Daven had gone through great lengths to avoid Nyssa at every possible junction. He found a way to be asleep when she awoke, getting up when she went to bed, and mediating in those few hours in which they both managed to be awake.

Their conversations were often strained with Daven mumbling only as many words as necessary about eating or changing watch shifts. Nyssa, in her days alone, attempted to feel nothing but irritation at, or, even better, apathy for the stubborn Jedi.

Her more vengeful side simply tempted her to just kiss him goodbye and throw him out of the airlock for being such an eopie's butt. Oh, she would miss him, sure, but time healed all wounds. She had been in love and had lost loves before. Why should Daven be any different?

Let him go to that useless rebellion, she thought bitterly. He can die there, for all I care. If only she could convince herself to mean it.

The world of Maylass appeared, centered in the viewscreen, as the Gray Star pulled out of hyperspace. Maylass V was less of a planet and more of a moon, rotating irregularly around the gas giant. It glistened blue against the red planet framed behind it, but, despite the contrast of colors, Nyssa still had trouble locating it with the naked eye. She waited patiently as the navicomputer locked on to its target, and the ship began to pull towards Maylass V.

She heard Daven approaching from the crew quarters, returning after his meditation early, and she turned to watch him as he entered.

He had healed remarkably well, Nyssa noticed; the swelling around his eye had completely receded, his bruises were gone, and his cuts were little more than a few brownish-red scabs.

"Are we in system?" he asked, chirpy once more. She could have sworn, although she wasn't Force sensitive, that euphoria radiated of him as he took the copilot's seat.

"Yeah, we should reach Maylass Five's atmosphere within –" she checked the chronometer – "fifteen minutes."

He nodded thoughtfully and leaned back. He seemed calmer and more content just now than he had been during the past several days. She could only imagine it was because they would be parting ways soon, since he was often edgy in her presence.

"The Force has been quite pleasant of late," he said, answering her unspoken question. He looked at her, eyes filled not with spiteful distrust, but relaxed acceptance. "I sense that the future will be brighter. Perhaps I have made the right decision about the rebellion. But I feel, maybe, that I have been unduly harsh to you. For that, I am sorry."

"The Force told you all that?" She tried to conceal her astonishment and delight at his apology with unintentional badgering.

"Yes, if in not so many words," he smiled softly, almost shyly. "You did save my life, though, and I am grateful."

"That must have been hard to admit." Her grin was amused.

"Well," he said with mock severity, "if you don't want to be friends, than I certainly won't force you." He crossed his arms over his torso and huffed, raising his nose in the air.

"You are the strangest Jedi I've ever met," she stated honestly. "Where's all that Jedi stoicism?"

"On some backwater planet, I imagine, contemplating the wonders of death." He favored her with an ever so familiar smirk. "I learned a long time ago that if you take everything too seriously, you'd forget what it means to be alive."

"And here I thought this whole time that your humor was a poorly developed coping mechanism."

"Ah, maybe." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "You knew other Jedi?" he asked suddenly, obviously remembering her pervious statement. The amusement in his eyes lessened, most likely as he considered exactly how she might know them.

"Not in the way you're thinking," she clarified. "I was a brigadier under a Jedi during the war, at least until she died – Master Jedi Stass Allie. She was incredibly … noble, a wonderful leader."

"She was," Daven agreed, probably pleased that Nyssa's past hadn't been full only of contract killing and bounties. "Where were you stationed after her?"

"I wasn't." She shook her head and bit her lip, aware of the conclusion Daven would draw. "I left."

"You deserted the Republic army?" he asked with surprise, understanding perfectly. The army stopped granting discharge requests long before Allie's death, even cadets with severe injuries were reassigned to less physical posts as opposed to being released altogether.

"I'm not proud of what I did," she sighed, allowing her gaze to travel across the main console. "But I'm not going to make excuses. I was young; the army was a way out of a difficult situation. I didn't want to be there. I didn't see a reason to be there. All my friends had already been killed."

"So you went off and started hunting innocent people for money," Daven finished for her, clearly condemning her actions, as she had expected. "Using the skills the Republic taught you."

