Drenched
by shike77

Chapter III
Isolated

Notes: This chapter… is just a little crazy. Most of it I was just having fun with. The battle scene at the end could have been longer, but I was running out of ideas. And there's only so much hot chocolate one person can chug into their systems at 12:00 at night before figuring that there's no ideas coming. So.

Eh, against my better wishes, this thing is starting to get a little romancey. :barfs: Eh, oh well. After playing the game the second time through and seeing certain… things that I missed the first time around, I just realize how ruddy OBVIOUS Atton is. :snickers at him:

If you find anything confusing, things will be explained later. Much later, I suppose. At 14.5 pages, I think this chapter is long enough. The battle scene at the end might be a bit choppy, so let me un-confuse things for you—the stuff in italics is all one continuous flashback. The fighting does not stop. I just edited that in for… effect. :grins:

Hm, no reviews? What, did I scare y'all off that quickly:grins to herself: Sorry, you're not gettin' rid of me that fast, kiddies.

Oh, and for all you people who like canon fanfics that follow the exact story to every little word—suck it up, I changed a few things. So Nya.

Production Songs: "Etude for Piano in F Minor" by Kevin Stephens / trickwaters, and "Ascension to Cosmo Canyon" by Rueben Kee (available for download on I'm gunna have a soundtrack by the end of this, I swear.


About an hour after Atton and T3 had begun their attempts to decipher the code on the screen, the droid had left, needing to continue with routine maintenance on the ship. Half an hour after that, Atton had fallen asleep.

Saer, sipping a cup of Java, smiled to herself. They'd obviously gotten nothing out of poor Ki's memory core, as the memories that actually revealed anything about who either herself or Leon had been were highly encrypted.

She pulled up a chair, gently pushing the snoozing Atton out of the way. His chair rolled away, and his upper body slid along the panel it was lying on. He grunted, but otherwise was content.

She watched him for a moment, shaking her head. While he'd made no secret his intentions with her, she had to wonder if they went beyond just casual make-out time. Kreia was right—he was difficult to read. Elusive, especially when she'd badgered him about his apparent Echani training. She had the feeling it was more than just a ruse to fool attackers, but she'd decided, in the end, not to press.

She turned back to the computer, then, bringing up the login screen.

ACCESS CODE: Lukas Nikel

SEARCHING…

ACCEPTED.

PASSWORD:

At that prompt, she paused. With her luck, there was little she could remember Leon telling her about his father—other than the name. No, there was not a chance of her guessing right, not knowing the man or even what he looked like. The returned to the Access prompt.

ACCESS CODE: Leon Nikel

SEARCHING…

DENIED. ACCESS CODE NOT VALID.

She scowled at it, biting an impressive string of less-than-polite words, so as not to wake Atton. You little shit, Ki, she thought to herself. Of course Leon has to be there.

Then again, Leon had not built Ki. She'd been a gift from his father… She muttered a few nasty words under her breath, in a few languages that she knew, before trying again.

ACCESS CODE: Lukas Nikel

SEARCHING…

ACCEPTED.

PASSWORD:

Okay, Leon, what was your old man into? Not numbers, Leon had commented once, laughing. So a combination of birth dates was out of the question. Besides, he and Khert were twins… His wife's name? Leon had never known what really happened to the woman who gave birth to him, although the bitter Khert had been insistent that she'd left to be a whore somewhere. What was their mothers' name…?

She gave up after long moments of thinking, returning back to the access screen. He'd been almost as close-lipped about his past as she was, as if he thought all that mattered was the road ahead.

She spent a long time thinking about K1, sadly. She'd broken so long ago, maybe she'd just forgotten—L1 always called Khert 'Friend' during the Mandalorian Wars, or at least when Saer had learned to figure out what the droid was saying.

She paused, eyes narrowed in thought. Did anyone actually pick their code and password, or did Ki pick it for them?

ACCESS CODE: Friend

SEARCHING…

DENIED. ACCESS CODE NO LONGER IN USE.

Saer frowned. This didn't bode well. Leon obviously had no idea that he could 'log on' to Ki to access her memory core. Ki might have done her best to make it so the person trying to access whatever they needed already knew what the password would be, but right now Saer was having doubts about the small droid's ability to predict people's actions.

She sighed, then, watching the access code prompt appear on the screen. She examined it for a long minute or two, what-ifs popping into her mind as they pleased. What the hell? She decided, finally. The worst that can happen is that she'll blow up on me.

ACCESS CODE: Saer Zeyl

SEARCHING…

ACCEPTED.

She frowned. What did Ki do, make an account for each person she met? That little idiot could fit a lot more in her core than Saer had thought, it seemed… But a password. For each person. And one that they—and only they—would supposedly be able to guess. She rubbed her forehead, leaning forwards on the panel. She was going to get a massive headache, guessing…

Atton stirred, and Saer knew she had little time. She leaned back and took a swig of her Java, narrowing her eyes. What did Ki actually know about her…? What did she know about herself? No big secrets, names of parents or things like that. First thing she could remember was…

She paused, a slight hesitation, then sat forwards and punched in the keys, breathless. Would Ki even remember a detail like that…?

PASSWORD: Manaan

ACCEPTED.

The view flickered for a moment, and then the screen went blank. The sound of static wavered, until she heard a melancholy melody of beeps and bell-tones. Droid talk, she recognized Ki and Li's preference of speech immediately.

"It's not your fault," she reassured the droid, aloud. "We did all we could."

A pause, and then a different phrase, more panicked than the last.

"It's been years, Ki. I found you in pieces. I'm having a little trouble putting you back together. Some of my friends hooked your head up to the holoprojector while I was sleeping."

