A/N: This is the first story I've written that's actually set during the events of the game. I briefly thought of writing a fic spanning the entire game, but decided against it, on the grounds that a) it would take forever and b) it's been done about six million times before. However, I may write a few more small vignettes like this if people like it.

BTW, 'Jacob Sora' is the name I used for Revan on my first playthrough of the game. Not a great name, but it's pretty much stuck in my head now.

Let Your Hair Down

It was early evening on Tatooine. In the docking bay which housed the Ebon Hawk, a few weary Czerka mechanics and customs officers were still going about their business, whilst a group of spacers haggled over weapons and supplies with the Paaerduag trader. Nearby, an argument had broken out over one pilot who was refusing to pay the docking fee, and a small crowd of bored locals had gathered around to watch in the vague hope that a fight might break out.

But the Hawk's crewmembers were largely oblivious to the commotion outside the ship. The day had been long, hard and extremely tiring, not to mention swelteringly hot, and the confrontation with Calo Nord had left everyone a bit shaken. On their return to the ship the majority of them had simply collapsed into bed, too exhausted to bother fighting over the showers or even getting undressed.

Gentle snores rose from two of the bunks in the men's cabin, where Carth, Canderous and Jacob currently maintained a somewhat uneasy coexistence. The two soldiers – who had, astonishingly, managed to put their usual hostilities on hold for most of the day – were presently fast asleep. Jacob, however, had woken up some time ago and been unable to go back to sleep; finally he had given up trying and turned to meditation, which could be nearly as restful as sleep in its own way. Being a Jedi might not be easy, but it was turning out to have its advantages.

Just as he was beginning to sink into a trance, however, he was startled to hear a knock on the cabin door – very faint, but still enough to break his concentration. Sighing, he sat up, swung himself wearily off the bunk and plodded over to the door. "Who is it?" he enquired in a low voice, not wanting to wake the others.

"Jacob?" The voice was Bastila's. Surprised, Jacob touched the panel by the side of the door, which slid aside to reveal his Jedi bond-mate. She had a slightly crumpled look about her, as if she had been sleeping in her clothes; her hair was mussed up and her eyes a little bleary.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," she said, before he had the chance to speak. "But I sensed that you were awake as well." She glanced over his shoulder at Carth and Canderous. "Would it be possible for us to talk in private?"

Jacob turned to look at his slumbering companions, and smiled slightly. "I wouldn't worry about those two. I don't think they'll be waking up for quite a while yet."

She nodded reluctantly. "Very well." Jacob walked back over to the bed and sat down on it, motioning her to do the same. What could she want to talk to him about now, he wondered – surely not the Dark Side again?

Once sat down opposite him, Bastila opened her mouth to speak, then hesitated. "I'm not entirely sure how to say this."

He stifled a smile. "Well, take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

"I suppose I should just come out and say it." She drew a deep breath. "I wanted to apologise to you, Jacob. I can't help feeling that I've treated you rather badly over the past few weeks."

Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't this. "Treated me badly?"

"Yes." She looked down at her hands, nervously twisting her fingers together. "It occurred to me that I may have been too... critical of you. I know you must be getting sick of all my lectures about the Dark Side and... well, everything else."

"Just a little," he admitted bluntly. She cringed, but went on.

"When I first knew you, I believed that you weren't taking any of this seriously. You seemed to view everything as a joke." She raised her eyes to his once more, her face earnest. "But after what's happened in the last few days, with Calo and my mother... I've come to realise that this isn't the case. I wanted... to thank you again, and to tell you how much I – I respect and admire you."

Jacob stared at her, surprised and rather touched. He was so used to being lectured and scolded by her that these few words of praise meant quite a lot to him. "Well," he conceded, "I guess I may have misjudged you a little as well."

She raised her eyebrows. "Really? How?"

"When we first met, you got on my nerves quite a bit. I found you a little..." He hesitated. Stuck-up, rude, arrogant... "Uptight," was the word he finally settled on.

"Oh." She looked a little sheepish. "Well, I can't really blame you – I am uptight, I know that. I try to be calm and controlled, but I just seem to end up pushing everyone away from me." A small sigh escaped her lips. "And to think I used to swear that I would never become as self-absorbed and stodgy as the Jedi Masters..."