"Hunting, yes," she admitted. She never wanted his disapproval, but she couldn't conceal the truth about her past. "Not innocent, though. I started with Hutt contracts, probably worse people than the Hutts themselves. And the Separatists, well, not much difference between bounty hunting and the army, but at least I got paid for it."

"And the rebels? And the Jedi?"

"A rebellion's a rebellion," she reminded him, though her heart did not match her words. "Those were government contacts – completely lawful. Don't forget, you're the fugitive here."

"Ah, yes, without trial or even charges."

"That never was my concern," she shrugged dismissively. "But, if it makes you feel any better, you're the only Jedi I've tried my hand at."

"Nice to know," he said flatly.

Nyssa mindlessly switched over a few controls. A golden strand fell from her braid and briefly framed her jaw line. She brushed it back behind her ears, failing to see Daven's attentive stare and nervous swallow.

"So, beautiful," he continued. "Why did you become a bounty hunter? I mean, there are much less, uh, deadly occupations."

"I knew people," she answered, looking away from the controls and fixing her gaze on his face. "My mother was a dancer. She worked in a cantina on one of the lower levels of Coruscant, and so I met a lot of … interesting sentients." She smiled shyly.

He nodded acceptingly, silently urging her to continue. She glanced out the viewport, watching Maylass V loom closer. The dark moon filled the cockpit with a cold, blue light and seemed nearly devoid of all life.

"She died when I was fifteen standard." She sighed almost painfully, wishing that she could repress those memories. "My … her boyfriend took me in. He was a contract organizer, taught me the ropes, you know? When I became an adult, I joined the Republic. Then I caught up with a few friends who offered me some jobs." She shrugged.

Her face was calm, but her mind screamed in pain at the recollection of her teenage years. It wasn't just the natural grief at her mother's passing. It was the man that had so graciously "taken her under his wing" afterwards. He had been horribly cruel, beating her mother whenever he got the chance. The practice continued, of course, with Nyssa, and, to her disgrace, the vile beast had learned rather quickly just what exactly he could do to such a young woman in his sole care.

"I'm sorry," Daven said, offering comfort as if he could sense what she was feeling. He reached out and touched the top of her hand gently with the tip of his index finger, running it along all four knuckles.

She watched, astounded, tearing her eyes away from his hand to stare up at his face.

"My mother used to do that, when I was a little girl," she breathed, feeling her heart pound at the familiar sensation. "How did you …?" She trailed off, leaving her question unfinished, but not without an answer.

"The Force," he stated calmly, vaguely. "It lets me see things about you that I never intended."

She pulled away, nervous. "Like reading minds?"

"No, I don't think so," Daven told her. "Images, feelings more so. I can't really control it."

She was about to speak when the navicomputer flashed, warning them that they were entering the moon's atmosphere. She took manual control, forgetting about Daven's touch for a moment, and guided the ship towards the general coordinates he had given her. The thin clouds broke, revealing a small, desolate group of duracrete structures.

She matched the ship's trajectory with what looked to be a docking hangar. She waited for a hail over the comm., but it remained silent.

"Are they going to contact us?" she asked, keeping her focus on her gauges.

"I don't know," he answered honestly as the ship began to shudder, adjusting naturally to the gravity. "Perhaps they have some special procedure."

A few moments of silence passed as the Gray Star rocked through turbulence. They both gritted their teeth against the rattling.

"Nyssa, I want you to join the rebellion with me," Daven stated boldly as the shaking passed. He took his eyes off the viewport to watch her expression.

Her forehead was wrinkled in concentration, but became smooth at his remark. She couldn't afford to look at him, but her eyes were full of confusion.

"Why?"

"I had … a vision in my meditations today," he replied. "The Force links us. I believe that you should be in my future. Must be in my future."

She glided the ship into the bay with no contact from flight control. She powered down the engines as they both stared out the viewscreen, expecting something that simply wasn't there.

His last words were everything that she most wanted to hear after he had left her alone in that cantina on Corellia, but he was no longer focused on her. He had risen from his chair to get a better view of the hangar.