A whistle and a quip.

She shook her head. "You don't know them. Atton Rand and T3-M4."

She twittered a little, her mood starting to lighten.

"It's a long story, Ki," she smiled, shaking her head.

Silence. The droid hummed a little, sadly.

Saer smiled again, that trademark combination between a smirk and a genuinely warm smile that gave her that cocky, confidant look to her. "Don't worry, I'll find out how to put you back together. Then we can catch up."

There was a pause, and then Ki whistled a security sound. The screen lit up, suddenly, and every possible schematic imaginable for the droid was thrown in front of her. Saer found an empty datapad and inserted it into a slot.

"Make sure to include whatever your wings are made out of, or else you won't be able to turn on, much less pester me about what I've been doing for the past thirteen years."

Ki complied without hesitation, and the datapad was soon ejected. Saer took it out and examined the first thing that had been bothering her—what Ki's wings were made of. She winced as she looked at the list. Some of those things might just be a little hard to find…

"Alright," she mumbled, "I think it's time to go shopping." She glanced up at the screen, where Ki was leafing through the holorecords in the computer. "Can I leave you to yourself for a while, or do you want to be shut down until I need you again?"

Ki made a sound that might have been her equivalent to a snort, and Saer smiled. "Alright, then. Don't break anything."

She stood and stretched, then paused and glanced at the sleeping Atton. Kreia would kill her if she went off alone—the woman seemed more protective of her than a mynock was his female during mating season, no matter how she tried to hide it. Of course, that was the way Atton put it, but that was besides the point.

"Wake up," she gave Atton a slight shove. He grunted, then slowly rose from his position (which was now his front half dangling partially off the edge of the console's round desk) to blink blearily around him.

"Mnfuwhaaa…?"

She smirked at him, then swatted the back of his head. "Come on, I need to pick up a few things."

As she headed back into the garage for her jacket, Atton trailed behind her, confused. "So why am I coming, too…?"

As she flipped her collar up around her neck and fixed her lightsabers so that they were hidden by the long leather pieces on her belt—looked like blaster holsters, but that was probably the point.

"Kreia would have a fit if I went alone, I think Mandalore's sleeping, T3 would just get stolen, Bao Dur would probably get mugged, and Disciple hates this place more than he cares to admit." She freed her hair from its braid, shook it out, then set about taming it again. "That, and you actually know where you're going."

"If we're haunting Pazaak dens, then yes, I do," Atton agreed, scratching the back of his head. "Don't you ever brush that?"

Pulling apart a knot in the red-streaked-blonde strands with her hands, she glanced up at him. "What?"

"Your hair. Most people I know brush theirs before doing stuff with it."

She gave him a look through bangs that had already failed to be held back. "Yes, but most people you know aren't exiled Jedi with a schedule to run."

He blinked at her, then absently attempted to smooth down his hair. He probably had a cowlick again. "You have a schedule?"

"Yeah. We have to be finished by 03:00 standard, get jumped by some guys at 03:22, kick their asses for a couple of seconds, and then be back at the Hawk by 03:30, so I can get some shut-eye before Kreia's arthritis wakes me up at 05:04. She should really get that looked at," that last she added as an afterthought, frowning.

He blinked at her, then glanced at his watch. "It's 23:13… What are you looking for that could possibly take four hours to get?"

She frowned. "The funny thing is, you don't even ask about the getting jumped part anymore."

He shrugged, then stuck his hands in his jacket pockets. "Eh, I get the feeling you're right to the second about that."

She rolled her eyes at him, hiding a smile as she snatched some blasters off the workbench and tossed them at him. "Here, try these out."

Atton caught them, blinking. They looked like ordinary blasters to him—sure, they had Saer's signature design for anything that she made, but she'd thrown together blasters at enemy workstations before when his had broken, and, while these looked like a great deal more thought had been put into them than ten minutes, he still didn't see anything special about them.

"Trust me," she commented, noting the expression on his face, "They'll come in handy."

He shrugged, slipping them into empty holsters. His own blasters were in his cabin, and he felt too lazy to go and fetch them. Besides, Saer might be a little offended if he didn't take these for a spin.

:s-n-s:

The things she was looking for ended up being exotic—some of it was quite illegal on any Republic-run planet, and Nar Shadda would be the only place to get it. Once or twice either one of them remembered seeing something in the cargo hold once they were most of their way towards finding it, and once Saer had just spent a the better half of a standard hour bartering with someone before Atton remembered a place to get it cheap and easy.

"… And that I've seen Mandalore use to make stimulants, so I can just get some off him," Saer muttered, pressing buttons on the datapad she was holding.

Atton, straining to carry about a ton of metal to the speeder they'd fixed up and rigged for their own uses, glanced over his burden at her and blinked. "Er, a little help?"

She looked up, blinking. "What?" She then realized he was carrying the load on his own, and smiled a little. "What, can't handle a little strain, kiddo?" Regardless, he felt his load lighten considerably.

He shook his head at her, glaring at the mocking smirk she sported. "You're certainly enjoying yourself," he grumbled as he dumped the package in the speeder.

"I don't know, just you pretending to be a miner was the most hilarious thing I've ever seen. I was considering sticking you in the mining outfit from Peragus."

"Let me guess, this is the daily, 'everyone laugh at Atton' routine?"

She half-smiled at him, shaking her head. She jumped into the passenger's seat, returning to the datapad. "That looks like it. All we have to do is get this shit back to the Hawk."

Atton paused, then, before hopping into the driver's seat and bringing the controls closer to him. "Hey, I think there's an old hangout of mine near here," he remarked, suddenly. "Well, not really a hangout, but I went there once or twice."

