It falls apart so long before it actually falls apart:
She can't see it now, of course. She's stuck on the same roads in her mind, the ones that keep circling back to Kae, to Malak, to this destiny that supposedly awaits her but for now remains silent. The funny thing about life is that at the time it always seems like that's how it's going to be—you don't see how the subtle shifts add up until it's too far in the distance.
This is how Revan's life will be:
She will build. She will conquer. She will lose. She will destroy.
She will come back.
Someday she'll understand it all—the way she carved the cracks into her own foundation. She will see how each piece fell into place, the way each moment lined up and set the path before her feet. Someday she'll look back and know what it all meant, but for now—
;;
Revan grits her teeth until they ache. Sweat makes her skin slick except for where she grips her practice blade, but she ignores it as it trails down her forehead and over the curve of her brow. Once again Zhar has her and Malak spar—their back and forth stretches on longer today than it ever has, and though each breath comes out in a sharp sound, she doesn't dare let up.
Malak passed his test two weeks ago, so beating him would mean that much more now. She uses all her strength against him—there isn't anything to prove but it feels like there is, and Malak hasn't changed since he found out he'll be leaving for Coruscant soon, but in some way, it feels like he has.
Her jaw hurts, her muscles are too tense, and the longer the fight goes on, the more focus she uses. It's the Force that drives her now, it keeps her going despite his power and the determined line of his brow. Back and forth, back and forth, they are two halves of a whole, two equals—and yet Malak uses his skills to elevate himself and Revan has nothing to show for her efforts.
She thinks she can taste blood as she blocks a particularly devastating blow. He's being purposefully heavy-handed—she can tell. He knows that her size is her weakness as much as it's her strength against him. That her agility can help her out only so far as she can hold back the weight of his body.
And his body—well, she ignores that, because she knows him. She's committed the way he moves to memory, often by replaying their fights in her head when she can't sleep. Sometimes she lets herself marvel at his graceful strength, the way it's always present—in his walk and in his fight—and sometimes she just thinks about the lines of his shoulders, his arms, his hands.
He occupies so many of her thoughts that sometimes she wishes she'd never been paired with him in the first place.
But that can't be true, because she thinks this is the happiest she's been in a long time. The distraction of Malak is almost as good as actually spending time with him, but nothing quite compares to watching the line of his lips split into a grin, hearing him laugh—
Shut up, she tells herself. It's what she used to do when she'd drown in thoughts about Kae, but now the voice sounds like Kae, and everything feels so scrambled in her head that it's hard not to get frustrated by the confusion of it.
So when Malak twists out of her hold and disarms her, it's all she can do not to Force push him into the wall and take the victory she feels like she's earned.
"Call!" Zhar says, and Revan makes a noise somewhere in the back of her throat. It's the culmination of all her frustration, her weakness slipping through, and her absolute, utter exhaustion.
She doesn't stay for the reprimand Zhar would give her, knowing that her leniency with him carries her only so far, but that it will allow her this. It's with shaking hands that she towels down her face, taking a few heavy breaths into the soft fabric to calm herself down.
"Revan—"
She lifts her head at the sound of Malak's voice, a sharp movement that makes her a little dizzy. He seems to be similarly out of breath, which is a small consolation. Sweat lines his forehead, his shirt sticks to his skin as his chest heaves—
"Let's do it," she says, before she gets too distracted. At the raise of his brow, she quietly clarifies, "Let's finish this later. Out in the fields."
The smile he gives her tells her that he's been waiting for this. "Should we tell everyone?"
Everyone. Meaning an audience, meaning like last time, when everyone watched while Malak cut her in the most brutal goodbye. They'd make a spectacle of it—placing bets on who would win or heckling them from the sidelines. The thought of it makes her hands curl into fists, and she shakes her head.
"No. Just you and me."
To her surprise, he hesitates. "Are you sure that's wise?"
"What, are you scared?"
"Of course not," he scoffs. "You don't want anyone to see me beat you?"
The again is implied, and there are many things she could say to that—things they have not acknowledged since he came back. She takes in his confident expression, the way his shoulders settle as he catches his breath, and smirks. "I wouldn't be so sure about that."
"Right," he says, even though he raises a brow. "We'll find out later, then."
