Malak awakes to the sound of hushed voices and boots pacing outside the dorm. There is tension, agitation, and the crew feels like a platoon waiting for a battle that never seems to come. In fact, Malak suspects Revan is the only one still asleep. And it's an odd feeling, really, the former Dark Lord peacefully asleep mere meters away from him, neither thrashing in her sleep nor staring at the ceiling like her old self would have during the war. It's an odd feeling too, being here, right next to her, and not being angry or scared or preparing to reach for a lightsaber. It's certainly not as odd as listening to the ebb and flow of her breathing and finding some sort of comfort in it, after all she's done to him and after all he's done to her. If anyone had told him, barely a day ago, that this was all about to happen, he would have dismissed it as the ravings of a lunatic. But near-death has a way of putting things in perspective. In a way, it still feels like a hallucination, like a waking fever dream. But there is no fever to begin with, and the pain in his side makes him more than aware that the sedatives have worn off for some time. It's not a dream. Revan is here, and she's not the enemy.

He thinks about what she told him, about her memory and the people they used to be – young, rebellious and high on life – and cannot help but think of how much they have changed. She's still the same Revan and at the same time… she's not. She's still the brash, relentless, hypnotic woman who led them all into battle, but there's a naïveté he's never seen in his master, as if the horrors of the war, as if her fall to the dark side, as if everything in her that once instilled fear and despair were just… gone. He doesn't know what to make of that. Revan just saved his life, minutes after he tried to kill her. His fleet was in shambles, the Star Forge was coming down - she had won - and she dragged him here to save his life as if it were the most evident thing to do. Darth Revan would have cut his head off without a second thought. Or rather, her second thoughts wouldn't have stopped her. She said she remembered them, and he believes she did, but he knows the old Revan wouldn't have let her emotions get in the way. And that's the thing about Jedi training, isn't it? Those who remember it have always been the deadliest Sith. But she doesn't even know that, does she?

For a moment he envies her, with her steadfast faith in redemption and that counterfeit innocence that must feel so real to her and all the guilt she doesn't carry. But such blissful ignorance will forever remain beyond his reach. Billions have died because of him, and each death is a bloodstain he can never wash his hands of, an echo in his skull that will never truly die out. And he deserves it. His head throbs. She wants him to confront the Jedi, to try and redeem himself – at least, he thinks she does, why else would she... But it doesn't matter. He will indulge her, give in to his own foolish hope that perhaps, only perhaps, there is something left of what he was. What they both were. What she's finding her way back to. Yes, 'foolish' is the word. He knows – the whole galaxy knows – that his actions can't be erased. By anything. Which isn't to say that partial, calibrated memory-loss, would be entirely unwelcome… no, that is just silly. Perhaps, after all, death would have been the easy path. A coward's path, to be sure, but... no. She came back. She saved his life. Risked hers when she should have fled. That has to be worth something...

His train of thought is interrupted when the door opens and the old man – he believes his name is Jolee – comes in with a bowl of… well, something very pungent. Day-old sweat and dried blood never smelled of flowers to begin with, but this is simply bordering on the obscene.

Jolee halts near the bed.

"Ah, you're awake! Well don't look at me like that, it's the ointment that smells foul."

Ah, it's for him. Marvellous.

"It'll help the stitches heal faster."

Malak reluctantly pulls his shirt up and lets Jolee remove the bandages. He is grateful for the gesture, truly, but… Force, the smell.

He doesn't know if it's because of it, but this is the moment Revan chooses to wake up, and as far as he can tell, she's not very fond of it either.

"For kriff's sake, Jolee, what did you put in that thing?"

The old man shakes his head and smiles.

"Bah! Youngsters. If you'd been impaled by a katarn's tooth, you wouldn't mind the smell that much."

Jolee spreads the mixture over his wounds and dresses them with a kolto patch.

"There. Good as new."

"Thank you."

Jolee snorts.

"Trifles. I could do this with my eyes closed. I fought in the Sith wars, you know, and my Nayama… she would get scratches all the time…"

A cloud passes over his face, and he turns to face Revan.