Saer sent him a sideways glance, rummaging through one of the boxes. "And?"

He rolled his eyes. "Come on, when's the last time you were drunk?"

"On purpose, or when I was being chased by assassin droids from hell?"

Even Atton had to smile at that one, no matter how much she was intent on avoiding the topic. There were a lot of touchy topics with Saer—you just had to pick and choose which ones were worth losing your head over.

He started up the engines, then kicked the speeder into gear. "It's a date, then!"

"Wha?"

"Hey, don't give me that look," he smiled at her, interrupting whatever threat she'd been about to spill out. "You're stressed. We're not going to be finding that Jedi master with the funny name any time soon, so you might as well just take some time to relax."

She settled for glaring at him, but made no further comment. Reveling in the small victory, Atton quickly navigated through a few backstreets and over some walking ramps—Saer laughed when he almost hit some gang members in a brawl, and he thought that she had a sadistic sense of humour, for a Jedi. Then he reminded herself that she was an infamous Exile… that, and the war had probably turned her bitter, like everyone else in it.

He did manage to find a parking spot some distance away from the club—it was on a secluded street he knew was bound not to receive much attention, and although it was a walk away from their destination, he figured nothing would go wrong. Hey, they'd been fine all night, so far, hadn't they?

Even without wood to knock on, they made it there alright. While Saer looked like she was begging anyone to jump them, just so she might escape the horror of whatever her friend had planned for her. Atton just grinned and led her into the cantina.

There might have been a party at that point in time; the place was packed from wall to wall with dancing couples or other such groups of people. It took them some time to actually get a seat at the bar, and then Saer was determined to stay there, her refusal to budge obvious in the way she sat. She meant no hostility, he knew, but it seemed that the more people in the room, the more agitated she became. Worried about appearances? Hardly. She found it hard to focus when there was so much going on around her outside of combat. She was always readily aware of anything or one around her in life, and while that worked well in a fight, it made her extremely edgy and slightly jumpy the rest of the time.

Atton took a swig out of the Juma Juice he'd ordered, then glanced over at Saer, who still hadn't touched her drink. She still looked like she was waiting for something.

He frowned, then glanced out at the dancing crowd and smiled to himself.

"Ever dance in a cantina before?"

She sent him a glance, but didn't reply.

He smirked, then grabbed her arm and pulled her off the stool, weaving in and out of the crowd with the exiled Jedi in tow. She didn't go quietly, to say the least—she protested this treatment with every insult and rude phrase imaginable. Any other person might just have been effected by this, but Atton had been expecting it—that and he thought it was hilarious how she was trapped, able to do nothing in a crowd this size.

"… bantha's red-coated cow's shit-faced midwife's tach's brother's…"

He thought wryly that she knew one hellova lot more about his mother than he did, if all she was saying was true.

He stopped in the middle of the dance floor, then turned around to face her. He was grinning from ear to ear at the look on her face, which was promising him a long and painful death if he kept this up.

"Hey, we came here to relax, not kill each other, remember?" he advised her, still grinning. He glanced around them at the dancers and shrugged. "I think I remember a few things from the last time I had a girlfriend."

"That's reassuring," she muttered, but Atton interrupted any further complaints by showing her what little he remembered abut dancing.

She already had the beat—Saer had once described the force as a lot like music in itself, when Bao Dur had asked, and sometimes when she spoke you could hear subtle signs of a strong singing voice behind her words. All she needed was to forget everyone around them and just let go.

Atton wasn't much for dancing—he'd always been terrible, and the one time he'd tried the ballroom variant he'd just made an enormous fool of himself. This was probably the one kind he could ever manage to even partially pull off, if only because it reminded him a bit of the Echani training he'd received ages ago. Even so, he still looked like an idiot who didn't know his left foot from his right, and after a while even Saer had to laugh at him.

"It's just like fighting," she told him, half-smiling in that trademarked way of hers. "You just have to find a median between the two."

It took some time, what with Saer almost refusing the let her guards down and just enjoy herself, but they did manage to come up with something, between the two of them. If Atton was actually paying attention, he might have realized that it was a combination of the Echani fighting styles he knew and whatever hand-to-hand combat training Saer had ever received. It looked nothing like fighting, to the common eye, but when Atton looked back on it, he realized that it was almost exactly like training. Just… different. A competition between the two of them, yes, as most things they did together ended up becoming, but there was no hostility that he had come to expect in battle. It was… relaxing, to say the least.

However, when the fifth song ended and a slow one began, both of them stopped, a little thrown off. Atton could physically see Saer's guards being thrown back up, almost hearing her awareness stretching out over the room again (since when did he attribute her senses to a sound…?)

"Uh, yeah," her face was flushed, and she was shaking slightly. "I think we should leave."

As she turned to go, Atton grabbed her hand. It was a reflex action, a spur of the moment, an instinct as strong as any he'd ever felt. She looked at him, then at his hand on hers, then back up at him again. Something flickered within her eyes, but Atton wasn't sure what it was.

He blushed, then, realizing just what he was doing. He dropped her hand like it was poison, scratching the back of his neck. Warm, he thought—her touch was warm. He shook that off, smiling with a shrug.

I have seen the purest warriors fall, Atton. And fall far.

"Right after another drink, okay?"

And so they were back at the bar, Saer's drink sitting and remaining untouched. Atton was on his second one, halfway through it, and had already decided that was it. The silence between the two of them was far to awkward to get drunk in, and Atton figured Saer wanted to get back to the Hawk.

"You call that dancing! Get out!"