"Something's wrong," he finally said, forgetting about his previous statement. "There's no one here. No one alive, at least."

"Makes sense," she agreed, thinking of the silent comm. unit. "They must have moved. Maybe the Empire was getting too close."

"No," he responded, "that's not it. I have a bad feeling about this."

Nyssa nodded, swallowing harshly as Daven spoke. She watched as he turned and stalked out of the cockpit. She rushed up to follow him; her nerves were firing up, burning with adrenaline as if she were preparing for a night of chasing him.

"Are you going out there?" she asked, breaking into a jog to catch up with him in the cargo hold before he lowered the ramp.

He nodded, concern etched on his features.

"Unarmed?" she narrowed her eyes somewhat playfully despite the seriousness of the situation. "Care to borrow something?"

The blaster felt strange in his grip, but Daven had to agree that he was most likely safer with what little protection it could provide. He had rudimentary firearms training as a Padawan, yet the Masters had never expected that a Jedi would be forced to actually use such a crude weapon.

Nyssa probably hadn't realized that her offer of the blaster had added insult to injury, reminding Daven once more of his embarrassing loss of the lightsaber that he had built as a young initiate. He was grateful, however, that she was willing to trust him enough to loan it, whatever her reasons were.

They moved down the ramp slowly, cautiously with Nyssa in the lead and Daven flanking her on the right. She had changed once more into her combat suit and was holding a blaster rifle defensively with both hands.

Although Daven secretly missed the relaxed off-white trousers and top, he couldn't help but admire the way Nyssa's hips curved up to her waist in that suit. He shook his head forcibly, trying to clear his mind of such strange thoughts.

The hangar was devoid of sentient life, even if it still contained a small fleet of Headhunter fighters. Daven peeked in between the rows of ships, looking for any signs of movement. He was surprised to find nothing, not even a single astromech roaming next to the vehicles aboard which the little droids were customarily navigators.

Nyssa glanced at Daven, giving him a quizzical look. He shrugged unknowingly and shook his head. She sighed, turning towards what looked to be the base's control center, beckoning the Jedi to follow.

"This place feels cold," Daven noted, wishing that his sweaty palm would stop causing the plastiplex grip to slip haphazardly around his hand. He wondered slightly why the manufacturer of these weapons couldn't use a plex more similar to the one he had on his lightsaber. He could swear that his own hilt generated less sweat, too, but he forced himself to stop his mental complaining.

"Maybe their heating generators have gone out," Nyssa guessed, eying the main door. "I don't really feel it, though."

"No, it's not the air," he said, trying to ignore the little prickles that kept attacking the back of his neck. "It's something else. I can't explain it."

"Some help you are, then, Jedi," she grunted sarcastically as she thumbed the door's control panel. She held her blaster out in an attack position, preparing herself for any unexpected results. Although she could not see him, Daven crudely imitated her form, guessing it to be the equivalent of a ready stance.

They waited as the door opened and the smoke from the carbon-seal dissipated. Nyssa stepped through first, weary – the thickness of the fumes told that this particular entrance hadn't been used in a while – and motioned for Daven to stay at her left.

She glanced over her shoulder briefly to verify that the nervous Jedi was indeed cooperating with her instructions. He was perturbed, his brow knitted together, and his eyes were darting around, seeing everything and nothing. When he saw the bounty hunter's questioning stare, however, he nodded and focused.

He knew, as much as he didn't want to admit it, it was definitely better that Nyssa had naturally assumed the front position in their little raiding party. Although Daven knew how to fight and sneak, she was able to direct him in doing so with a blaster.

He suppressed his desire to bite his bottom lip anxiously as Nyssa tuned back and took a few more steps into the dark hallway. Everything seems wrong.

Nyssa let out a sharp, unexpected shriek and flew backwards, colliding with Daven's chest in the process. He caught her before she managed to loose her balance and fall, his blaster dropping in her stead.

She whirled around and faced him, wrapping her arms around his abdomen tightly and burying her face in his collarbone. He was surprised but inwardly pleased by Nyssa's closeness, and her rapid breath against his neck sent shivers down his spine.