This time he couldn't stop himself from laughing. "Ah, come on. You're not as bad as all that."

"But I'm getting that way, I'm afraid." She smiled ruefully. "You've been a lot more patient with me than I deserve, but I'm afraid the others won't be so forgiving."

"They just need to get to know you, that's all." He paused, somewhat hesitant to ask her a personal question. "Bastila... surely you must have had friends your own age in the Order? I mean, didn't you ever go out with them or anything?"

Her face clouded over a little. "Yes, sometimes... though Dantooine isn't exactly famed for its night-life, as you may have noticed. But that was before the war started..."

"And since then?"

"Well, ever since then I've been rushed around from one part of the galaxy to another. I don't make friends very easily, and, well... I'm never in one place long enough to really get to know anyone." She shrugged philosophically. "So most of the time I just have to amuse myself."

"Doing what?"

Another shrug. "Reading, meditation, listening to music..."

Jacob stared at the young woman in disbelief, feeling a sudden surge of compassion for her. What a life! And she was, what, twenty-three or twenty-four? He said nothing, but once again it occurred to him that the Jedi Council had a lot to answer for.

"It's not the Council's fault," she said softly, as if reading his thoughts. "They didn't have a choice, any more than I did. There was no one else capable of stopping the Sith."

Jacob remained silent. He knew in his heart that she was right, but the unfairness of the situation still grated on him. If only he could... Suddenly, an idea came to him.

"Listen, how would you like to go out for a drink tonight? Just to the cantina down the street." He saw her hesitate, and a horrible thought struck him. "Please tell me Jedi are allowed to drink."

She smiled faintly. "Alcohol is permitted in moderation, yes. But..."

"Come on, Bastila," he coaxed. "Just for one night, let's forget about Malak and the Star Maps and have some fun. We're leaving the planet tomorrow, anyway."

"Well..." She looked strongly tempted; then suddenly her face fell. "Oh, but I can't. I gave all the money I had to my mother so that she could find a doctor."

"Doesn't matter. I'll pay." She opened her mouth to protest. "Honestly, Bastila, it's just a few drinks! I don't mind, I promise."

She laughed, finally relenting. "Oh, very well then. Just give me a few minutes to get ready." Her eyes slid over to the other two bunks. "What about the others?"

Jacob grimaced. He knew what generally happened when Bastila, Canderous and Carth got together for any length of time, and he didn't fancy acting as umpire all evening; besides, in all honesty, he secretly preferred the idea of having Bastila to himself. "Um... I think we'd better let them get their sleep, don't you?"

As he had expected, Bastila did not raise any objections to this. While she returned to the women's cabin, Jacob went into the swoop hangar where HK-47 stood in sleep mode. "HK?"

The droid's eyes lit up with that eerie red glow that always made Jacob slightly uncomfortable. "Master?"

"Bastila and I are going out for a drink. If anyone asks where we are, tell them we've gone to the cantina. Unless you'd like to come too?" he added mischievously.

"Response: Alcoholic beverages have no effect on me, master," replied the droid, without a trace of irony. "However, I believe that damage to certain circuits can produce a similar – "

Jacob raised a hand in alarm. "Enough information, HK. Just remind me to always take you to a properly qualified mechanic, will you?" He could barely repress a shudder at the thought of a 'drunken' HK-47. As if the thing wasn't bad enough sober...

Bastila appeared in the doorway, looking considerably fresher and neater than before. "Ready?" he asked. She nodded and gave him a quick smile, which he returned. "OK, let's get going."

-----

Dusk was falling as they left the ship, and Tatooine's two suns had almost disappeared behind the tops of the Anchorhead buildings. The oppressive heat of the day had faded a little, and a faint breeze had sprung up, but after the air-conditioned comfort of the Hawk it was still like stepping into a sauna. Bastila winced and pulled up the hood of her robe, trying to shield her face from the glare of the suns' dying rays.

"I'm glad we're finally leaving this planet." He was surprised by the fervour in her voice. "The heat and the dust... it makes me feel like I'm suffocating. I can't think straight in this place..."

Jacob nodded, glancing around at the parched ground and the scrubby, spindly bushes which seemed to be the only vegetation Tatooine could support. He could understand where Bastila was coming from; with her pale skin and delicate colouring, she clearly wasn't suited to a desert climate. "What's your homeworld like?" he asked, suddenly curious.