Atton turned around on his barstool as a Twi'lek dancer rushed past him, sobbing in distress. Atton glanced over at Saer, who was watching a male Twi'lek shake his head-tails in distress. He was standing nearby, glancing at his watch with a resignated look on his face.

"As terrible as she was, there's no way I'm going to find another dancer," he spoke to someone beside him, stressed. "Vogga's expecting me in under half an hour!"

Atton glanced over at Saer, who returned the gleam in his eyes with a 'what?' expression of her own—eyebrow raised, eyes narrowed. He grinned, then grabbed her arm and towed her towards the Twi'lek.

"Remember what those guys in the flophouse said about Vogga?"

"… He's a Hutt?" she replied, warily, falling into step behind him.

He would have uttered a fast retort, but the Twi'lek was standing before them, an exasperated expression on his face.

"Unless that's a dancer behind you, I want nothing to do with either of you."

Atton could feel Saer's eyes burning a hole in the back of his skull, so he scratched his neck. "Well, I don't think she's a professional, but…"

"I've danced in cantinas before," Saer interrupted, with a glance at Atton. "Hutts, too, when I was a kid."

Now it was Atton's turn to stare at her.

"Good enough!" the Twi'lek sighed, running a hand over his let head-tail. He turned around and pulled something out of a box. "You have to wear this-" he stopped with a glance at the curved white scar on her left cheek, then produced a bottle of thick liquid. "This should darken your skin to hide any imperfections, as well."

Saer caught one glance of the material and took an immediate step back. "No fucking way," she hissed, but Atton just grinned, took the clothes and bottle from the man and tugged Saer in the direction of a refresher.

"What happened to threatening people with a lightsaber to get my way?" she grumbled in his ear. "That happens to be my specialty, in case you didn't notice."

"Yeah, but Vogga's got Kath Hounds, and plenty of body guards. You might be the almighty kick-ass-guru of whatever crap the Jedi teach you, but I'm just an ordinary idiot with a blaster. Personally, I like my head where it is."

"Trust me, I think it'd look very attractive on a silver platter, right about now."

Atton turned and smirked at her. "But what would you do with the rest of me? Turn it into your willing sex slave?"

She gave him a look. "I don't think you've got the manly presence for that."

He shrugged. "Hey, if I had met you in my attractive, revealing jumpsuit, then you'd be thinking differently."

"Look in the mirror, lately?" she snapped back, eyeing the clothes in his arms. "And besides, running around a deserted mining facility in a jumpsuit is embarrassing enough—but dancing in public in frickin' lingerie is too much."

Atton examined the outfit in his other hand for a moment, blinking at it. "Hey, these things are padded…"

She pulled a face at him, scowling. "I hate you so much."

Atton only smiled, shoved the collective items in her arms, and then gave her a gentle push through the refresher door.

Ten minutes later, Atton was still standing outside the door. He scowled, and while he considered asking someone to go in for him, he figured anyone going in there was too drunk or drugged up to sputter out an intelligible sentence.

Atton pushed the door open and peeked in. "Are you done yet?"

Saer's voice came from the farthest stall from the door, "There is no possible way to describe the excruciatingly slow death you will suffer if you come in here."

Deciding that he'd take his chances, he ducked in, sticking his hands in his pockets and leaning against the wall beside her stall. "Come on, do you seriously think I'd pass up a chance to see you in something skimpier than a jumpsuit?"

"I'd come out there and kick your ass if the galaxy wasn't against sinistrals. Fucking dextral majority of the population…"

Atton blinked at that, barely hearing the curses and sounds of movement within the stall. Why would she say…?

His eyes widened, then, and he grinned. "Shirt trouble?" he asked, perhaps a little too hopefully.

"A fucking stroke of genious you had there, Atton," she snapped back, then swore as she tripped over something.

"Want some he—Ow!" He cried out as a shoe bounced off his skull from above. Glaring at the gap in between the stall door and roof, he bent down to pick it up. "What the fuck was that for!"

"Do not try my patience right now, Atton."

"Schutta," he mumbled, rubbing his head. "You hit me with the heel!"

"That's nothing," she replied, snippish. "Try walking on them."

He sent her a look, wondering if it would pierce through the door, then sighed. "Look, that Twi'lek might be getting impatient. Just let me help you get the shirt on, and then we can go, you can dance, we can break into his warehouse, run away with whatever we want in there, and then you can beat me up."

A pause. "With a painstick?"

Atton winced. Oh, he was so going to get it… "Sure, with a painstick."

There was a rustle of clothing, and then she opened the stall door, her jacket wrapped around her and the front of the bra-shirt-thing clutched in place.

Her skin was darker, that was for sure—it had a slight glisten to it, but it definitely removed the visuals of every scar on her body. When Atton realized he was staring, Saer was turning around, but hesitating the take off the jacket.

After a moment's hesitation, he slipped it off her shoulders and dropped it on top of a pile of her clothing. He grabbed the loose ends of the shirt and tied them where they connected up at her neck—it involved some complicated lacing, so he could see how she would have trouble with it.

The liquid didn't hide the tattoos she'd accumulated over the years—a pair of flaming wings on her shoulderblades remained prominent, if only slightly dulled. The black tattoo on her right arm didn't get much of a chance to be examined, because Saer immediately hissed a sharp intake of breath.

"That's tight," she commented, idly, not quite in warning. Atton smiled apologetically, blushing as he loosened it up.

"Sorry," he murmured, then stepped back. "I think that's it. Feel good?"

"I feel like a whore," she muttered, grabbing her jacket and slipping it back over her shoulders. It didn't quite fit her in the front now, Atton realized, because of how the bra thing fit her… He looked away, then picked up her clothing and stuffed it in a bag. He hesitated before picking up her lightsabers—why did she carry two if she used the double-bladed ones, anyway?