Daven forced himself to look over her shoulder and peer into the obscure corridor, confirming with his eyes what his nostrils were already beginning to suspect.

More than a dozen dead bodies lined the floor.

"It's okay," he found himself repeating as he embraced her near-trembling form. He closed his own eyes harshly, wishing he could remove the sight from his mind and the nausea from his stomach.

He took a few deep breaths of the foul air through his mouth to steady his bowels before gently releasing his hold on Nyssa. He slowly pulled her arms away from his torso, even as she resisted slightly.

He touched her face ever so softly, running his knuckles across her cheek. She looked tense and … scared. Daven had never seen the famed bounty hunter so traumatized at the thought of death.

"Go back to the ship, Nyssa," he told her reassuringly. "I just need to see who they are."

"No, I'm fine," she stated boldly. "It was just a little surprising, that's all." She took a pair of mini-glowrods out of her vest pocket and handed one to Daven. They simultaneously ignited them, causing the hall to brighten a red-orange hue.

The corridor was roughly fifty meters by six, most likely serving as the gateway into the rest of the base. The walls had once been painted a calming and professional-looking shade of blue-gray, but dark spots of reddish-brown soiled many parts – the places where dying soldiers were thrown against and had slid to the floor, leaving a trail of blood in their wake.

Daven and Nyssa moved quickly, running the rods close to and over the deceased, and inspecting the various faces, uniforms, and wounds.

"Rebellion, all right," Nyssa verified after studying a young soldier's lapel. She had calmed somewhat and was being to sound much more like the detached bounty hunter Daven had grown to respect. "I can't make out these injuries, though. They almost look like vibroblade cuts, but they've been cauterized."

"Lightsaber," Daven concluded as he knelt down before another corpse.

"Jedi?"

"Vader," he corrected as he began the next examination. "He's the only one that could do this sort of damage. The only one who would want to, anyway." His heart sank and old grief threatened to assail him once more when his glowrod illuminated a familiar robe. "These were Jedi," he managed to say before he felt the tears building up in his eyes and rolling down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Daven," Nyssa said sympathetically.

He nodded thankfully to her condolences, but couldn't bring himself to look away from the man's dark face. Had they studied together? Sparred? Attended to the same multi-team missions?

"He even took his saber," he whispered painfully. "That monster wouldn't even let him keep his saber. He probably kept it as some sort of sick trophy." Anakin would know how valued a lightsaber was to the Jedi that wielded it. A Jedi's dying wish regarding his saber was always respected, whether he wanted it used in initiate training, given to an old friend, or burned on the pyre with him. One could do a member of the Order no greater dishonor than to take the weapon unwillingly.

Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight, had become nothing short of a Sith demon from the legends of old.

Daven switched the glowrod to his left hand and covered his eyes with his right, allowing himself to openly sob. The time of the Jedi was at an end. How many more bodies would he have to see before it was over? How many more souls would he feel slipping away before there was no one left but him?

A warm weight on his shoulder momentarily caused Daven to break out of his reverie. Nyssa had placed her hand there and was currently rubbing it in a customary gesture of comfort. He continued to cry, not caring that his behavior lacked his original sarcasm and cheeriness. He wasn't particularly worried whether or not Nyssa found it to be pathetic, either.

Nyssa lowered herself into a crouch behind him and, to his amazement, enveloped him in a hug, resting her head against the base of his neck. Despite the oddity of a bounty hunter embracing her former target, he couldn't help but take solace in such intimacy.

"We should go back," Nyssa said once Daven's body had stopped shuddering from the sobs. "There's nothing we can do here."

"I can't leave them like this," he muttered, his voice gruff. "They are my brethren. I … need to give them a proper funeral. The other soldiers too; they all deserve that much."

"All right," Nyssa whispered over his shoulder. "I'll help you."

Darth's Girl: Thanks! I'm always glad to hear that people read this and enjoyed it. I'm sort of pleased with it, still, even though, as I'm itching at some points to revise it but have stopped myself. ;-) I'm not Wonkasrose, though. Maybe you have me or the story confused with someone else?