;;
They meet in the late afternoon, when the sun angles low and casts long shadows into the grass. It's late enough that they're free of obligations for the day, and their absence will go mostly unnoticed by everyone at the Enclave. Revan waits for him in the empty field they agreed on, feeling steady where she thought she'd be nervous.
Or rather, she is nervous, she just doesn't realize it until she sees him walking towards her.
Because she knows them, knows that they're both competitive and talented, and that the potential is there for this to be dangerous. She wants it to be good, she thinks she knows it should be, but her mind keeps flashing back to the last time they did this, and her stomach twists every time she remembers the sight of blood on her hands, in the grass, the fear in his eyes—
It isn't a smile he wears now, but it's something close to it, and Revan understands in a way that she couldn't put into words. He carries the two training sabers he promised he'd steal from the training rooms, and wordlessly he holds one out to her.
She lets herself stare into his gaze in the dying light, trying to read whatever she can from it, but this suddenly feels so much bigger than what it's supposed to be.
Something doesn't feel right.
"How do we determine who wins?" he asks.
Inhale.
"When the other asks to stop."
Exhale.
"Okay," he says, and Revan takes the saber he offers her. There is no challenging grin between them, no word or gesture of teasing. It is the two of them in a clearing of dying light, and the promise of fighting to the finish beats unsteadily between them.
They bow to each other, and Revan's too focused to feel her usual hint of amusement at it. All her senses are on high alert, wary and watching and waiting for him to strike first. She can feel it—she reaches out and plucks the energy from him, knowing how and when he'll lash out.
Their blades meet with a loud sound in the quiet evening, and just like that they begin. It starts with their usual back and forth—simple and natural between them—but it gradually builds. Just the pattern of footwork, or a duck where they should block, signals the changes in the fight. Signals that they're both shifting into something different.
Revan still relies on the Force to guide her. It keeps her aware of where he'll be and what she needs to do to meet him there. She lands the first blow between them, satisfied by the look of surprise that falls over his features, even though it barely glances off of him.
She's tired from earlier, but she won't let up and neither will he. The fight passes over the course of several minutes—both of them too concentrated to tease or goad the other on. It's pure determination on both sides, fueled by frustrated blocks and even strides.
He makes a sound deep in his throat when she blocks a particularly devastating blow—one that would've knocked the air out of her lungs—but the noise he makes sounds hungry and alive, and Revan decides that maybe she likes this side of Malak.
Because there are many sides of him, most of them gentle and kind, but this one is focused. Determined, but still somehow wild. He is a predator through and through, and she's fascinated by the difference.
But then his saber sweeps too high and Revan barely raises hers to meet it. A jolt of fear splinters through her—all she can see in her peripheral is the blade that once cut her open, all she can feel is the sharp clarity of pain across her mouth. She ducks, throwing her saber in front of her as she backs away from him, and falls into the grass.
Her elbows take the impact of her fall, but she can hardly pay any attention as she sits up and draws her hands to her chin, feeling for the blood that she knows has to be there.
"Are you okay?" she hears Malak ask, and he sounds distant but when she looks up, he's right there. Concern paints his features, and all she can do is stare at him for a long moment before looking down at her empty hands. It takes a second, but hot embarrassment floods over her, and in its presence she can feel the anger behind it.
It is patient, and it is always ready.
"I'm fine," she bites out, and looks around for her blade. She gets up and grabs it, holding it out in front of her. "Let's keep going."
He doesn't look certain, but he backs up and raises his blade as well. Reaching out into the Force, she can feel his hesitation, and it only fuels her frustration. She goes on the offense, striking out fast and hard. He meets her there—of course he does—but there's something different about it now. Something slower, like he isn't there to fight her but to merely hold her off.
But she hates that, and she lets it drive her. There's a ferocity to her movements that she hasn't known until now, and it satisfies something deep within her that wants to lash out. She's suddenly grateful for his skill, that he can keep up with her in a way that will let this out, that will let her win fair and square—to finally prove her worth.
But of course it can't last.
"Revan, stop!" he shouts, and the sound fills the empty space between them. She has to make her arms drop to her sides, her chest heaving, and all she can do is stare at him.
