer training to Mical; Atton had let go. Atton had come clean, opened up and admitted that the pain it took to remain a fragile bud was far worse than the risk it would take to bloom. Mical was still doubting and afraid… ignorant even. He was young, innocent, and any pain or hardship he had suffered thus far in his life, though it could not be dismissed as insignificant, could also not be set side by side with the lifetime of mistakes and flaws that made Atton who he was. It wasn't that Mical didn't matter; it was that he simply was not ready.

She did in fact know Atton's real name: It had come up the other evening as they sat in the cockpit and stared at the white lines of hyperspace as they zoomed past, both reclined in their chairs, feet on the dash and hands clasped together in the empty space between them.

Jaq Levon Burtrand had been born the son of a wealthy industrialist: Jehrek Burtrand had been commissioned for years by the Republic to design and build spacecraft, land-cruisers, weaponry and life support systems for planets that had been recently colonized. His father was the quintessential businessman, running his extremely successful business while never quite stooping to the levels of Czerka while doing so, he managed to maintain a gleaming name in the industry, and he and his family had done well for it.

When she asked why he had changed his name, Atton only laughed in that tired, self-deprecating fashion of his and fooled around with one of his coat pockets a little and said, "My father already had a name for himself that he had worked for by the time I enlisted, and pretty much everyone knew the name Burtrand, so I guess I just wanted to go and make my own name for myself. So rather than my uniform having the initials J. Burtrand stitched on it, I changed things so that I could be Atton Rand instead. Jil didn't matter… she never had to change her name because she was taken away to be a Jedi and they don't care much about names. The way I saw it, I didn't have any other choice but to live in that shadow of a name and the expectations that came with it, or try and set myself apart."

And it just stuck. That was it. There was no mystery, no dark reason for an alias… only the desire to be unique.

She had just opened her mouth to explain more when J.L. Burtrand himself popped his head around the corner of the galley.

"Some guy on the comm. looking for you."

Meetra instantly frowned and her expression matched Atton's confused visage.

"In hyperspace? She said, standing from the table and abandoning her burnt coffee. "That shouldn't even be possible."

Atton shrugged a little. "The signal is pretty chewed up but whoever is sending it somehow managed to get it through." He took the opportunity since he was in the kitchen to rummage for a snack. "Anyway, the signal is still open if you wanna go check it out. Let me tell you now, Surik: I'm not your damn P.R. agent."

She wrinkled her nose and took her coffee back. "What?" She muttered as she slinked out of the kitchen, her toast cold in her fingers and her brow deeply furrowed when she finally sauntered into the cockpit, suspicion stoked by Atton's warning. She mentally rebuked herself when the screaming of the kettle down the hallway reminded her that she had just left Mical hanging.

She dropped into Atton's seat and placed her remaining toast on the console, running a hand through her fringe, uncaring of the frightful way it was now probably sticking up. She took a sip of coffee and took the comm. off hold. The face of a young Twi'lek crackled through the cosmic interference.

"Surik here." She said, leaning back.

"Good morning, Miss Surik, my name is Javek'k En with A.U.M.C. The Alderaani Underground Media – "

Meetra took another drink and let the coffee cup linger over her lips, hiding her mouth. "I'm aware of your outlet." She said, realizing exactly what was going on now and what Atton had meant in the kitchen.

"You'll have to forgive us for the unsolicited communication... I understand that you used to have... people for this sort of thing but when the coalition heard of your involvement in the liberation of Khoonda, we had questions."

She crossed her right leg over her knee and dragged her hand through her bangs again, "Yeah, see we're not really doing interviews right now." The words came out politely enough, but they were but a delicately crafted mask for the annoyance that boiled under them; the entire point of her mission was discretion. The last thing she needed right now was a media circus the likes that followed her during the war. Granted, at the time she was more than happy to oblige, with one bizarre media stunt after the other.

She became aware of Atton entering the cockpit and he sat in the co-pilot seat, his own cup of coffee in hand as Meetra stared down the Twi'lek on the translucent Holo-screen that covered the majority of the window to the stars.

"When did you return to Republic space?" The Twi'lek asked, disregarding Meetra's statement that she wasn't interested in being interviewed.

She bit her lip behind the coffee mug and thought hard; this media coalition was an underground, Alderaani based outfit mostly run by journalism students and freelance writers. They had no real clout in the galaxy, and despite their idealistic intentions for a world of media that was honest and unbiased by politics, the A.U.M.C was never likely to gain much of a legitimate following apart from conspiracy theorists and political extremists.

