Chapter 43: Comfort

Bastila buried her face in the folds of her father's ragged leather jacket, praying to an unknown deity that the garment would shield her from the incoming terrors.

Jasper's gnarled hand traced up-and-down her spine, silently comforting Bastila as he carried her toward the landing pad and closer to the end of life as she knew it. "Don't make me go, daddy," she pleaded, eyes welling. "I'm scared."

The treasure hunter placed Bastila's feet on the ground. As Bastila wiped her runny nose and eyes with her balled fists and overlong sleeves, Jasper squatted to match his daughter's height, the soles of his worn boots squeaking as they folded. "How old is my birthday girl today?" Incapable of speech, Bastila lifted her hand and spread her pudgy fingers, indicating she was 5-years-old. The act earned arched brows and feigned surprise from Jasper. "Five? Wow! Do you know what that means, princess?" His inquiry elicited a rapid shake of the head from his daughter. "That means you're officially a big girl. And big girls are brave, aren't they?"

Since her eyes were locked upon her father, Bastila had not noticed her glassy-eyed mother crouching behind Jasper, resting a supportive hand upon his shoulder. "There's nothing to fear, Bastila," Helena told her daughter, though her words of reassurance only served to frustrate the tot. "You'll have Nikky with you and Nikky isn't afraid. Nikolaj, tell Til how you two are going to have a grand time on Dantooine."

A lanky, blonde-haired boy a few years older than she stepped into view, clutching his father's hand with enough might to make his fingers turn ghostly white. "It'll be alright, Til," Nikolaj said with a trembling voice and weak smile, displaying a mouth filled with gaps and emerging teeth. "Dad said we'll have fun at the Enclave."

"And your Uncle Latch never lies," Jasper swiftly added, glancing at his miserable-looking best friend with a nervous grin before gazing at his daughter. His grey eyes misted as he tenderly circled Bastila's cheeks beneath the pads of his calloused thumbs. "You just need to give it a chance, Tilly. You're going to love it."

Desperate to make him understand her desire to stay, Bastila frantically tugged at his collar. "Daddy -"

"Jasper and Helena Shan? Bastiayn Fel?" The Talravians looked up to see who had interrupted the agonized goodbyes. A tall woman with close-cropped, frosty hair, nonexistent lips, and the least-friendly face Bastila had ever seen approached, her expression sour.

Latch swallowed hard before stepping forward to speak on behalf of the group. Ever the friendly one, he extended his free hand to the Jedi, only to be met with an unenthusiastic shake. "You must be Jedi Master Quatra. I'm Bastiayn Fel, but please, call me Latch. This is my son Nikolaj and our close friends Jasper, Helena, and Bastila Shan."

"Mr. Fel," Quatra coolly acknowledged with a single nod. "Are the younglings ready for the voyage to Dantooine?"

Although Bastila knew an outburst would earn punishment later, she could not contain herself. "NO!" she wailed, sobbing. "I want to stay, daddy!"

"Bastila," Helena hissed, clearly embarrassed before directing her flushed, tear-stained face to Quatra with a forced grin. "I apologize. My daughter is excited and so very grateful for the opportunity to be taught by the best. She -"

"We just need a minute," Jasper interrupted. Bastila felt her father's arms encircle her, holding her tight against his chest, before pushing her back slightly so he could look directly into her eyes. "You're the most special girl in the universe and becoming a Jedi means you're going to be even more special. Can you even imagine?" When Bastila did not react or respond, Jasper continued, his voice steady and soothing. "You're going to help lots and lots of people, just like you help your mother, but this time, you'll be helping people all over the galaxy. You love being a helper, don't you, Til?" he prompted, rubbing her bowed belly. With lips curled inward, Bastila slowly nodded as Jasper motioned for Nikolaj to approach. "And, even better, you'll have lots of adventures with Nikky. Even more adventures than I've had with your Uncle Latch. Everyone in the whole galaxy is going to know your name. You'll be a hero, and you'll have songs and stories written about you, and you'll go down as being the greatest Jedi of all time. And all that doesn't sound so bad, now does it?"

"No," Bastila mumbled as Nikolaj finally approached.

"Nikky will be there the whole time with you and is going to look after you. Isn't that right, Nikky?" When Nikolaj nodded and took Bastila's hand in his own, Jasper smiled as a tear sneaked through his defenses. He ruffled the boy's hair and kissed the crown of his head before pressing his lips against his daughter's chunky cheek. "I love you, princess. We'll see each other again soon. Go on."

Each shaking wildly, Bastila and Nikolaj obeyed; the children walked toward the Jedi Master, hand-in-hand. Before boarding, they were intercepted by Helena, who embraced both children with an intensity Bastila had never experienced, before stepping onto the Jedi's cruiser. When the ship's ramp retracted and the door sealed, Bastila began to cry. "DADDY!" she yelled, hysterical. "DADDY, NO! DADDY!"

"Quiet!" Quatra chastised, stern-faced. "That is enough. I will not tolerate tantrums." To the shock and horror of the children, the Jedi slapped their joined hands, making both flinch and shrink with fright. "You need to rely upon the Force, not one another. Leave her be," she commanded Nikolaj. "You will only hinder her progress and your own if you continue to act in this manner."

Choking back sobs to the point of hyperventilation, Bastila watched as Nikolaj glared at the woman, his expression fierce, protective, and unafraid. Once the loathsome Master turned her back on the duo and walked to the cockpit, Nikolaj reached for Bastila's hand, providing the solace she sought as the ship began its ascent. "It'll be alright, Til," he repeated, squeezing her hand. This time, however, Bastila noted Nikolaj did not sound as confident as he had from the safety of the landing pad. "Dad said we're going to have fun…"

Bastila screamed as she woke, her entire body tense and skin damp with sweat. Ever since her fifth birthday — the date that marked the final time she saw her beloved father — she had hated this cursed day and the recurring nightmare it brought about.