"Giving up?" she asks, but there's something forced about her voice that she can't overcome. "I thought you wanted to win?"
Shadows pass over him now that the sun begins to set in earnest. It paints the trees behind them in shades of dark orange, but leaves them both in the twilight. It doesn't hide the worried line of his brow or the wariness in his eyes. He watches her for a moment, but shakes his head. "Maybe this isn't a good idea."
She takes a sharp breath. "What?"
"This—I don't know if this is good for us."
Revan's chest still heaves but it slows as she tries to understand what he's saying. "Why not? You've been asking for this for months."
He presses his lips together in the brief moment before he turns his gaze down at the grass. Revan finally catches her breath, but her mind goes blank as she takes in the sight before her.
"I don't want to hurt you," he murmurs.
It is silent for an impossibly long moment.
"That's—that's funny," she starts. Her simmering anger roars to life, and it feels so good to give into it, just a little. "I can take you, Mal. I don't need you to—"
She breaks off. The words sound unconvincing even to herself, and she stutters out a laugh.
"You did hurt me!" she shouts, and her chest feels tight. "But I'm still here, and I still want to fight. Because I—I—" a frustrated sound builds in her throat— "What does it matter, now? I'm fighting back this time. You've seen it. You know I can."
Malak swipes his empty palm over the top of his head. Her words cause him to look up at her, but his brows remain pushed together and she can't tell if it's uncertainty or disappointment in her. He watches her openly now but it doesn't look easy on him.
"It was an accident, Rev. I didn't mean to hurt you then, and I don't want to now."
There's a steadiness to his words, but it just makes her more upset. Like it's—like it's inevitable.
"Maybe I'll hurt you this time."
"Exactly," he says. "You might."
But she isn't agreeing with him, and she can't stop the scowl that pulls at her brows. "We can both handle ourselves."
"I know, but I—" He breaks off with a short sound, and she follows his gaze as it drops to her lips.
One breath. "It doesn't matter to me. The scar."
He still stares at her in the silence, letting it drag on, and she knows that they weren't meant to talk about it. It wasn't something they had the chance to talk about then, so it can't be something they need to do now, and she feels like she's broken some rule by mentioning it by name.
"If it doesn't matter," he starts, his voice slow, "then why did you keep it?"
Her heart pounds in her chest—the memories of those days right after he left spring to the surface of her mind, and this time it's her that lets the silence drag on and on and on.
"Revan."
"I don't know." The words are empty but they still bite. It isn't the truth but she doesn't know how she'd put this truth into words. She can't explain it to herself so how could she explain it to him? "It doesn't matter, Mal."
He shakes his head. "How can you say that?"
"Because it's over—it's all in the past."
"Is it?" he asks, but he looks down at the saber in his hands. It's an accusation or an apology, it's him getting as close as he can to calling out her foolishness for falling earlier at the sight of his blade near her face.
She hates it. She hates herself.
"Nothing changes because of it!" she yells. "We aren't kids anymore! We're both better now, and I want to fight, so please."
"But it could—"
"Malak—"
"It could happen again!" he finishes despite her interruption. "We could hurt each other, and then where would we be?"
"Still here."
He looks away for just a half moment, shifting the intensity between them. He sighs, and his voice is so much quieter when he says, "Not forever."
It stings. It's just another reminder that she'll lose him too. At this point it is inevitable—guaranteed—and she doesn't want to think about it. Doesn't know why he has to bring it up.
"Then finish this with me," she says.
She thinks she understands, but she still won't give in. It's what he isn't saying. They're too close to repeating what happened last time, because they fought and he left and five years passed without a single word spoken to each other. But they found each other again and some part of her thinks that if it came down to it, they could do it again. Because they'll always be able to come back together, because something about them belongs together.
But even this revelation can't stem her anger.
"Malak, please."
"I won't," he says, and the words sit between them in all their truth. This is it. "You win."
She can't even look at him as she shoves her blade into the dirt, and all her shame rises up her throat. If she'd been better—if she hadn't reacted like she had—then maybe this would be a different story with a different ending.
But it isn't, and she poured out all her weakness before him. She blinks back the heat behind her eyes, at the risk of making herself an even bigger fool than she is, and keeps her gaze locked on the ground as she walks around him.