"Talravin? Quite... cold. Cold and rainy." She fell silent for a moment. "I don't remember much else about it, to be honest. And yours?"

He shrugged. "Deralia was just a rock, really. Nothing special about it... not even heat. I'd be lying if I said I was sad to leave."

She paused, looking directly into his face. "You don't have any particularly fond memories, then?" Her eyes were fixed on his; not for the first time, he got the distinct feeling that she was searching for something.

"No, not really. I told you my family died when I was young..." Her penetrating gaze was beginning to unsettle him. She must have sensed his discomfort, as she quickly nodded, then lowered her eyes and turned away. They walked on through the drab, dusty streets in silence, attracting the occasional curious glance from the local Jawas as they scurried about their business.

The sounds of lively music drifted over to them as they approached the cantina. "Sounds like there's some kind of dance going on," remarked Jacob.

Bastila looked down at her simple robe and tunic. "We're not exactly dressed for it."

"Who cares? It's not like there's a dress code." He half-turned to face her and briefly laid a hand on her arm. "You look great. Seriously."

She coloured slightly and gave him an embarrassed smile. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it." Jacob shook his head incredulously as he followed her through the door. Surely the woman must realise how beautiful she was? As if anyone who saw her could think twice about the clothes she was wearing.

The cantina was poorly lit, uncomfortably hot and very crowded; clearly Anchorhead didn't offer much else in the way of night-time entertainment. The clientele was disproportionately male, mostly hunters and Czerka miners, and Bastila felt several pairs of eyes linger on her appreciatively as she and Jacob squeezed past the tables. She grimaced, feeling her stomach tighten and her face grow hot; suddenly she remembered exactly why she did this kind of thing so rarely.

"Jacob, I – " But he was already pulling her by the wrist towards one of the underlit tables, somehow managing to clear a path through the people thronging around the bar. " 'Scuse me. Coming through. Make way for the lady, please." She had to bite her lip to keep herself from smiling; with his laid-back charm and effortless self-confidence, he reminded her so much – but no, she mustn't think like that. He was dead.

"What would you like to drink?" he asked, when they had finally secured a table. "Fancy a glass of Tarisian ale?"

She winced at the thought. "I'd prefer some wine, if you don't mind."

He grinned and nodded. "Somehow I thought you might. OK, back in a minute." He vanished into the crowd and returned within a remarkably short time, clutching a drink in each hand.

They talked their way through one glass, then another. Bastila felt herself relax as the wine began to take effect, and soon the conversation was flowing a lot more freely. Emboldened by the alcohol, she gradually shed her normal reticence and became quite talkative – even confessing to the time when, aged about sixteen, she and some of her friends had snuck out of the Enclave one evening and gatecrashed a party held by one of the local landowners.

"You did that?" Jacob threw up his hands in mock horror. "I am shocked. Shocked!"

She laughed. "Even Jedi go through a rebellious phase. Though as rebellions go, I must say it was rather tame."

"Did you get caught?"

"No, but one of my friends drank some ale that was a little stronger then she thought it was. We had to practically carry her home." She began to giggle helplessly. "Then the next day, she had to go through four hours of training with a splitting headache. I heard her say afterwards that she'd never touch another drop of alcohol as long as she lived."

Jacob joined in with her laughter. "Well, at least someone learned a lesson from it." He shook his head with a smile and drained his glass, tapping his fingers in time with the music floating up from the basement downstairs. "Can you dance?" he asked suddenly.

She pursed her lips. "I don't think so. I've never really tried."

"Well, it's time you learned." He seized her hand in his, pulling her to her feet. Before she had the chance to protest she found herself being dragged out of her seat, through the packed cantina and down the stairs to the dance hall.

The hall was somewhat less crowded than the cantina upstairs, and there were a few more women around. However, despite the band's best efforts, there was a distinct lack of actual dancing going on. "Boring lot," muttered Jacob, looking over at the few couples half-heartedly gyrating on the dancefloor. He flung their robes over a chair and took her hand again. "Right, let's show them how it's done."

Despite being pleasantly tipsy by now, Bastila wasn't nearly drunk enough to relish the thought of making a fool of herself in front of all these people. "Jacob, I don't know how it's done!" she hissed.