Trembling, cold, and desperate for comfort, Bastila forced her bloodshot eyes shut. From the cradle of her side, she pressed her toes into the mattress and scooted backward to nestle her body against Penn and warm herself as she so typically did. Awake, asleep, or in a state somewhere between, it did not matter; her lover always responded to her wordless plea the same way. He would wrap his arm around her, drawing her close to his chest, and, more often than not, intertwine his legs with her own. The first few times of feeling his body wrapped so intimately around hers had been alarming, as if she were doing something she ought not. However, those anxieties were long gone. Now, she craved his embrace. She continued moving backward, closer and closer to the opposite edge of the mattress. But, instead of warmth, all she found was an expanse of untouched bed linens, cold to the touch on account of the chill in the air.

The empty space where Penn should lay jarred Bastila; she opened her eyes and sat up to find she was alone, just as she had been when she fell asleep. Her blankets lay in rumbled heaps on the floor. Even on the Ebon Hawk, she had always suspected Penn ensured she remained covered and warm all night — something he firmly denied as both knew such an overtly affectionate act would embarrass her — but seeing the bedspread on the floor was a sobering realization that her other half was gone. Lost for a second time.

She pressed her back against the headboard, tucked her knees close to her breast, and rested her forehead against them. Try as she might, Bastila was unable to keep her quivering jaw at bay. Just before the tears begging to be shed could fall, however, she heard a knock at her bedroom door. Determined to look as unbothered as possible, she smoothed her mussed hair, lifted her gaze to the ceiling in an attempt to dry her eyes, and cleared her throat before responding. "Who is it?"

"It's us," Mission declared just outside the door, "and we got -"

"Have," Jolee mumbled his correction. "We have."

"Right," Mission whispered before completing her previous statement. "It's us and we have a surprise for you!" Before Bastila could protest, the bedroom door opened, allowing the youngest and eldest crewmembers to enter. "Happy birthday, Bas!" the Twi'lek exclaimed, bounding toward the bed with a plated slice of cake in her hands. "I know Penn can't be here to make it special, but a few of us thought we'd give it a try. It won't be much, but we'll save the real big celebration for when he's outta -" She hesitated, glancing at Jolee as he cocked his silver brows, before correcting herself. "Once he's out of the slammer."

Although she was not in any mood to celebrate, Bastila accepted the plate; she placed it atop Penn's nightstand as Mission welcomed herself to unclaimed territory on the bed. "Thank you, but I…" Bastila paused, swallowing the heated lump in her throat before resuming, "I doubt he will be interested in celebrating… or speaking to me."

Jolee and Mission locked eyes for a split-second. Since Bastila's return to the compound with a woefully battered Nikolaj and without Penn, all deduced something terrible happened. However, since Bastila refused to speak about the horrors they faced in the Hrakert Station and Nikolaj had retreated to his office at the Embassy, none knew what happened to the couple beneath the surface. Based upon her unusually deep depression, all had begun whispering despite themselves, wondering if Penn and Bastila had parted ways. "So ya really did break up, huh?" the Twi'lek sighed.

The Knight remained silent, staring at the cake with a stiffened jaw; Mission interpreted the silence as acknowledgement. Hoping to provide support in her trademark carefree, lighthearted manner, Mission dismissively waved her hand. "Meh. I don't buy it. Penn's nuts about you and we all know you're just as crazy about him even though you try 'n hide it. This is just a teensy, weensy hiccup. Besides, the hero in every story gets the girl, right? You're the girl in his story and… well…" Mission frowned, "I guess that makes him the girl in your story." When Jolee snorted and rolled his eyes, Mission attempted to redeem her words of comfort-gone-awry. "There was prolly a better way to put that, but you got the gist. You're gonna end up together. I know it."

Endeared by Mission's attempts at comfort, Bastila forced an unconvincing smile. "Thank you, Mission, but I'm not so certain that will be the case in our story."

Before Mission could speak again, Jolee rested his hand upon her shoulder. "Young lady, I have to imagine Bastila will want a fork to eat her cake. Run downstairs and get one for all of us, will you? That slice isn't going to eat itself."

Mission scowled, her confusion evident as she looked at the threshold, then the plate, then back again. "I coulda sworn I grabbed a fork," she mumbled. "Hold on." Eager to make Bastila's birthday as wonderful as possible, she darted out of the room, leaving Jolee and Bastila alone and in uncomfortable silence.

After a moment, Jolee ended the stalemate. He placed a fork on the table beside the plate, revealing he had hidden the utensil in order to receive a private moment with Bastila. Then, he spoke in a low voice. "He found out, didn't he?"

Bastila met Jolee's gaze with pained eyes, wordlessly answering his question.

Sensing the reveal had not gone well, he traced his lips before wiping his face and scalp. "And I take it you weren't the one to tell him?"

"I tried," she whispered, bitter and angry. "But I waited too long. You were right: I should have told him sooner. And now… I have no one to blame but myself."

The unnerving silence settled once more. Each stared blankly at the linens until Jolee exhaled and sat on the edge of the bed nearest Bastila; he patted her folded knee, an expression of sympathy and understanding. "Shefali and I finally secured an appointment to see him at the Detention Center to sort out his defense. We'll head over this afternoon. It's in his best interest and yours if you don't come, but is there anything you want me to tell him?"

The answer to Jolee's question was abundantly clear. I love you. I miss you. I'm sorry. However, she feared sending any sort of message to Penn would only serve to upset him. So, instead, she gave her head a sluggish wag.

It was clear Jolee knew Bastila had a message she wished to pass along, however, he allowed her privacy. "I'll let you know how he's doing tonight," he promised, massaging his old bones as he rose and took toward the threshold. "In the meantime, you should eat something and get washed up. Your bunkmate's surprise for you could arrive any minute now."

Bastila frowned, both at the title of 'bunkmate' and the news of an impending surprise. The moment Penn learned her date of birth, she begged him not to give her any gifts, a request he had begrudgingly agreed to. The reveal he found the time amidst their hectic schedule to plan a birthday surprise floored the Knight. "Surprise?" she repeated, incredulous.