"Revan," he starts, but she keeps going until he puts himself in her path. His hand catches her by the shoulder, and she looks up at him, uncertain in the blue-gray light as the evening falls over them. He doesn't say anything for a long time. He watches her and then he watches her mouth, and finally he murmurs, "I'm sorry."
Five years is such a long time.
"Yeah," she says. "Me too."
;;
Revan sleeps in late the next morning.
Golden light burns through the window that she left open last night, but the cool air has her curled up in the thick covers of her bed. She squeezes her eyes shut as soon as they open, because after everything yesterday, her whole body aches in a way that she thinks might make it impossible to move.
A groan draws out of her throat as she stretches her limbs out, forcing herself to sit up and blink at the bright open spaces of her room.
It's everywhere: the pull of her shoulders, the tightness in her fingers, the exhaustion in her back and her arms as she pushes herself to stand on achy legs.
She takes a deep breath despite the way it rattles in her chest on its way out, and takes far too long to change into her robes. She knows she should eat something, that she should take care of herself in a way that her body needs her to, but one look at the chrono tells her that she's already late for morning meditation with Master Zhar and Malak.
She bites her lip. She doesn't want to think about Malak.
She can't help it though, as she heads to the training room. She thinks about the concern in his eyes, followed closely by the disappointment—tangible in the evening light. Walking in and out of the shadows cast by the hallway's windows, she sees him in her mind's eye, standing before her, refusing to fight.
He didn't give her enough of a chance. He'll fight her under the watchful gaze of Zhar, but when it came down to it, he gave in to his fear more than she did.
That has to mean something, she just can't figure it out yet.
She avoids looking at him as she walks into the training room, keeping her head down as she kneels beside him.
"You're late, Padawan Revan," Zhar says, and she lifts her gaze to meet his purple eyes. There's a hint of amusement in them, so she has to assume that she isn't in too much trouble.
"I overslept," she offers, which is a weak excuse and one she shouldn't be giving at her age, but it is what it is. "I'm sorry for being disrespectful of your time."
His brow twitches. "And Padawan Malak's."
She keeps her gaze on Zhar, though she can feel Malak's head turn towards her.
"And Padawan Malak's," she repeats.
"Well good," Zhar says, and his lips split into a grin. "Because we're all going to have to be conscious of each other as we take on our first assignment together."
She'd dropped her gaze to the floor again, but she perks up at that. "Assignment?"
"Yes," he says. "I spoke to the Council last night. There's a territory dispute between the Talz and the Republic on Hoth. The Jedi have been requested to intervene, and the Council decided that the three of us would be well suited for this task."
Revan's stomach churns with something between nerves and excitement. Because as much as she's been waiting for this, she can't help but think of her and Malak last night and the argument that still sits heavily between them. It would be hard, in this moment, to call either of them peacemakers.
But then she thinks of their conversation a couple weeks ago under a night sky, about leaving Dantooine and seeing the galaxy. She thinks of getting on a ship and watching the stars split into trails of light, of travelling for the first time in her life, and she can't deny the spark of hope that flames to life.
Zhar explains their task to them: to settle this conflict in a manner that is definitively impartial. He tells them a little bit about the Talz, about their ferocity as warriors and their culture. Revan listens with rapt attention, forgetting for just a moment about her and Malak and the way her body still aches so acutely. It's just—so exciting to think of something new. To see a new land, to go somewhere so different from Dantooine.
They'll leave in two days, and when they're dismissed for the afternoon, Revan can't help the way she turns to Malak.
He carries a cautious expression, but he meets her gaze.
There is an uncomfortably long silence as Revan realizes she has no idea what to say. Her lips part, but there aren't any words. How does she talk to him after last night?
"Looks like you get your way," he murmurs when he inevitably realizes she doesn't have anything for him. He watches her for a moment longer, but then he turns and she's left with the sight of his back as he leaves the training room.
She supposes it's only fair that he's the one who walks away this time.
;;
"Do you even have a coat?"
Revan purses her lips as she stares blankly at all her clothes laid out on the floor of her room. The question cycles through her head several times without meaning, and she makes herself blink up at Talvon, who sits at the end of her bed. He watches her with open amusement, arms crossed over his chest, and his words finally register.