"Lose those, and there will be hell to pay."

Atton winced, picking them up and stowing them in the pack. He pulled the drawstring tight, then slung it over his shoulder and turned to face Saer.

She was snapping the heels off the shoes, and Atton realized that she'd probably never worn a pair of stilettos in her life. He smiled at that thought, wondering how pissed the Twi'lek would be if he found out she'd wrecked the shoes. He was probably just grateful that she was willing to dance for him.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, hair spilling across her back in a knotted wave of silk. He shook his head at her, smiling as she swore and ran her fingers through it, attempting to rip the knots out of her hair in one fell swipe.

Atton winced, wondering how she could possibly want to do that to her own hair. "I don't think Vogga likes his human dancers bald," he commented, idly.

"Yeah, as if you could do-" she stopped when he produced a fine-toothed comb out of the pocket of his jacket. "… Better," she finished, taking it from him. She hesitated, as if something was holding her back, at which point Atton snatched the comb from her hand and started to run it through her hair himself. "You act like you've never used one of these before," he commented dryly, being as gentle as he could.

"Just wondering why you've got a comb on you."

He grinned. "Never know when you need to impress the ladies."

He could have sworn she rolled her eyes at him. "Yeah, because hanging around in the woman's refresher with someone dressed like a whore is going to impress them."

Atton blinked at her, then looked her over… "Hey, you're right."

"You didn't notice?" she grumbled, adjusting her jacket. "Don't get out much, do you?"

He bit back a reply, finishing with her hair. He stuffed the comb back in his pocket and sighed. "Well, that should do. Turn around and let me see."

She hesitated a moment, and Atton wondered about that, but she complied after a breath in time.

She let go of the front of the jacket and let her arms fall awkwardly to her sides, looking away but not at anything in particular. Atton had to admit that the outfit was a definite turn-on. Hell, one look at the curves of her body was enough to make any man's jaw hit the floor in a normal situation, but wearing that!

As soon as he got past the initial shock of seeing Saer in something less than a shirt and a pair of pants (or a jumpsuit, for that matter), however, Atton realized that this… was not Saer. The way she stood was not the stance of a dancer, but a battle-hardened warrior. Her fighting styles might look something like dancing, but beyond that oil were scars of battles long past, her body toned and constructed for a different sort of dancing. Not what she was doing for Vogga, while he watched from a corner by the Kath Hounds' now-drugged water dish. The graceful movements that were sometimes fast, sometimes slow, just didn't seem to suit Saer. She knew them, all too well for what he knew of her history, and that made him consider what she'd said earlier. Dancing for Hutts? She hadn't been lying, by the ease of movement she carried about her.

He moved when the Kath Hounds padded over to drink, one at a time, their tongues lolling. They kept glancing over at Saer, almost as if they wanted Vogga to sick them on her.

Atton sent them a glare, hands itching for his blasters. They were concealed, safe within his jacket pockets. He didn't want to have them confiscated and then not given back—Saer probably wouldn't have taken it that well. Besides, he didn't have spares on him.

"My Master surely would wish me to compliment your dancing this night," the Twi'lek was saying at Atton made his way over to Saer—how the hell could the Hutt sleep when there was someone like her dancing like that in front of him? "If I could possibly convince you to make a permanent contract with us…?"

She shook her head, already braiding her hair back out of the way. "No, I'm afraid Vogga will just have to deal with me disappearing for now."

He looked disappointed, but Atton hadn't expected anything else. Hell, he'd expected Saer to grab one of the Kath Hounds and use it to crush Vogga's head the entire time she was there. "Well, here is your pay. I have other matters to attend to, so I wish you well." And with that he was off, leaving the two of them alone in the room with sleeping Vogga and Kath Hounds.

Atton handed Saer her jacket, which she threw over her shoulders, and then she started looting through the pack for her lightsabers. She pulled them both out and inspected them critically while Atton fiddled with the lock.

"Pure Pazaak," he smirked to himself, then stood back to allow to door to slide open. "We're in."

They grabbed a few things that looked important—Saer found a lightsaber and some old Jedi robes that were hardly her size but a nice keepsake. Atton found some rare Pazaak cards, and then pulled out an old-looking holocron. "Jedi or Sith?" he asked Saer, who merely shrugged. He stuffed it in a pocket, along with some old datapads that looked like they had been through hell. A couple of interesting-looking blaster upgrades went into the sack, and then he pulled it closed. He saw Saer rummage through a few plasteel containers, but apparently found nothing else but a slave collar with a bizarre-looking symbol on the front. The thing was primitive, but looked painful, so Atton asked no questions when she dumped it in the sack. She probably wanted to use it to inflict major bodily harm on him later in return for this little escapade… Although he thought that he wouldn't mind it if she was wearing that outfit…

Heavy as it was now, he slung the bag over his shoulder and glanced at Saer. "To a refresher?" He asked, grinning at how bizarre she looked with her weapons' belt slipped over the skimpy dancer's outfit.

"If you'd be so kind," she mumbled, gathering her jacket closer to herself. He laughed, and they left Vogga's behind them.

:s-n-s:

"Where'd you learn to dance like that?"

"Hm?"

Saer had changed out of the outfit and Atton was now working on disabling the security system both he and Bao Dur had set up on the speeder.

"I said," he paused for a moment to mouth out the right code, trying it out before following through on it, "Where did you learn to dance like that? I mean, for Vogga."

She paused a moment, then sighed, brushing back a few strands of her hair—a signal that she had something more to the matter than she wanted to say. "What, Jedi aren't allowed to dance?"