"You're not the only one capable of keeping secrets, young lady." The flippant remark, while not malicious, hooked its barb into an already-wounded Bastila, a fact Jolee recognized. "Go clean up," he murmured. "I'll be back tonight…"

Guided by four Selkath — two in front of him pulling his bonds and two from behind armed with stun batons — Penn shuffled as fast as his shackles would permit through the Ahto City Detention Center. He passed rows of howling Sith inmates, all of whom jeered, and hocked, and threatened, though he paid them no mind, keeping his gaze straight ahead.

Finally, he was shoved into an interrogation chamber he immediately recognized as the same one where he, Jolee, and Shefali had spoken to Yannai. How different his life had been just a few short days ago.

Dizzy, nauseous, and barely able to keep his eyes open — courtesy of the dual inhibitor collars encasing his neck — Penn made his way to the nearest stool, grateful to rest.

For the first time since his duel with Bandon in the Station, he caught a glimpse of his reflection on the lacquered white table before him. As expected, his nose and the surrounding area was swollen, caked with dried blood, and bruised, his flesh an unsettling mix of purple, black, and faded green. A blood vessel in his right eye had burst and, thanks to sticky salt water, his hair was matted and askew. In spite of his pitiful physical appearance, the worst sight of all was his clear misery. His anger had subsided, allowing a deep and seemingly endless depression to take root. At times, Penn wished to feel the raw hatred and all-consuming rage he had felt in the Hrakert Station. Anything but this incessant pain.

The squeaking of a sliding door at the opposite end of the chamber drew his attention. He lifted his eyes just in time to see Shefali and Jolee's stunned expressions at the sight of him. "Penn," Shefali gasped, horrified. To both Penn and Jolee's surprise, the polished and professional arbiter circled the table separating them to stand behind her newest client. She twined her hands in his long, dark hair, gently finger-combing out the knots that had taken hold.

Although he was grateful for the act of kindness, this was undoubtedly one of the lowest moments of his life. Humiliated that the most basic of grooming needed to be done by a friend — let alone the wife of his rival whom he had beaten in a fury — Penn closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

Shefali's delicate hand moved from his hair to his chin, forcing Penn to open his eyes to look at her. "Did Nikolaj do this to you?" she quietly inquired, an undercurrent of pain and distress in her voice.

The sting of humiliation intensified.

He averted his gaze before finally giving his head a slow wag. Preparing to utter his first words since his arrest, Penn parted his dry, cracked lips, only to find himself speechless. Mercifully, Jolee seemingly read Penn's mind and filled in the blanks. "Nikolaj is alright," he revealed. "I healed what he would let me. He had black eyes, a couple cracked ribs, and a fat lip, but nothing all that serious." The hermit paused, assessing the situation before broaching an individual whose name he knew was dicey. "Bastila is shaken up and refuses to talk about what happened, but she's safe." Penn felt Shefali's nails dig into his scalp at the mention of Bastila, though her tension eased an instant later. Her breathing, however, quickened and her nostrils flared. He found her reaction curious, but said nothing as Jolee resumed. "We'll be starting from square one with your defense, so we'll need to hear your perspective on what happened in the Station. Isn't that right, Shefali?"

Her trance evidently broken, Shefali nodded and resumed grooming. "It is. Given Manaan's laws prohibiting women from speaking in open court, Jolee will serve as your lead arbit-"

"Step away from the prisoner," a previously unseen Selkath guard ordered. "You may not touch him."

"I will do as I please!" Shefali barked in return, uncharacteristically severe and defensive. "Why has he been treated in such a shameful manner? Has he not received medical attention or been permitted to bathe? Is this how the Selkath treat all those awaiting due process?" If he had not been so preoccupied with the implosion of his life and relationship, the typically-cleanly man would have been disgusted by his scent: an odorous mix of musk, sweat, and days-old vomit. "And why has he been subjected to two inhibitor collars? These are inhumane by Republic and Sith standards and should be outlawed."

Shefali swiftly disengaged the first inhibitor collar and removed it from his neck, eliciting an involuntary moan of relief from Penn. As she loosened the second, the Selkath stepped forward, reaching for her hands. Jolee leapt to his feet, standing between the opposing parties. "Arbiter Fel, perhaps your talents would be best used by sorting out the excessive use of bonds while I talk to Penn," he diplomatically suggested. "And maybe you could get him a bathing schedule, too? I'm sure Penn and the other inmates would appreciate him getting reacquainted with a bar of soap. I know I certainly would."

The arbiter and the Selkath glared at one another before she finally relented. "Take me to the warden," she demanded through tight lips.

Shefali disappeared through a doorway with the guard, leaving Jolee and Penn behind. Via the Force, Jolee subtly flipped a switch embedded in the wall, ensuring their conversation was no longer being recorded or monitored. Then, he motioned to Penn's scorched hand resting on the table and voiced his observation. "I see you lost your fingernails. No one ever talks about the consequences of catching lightning barehanded. Probably because most people who try it end up dead," he mumbled. "Hmph. Your nails will never grow back, but at least you'll have a good story to go with it. Or at least, I imagine you do. Care to share what happened?"

Easily seeing through Jolee's guise, Penn glanced at his hand, his palm blistered and browned and fingernails gone, but said nothing.

Subtly cluing Penn into the fact that he knew of his true identity while providing a glimpse of his past, Jolee continued. "You know… your mother lost her fingernails catching lightning. Now you have her nose and her monkey-lizard fingers. That's what she always called them," he chuckled before adopting a serious tone. "But speaking of your nose, come here, son." Although Jolee had insisted Penn come to him, the old man approached the younger, laid his hands on his face, and healed him through the Force. The sensation of bone and cartilage reknitting was nearly as painful as the break itself, though Penn did not react. "There we go. Pretty again," Jolee joked, playfully patting Penn's cheeks.

Still, Penn remained stoic.

Approaching the situation from an entirely different angle, Jolee sighed as he pulled the closest stool to sit beside Penn. "We'll talk about the trial another time. How are you holding up? I know you had a bombshell dropped on you."

