Taking a Chance

Raven appeared at the landing platform mere moments before the shuttle did, dressed simply in a robe that fell to her ankles, a neutral green color. A slim belt circled her waist, her light saber and a few other pouches hanging from it. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face into a half-ponytail held back by a leather thong, and she stood silently, bare feet slightly wider than her shoulders apart. Her face was blank, the quintessential Jedi mask of calm and serenity.

The craft turned a hundred eighty degrees to land smoothly on the platform as the Jedi watched. The ramp lowered, the hydraulics hissing slightly, and then a slender form appeared. It was Aine, looking much older than Raven remembered, cradling a small human child of perhaps two years in one arm and another looking roughly the same age in the other. A four-year old trailed behind her, one hand griping the padawan's clothes and hiding behind her legs as well as the poor thing could.

Behind her came her master, also looking indescribably weary. He was leading a hover-stretcher, upon which lay Master Robas Coun wrapped in a medical blanket. The Master glanced at Raven, giving her a small nod that spoke of happiness to be home again. The padawan stepped up to Raven as the older Jedi moved past, still guiding the stretcher towards the entrance. Infirmary staff were just inside the door, although Gre-Kier didn't know that. He disappeared. Aine bowed to the best of her ability with the children in her arms. "We have returned," she said quietly, and Raven could see tears shining on the surface of her eyes.

"See that the children are settled comfortably, Padawan, and then you may clean yourself up. I assume that …" Raven paused, feeling awkward for a moment, watching the younger woman's eyes, "that Demian is in there?" Aine flinched slightly then nodded assent. "I will see to him and then notify the senator that his children are safe. The children are in your care until I relieve you of that duty, but I'm sure that they might benefit from a visit to the crèche."

Aine murmured an appropriate response to Raven then bowed again. Before the Padawan could leave, however, Raven caught her arm. "Thank you, Aine," she said quietly. "I know it was a difficult mission in many ways. You have my gratitude." Aine looked flighty for a moment then nodded once, her expression conveying that she had a sense of duty as strong as Raven's. Then, the younger woman disappeared inside.

Steeling herself, Raven turned to the shuttle and walked slowly, the tread on the ramp feeling odd beneath her feet. She ducked into the vehicle, unsurprised to see that it was ordinary in its layout and features. A small sitting room was on her left and a short hall led to a set of quarters and the cockpit. Instinctively, she knew where Demian's body lay. Carefully, she moved to her right and opened the door to the quarters.

On another medical stretcher, not unlike the one that held his master, Demian Emil lay, covered by a sheet as well as his master's dark, outer robe. Raven regarded the motionless body for a long moment, feeling the stillness of the room around her with heightened senses. He seemed contradictorily both more and less real this way. No person ever lay that still, yet this was the padawan so full of life before.

The feeling of inadequacy came back stronger, and Raven envisioned herself still standing in the arena, looking at the lightsaber. Failure. The failure to protect, the failure to make sound decisions, the failure to uphold the Code even. She imagined herself leaving the lightsaber in the arena, the lights turned off and the room cold, before she banished the thought.

The Jedi Knight grabbed the sheet and carefully pulled it back, studying the padawan's face. It was pallid, the skin looking unnaturally transparent and thin. His eyes had been closed, and a few cuts showed on his face, red lines that stood out on his pale skin. Tears sprang to Raven's eyes as she thought of another young boy taken too soon, and she replaced the sheet, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand.

Raven led the stretcher to the infirmary with a heavy heart, her iron will keeping her face respectfully blank and dry. She left him there to their ministrations, the preparations for his pyre. Then, she went to her rooms to call the senator. The man was elated to hear of the safety of his children, and they made arrangements for him to collect them. Even though Raven was confident that outwardly, she was the calm and collected Jedi, inwardly she felt nothing, a void. The price for the children's safety had been too high, and she had gambled those stakes with other's credits.

After changing into formal robes, Raven located the children in the crèche as she had expected, leaving word for Aine that she had taken the children to a landing pad to meet their father. She stood, impassively, as the children were tearfully reunited with their father. The senator thanked her profusely, his gratitude shining in his eyes. She responded politely and correctly then watched as the family left.