He spared her a glance before the system shut down, and then he dumped the pack into the back and leaned against the door. "Come on, you actually knew what you were doing. You weren't lying about dancing for the Hutts, were you?"

She rolled her eyes and leaned against the craft. "Do you seriously think that everyone at the Jedi enclaves had a childhood filled with butterflies, Atton?"

He waited for her to continue, watching her carefully. With Saer, you couldn't watch her face—it was a rare occasion that her eyes would give something away, so you had to notice other things about her. The way she fiddled with her hair—it was always in front of her face, no matter what she did with it—the way she shifted her position, slightly. She turned inwards a little, when something sensitive popped up. One time he thought she'd slipped into one of the Echani stances when they were meeting with the exchange.

"Most of the kids there came from poor families who looked at the enclave as a way to feed their kids. Give them a good education, and standing in society. The enclave on Dantooine was reserved for children who showed the potential to become Jedi Knights—not just the kids with some force sensitivity."

She didn't want to tell him the whole story, he knew, so she was talking around the matter. She was hoping that if she talked enough about something not quite relevant, he'd leave it alone.

She sighed, shaking her head. "I guess… I remember a little bit about Manaan."

That startled him. Manaan? Was she jerking his chain, now?

She caught the look and smirked in her way. "I was found in the ocean by workers in an illegal Kolto harvesting site. I was shipped off to Taris, where I became a slave in one of the lower city cantinas. In that business, you learn real quick that if you're not talented, you've got to learn how to be—and fast."

At the look on his face, she turned away again, although he could have caught a grimace in her expression. Even so, he wasn't sure.

"Just real-life angst. You live with it," she covered coldly, pushing off the speeder into a standing position, then crossed her arms. It was a position she adopted frequently—but most often when something was distressing her. Almost like the feeling of standing squarely on her own two feet calmed her in the face of danger. "Life is like that; you make choices, fight your battles, and in the end you look back on it all and wish you did things differently."

Atton had to chuckle a little at that one. "Ain't that the truth…" he trailed off, suddenly, frowning. He had one of those… feelings. He looked at Saer, a glance she caught, and she pulled out her blaster pistol that always sat on the back of her hips. Lightsabers made too much commotion, so whenever someone felt someone awry she pulled out a blaster, hoping not to attract attention. Not like anyone of importance was within sight, anyway. And rumours abound stated some sort of bounty hunter truce, regardless, so things couldn't be that bad…

"Well, it seems you hang out with quite the lovely ladies, for someone 'displaced by war' as you were…"

Saer dropped into a defensive stance, blaster pistol aimed for the source of the voice. Atton slipped into a similar position, the twin pistols Saer had built him pointed and ready. That voice… he tried to remember where he'd heard it before. Not that it mattered. Whoever these guys were, they were after him, not Saer. For once.

"Let me guess," he commented dryly, sweeping his eyes over the assembled. Two Twi'leks, a human, and a Cathar male standing a little off to the side. They weren't a common sight in the galaxy, these days… not since the Mandalorians bombarded their homeworld. "I owe one of you scum something?"

One of the Twi'leks smirked. "Hardly. We simply wanted to give your female companion a warning; one should not frequent with those who have the heart of a betrayer and a murderer."

His eyes narrowed, and he was about to spit back a retort when Saer interrupted, "It would seem that there are those in your company who know their fair share of deception and lies."

The Cathar hissed at her, striding forwards. He was tall, even for a Cathar, bordering on the height of a short wookie. "You should talk about betrayal and corruption, little girl. What did you find when you ran back to your dear old Jedi? I suppose you didn't mention what you did to an old friend, now did you?" He started to circle, like a vulture. Saer replaced her blaster, then placed her hands on her hips, moving in turn to circle him as well. Atton knew that from there she could flick out her lightsaber with barely a moment's notice for its need. Maybe her opponent didn't.

"If men can't control themselves, then I shouldn't be to blame."

He bared his teeth, a soft growl escaping his lips. "What, you tell yourself that lie every day, bitch? Helps you sleep, does it?"

Her eyes narrowed, fingertips twitched. The Cathar had struck a nerve, although Atton couldn't fathom how. "So you'd swear vengeance for a man who is nothing but a monster, now? He left the sane world of his own accord, and you'd be giving him too much credit to attribute that to me."

He smirked. "What, the Jedi make everything all better? Did your dear old Master Kavar sit you on his lap and tell you stories, like he always did?"

"Leave them out of this."

He grinned cynically, as if sensing he had won something. Atton's fingers were ready to twitch, but any move and the hair triggers would cause unfortunate problems.

"Or maybe Master Vandar told you that it didn't matter, that you were safe. Hell, maybe even Atris walked up and gave you a big old hug, told you she admires you and all that shit that they fed us when we were there."

She remained silent, although the way she was walking told Atton that things were going to get real bad, real fast.

"Or maybe Zez-Kai Ell told you that it's okay you're a filthy whore, and it's not important how many people die because you're a stuck up bitch who won't admit to being even partially mortal, you're still a good little Jedi because you betrayed your friends and went back running."

"You know better than I do what it means to run to someone in power with your tail in between your legs, puppy." She smirked. "What, have you followed these idiots around ever since the war ended, begging at their table for scraps?"

He snarled, and Atton had to wonder what the hell was going on. He glanced at the other three present, who looked as clueless as he was.

"At least I have the decency to admit I was wrong! Even when you were lying there, broken, you wouldn't hear of having any help!"

"Not from you," she hissed. "Why I'd ever want the help of a spawn of a cesspit like you is beyond me."

"Maybe because you needed it!"