Penn lowered his head and blankly stared at his hand. Although he had sorted through countless emotions in the past two days, ranging from rage to disgust, to hurt, and shame, and grief, and everywhere between, only one word came to mind. "Lost," he managed to say, forlorn.

Flooded with sympathy, Jolee rose and began picking at Penn's tangled hair just as Shefali had done earlier, though with a far less gentle touch. Knowing none of the anecdotes in his vast repertoire were applicable to Penn's situation, he exhaled. "We'll figure this mess out, son. But first, let's make sure we get you out of here. One foot in front of the other. Sound like a plan?"

While Penn knew his chances of escaping the overwhelming charges levied against him were slim-to-none, he was grateful for the comfort Jolee was trying to provide. And, in turn, he provided the response he believed Jolee wished to hear. "Ok," he quietly replied.

Evidently satisfied, Jolee continued disentangling Penn's hair, mumbling to himself all the while. "We should just shave this all off," he grumbled beneath his breath, tugging at Penn's scalp. "That's what I did when you were a boy and somehow managed to get a wad of taffy stuck in your hair. Worked like a charm. The only rub was that it happened to be right around the time the Jedi Council sent for you. Your mother nearly had a damn stroke when she saw your head was as bald as mine. She called on the holo and ripped me a new one like only she could. Beautiful woman, but mouth as filthy as a deep space pirate. Speaking of pirates, have I ever told you -" Before Jolee could finish his tale, the fuming Selkath guard who escorted Shefali to the warden charged into the chamber and viciously yanked Penn's bonds, nearly knocking him off his stool. "And what do you think you're doing?" Jolee pithily questioned, rising to defend his former ward.

"It's alright," Shefali answered as she crossed the threshold and took toward Penn, grasping his hands as the Selkath continued tugging at his bonds. "I've arranged for you to bathe and receive proper medical attention. I will return in an hour with fresh clothing and to discuss your case. I have set appointments to prepare for your case each morning and late afternoon until your trial. There are thousands of years of rules and edicts to sift through as the Selkath do not subscribe to Republic or Sith law, so we will need to work together if we are to succeed." The Selkath wrenched Penn's bonds, threatening to end their consultation. However, Shefali was undeterred, holding his hands even tighter. "We will regain your freedom, Penn," she vowed, looking directly into his eyes with unwavering intensity yet undeniable fondness. "I swear on everything I am, you will be free."

She begrudgingly released Penn, allowing her cherished client to be ushered to the dim back halls of the Detention Center. As he was dragged toward the communal showers to tidy himself, he heard the voice of the mysterious woman whisper to his mind. "Fret not, my apprentice. You will escape the seas of Manaan, just as the Onderonian has predicted, though not unscathed. Each of you will be forever changed by the events about to unfold, as will those you hold most dear…"

"Still tryna dodge me, huh? We are adults, you know."

Carth swallowed hard, nearly choking on his own saliva. He looked up from his desk to find Isabet casually leaning against the threshold of his bedroom, arms folded across her chest. Although he had been avoiding the Mandalorian since their drunken encounter in the workroom, Carth was unwilling to admit such a fact. It was juvenile, and he knew it. "I haven't been dodging you," he lied as he straightened. "I've just been busy." When Isabet tilted her head a fraction, voicelessly urging him to be honest, Carth doubled down. "The Republic Embassy has a lounge for military members, so I've been spending time with the men and hearing about what's been happening on the front lines. I would invite you, but you wouldn't like me around other pilots."

"Bold of you to assume I like you now," she countered with a cheeky grin; a grin Carth did not return. "It's a joke, Republic," she huffed, padding into the room with virtually silent steps. "What's your deal?" When Carth parted his lips to speak, only to close them an instant later, Isabet exhaled. She turned and closed the bedroom door before redirecting her attention to her unlikely companion. "Is this about what happened the other night?"

Still unsure of how to feel about their near-kiss interrupted by Mission and surprised by Isabet's direct approach, Carth shook his head. "No. Of course not," he replied, walking across the room to fumble with a decorative trinket resting atop the nightstand. "But since we're on the topic, I should apologize for how I conducted myself. I hope my… impulsiveness didn't offend. Since we're not permitted to drink on the job, I haven't had alcohol in a few years. I can't handle it like I used to, but that's no excuse."

Although she had not been invited to do so, Isabet sat on Carth's bed, smoothing the tightly-tucked yellow coverlet beneath her fingertips. She noticed he took a step back, but tried to push the oddity to the furthest corner of her mind. "Speaking of alcohol…" she drawled. "Why don't we take Bas out tonight? It's her birthday and I know she's having a rough go with Thayer being in the clink, but she deserves to get her mind off of it for a few minutes. We all do. I think we could show her a good time since we're a pretty solid team. Annnnndddd, getting a Jedi absolutely shit-faced would make for one helluva story," she noted with a wink, extending her bare foot to tap his. "You in, Republic?"

Isabet's smile morphed into a frown the instant Carth swiftly responded. "Thanks, but I have to pass. If the two of you want to go out, I'm sure Jolee or Latch would be willing to go. Or Nikolaj, if you can find him."

"Do you think us womenfolk need a male handler in order to drink?" Isabet teased, knowing full-well she and Bastila could best any man this side of the galaxy in close-quarter combat, drunk or sober. "I'm inviting you because I want your company, not for any 'protection' having you around would give us." She stayed quiet for a beat before murmuring, "you know that, right?"

It was clear Carth had not actually listened to her words as he mindlessly nodded. "Of course." The general opened her mouth to call out that fact, but hesitated when the pilot moved a crate from his footlocker onto the mattress, setting it beside her. "I meant to drop this by your door earlier, but since you're here, I can hand it off to you now. Hopefully some of this will be helpful."