He sighed. "I'll show you. Come on, it's easy." He led her out into the middle of the room and began to sway in time with the music. "Just do what I do, and try to feel the music flow through you. You're a Jedi, aren't you?"

Awkwardly, her cheeks flaming, Bastila made a hesitant attempt to copy his movements. To her surprise, it was easier than she had expected; her Force training had given her grace and a natural sense of rhythm, and soon she found herself able to predict Jacob's steps and move in time with him as she would in a lightsaber duel. She briefly found herself wondering whether this was a legitimate use of the Force, and was startled to realise that for once in her life, she really didn't give a damn.

Sensing her growing confidence, Jacob twirled her under his arm and bent her backwards with a small flourish. "See?" he grinned. "You're getting the hang of it." Suddenly, before she realised what he was doing, he was reaching behind her head and pulling out the bands which held up her hair in its two neat pigtails. She gasped in shock.

"About time you let your hair down," he laughed. Before she could respond he had grabbed her hands and was whirling her around so that her loose hair streamed out behind her. Together they spun around and swung each other back and forth, giddy and breathless with laughter, and suddenly Bastila no longer cared what anyone thought of her. She and Jacob were in their own little world, oblivious to the other dancers who had fallen back to give them room or retreated to the sides to enjoy the show.

There was a smattering of applause as the music died away. Bastila flopped against Jacob's chest, panting and somewhat dizzy, but elated. He smiled down at her, and for a moment everything else seemed to blur into the background – the voices, the laughter, the coloured lights...

Then another song was beginning, this time a lot slower, and she suddenly realised that he was holding her very close – so close that she could feel his heart beating and his warm breath against her hair. A strange tingling sensation rippled through her, and Jacob felt her tremble slightly in his arms. "Want to sit this one out?" he asked gently.

She nodded, torn between relief and a vague sense of disappointment. With a reluctant sigh he released her from his grasp, then accompanied her off the dancefloor and back to their table. "Excuse me for a minute," he murmured, before disappearing into the crowd.

A warm, muzzy feeling of contentment began to steal over Bastila as she waited for her friend to return, watching the remaining dancers swaying back and forth in each other's arms. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt this alive, this... happy. She hadn't believed herself to be lonely, but only now did she realise how much she had missed having someone to talk to and share confidences with. And, she realised, she truly enjoyed being with Jacob – he made her feel so at ease, and so...

Her attention was distracted by the sounds of animated conversation at another table. It was occupied by a group of young Twi'leks, all in their late teens, and all of whom appeared to have had rather too much to drink. Their conversation probably wasn't meant to be overheard, but the combination of its sheer volume and Bastila's heightened Jedi senses made it difficult for her to miss.

"Wasn't that the guy who was at the swoop track the other day?" one of the women was saying in Twi'lek. "I can't believe he managed to beat Zoriis. I wonder if he'd give me his autoprint?"

Her male companion looked less impressed. "He's a Jedi, isn't he? Easy enough to win swoop races when you can use the Force. I call it cheating."

"Well, I think he's gorgeous." This prompted a burst of raucous laughter from all except her companion, who looked even less amused than before.

"Dream on, Zekla," smirked the other woman. "A Jedi? Not a chance." She threw a quick sideways glance at Bastila, who sat rigid, trying to avoid giving any indication that she could hear them. "Anyway, I think he already has a girlfriend."

"You don't know that. She could be his sister or something." More snorts of laughter.

"I don't think so." The man's voice was heavy with sarcasm. "Did you see the way they were looking at each other? If she's his sister, I'm Zoriis Bafka's second cousin."

"Lucky bitch." This was said in a half-whisper, but still quite loud enough for Bastila to hear. Suddenly she felt as if she had been drenched in cold water; her stomach lurched and her chest tightened so sharply that she struggled to breathe.

"Bastila?" She looked up to see Jacob coming back towards her. Before he even saw the expression on her face, he had sensed that something was wrong. "What's the matter?"

"I'm... not feeling very well." She stood up, trying to fight down a sudden wave of nausea. "I'm sorry, Jacob. I'm not used to drinking very much..."

"It's OK. Come on, I'll take you back to the ship." He reached for his robe.

She shook her head, feeling a little guilty for spoiling the evening. "No, you stay here if you want. I can find my own way back."