"I need nothing from the likes of you."

He was silent for a moment, then reached behind him and rested his hand on the back of his belt. "This is it, then? No apology, nothing?"

"No," she replied, coldly. "Not for you."

They drew their lightsabers simultaneously, spun them in perfect unison, and then went at each other in blurs of motion. No time was wasted elsewhere—Atton opened fire on the other three, who returned it in earnest. He was almost startled when yellow and blue spouted forth from his weapons instead of the traditional red of blasterfire, but didn't complain when his opponents went down almost immediately. Whatever Saer had done to these blasters, they were definitely effective.

He turned back to the duel between Saer and the Cathar, with wide eyes at how fast they were moving. It was almost hard to keep up with them—blurs of silver and copper, each holding a double-bladed saber as they spun and danced around each other, ducking and weaving past attacks. Saer, he noticed, rarely blocked the Cathar's attacks. While he threw up a good barrier of blocks and parries to stop her attacks, she let his lightsaber slide past her. Atton calmed his mind, aimed his blasters, and started to look for an opening.

He'd seen Jedi and Sith duel—but he hadn't seen something quite like this. Saer was moving in a fluid motion, her body physically never pausing or hesitating as he'd seen her do in other combat. He supposed that since she was fighting a real Jedi—someone physically trained in the same ways she was, who wasn't going to fall with one or two strikes—she wasn't forced to constantly stop and find a new target. She was in constant motion, every tendon and muscle in her body twisting and turning with no rest. The Cathar seemed to be in a similar position; he knew little about the warrior people, but he'd heard that they could be vicious.

Openings would be hard to come by, in this duel. He'd have to wait it out until he found one.

:s-n-s:

"Boss, why haven't we bolted yet?"

The Cathar child turned to look at her, ice blue eyes locking onto her deep navy ones at her position at the door.

She scowled at him when he didn't reply, sitting down on his bed. Her face was flushed, and she looked like she'd been crying again. It wasn't anywhere near as often as other girls did—only when something was really distressing her. With her hair kept in unruly tangles in front of her face, there was little a complete stranger could tell about her.

"If this is a slicing problem, I know a kid with a really kick-ass droid that can do anything… I think he'd make a good really good recruit… He's about our age, I think."

He smiled and shook his head at her. He didn't think he could explain it to her; he had such a hard time talking, still. "No, I… like it here."

She snorted, standing up and drawing herself to her full height—which wasn't much, compared to him. "Yeah, well I hate it here. Everyone's so high and mighty, so perfect. It drives me nuts." She made a face, then started pacing. "All that Vash bitch keeps telling me is, 'Jedi shouldn't swear,' and that I should 'focus on the medimitation' thing or whatever the hell she's talking about."

He tilted his head at her, frowning. "I get it easy."

She pouted, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "That crap just makes me fall asleep. Every time! It's not my fault, either. Just sitting around, doing nothing, not even moving!" She let out an exasperated noise, then glanced over at him through her hair. "I can't stand it. It's worse than waiting to be caught in the cargo hold of a Hutt's ship."

:s-n-s:

Saer snarled as she forced the Cathar back, spinning her lightsaber as he stumbled. "You're holding back, kitty," she hissed, eyes narrowed. "It's insulting."

He was breathing hard, but he managed out, "This is crazy… last time I saw you?"

"Yeah, well I got it back," she interrupted, moving around him. "What, afraid I'll whip your cowardly ass?"

His heart was pounding against his chest. He felt it, now… something twisting inside of her, corrupt and dead to life. Blanketed with the living force, yes… but whatever was within her was so wildly familiar… something he couldn't quite point a finger to. But there was immeasurable pain within her, and he wondered how she lived with it. Before, the currents of life on Nar Shadda had hidden it from him, but now…

He narrowed his eyes, shaking it off. "Bring it, schutta."

She attacked first, this time around. She charged in with what seemed to be a standard attack of the Makashi form, but when he moved to counter it she spun the weapon around her body, using her momentum to dodge his attack and provide a counter of her own. He barely managed to move his saber up to block her second attack, but that met only air as she retreated for a rebound. He bared his teeth and charged her before she could make a move, his body slipping into the Juyo form.

She sidestepped, and he brought his weapon around to chase her. When she backflipped over his blade, he reversed the swing, cursing mentally at the loss of his momentum. She brought her own blade down to counter his as she landed, as if she were casually blocking a blastershot aimed at her from behind. She twisted her wrist as she spun around, bringing their blades up and above her head. He moved his blade from hers and made a feint at her face, which he expected her to block.

She continued with her momentum, however, ducking low and kicking out one of her legs. He was swept off his feet, but he caught himself with his hands and use the Force to help spring himself back to his stance. He stumbled for a moment as he brought his blade up to defend himself against a horizontal attack from Saer, who shoved him back once more.

"You're sloppy," she snapped, jumping at him for an overhead assault. He moved to block, and she met his blade so forcefully he had no chance to parry. When did she become so strong…? "I could see your attacks coming if you were on Coresaunt."

"Just testing you," he baited, grinning. He tried to force her back with a combined use of the Force and brute strength, and she used the momentum from his push to flip away from him, landing first on one of her hands and then both her feet—and then he remembered that she was left-handed. She was always good at hiding it from her opponents in battle, then switching and causing them to re-evaluate strategies at the last moment. She was near ambidextrous in the art of fighting, but when forced into a situation where her right hand would be the dominating factor in winning or defending herself, she was significantly disadvantaged. If only he knew how to force her to play by his rules…

If he could find a chance to keep it in mind, he would. Right now, he had to focus on keeping her lightsaber out of his innards.