A gentle breeze swept across the landing pad as Raven looked the direction that the transport had gone, much as she had done an eternity of two days ago. Acceptance had settled into her expression, and all at once Raven knew what she must do. The Order had no need of a Knight like herself. It followed the expression of needing enemies with friends like she.

There was a fighter's adage that came to her mind. Walking away from a fight that one has no chance of winning wasn't considered cowardice; it was a matter of prudence. Some fights were too daunting, impossible to win. Only in rare cases was the sacrifice worth continuing the fight. More often, the acceptance of one's weaknesses made for the better decision, providing a platform from which one could plan a new attack, a more effective one.

It was time for Raven to walk away and find a new means of service to her beloved Order, one to which she was better suited.

***

Her room was draped in shadows. Her careful preparations had taken most of the afternoon, and now the Jedi believed she was ready. She had changed into her unitard and a long-sleeved tunic that fell to her ankles, slit up the legs to her mid-thigh to allow for freedom in movement. It was a soft lavendar, dark enough to not catch light unless she was on a well-lit walkway. Thrown over the back of one of her chairs was her heavy robe, standard Jedi issue. Next to the chair was a large knapsack, holding what nondescript civilian clothes she owned, as well as all the food she had in her rooms and a few sets of Jedi tunics and leggings. Also in the pack was her ratiuar and case, a gift from her master that had helped teach her to mediate. She had cleaned her room and straightened it up, leaving it with the appearance that no one had lived there. Jedi had few personal effects.

Carefully she pulled her hair back from her face and secured it. Raven took one last look around her home, feeling a twinge of melancholy pull at her. She accepted it, knowing that she was making the right decision. On the counter lay a flimsy and a stylus, the only things not neatly put away. It was a note to her master, simply state that she felt she had fulfilled her usefulness to the Temple. Daré would understand; at least, Raven hoped so.

With a sigh, she walked over to her bag and gently dug through it before coming up with her utility belt. From it hung her lightsaber; Raven couldn't bear to part with that, no matter what. Gently she unclipped it, placing it back into the bag. Then, she found her blaster and its holster and slid that onto the belt, which she then slung over her hips. The look she was aiming for was that of a provocative bounty hunter, someone with enough of an aura that others would leave her alone.

The dark-haired woman swept one last glance over her dark rooms, touching her fingers to her lips for a moment, before turning away. She threw her robe over her shoulders, pulling her arms through. Then, she eased the knapsack over one of her shoulders so that it hung diagonally across her back, the strap running from her left shoulder between her breasts to her right hip. She adjusted it so that her robe concealed most of her clothes. Then, Raven pulled up the hood of her robe, hiding her face in the shadows.

Moving through the halls of the Temple was easier than seemed suitable. With every step, Raven expected someone to stop her, to ask her where she was going or what she was doing. Still, the halls were quiet and empty as she made her way to the entries on the walkway levels. It was surprisingly easy, but also painfully difficult. Raven felt regret at what she would never do; she would never spar again, she would never train a padawan, she would never meditate in the Room of a Thousand Waterfalls or watch the sun rise from one of the spires. Still, the guilt at what she had already done was overriding; there was really no choice.

The doorman was a small, bent old human male, one that Raven knew very well by sight from her years of working for the IntCorps. His name was Kaie Far, and he was indebted to the Jedi for one reason or another. He was one of the few non-Jedi who worked and lived within the Temple. Rumor had it that his child had been taken into the Temple for protection and, even though the child died from disease, he asked to work for the Jedi to show his gratitude. Raven didn't know his true story, but in any case, he was a gentle, friendly man.

"Bit late for running, isn't it, 'Ven?" he asked quietly as she approached, his voice soft with a lilting accent that she could never place. Raven guessed that he knew every IntCorps officer by name and sight, as well as the members of the Political Corps, and every other Jedi who was in and out often.

She shrugged, offering him a slight smile. "When duty calls, Kaie, who am I to refuse?" she replied.

He nodded slowly. "Of course. A Jedi can never rest when duty is involved. Should I look for you before my shift is up?"

Raven smiled again softly. He always asked after her, wanting to be sure that if something were to happen, he would know when to expect her back. Kaie was considerate that way, a true gentleman at heart. "No, don't wait up for me. I won't be back tonight."

Nodding slowly, he grasped her hand, something he didn't usually do. "Then the Force be with you, 'Ven. The Force be with you."