Isabet looked at Carth through narrowed, suspicious eyes before unsealing the lid and placing her hands on the item nearest the top. She lifted a garment from the crate: a sleeveless, midnight blue utility jumpsuit. The suit was weighty and well-stitched — higher quality than anything she had owned — as were the other five richly-hued jumpsuits tucked in the container. Beneath the suits lay an array of undershirts, some long-sleeved and other sleeveless, but each crafted with the same painstaking attention and care. Lips parted and brows furrowed, Isabet pulled each article of clothing from the crate, inspected it, and placed it on the mattress beside her. Unsure of how to read her reaction, Carth explained. "I know you lost all your belongings back on Kashyyyk and have been borrowing clothes from the crew. I thought these might help get you back on your feet." When Isabet continued unfolding and folding each top in silence, Carth resumed speaking, growing increasingly uneasy. "I didn't know what women wore these days since I've only been around men for a few years — Bastila and present company excluded, of course — but the woman at the shop said these would be satisfactory. You should have at least a month's worth of clothes with that set. If you need more -"

"Need more?" she interrupted, wide-eyed. "Republic, this is already too much. You didn't have to do all this. You didn't have to do any of this." Although the question would be considered rude and in poor taste in most circles, Mandalorian and Republic alike, Isabet questioned him in disbelief. "How much did you spend?"

Choosing to withhold just how much he spent to himself, Carth shrugged. "Not all that much," he downplayed. "I haven't had to buy new clothes in a while since I've spent the last handful of years in uniform. It was long overdue for me to spend a few credits on clothing, even if it wasn't for me."

Isabet met his gaze, her expression unreadable, before digging deeper into the crate to discover more unexpected and, in her mind, undeserved treasures. Next, she lifted a kit filled to the brim with cosmetics. Although she had fully intended on staying quiet, she snorted with laughter before she could stop herself, prompting Carth to rapidly clarify. "The shopkeep said you would like that. I didn't mean any offense. I, ah… I told her you didn't need it, but she was adamant you would want it and I didn't know how to say no, so…" He motioned to the kit, allowing his hands to complete his statement.

"I'm not mad," she chortled. "It's just funny. I've never seen myself dolled up, but it might be fun." Her laughter faded when she retrieved the box at the bottom of the crate and opened it; the instant she discovered the amplification device for her com-link inside, Isabet sharply gasped.

Mistaking her reaction and expression of shock for confusion, Carth explained the present. "I know you've been having trouble getting in touch with your brother, so I thought this might help."

Isabet stared at the device in her hands, struggling to comprehend the fact that such an expensive piece of machinery had been freely given to her by someone she knew had no expectation of repayment. "Might help? Republic, I could contact the Outer Rim with this. I know quality parts — this is top of the line."

"Everything made by the Republic is quality, beautiful," Carth chuckled before cringing at his apparent faux pas. "Isabet. General. Sorry."

The Mandalorian remained quiet for several moments, lazily skimming her thumb along the amplifier's curved edge, before speaking. "Since you're always asking me questions, mind if I ask you one?"

Expecting the question to be related to the device, Carth agreed. "Sure. What's on your mind?"

"Why?"

The simple, straightforward question garnered a head tilt of confusion from Carth. Admittedly, he knew exactly what Isabet's one-word question pertained to, but he was reluctant all the same. Instead of answering, he bought himself time. "I'm not sure I understand."

"I think you do," she challenged, her stern eyes fixed on him with an unflappable confidence that made Carth want to melt into the floor. When his nervous eyes began darting about the room and looking everywhere but at her, Isabet rose from the bed and began slowly pacing. "Alright… I see we've chosen to play dumb today, so I'll spell it out. Why do you do all this for me? Why are you so nice to me? Why are you always trying to take care of me? To protect me?" When Carth parted his lips to seemingly give a reactionary, poorly-formulated response, Isabet lifted a single finger, quieting him before he began. "And before you go there, don't say 'because of Cal'. You've gone far-and-above any promises you made to a man you knew for all of three minutes. Mission told me you and Canderous almost got into a fistfight because you wanted to find me at the docks, so don't bullshit, Republic. I want straight answers."

An overwhelming heat crept onto Carth's face, spreading up his ears and down his neck. The answer was staggeringly clear, but he was unsure if he could admit it to himself, let alone aloud. Instead of confronting these fears and apprehensions, Carth trekked an unfamiliar path: the path of a coward. "I try to be as good a crewmate as I can to everyone," he deflected. When Isabet's expression remained unchanged, Carth reluctantly provided a glimmer of truth. "I haven't always treated you like the others because you saved me and I made a promise to your brother, but I would help Bastila, or Jolee, or anyone else if I thought they needed me like you do."

Isabet cocked a brow and honed in on his statement. "Needed you?"

"Needed my help," Carth corrected with an anxious exhale. Looking to diffuse the mounting intensity of the moment and return it to a lighthearted place of comfort, and safety, and deniability, Carth reverted to his old ways. He flirted. "Don't read too much into it, gorgeous," he forced a chuckle. "I'm adding all of this to your tab. I fully intend to send you an itemized bill once all this is over-and-done with."

"My tab?" she questioned, returning his flirtation with equal fervor. Unlike Carth, however, the proud, confident Mandalorian was unwilling to continue their aimless coquetry. "Maybe I should start making it up to you," she hinted, her voice low and honeyed as she stepped toward him, hips swaying. "I can think of a few ways that might do the trick…"

Her sultry tone and the sparkle in her eyes left no doubt of her intentions. Carth felt the heat on his face swelter to unbearable temperatures. His confidence faltered. "Y-y-you don't have to… to, ah… to do anything f-for me," he stuttered, struggling to keep himself in-check as Isabet drew nearer than she ever had.

"Then maybe this is just for me," Isabet whispered, cupping his cheek before parting her lips and pressing them against his with a softness Carth would not have assumed her capable of. Stunned by the kiss, Carth stood with his arms stiffly glued to his sides and eyes open; he stared at the ceiling and mentally counted the agonizing seconds until she backed away.