"I'm not answering that." She said, swirling the dark liquid in her mug. "You people realize the Jedi have a lot of enemies, right? Maybe posting video interviews of them on the HoloNet might hinder, rather than help?" She crossed her arms and stared at her knees in a bored, disinterested way: It was like pulling on a worn pair of leather gloves, speaking to the media again. She easily recalled the early days of her stammering and stuttering awkwardly in front of cameras and recording devices shoved in her face, struggling as she tried to find a less stupid looking way to hold a microphone while she spoke into it. Like anything else, it got easier with time and experience, and by the end of the war, she had two very deliberately separated media personas: One was the General – the woman who led: The one who did such strange things as stand stone still on a white marble block in the lobby of the senate building on Coruscant for three days, dressed and painted entirely in white as she stood as a welcome vigil for the Jedi who abandoned the Order and would soon arrive. This same persona was the one who turned out historical war-time speeches and was known as a fierce diplomat as well as a brave warrior. The other persona consisted of a badgered young woman who was ambushed as she walked down the streets of Onderon or Coruscant and they pulled and they tugged at her personal life and bled what they could from her, asking the same irritating questions over and over. This persona handled such intrusions with the same cold, detached, completely vague and disinterested quality Meetra controlled presently and it had been her most useful tool in keeping her head above water in a galaxy full of people who could find nothing better to do than speculate about what sort of toner she used on her skin in the morning or who she might be sleeping with.

"Please just humour us, Miss Surik. Rumors of the return of the Great General has brought hope to many who supported your cause during the war. Specifically up for question; yourself and your treatment at the hands of the Jedi Order after the war."

She glanced sideways at Atton and drank more coffee. She took her time answering by occupying her mouth with another bite of toast, which she chewed slower than she normally would as she gazed distantly into the corner of the room. She shifted slightly in the chair, filling the lingering silence with the sound of creaking leather.

"Nah..." She began. "What we're doing here has nothing to do with that. You know I guess sometimes in life things just get really weird all around for everybody and my crew and I have ah... a lot to get done and really not much time to do it, so right now we're not really looking to start any sort of revolution or... or take any sort of political stance. Or do interviews." She laughed dryly at the end and set her empty cup down, occupying her now empty hands with the hem of her coat sleeve.

"I see..." The Twi'lek said, completely nonplussed by her vaguely worded refusal to sit for a proper interview. "Do you think any other members of this crew you mention would be willing to speak with us?"

Meetra looked at Atton, a private, rather sarcastic smile was shared between them.

"I dunno." She laughed quietly. "I don't think so. Does my pilot want to do an interview?"

Atton looked at his lap, smirked and shook his head, "No."

"Yeah... no. I uh don't think any of the crew wants to be interviewed. Maybe if we all make it out of this alive one day one of us might be a bit chattier but ah... right now like I said we're all pretty busy with all this weirdness." She dug around in her pocket for a smoke and lit it, her finger hovering over the button that would disconnect the communication.

"Wait!" Her finger was halted and she looked up, smoke curling around her face and burning her eyes from the coffin nail clenched in her lips. "One more question: You've already aided the citizens of Khoonda by strategizing and leading a battle plan coordinated with their militia to protect them against the mercenaries in the area... will you be returning there anytime soon to address the latest threat to the planet you were raised on?"

"Newest threat?" She repeated, resting her arm on the chair and drawing on the smoke again. Any interest she had was not given away on the surface.

"There are stories coming from Dantooine of young people disappearing mysteriously. One day they're there, the next they're not. The administrator's son is one of the missing. Rumour has it there's a dark Jedi holed up in the ruins of the academy, attempting to seduce young people to join the Sith. Of course, now with all of the mercenaries gone, the plunderers dare not go in there without protection, leaving it wide open to fester as a breeding ground for rumour and unverifiable information."

Meetra flattened her fringe and pushed it up again, pausing to think and scrape her nails against the thick calluses worn up on her fingertips.

"Is there any credence to these reports?"

Javek'k shrugged. "There is truth that young ones are going missing. That is all we have confirmed."

Meetra nodded and hauled on the cigarra again.

"Thanks for the call, Javek'k." Before the Twi'lek could speak further, the connection was cut, and Meetra was on her feet in front of the galaxy map.

"Turn us around." She said. "We're going back to Dantooine."

"We're less than two days from Korriban." Atton said, sleep still ruling his voice. "Are you sure you want to blast all the way back across the galaxy for a rumour you heard from some university journalism student?"

Meetra's eyes didn't leave the tiny glowing dot that represented Dantooine on the map.

"No." She replied finally. "But can't you feel it? There is weight in the words the Twi'lek said and it echoes through the Force: Deception surrounds us." When he only looked at her with tired, vague eyes, she elaborated. "Things that have lain dormant for over a decade are coming back to me now that I'm helping you and..." Her eyes wandered over the map of the galaxy again in a curious, timed fashion. "Let's just say I am becoming fully aware of the filth that tries to compromise us." She continued, and Atton couldn't help but feel that the woman standing five feet away from him was more a General now than she had been in years. He also wondered if this character was here to stay. "Dantooine is a strategically important planet; not only is it the closest thing to a home I've ever had, but it is where the seeds of the Order will need to be re-sown in the future... allowing a dark presence to settle in at the academy would bode ill for that end. The disappearance of Khoonda citizens into the academy will also put a strain on relations between Khoonda and the Jedi that settle there in the future if nothing is done about it." She sighed and dropped the smouldering remnants of her smoke in the dregs of her coffee where it fizzled out with a sad hiss. "Korriban is a wasted planet filled with nothing but the dark side and ghosts of the past. If I know anything about ghosts, it's that they can wait. The living can't."