Gently, she extracted her hand, instinctively upset by that display, although her rationale was that he had heard about Nat. Of course, the entire Temple had heard about Nat. She then nodded a farewell and slipped out into the night.

***

The depths of the night found Raven well ensconced in the entertainment district at a small, rather seedy bar. The entire place reeked of the kind of place people went when they didn't want to be found, and the situation seemed to fit well with the Jedi. She found herself a small booth that looked on the minute dance floor. A band was behind it, playing some music that originated somewhere on the Outer Rim. Most of the establishment was filled with dark looking figures, representing many occupations and species. Raven didn't recognize many of them, although they all had a similar aspect: the look that said don't mess with them.

When the waitress came by, Raven ordered a shot of Corellian whiskey, anticipating the fiery drink. The drinking of alcohol, although not forbidden, was discouraged among the ranks of the Order. However, contrary to that stigma, all padawans went through a class to develop a tolerance to the drink, due to its common appearance at dinners of state or other functions. It would be unseemly for the dignified Jedi to become drunk at political functions, not mention the implications of that kind of weakness in the field. Still, as did many of the Jedi, Raven had developed a taste for the drink and understood her limits.

The waitress deposited the drink, and Raven paid with a credit chip, a remnant from an old mission. Then, the other woman moved away to tend to other customers, leaving the Jedi to observe the crowd in silence and enjoy the shot. Raven inspected the amber liquid for a moment and was about to take it when a large, well-built human male approached her. He loomed over her table, his dark eyes eying her chest suggestively.

"'S a hard drink fer a lassie lie ye," he said, his accent thick to her ears. He raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side, and Raven couldn't help but wonder what kind of response he expected. "Yer too fine a lassie fer the drinkin' ay that," he finally added.

Raven humored him with a weak smile. "I know what I like," she responded, her face remaining noncommittal. What she wanted, however, was to be left alone.

"Ye ken ye can hold it?" came the incredulous response.

"I can hold my liquor, yes," Raven chuckled. The silliness of the situation was getting to her. She knew she was slimly built, not at all the picture of a girl who could take many shots without collapsing under the table. But then, Jedi training was renowned for being rigorous in all respects. Why should tolerance be any different?

"Lass! To me, lassie!" The large man called the waitress over. "Aye, I'm wanting a score ay ye best whiskey, Corellian, like hers." Raven's eyes widened. He turned back to her. "Let's see ye keep that much in ye," he grinned, sitting down across from her.

A grin appeared on Raven's face. It was a matter of meditation to her, as easy as winning a spar against a padawan. "I don't think you know what you're getting into," she replied. "I'll even give you an advantage." She picked up her original shot, slammed it back, and upended the shot glass on the table with a clang.

A small crowd had gathered around the table, apparently curious as to the intentions of the small, dark-haired woman and the strong, red headed man. He continued to periodically leer suggestively at her, although he took note of the growing interest. "My money's on Kieran," someone in the crowd commented, jutting a finger at the man. Someone else countered that bet, and a small flurry of placing bets and establishing odds took place.

"Why don't the gamblers pick up the tab for this little exchange?" The speaker was a blond haired man, rather nondescript, except for the facts of his tall height and slight build. His eyes were a curious shade of grey, seeming to shift from moment to moment. He had the look of a survivor, someone who had seen more than she cared to guess.

There was a brief grumbling discussion, and then the gamblers agreed. The waitress returned, setting out the twenty shots, and the bill was settled. The red-haired man, Kieran, set ten in front of each. "Clean rules," he grunted, "first ta finish wins. How's that fer ye?"

"Sounds fair," Raven replied. "But someone else needs to start us."

"I'll do it," the grey-eyed man volunteered. Kieran gave him a brief glare, as though upset with the interference. A slight grin played across the other man's face. "When I say 'Corellia,' the game is on. You both ready? All right. Corellia!"

Raven grabbed the first glass, enjoying the warmth as it slid down her throat. She slammed it down, moving along methodically down her line, ignoring her competition. It was a conclusive finish; she had her last glass down before he'd picked his up. Kieran drank his last slowly, looking at her with awe in his eyes. "Where d'ye put it?" he asked incredulously.