When Isabet pulled away from the one-sided kiss, she took a half-step back; his shell-shocked expression was hardly what she had anticipated. Unable to help herself, Isabet let out a titter of embarrassed laughter as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "I guess that really was just for me," she snorted, blushing lightly, though her blush deadened an instant later. "I guess I thought… Actually, I'm not sure what I thought. Sorry about that, Republic," she apologized, patting his shoulder before taking a swift step toward the exit. "Add that to my tab, will ya? See you at dinner."

As she neared the door, Carth finally broke free of his stupor. "Izz, wait," he called, prompting the Mandalorian to pause and face him. Carth brushed his stubborn fringe from his forehead before inhaling. "It's just… I'm not sure how to approach you," he reluctantly admitted. "I made a promise to your brother to care for you. But now it feels… personal."

Isabet squinted. "What are you trying to say?"

Recalling his late wife's neverending reminders to be vulnerable and forthright with his feelings, Carth breathed deep before taking a plunge he never could have imagined mere months ago. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm not looking for one night. I don't think I have that in me because… I think… I think I could love you." When he noticed Isabet's scowl ease and the corners of her lips forming into a devilish smirk, Carth hastily clarified, loathing himself for his burst of honesty. "I'm not in love with you. I just could see myself getting there, which is why I'm keeping my distance. I don't want to put you in an uncomfortable position or make myself look like an ass." He exhaled and rubbed his chin before revising his statement. "Any more of an ass than I probably just did."

In an unusually shy display, Isabet bit her lip before grinning. She raked her fingers through her waist-length, auburn hair, flipping most of it to one side. "Then I suppose this might be a good time to say I think… I could love you, too."

Barely able to believe his ears, Carth focused on the floor in silence, processing what he just heard before responding in an admittedly lame manner. "Really?"

"Yes, really," she laughed, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "You're a catch."

"That's fantastic!" Carth exclaimed, clapping his hands before nervously rubbing them together. "It sounds like we're on the right track."

Endeared by Carth's awkward reaction, Isabet wryly grinned as she crossed her arms. "That's one way of putting it." When Carth remained motionless — save for the wringing of his hands — Isabet lowered her voice to a false whisper and covered one side of her mouth as if she were telling Carth a secret. "This is the part where you give me an actual kiss and lead me to the bed."

Carth's eyes widened as he glanced at the tidily made bed beside him. "Right," he nodded.

"Should you be so inclined, of course," she smirked, teasing yet sweet-as-can-be. "If you'd rather take it slow -"

"No, no," Carth interjected with an involuntary gulp, evidence of his excitable nerves. "I'm definitely… inclined." He hurriedly moved the gifts to the floor and carefully placed the amplifier on the nightstand before motioning to the mattress. "Shall we?"

"And they say romance is dead," she ribbed, rolling her eyes with a warm smile before draping her arms around Carth's neck, her lips just a breath from his. "Carth," she said sternly, capturing his attention before softening her voice to comfort him, "don't overthink it."

After a moment of gazing into one another's eyes, each recognizing the societal rules they were preparing to break, their lips met for a tender kiss, long and sweet, only broken by the feel of Isabet rumbling with laughter. "Is something wrong, gorgeous?"

Combing and threading her fingers in his hair with the utmost affection, Isabet shook her head. "We've come a long way from Kashyyyk, haven't we, commander?" she murmured with a coy grin. When Carth did not respond, choosing instead to remain silent with a calculating expression she could not decipher, Isabet angled his chin toward her. "Hey. Are you o-'' Before Isabet could finish, Carth drew her in, passionate, frantic, and wild.

Fueled by their hunger for one another and the thrill of crossing boundaries with a member of a group neither imagined associating with — let alone falling in love with — the unlikely couple began stripping away their partner's clothing as fast as their hands would allow. Then, they fell to the sheets and became tangled with one another…

There were few things in this life that irked Bastila more than whistling.

And, between the sound of Carth's tuneless whistling drawing nearer to the kitchen where Bastila worked and Latch's anxious thrumming on the arms of his hoverchair, the Knight was fast losing patience. She pressed her knuckles deep into the tight lump of dough on the countertop before her, mentally reciting the Jedi Code in hopes of calming herself. "What time is it, Til?" Latch inquired for the sixth time in a quarter-hour.

"Twenty minutes past one." In spite of her surly attitude, Bastila could not be annoyed with Latch. Not truly. Especially since the elder Fel had been merciful when he learned her partner — or rather, former partner — was responsible for his son's pummeling. Bastila had anticipated the Fels would insist the crew of the Ebon Hawk leave their compound, especially once Nikolaj left the home for the solitude of his office. However, Latch and Shefali had been gracious and hospitable. Admittedly, Shefali had been uncharacteristically cold and distant with Bastila, but still hospitable.

"What the devil is taking so long?" Latch mumbled, though she hardly paid him any mind.

Out of her eye's corner, she watched as Carth entered the kitchen and retrieved a carafe and two tumblers from a cabinet, whistling all the while. "You seem unusually chipper," Bastila noted, channeling her mounting frustration into vigorously kneading the floury ball. "What's gotten into you?"

Carth flinched as Bastila needlessly — and ferociously — punched the dough before shrugging. "Nothing."

Latch snorted from the adjoining breakfast nook before responding in a far more accurate manner on the pilot's behalf. "I believe the more apt question is 'who has he gotten himself into?'" When both Carth and Bastila stared at Latch with saucer eyes and stupefied expressions, the elder Fel flatly continued. "My mobility is limited, but my hearing is just fine, commander. Remember who you share a bedroom wall with," he deadpanned, rapping his knuckle against the closest wall.

Desperately avoiding Bastila's stunned gaze, Carth began stuttering unintelligibly before Latch mercifully cut him off. "She's a fine lass, Commander Onasi. Her spirit reminds me of my dear wife Nilka, may she rest in peace. Don't let that one slip through your fingers."

Finally recovering from her stupor, Bastila provided the approval she sensed Carth desired as Latch zoomed to answer the knock at the compound's main entrance. "I'm delighted for you, Carth," she calmed him. "For both of you. Truly, I am. You deserve all the happiness the galaxy has to offer."