"I have my heavy cloak," she answers, and picks and chooses her way across the messy floor to her closet. "Do you think that'll be warm enough?"
"Revan, it's Hoth."
"Well I don't know how cold it is there," she says, and grabs the cloak anyway, adding it to a pile on the floor. "I thought you were supposed to be helping me."
He eyes the suitcase next to him on the bed. Its flap lays open but it's pitifully empty. It has been for some time now as she decides what she'll need and what can be left behind, sorted into several piles that are starting to look the same to her. She's never had to pack for a trip before, which is why she'd sought Talvon out, requesting his help since he's been off planet a few times.
She didn't ask Malak, for obvious reasons.
"I am helping," Talvon argues, grinning at her. "I'm telling you that you're gonna freeze if you only bring your heavy cloak."
She sighs. "I'll have to ask Zhar about that, then. I don't have anything warmer. Have you seen my comb?"
"On the bureau," he answers, and Revan lets her eyes roam until she spots it. "How long are you gonna be gone for, anyway?"
"I don't know," she answers, and finally grabs an armful of what she thinks are 'to keep' robes and dumps them on the bed next to the suitcase. She looks up at Talvon. "As long as it takes, I guess."
He laughs. "Oh, so you'll be there forever, then."
"What, you don't believe in my diplomacy skills?"
He levels her with a look, refusing to say anything until she meets his gaze. She has to laugh when she does, rolling her eyes. It's nice, to let it feel this easy with him again. She won't allow it to be anything else, because right now she needs her friend in a way that she hasn't since Malak showed up again.
"Master Zhar? Yes, definitely," he says. "You? You're like a bull kath hound. You'll stomp everyone into the snow to get them to agree."
"Doesn't sound so bad to me." She quirks her lips to the side as he hands her another robe to fold into her suitcase. She can't help her next question: "What about Malak?"
He raises a brow. "What about him?"
"If Zhar's handling negotiations and I'm busy ruining them, what's Malak's role in this?"
"I don't know—he could intimidate everyone by swinging his lightsaber around. He's pretty good at that."
Yeah, he's pretty good at that, until he stands across from you in a field and refuses to fight. Until he looks at you in the twilight and says he's sorry for something that happened years and years ago.
She presses her lips together.
"Do you—" she starts, but stops. Talvon looks at her expectantly, his brown eyes on her so familiar and warm. She tries again. "You like Malak, right?"
He lifts a shoulder. "Sure."
She makes a sound low in her throat, uncertain how to continue this. "You can be honest with me."
"He's fine," Talvon says, but this time there's a hint of annoyance in his voice. "I just don't get what the big deal is."
She drops the robe in her hand and pushes the suitcase back so she can sit next to him on the bed. He shifts too, and their knees touch for a moment before she folds her legs under her.
"What do you mean?"
He lifts his shoulder again, feigning something casual but it doesn't make it. "I don't know. Everyone's so impressed by him all the time—it's annoying. I don't know. Nothing's been the same since he got here."
"No it hasn't," she offers, but her mind goes in a few different directions at his confession. She wants to reassure him that Malak is just as human and fallible as the rest of them, but she also wants him to know that Malak is more than what people think of him—that beyond his talent, he is a good friend, that kindness is his first response in any situation, and that he has been there for her through one of the hardest things she has ever gone through in her life.
That his eyes are the softest shade of blue, and the skin around them wrinkles when he smiles. And when he does smile, the corners of his lips turn up a half second before they split into a grin, like he's weighed what you said and genuinely finds joy in it.
That even though they had a fight, she still wants to be around him all the time. She feels frustrated by her anger with him, because part of her knows he doesn't deserve it.
But these are things she keeps to herself, because she gets the feeling that saying them won't make Talvon like Malak any better.
"Maybe I'm not saying it right," Talvon says, and when Revan's brow wrinkles in confusion, he explains: "I just feel like everything's changing so fast, and I can't tell if it's a good thing or not."
"I don't know if that matters."
"But it has to."
"Will that stop things from changing?" she asks, and she thinks back on all her training. With Kae, with Vrook, with Zhar. She thinks back on her argument with Malak. "Good or bad, it happens anyway."