The Jedi just grinned and shrugged. The crowd had already begun to dissipate, having settled their accounts. Kieran leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment. Then, he shifted out of the bench to tower over her again. This time, he wasn't looking as amiable. "Ye's a fine bonnie lass," he said, leaning over her and leering again. He grabbed her wrist in his hand, drawing her from the table.

Raven allowed herself to be pulled from her seat, running a simple Force exercise to dissipate the alcohol in her system and slowly calculating. Her lightsaber was in her bag, although it would be foolish to use it here, for it would simply draw too much attention. Her blaster was in its thigh holster, hidden between her legs by her long tunic, although it would be difficult to reach. Sheer physical differences would make it hard to take him in a hand-to-hand setting, even though he was obviously being affected by the shots he'd taken. She'd have to play it by ear. Mentally, Raven berated herself for putting herself in this situation. She should have just brushed him off.

"Why don't ye and I let oursels ootay here, hm?" he asked. She resisted, refusing to move more than a meter away from the booth. He grunted in annoyance, applying more pressure, although she still refused to move. "Stubborn lass, hasn't anyone taught ye to mind yer menfolk?" He twisted her wrist painfully.

"Think very hard whether or not you want to do that," Raven warned, already planning her next move. Then, he yanked her wrist on around, shoving her to the ground in front of him.

"I don't appreciate threats," he snarled as Raven tumbled to the floor. However, she smoothly did a tuck and roll, glad she was loose. The fluid movement ended with her back on her feet, staring him down. She rejected the idea of using her blaster. It would be impossible to simply wound him superficially with that, and she didn't want to cause a scene that would attract large amounts of attention.

"Neither do I," she replied. "I suggest you retire – alone – for the evening."

"Do ye ken who I am?" the red-haired man replied, laughter and mockery in his voice, moving forward to her, obviously unafraid.

"Do you know who she is?"

The thinner young man, probably about her own age, Raven judged, inserted himself between the two, his back to her. Kieran blinked, either confused by the question itself or the audacity of the one who asked it. "Who she is?" he repeated dumbly.

Grey eyes turned to her, giving her a look that was supposed to convey understanding tolerance, but beneath that, he was asking her – no, pleading – to go along with his ruse. She remained noncommittal, concerned about what he was planning. He turned away again, the picture of relaxation and amusement. "I'll give you a hint. She works for the same lad you do." His tone was lighthearted, and Raven suddenly felt very relieved. For a moment, she thought that he would say she was a rogue Jedi. She pushed the thought away, though. How could he know her secret? Then it occurred to Raven that she didn't really know at what game she was playing. Life in the shadow of the Temple and life outside of it were two completely different things.

"I've no seen the lass around," Kieran growled in response. "She's better suited fer the dance floor than this dump." He moved to push past the smaller man, who threw up his hands to prevent Kieran from moving past. Then, he tapped his nose and winked at the redhead.

"That's the idea. Doesn't look like much, does she? Just a defenseless, young, beautiful woman…" He trailed off and turned around so that he could see both Raven and Kieran. "At least, until the chips are down. Then a Jedi would be hard-pressed to beat her."

Raven gave him a patient look, one that she hoped he read as he was losing time. She didn't appreciate the reference, and she wasn't sure she liked where this was going. "Are you gentlemen finished discussing me and my talents?" she asked, emphasizing the third word slightly. Kieran and the other man exchanged looks, and the Jedi shook her head. She moved to the booth, throwing on her cloak and settling the back over her shoulder. "Good evening," she said, not discourteously, but tartly enough that her displeasure was known. In reality, it was not so much displeasure as it was discomfort in the situation, although she couldn't have said from what the discomfort stemmed. The Jedi was perfectly capable of defending herself. In any case, she left the waitress a tip and disappeared into the night.

***

"Hey, wait up for a moment."

The voice echoed across the walkway as Raven turned around to see the slim young many moving quickly after her. She was about 100 meters from the bar, unsure of her next destination but knowing that she didn't really want to remain near the place. Her mood had dropped, a mixed result from diffusing the alcohol and the stress of the day. The dark-haired woman waited patiently, sensing no threat from him, although she wondered what exactly he wanted.

As he approached, she shifted her burden to rest more comfortably between her shoulder blades. The young man looked a little uncertain of himself, despite the fact he pressed on until he was near enough to her to carry on a conversation without yelling. "I'm sorry about what happened in there," he said quietly, searching her face for something.