Carth's lips formed into a tight line as he placed his hand atop hers, giving it an affectionate squeeze. "So do you," he said softly. The sincere comment nearly cracked Bastila's facade; her jaw tensed and eyes welled. Noticing her discomfort, he graciously changed the subject. "We want to keep things private for now, so if you wouldn't mind keeping this between us, I would appreciate it."

She nodded. Although she would never betray Carth's confidence, Bastila suddenly realized she had no one to tell, even if she wished to. Idle gossip was forbidden by the Order, yet she found herself gossiping to Penn far more than she should during their downtime on the Hawk. Instead of judging or chastising her as any other Jedi would, he would engage by listening intently, asking insightful questions, and, on rare occasions, joining in with tidbits of his own. Silly as it may be, Bastila recognized just how much she would miss those interactions.

Lost in thought and memory, Bastila resumed kneading, paying no heed to the footsteps drawing near from behind… until she heard an unexpected voice speak.

"You're overworking the dough, Bastila Ayn."

Believing her ears to be playing a cruel trick, Bastila spun to face the voice, mistakenly knocking the dough to the floor. "Mother?!"

Before her stood Helena, leaning against Latch's powerchair for support. Her mother, though slight and pale, looked happier than Bastila recalled seeing her in years; her presence and smile filled Bastila with warmth. "My dear daughter," Helena fondly greeted Bastila, extending her free arm to her only child before asking an inappropriate question. "Are you engaged, pregnant, or both? And where is my future son-in-law? I would quite like to see him in-person again, especially since he leapt through so many hoops to ensure I could leave the hospice for the day to celebrate with you. The holo does not do his gorgeous face justice."

Far too shocked to address her mother's questions and process the fact that this was Penn's surprise, Bastila focused on the most benign of her comments. "T-th-the holo?" she stammered as she led her mother to a plush settee in the nearby parlor.

"I may be old, Bastila, but I know how to operate simple technology. Once I deduced who was making the payments for my treatments, I contacted your ship and asked your pilot if I could speak with Penn." Perturbed that Penn and Carth had kept secrets from her, Bastila glared at the pilot over her shoulder as she helped her mother to a seated position. However, it was of no use; Carth had already taken leave with his carafe and tumblers. "A mother has the right to know the man who's shagging her daughter."

"Mother!" Bastila shrieked, wholly embarrassed and blushing. "Why did neither of you tell me you had spoken after meeting on Tatooine?"

"Because it was none of your concern," Helena challenged as Latch hovered near, starry-eyed and seeming to have forgotten Bastila's presence. "And before you say anything, do not lash out at him. I reached out to him and requested our audiences remain private and he obliged. I needed to learn more about him and his intentions."

The lighthearted mood faded. Penn's proposal still fresh on her mind, Bastila rubbed her hand on her brow, knowing exactly what his intentions with her had been. Given her mother's leading comments, she was sure Helena knew of his intentions, too. "Then I suppose you already know of his proposal," Bastila gloomily murmured.

The instant Helena's tired eyes brightened, Bastila regretted broaching the subject. "I did not," Helena grinned, positively giddy. "I adore him, Bastila. You have my wholehearted blessing and, should he be alive, your father would approve as well."

Preparing to dampen Helena's unfounded joy, Bastila spoke in a small voice. "Mother -"

"I can just envision Jasper inviting him on one of those awful hikes through the wilderness, wanting to get to know him 'man-to-man', can't you?" Helena questioned Latch, gingerly tapping his upper thigh before allowing her hand to linger. "Your father would be absolute putty by the end of it."

Again, Bastila attempted to interrupt her delighted mother. "Mo-"

"You were everything your father wanted and more, but I secretly believe Jasper wanted a son, too, and he would finally be getting his dream with your darling Penn. He's kind, and well-mannered, and handsome, and clearly loves you, and I'm so pleased to have him join our little clan. Or, I suppose you'll be joining his. Bastila Thayer is a fine name, dear. And, between the two of you, your children are destined to have the most divine bone structure. His cheekbones are to die for and I have no doubt he has a lovely jawline hidden beneath that beard of his. Now, where is he?" Helena inquired, oblivious to Latch's darkened expression.

While the mention of her fractured relationship was a stab to the heart, the thought of her beloved father approving of their union shattered what strength remained in Bastila. For the first time in her life, she was a heartbroken young woman with her mother and reacted accordingly. "We… I…" No longer able to suppress her emotions, Bastila shook her head in a wordless attempt to finish her sentence before she began to bitterly weep.

"Oh, my," Helena exhaled before whispering in Latch's ear. "We'll tell the children another day. Give us a moment." Then, she sprang to action, drawing her sobbing daughter to her chest. "Shhhh. Shhhh. Come here, dear," Helena consoled, kissing Bastila's forehead as she rocked her back-and-forth. "All will be well, my darling. Shhhh." The Shan women remained as they were, wrapped in one another's arms, until Bastila regained a sense of calm. "We haven't done this since you were but a child," the mother warmly reminisced. "Back then, your tears were because of scraped knees, but this appears to be a bit more serious. What happened, Til?"

Bastila sniffed and dried her eyes before quietly providing a vague version of events. "I lied to him about a matter of utmost importance… A lie I knew would deeply wound him. I selfishly hid the truth longer than I should have because I was afraid he would be upset and… I waited too long. When he learned the truth and was justifiably angry, I was defensive, and self-righteous, and far from the supportive partner he needed and deserved. And now… he's gone."

Helena's brows knit. "Gone?" she repeated, affectionately stroking her daughter's hair. "Where has he gone?"

Safe in her mother's embrace, Bastila finally revealed the truth behind what happened in the depths. "He's been imprisoned by the Selkath and is awaiting trial for murder," she whispered, resting against her mother's bosom. "We were ambushed in the Hrakert Station by the Sith. They planned to kill him and deliver me to Darth Malak, but… he saved us. He saved… me."