"I want it to be good, though," he confesses. "Especially for you."
They're dangerously close to talking about Kae again—Revan can feel it. Still, there's a sweetness to his words that has her tuck her chin down as she looks to her lap. So many changes, yes, and she wants them to be good too, but everything's been so confusing lately that it's hard to tell.
"You're a good friend," she admits.
When she glances up, he smiles at her. "I'll always be here for you."
"Thank you." The words sit heavily in her mouth, but it's because she means them. She makes herself stand again, grabbing a robe she'll need for the trip, and continues packing as the quiet settles between them.
It doesn't last for long.
"Rev?"
She pauses and looks up from her hands. "Yeah?"
"Don't let anyone make you think he's better than you," he says, and if there's anything that frightens her about this moment, it's the serious expression on his normally carefree face. "Not even Malak. He might be talented, but there's no one like you. There never will be."
It falls apart so long before it actually falls apart.
Revan doesn't know what to say to that—doesn't know if there's anything to say to that. His words stick in her mind before settling into a heavy weight in her stomach. It's too much all at once, and so she tucks it away to dissect at another time.
One breath in, another out.
"I don't suppose my boots are going to be warm enough, either," she says.
He lets her change the subject with a small laugh, and finally he leans forward to help her pack.
"No, I don't think they will."
;;
She finds herself outside Malak's door.
Her feet carry her there before her mind can fully put together what she wants to say. It's late but she feels funny—impulsive—like if she doesn't do something now then she never will.
Blue shadows creep up the wall, though, and she steels herself against the shifting night. I'm sorry, might be the right words, but she doesn't know what, exactly, she's sorry for. She doesn't regret fighting Malak—still believes that she was right to push. Given the opportunity, she would do it again, but—
Maybe she's sorry that she wasn't strong enough when she needed to be. That all those years ago she kept a wound that she still can't explain to herself. Or maybe she's sorry because she wants him to smile at her again, even if that's a poor reason to say so.
She closes her eyes for a half-moment, her stomach churns uncomfortably but she raises her hand to knock. It's a quiet sound in the empty hallway, and she pulls back to cross her arms over her chest as she waits.
And waits.
She taps again, but still silence meets her. Countless thoughts run through her head—none of them productive—but she reaches her senses out and finds his presence on the other side of the door. There's a sense of peace that passes through her, and she can sense his soft, easy breathing. It lulls her in for a long moment, coaxing a gentle warmth into her chest.
She presses her lips together, accepting it for what it is, and allows him the privacy of sleep.
One day Revan will look back on this trip and understand what it meant to her. She'll find herself half a galaxy away from everyone she knows, piecing together memories of endless expanses of snow and clear blue eyes.
One day she will see the way she was falling apart, even as it felt like everything was coming together—
But this morning she wakes up early.
Her bag has been packed since the night before, but she's eager and anxious and a mix of emotions that she can't really name. It sits in her chest, demanding all her attention as she makes last minute additions to her bag. She's overthinking it, she knows she is as she watches the chrono, just waiting for the time she agreed to meet Master Zhar and Malak by the speeder that will take them to the spaceport.
Somehow they arrive before her, although she did stop for a cup of tea, and the two of them stand close as they speak. The speeder beside them is already running and they have their bags on the ground next to them and Revan pauses in her approach.
It just—it makes her feel odd, in a way. With the morning light misting over them, the sound of the speeder humming, the anticipation of what's to come. It's like she's already missing the memory of this moment. She can see it so clearly—it's so new and exciting and someday it'll just be a story she'll tell. Right now she's at the very start of it, and there's so much more to come, but some part of her feels sad that once it begins it's inevitably going to end.
Don't be a fool, she tells herself, curling her lips into a grin when Malak turns his head and catches her eye. A cautious smile fits onto his lips as well, and she feels a sense of certainty bordering on confidence that the two of them will be okay.
Because he's become her best friend, and because she can't stomach the idea of them fading into strangers again—not while she still has him now.
And someday she'll look back on this moment, too, and know that there are worse things in this life than being strangers with Malak, but she still has such a long way to go.
Before her lows, there will be many, many highs.