:s-n-s:

He watched her for a moment, reading her movements, and could see that she was genuinely distressed. "Maybe you should… try it?"

"Bantha shit, Boss, I have!" she snapped, flopping down on the bed again. "I've tried everything. I've tried doing everything they tell me to do. I tried clearing my frickin' head, but what am I supposed to do while I'm sitting around doing nothing? When I'm not doing anything, I'm thinking about something. When I'm not thinking, I'm doing something. Isn't that how people normally are?"

She sounded tired; sounded like things were just too frustrating for her to handle. She had gotten like this rarely during the time they'd spent together—how long was that, four years? And she'd had a brief emotional breakdown maybe… twice? If even that.

He waited for a moment, wondering if she was going to continue. When she didn't, he tried to figure out a way to console her, but only ended up drawing blank. He wasn't really one for words.

"They like you guys. They like you, because you guys just sit there, take in whatever they feed you, and you can do it, no problem. Me, I'm gunna be stuck with bunch of frickin' two-year-olds for the rest of my life, dammit!"

:s-n-s:

She spun her lightsaber in both her hands, switching back and forth between them in spirals of motion that forced the Cathar to back away, out of range of her attack. He moved one half of his saber in the way of her attack, and when it bounced off, he slipped into the more complicated maneuvers of the Makashi. A twist of his wrists and the left side of his lightsaber was headed for her neck. She flicked up the right side of hers and caught the blow, unmoving for that brief moment in time. Her eyes met his, and both sets narrowed in determination.

She ducked under their arms, then, pivoting on her left foot and planting a firm kick to his left kneecap while twisting her wrists to lock their hilts together. With both weapons caught on each other, the Cathar knew she had the advantage. While they had both been well suited towards the Guardian's path, he was heavily out of practice with his saber, and carried it around mostly for sentimental value.

He moved his legs out of her attack radius, putting himself in a bit of an awkward moment in terms of balance. He released one hand from his saber and flicked it over her hold, then backflipped out of harm's way as she moved in with a downwards strike. She didn't hesitate in chasing him; she kicked off the ground in a spinning whirlwind, which came down at him in a tornado of lightsaber and Jedi. He blocked her blade successfully, but was thrown back when both of her feet met his chest.

:s-n-s:

They sat there for a long time, neither one really saying anything. The Cathar watched her for a time, trying to read her emotions, but found that she was struggling to keep them under control, so he looked away.

"If you don't like it here…"

She looked up at him, eyes wide, and he immediately felt guilty. He couldn't leave—he'd finally found a place he could call home. He hated being constantly on the run, if not from crime lords or Hutts than any sort of government they came across on whatever planets they were on, however briefly. He liked having familiar surroundings, not just finding and taking whatever refuge they could. He liked going to bed warm and full. He liked getting sleep at night, not having to worry about taking shifts on watch or anything like that. He liked feeling safe, and knowing that nothing could go wrong. He just didn't know how to say it so that she would understand.

"… If you don't like it…" he swallowed. "Then why don't you leave?"

She sat in a painful silence for a moment before whispering, "You wouldn't come with me…?"

"No," he replied, softly. Just one word… couldn't hurt her feelings, could it?

:s-n-s:

He landed on his back with a grunt, but as he moved his right arm to retaliate with his lightsaber, he found hers at his throat. The silver beam hummed in soft resonance, and he got his first real look at the hilt he'd had in a long time…

… It wasn't the lightsaber he remembered her having. The design was completely different; a combination of black and metallic silver that wound their way around the hilt, breaking off into different patterns. The one he remembered Saer having looked nothing like that; nothing at all. She never would have parted with that saber, he knew, unless…

:s-n-s:

She took a deep breath, then, and sighed. She looked up at him, a grin on her face. "If you're stayin', Boss, then I'm stayin', too. No sense in splittin' up the team, is there?"

:s-n-s:

She saw the look in his eyes, and her grip on the weapon hardened. "Yeah, they exiled me," she replied to the unspoken question. "What did you expect, for me to just live happily in a world filled with Gizkas?" She half-laughed at that, but there was a pain in her eyes the Cathar read clear as day. She felt that her exile was the final betrayal, the last thing that she could have taken before being completely broken. Everyone she had thought to trust utterly and completely had turned on her… Including him.

She stood and turned away from him, deactivating her lightsaber. While he was standing he caught a glimpse of another hooked to her belt, a pale green in hue, but didn't say anything. He knew who that one belonged to.

"Saer," he spoke, softly, standing. "I thought…"

"I know what you thought, Cehkan," she snapped, bitterness dripping from her voice like a thick venom. "I know what you thought had gone on with the council, and I damn well know what you think about Khert." She turned to look at him, her features cold and hard as ice, the red in her irises burning brighter than they ever had during the Mandalorian Wars. "Well, let me tell you a little fucking secret; I could have lied to him, and told him that I loved him. I could have let him do whatever the fuck he wanted with me, but I didn't. You can go ahead and think that I deserved everything he did, because quite frankly, I stopped caring what you think a long time ago."

She turned and left, those words hanging on the air between them. "Let's go, Atton," he heard her say, but only partially.

Atton, who had stood silent throughout the whole exchange, hesitated. He could ask what she meant… maybe that Cathar—Cehkan, she'd called him?—would answer, just to spite her. Just to show that he still had fight left in him. He could ask, and maybe she'd even answer.

I have seen the purest warriors fall, Atton. And fall far. They fell for me, Atton. And because I wanted nothing to do with them, they fell in every sense of the word.

His eyes met the cold ones of the Cathar, and he turned and hopped into the speeder with Saer, started up the engines, and drove back towards the Hawk.