Evidently disturbed by the truth, Helena fell silent and her hands stopped moving. "He certainly took his vow to care for you to heart, didn't he?" she mused, conjuring memories of their parting on Tatooine. "And his arrest had nothing to do with his fight with Nikky over you?"

Bastila wrinkled her nose. "Don't be ridiculous, mother. Penn and Nikolaj quarreled because of the destruction of the Station. It had nothing to do with me. And who told you of their argument?"

"Bastila," Helena snorted, lifting her daughter's chin so she could look into her eyes, "you cannot possibly be naive enough to believe their row had nothing to do with their competition for your affection. It can't have been easy for Nikky to see you so enamoured by another man."

The notion of unwitting involvement in a love triangle embarrassed Bastila; she refused to entertain the idea. "Mother, hush," Bastila chided. "You should not start baseless rumors, especially in his home. Nikolaj views me as a friend. Nothing more. Now, where did you learn of their argument?"

"Latch and I… converse regularly," Helena revealed, fidgety and vague. "He told me about the fight, but not of Penn's arrest. Initially, he was understandably upset by the whole ordeal, but he understands Nikolaj is an adult who threw the first punch. Latch knows to stay out of Nikky's affairs. But, tell me, Bastila: is he in good spirits? How is your darling Penn faring? And when is his trial?"

Suddenly ashamed, Bastila bit her lip. Since Penn's arrest, she had been uncharacteristically depressed and lethargic, hiding away in her bedroom without eating, bathing, or speaking to anyone, including her beloved. "I… I'm not entirely sure," she admitted, focusing her gaze upon the floor. "We haven't spoken since his arrest. Our colleague who is set to serve as his arbiter alongside Shefali thought it best for me not to see him in such a condition," she deflected, though, out of her peripheral, she noticed her mother's expression morphing into one of skepticism. "I imagine they will relay more information this evening."

Helena stayed quiet for a long while — or, at least, what felt like a long while — before speaking. "You're far more like your father than you realize. He was as dreadful a liar as you are," she remarked with a breathy laugh. "Neither of you ever developed a decent sabacc face. Then again, you never needed to. You rarely lied as a child. Your honesty has always been one of the traits I admire most about you. Now, what is your true reason for not having visited or spoken to him?"

If not for her misery, Bastila would have laughed at the notion of anyone touting honesty as one of her most positive traits. The Council had ensured that aspect of her personality was long dead. She silently mourned losing yet another piece of herself to the Order and breathed deep. "Because… I… I am ashamed for lying to him," she finally answered. "Disgusted by myself for hurting him… Afraid he will no longer love me… And… So very angry with myself for thinking of my feelings when I am the one who trampled his. I cannot face him. Not now. Not after all I've done."

After a moment, the mother sighed. "Bastila, I know I should follow Latch's lead by staying out of your affairs, but might I offer a bit of unsolicited advice, woman-to-woman?" Helena inquired. Memories of her childhood before the Order flooded Bastila's mind. Girding herself for a harsh criticism from the woman who demanded perfection, Bastila reluctantly nodded, fearing her mother would berate her for being a less-than-supportive partner to the man they both adored. "What's done is done, Bastila. You made an error and, in the process, hurt someone you love. Unfortunately, you cannot change the past, nor can you control how he feels about you or the situation. All you can do now is control how you react." Once again, the mother remained quiet before voicing a question. "If the roles were reversed, where would Penn be right now?"

The very thought of how her longtime love would respond to the crisis at-hand brought the first true smile in days to Bastila's lips — a reaction that surprised even her. "Regardless of my feelings toward him, he would be fighting for my freedom."

"Then that is exactly what you need to do for him," she advised Bastila, tenderly cupping her cheek. "Perhaps we can think through ways you can support him together?"

Despite her mother's offer of assistance, Bastila already knew what she needed to do. Although she would be destroying her credibility, reputation, and any chance she had of ascending through the ranks of the Order, Bastila's mind was set. She was willing to go to any length necessary to liberate Penn. "No. I know what needs to be done."

Prepared to save the man she loved a second time, Bastila stood and took a step toward the door only to be stopped by her mother's bony hand darting out to encircle her wrist. "Wonderful," Helena approved before guiding Bastila back to the settee. "You'll begin your quest as soon as the hospice workers come to retrieve me this evening. But right now…" Helena paused, turning her daughter so Bastila's back faced her. "I want to learn more about you. I'm ashamed to admit I know little about the magnificent woman you've become. I have no right to make such a request, but should you be open to such a proposition, I would like the opportunity to earn your love and become the mother you always deserved."

Touched by her mother's attempt to repair their fragile relationship, Bastila flashed a tight-lipped yet affectionate smile over her shoulder. In her heart, Bastila sensed this was exactly the type of interaction Penn had hoped for when coordinating Helena's visit. Despite her request for no gifts, he could not have given her a better gift than the opportunity for hers and her mother's wounded hearts to mend and for it, she was grateful. "There is nothing to earn, mother. You have always had my love," Bastila quietly assured Helena as the mother began separating her daughter's hair into strands to braid. "What would you like to know about me?"

"Tell me everything, Bastila," Helena began. "I want to know everything…"

A/N: Thanks for reading! We're on the homestretch of Manaan! If all goes to plan, the next chapter will be the last installment on Manaan and, as promised, a non-canon world is up next. I'm still trying to decide if that will be a chapter or two stint or if it will be longer with a plot that would (potentially) tie into KOTOR 2. TBD. If folks have thoughts or opinions on this, please let me know!

Also, thank you for your feedback on the reveal! The thought of Revan learning his identity while trapped in the Station with Bastila is what jumpstarted the whole idea for this fic, so its positive reception warmed my heart.

Finally, there's a good chance the next chapter may be delayed (but not as delayed as Ch.42) due to seeing friends post-vaccination, moving to a new apartment, and preparing to start a graduate program in the fall, so thank you in advance for your patience.

As always, your feedback, thoughts, and suggestions are always appreciated and motivating! Thank you in advance for any favs, follows, and reviews.