But he was already putting on his robe. "Hey, no problem. Can't have you wandering around Anchorhead alone with this sort of low-life around."

His tone was jokey, but she still felt a stab of irritation at being patronised in this way. "Who, the Jawas? I am a Jedi too, Jacob. I assure you that I'm perfectly capable of defending myself against any 'low-life' I happen to come across."

He grinned. "Oh, it's not you I'm worried about. It's them." Then his tone grew slightly more serious. "Besides, you never know when Malak will decide to send some more Dark Jedi after us. Come on, let's go."

He draped her robe over her shoulders and slipped an arm around her waist, guiding her towards the exit. Somehow the feeling was strangely comforting, and she didn't have the heart to protest. Together they made their way up the stairs, past the crowds of Czerka employees still trying to drown out their sorrows, and out into the night air.

-----

The two of them walked back through the streets of Anchorhead, once more in silence. The night was cool and quite peaceful, and no bounty hunters or Dark Jedi leapt out of the shadows to accost them as they wound their way back towards the ship. Away from the heat and noise of the cantina, Bastila soon began to recover; by the time they had reached the docking bay, her breathing had eased and she was walking much more steadily.

As they approached the Hawk she turned to Jacob and smiled, her eyes warm and bright. "Thank you for tonight," she said quietly. "I enjoyed it. I... would like it if we could be friends."

Jacob took a deep breath. He had been dithering over this for a good part of the evening, but it was now or never. "Just friends?" he asked softly.

Immediately he realised that he had said the wrong thing. Bastila stiffened visibly; her smile vanished and a look of faint distress crossed her face.

"You know we can't be anything else. I'm sorry." There was genuine regret in her voice. "Maybe if..."

"If we weren't Jedi." He nodded slowly, attempting to conceal his disappointment, whilst silently cursing the Order and its wretched rules. "I understand. Goodnight then, Bastila."

"Goodnight." She held out a hand, which he took. It felt ridiculously formal to be shaking hands with her after the evening they had spent together, and to the astonishment of both of them – especially Jacob – he somehow found himself touching it to his lips instead. Bastila's eyes widened, and for a moment she almost seemed to wince, as if the gesture had touched a raw nerve. Then, recovering her composure, she nodded and smiled at him before hurrying into the ship.

-----

Carth and Canderous were still sound asleep when Jacob entered the cabin, so he guessed that his absence hadn't been noticed. This was something of a relief; he hadn't enjoyed the prospect of facing their smirks and raised eyebrows when they realised he'd been out alone with Bastila. But as he struggled out of his clothes and sank down onto his bunk, now somewhat drowsy with the effects of the wine, the evening's events still weighed heavily on his mind.

He wasn't yet sure what it was that he felt for Bastila. Yes, he found her very attractive – he was only human, after all – but it was more than that. She was nothing like any of the women he'd been involved with before. She fascinated him, with her quiet, uncomplaining acceptance of a fate most people twice her age would find hard to bear – yet despite her outer calmness, he suspected that she was beginning to buckle under the strain. Earlier on, when he had seen her with her father's holocron, it had been as if she was screaming inside...

He badly wanted to help her, but he didn't know how – every time it seemed that she was drawing a little closer to him, she would suddenly pull away again. He could sense that she was wary of him, but was it really just the Jedi Code she was concerned about? Somehow he suspected that there were other reasons for her behaviour, though as to what they could be, he had no idea. All he could hope was that she would eventually trust him enough to feel able to confide in him.

One thing he was certain of, at least: he would face down an entire army of Dark Jedi before he'd let Malak get his hands on her. His jaw clenched slightly as he remembered seeing her for the first time in the Vulkar slave cage; no one should have to go through something like that once, let alone twice. He hoped that this, at least, was something he could protect her from – but Taris and the encounter with Calo had clearly shown that Malak meant business, and he had the feeling things were going to get a lot more serious before too long.

But that was all speculation, anyway, and he was too tired to think any more. Gradually he sank into a long, restless sleep, his dreams a confused mixture of Bastila, Jawas, krayt dragons and black-clad assassins. When he next awoke the ship had taken off again, and they were racing through hyperspace towards the planet of Kashyyyk , every hour taking them one step closer to the Star Forge and their ultimate confrontation with the Dark Lord.