Mild surprise flooded Raven because, although she didn't know what to expect, that hadn't been it. "Nothing happened," she replied evenly after thinking for a long moment. "I shouldn't have allowed myself to get into the situation."

The man shrugged. "I knew what Kier was thinking from the first moment you walked in the door. He's gets a rather predatory look about him. I should have stopped him or something."

"A friend of yours, then, I take it?" Raven asked. Her curiosity was getting the best of her. She wanted to know who this man was and why he felt so compelled to apologize to her, a complete stranger. Such a sense of honor was rare, enough amidst the ranks of the Jedi Order itself.

"An associate," he replied flatly, a hard look coming into his eyes. "I would have killed him before now for other… exploits of his involving woman, if I could."

"Apologizing to me won't change those incidents," Raven countered gently, understanding the motivation that must have prompted him to follow her.

He looked away, studying the skyline for a moment, giving Raven a profile view of his strong chin, his gently sloping nose, and one of his bright gray eyes. Then he turned back, catching her green with his gray. "I know what you are," he said quietly, although there was steel behind the tone, leaving little room for argument.

"And what is that?"

"You are a Jedi, despite the fact you're trying to conceal it for some reason."

Raven blinked in surprise, completely caught off guard by his assertion. "And what makes you say that?" Her response was wary, and she resisted the urge to shift her pack again. The thought occurred to her to just walk away from him and find somewhere to spend the rest of the night, but something about him had caught her curiosity. She felt she could trust him, although there was no reason for her to.

He shrugged. "The way you walk, I guess. The way you carry yourself. Most women don't have that confidence, that … aura of a warrior. You have no fear. The way you downed eleven shots without so much as a slurred word or misplaced step. Even when Kier obviously wanted more than you were willing to give, you never even flinched. You just adapted and plotted your next step. You have the grace, and you reek of justice and service. I know what a Jedi looks like; you are one." He stood, his feet slightly apart, regarding her levelly.

Raven saw Emrys crouching in fear and Demian stiff and cold on the medical stretcher. She shook her head. "I'm no Jedi," she replied a little harshly, thought it was directed at herself.

Impressively, he stood his ground, cocking his head slightly and looking at her thoughtfully. He watched her for a long moment, and Raven got the impression that this is what he did. He observed, carefully piecing things together into a coherent picture, and then, only then, he acted. "You have somewhere to stay for the night?" he asked finally.

"I don't even know your name," she replied quietly, feeling draw in by this rather non-confrontational man before her. "Why should I trust you?"

He smiled in response, a gentle gesture, and spread his hands. "If you could handle Kier so well, I shouldn't be any kind of problem. Besides, information such as my name is dangerous. You also don't know what I do."

"What do you do for a living?"

"Make money so that I can see my wife again."

Raven frowned slightly at that, his tone indicating sadness and a touch of regret. "What do you mean by that?"

"She's still on Agio, a small moon in the Inner Rim off Iego. Whatever you might have heard from smugglers, it's a lie. Agio is in the middle of a civil war. I need to make enough money to bring her and my son here so that he can grow up safe. I've only been here a few months though. My wife, she's pregnant with our child." He'd been looking at the ground, and then the young man glanced up, fear and sadness in his eyes. "I don't know why I'm telling you this though. Maybe that's why I thought you were a Jedi. If you were, maybe you could help me. Help us. I miss her so much, and I'm afraid she won't be there when I can be with her again."

The concept of love was an ambiguous one to Raven, having been raised in the Temple where such attachments were forbidden, but she could see the depth of his emotion, the rawness and the complexity of it shining in his eyes. "So why have you offered me a place to stay? Then you'll have to feed me," she teased gently.

"Because no one did for me when I came here, I suppose," he replied, obviously still thinking about his wife. "I don't really know."

Her instincts kicked in, years of helping other beings, being commissioned for such an occupation. Besides, she was touched by his generous offer, despite his not having much to offer in the first place. "My name is Raven. Raven Suul," she said, offering her hand for him to shake. "I was a Jedi. Maybe between the two of us we can get your wife here. That is, if you don't mind going into business with a rogue," she added with a wink.

He took her hand. "Dane C'xon, at your service. I suppose a former Jedi is better than none at all," he replied with a smile. "Just don't do that mind trick thing, okay?"

Raven grinned. "We'll see."