"I'll tell the others you're awake. Bastila's been meaning to talk to you."

"I don't think you'll need to…"

Before Revan can finish her sentence, Bastila appears in the doorway. She freezes on the spot, shaking like a dead leaf. The Force pulses off her in bursts and something tells him he will slam head first into the bulkhead if he so much as speaks out of turn.

"Good morning, Revan."

Her voice is tense, threatening to break. She's terrified.

"Good morning, Bastila. How are you holding up?"

Even Malak can tell this is the wrong question.

"How does it look?"

"Like… you could use some sleep."

"I can't, Revan! Not after what I've done. Not when Malak himself is on the Ebon Hawk."

This time, Revan gets up and places a hand on Bastila's shoulder.

"Bastila, I…"

"I don't blame you, Revan. It was a noble act but… I fear we are taking a risk that we cannot handle. A risk I cannot handle. We must report to the Council before we're in over our heads."

"I'm always in over my head, in case you hadn't noticed."

At least that is a truth they can all agree on.

Bastila sighs.

"I suppose… I suppose I'm just… overwhelmed by all of this. But I would feel better if we could contact Master Vandar without delay. I don't think I can resume life as a Jedi without the Council's help."

Revan nods.

"I understand."


Eventually, Malak has to stand and join them in the main hold, because Master Vandar has arrived and it doesn't feel like he has a choice. He doesn't know what to expect, but the master's cordial greeting is not it.

"Good morning, Alek."

If the Jedi is angry, he doesn't let it show.

"Good morning, Master Vandar."

"It is good to see that Bastila and you have renounced the ways of the Sith."

Right. 'Bastila and you'. Because Bastila obviously destroyed a planet while he was asleep.

"The road to redemption isn't an easy one, but there is hope yet for those who choose to follow it."

Vandar's words feel empty, like a promise he's made too many times, but perhaps there is more truth to it than Malak once believed.

"You will have to stand trial, but as you already know, we Jedi don't have a habit of killing out prisoners." He pauses to look at Revan. "Bastila has expressed her wish to travel with me as we head back for Coruscant."

Revan lowers her gaze, shame rolling off her in waves, as if she were the one to blame.

"Before we leave, Jyn, I must ask you: what happened on the Star Forge?"

"He was wounded and expressed regrets. I simply took the opportunity."

Her expression doesn't change, her tone doesn't waver. She hates lying, or at least she used to, but she's always been good at it.

"I see. Is there anything else?"

"No," she lies again.

"Then we shall meet again on Coruscant."

Bastila follows him as he sets out to leave, but he turns around once more as he reaches the exit ramp.

"And may the Force be with you all."

One doesn't need the Force to see that Onasi is on the verge of a breakdown.

"Why would you openly lie to the Jedi like this? You said you had a vision, and now you tell them there was nothing? What game are you playing?"

"It's none of your business Carth."

Her words immediately set him off.

"Damn right it is! You go off to stop Malak and the next thing we know, you remembered 'something' and you bring him onboard and ask Jolee to heal him, and now on top of it you're lying to the Jedi!"

"Well, it's not like they never lied to me."

"Is that what this is about? Payback?"

"Of course not!"

"Then tell us what! Tell the Council. Tell me. What happened on the Star Forge, Revan?"

"And what would that sound like, uh?!" she shouts. "Now, let me see… 'He said he was sorry and then I had a vision of Malak and I smooching each other, and it felt like a big deal so I decided to wing it and see'. Oh yeah, great sell, Carth."

The lieutenant's face falls and he opens his mouth, but no sound seems to make it out.

"What?" she bites. "Loth-cat got your tongue?"

Carth looks away.

"It doesn't feel right. Saving him. Lying to the Council. Any of it."

"Then feel free to enlighten them, but do it yourself because I'm done talking about my memories with the very people who tried to take them away."

"Yeah? How about the people who tried to kill you?"

Touché.

"I don't have to explain myself to you."

Carth turns on his heel and heads straight for the cockpit, and he can tell that Revan immediately regrets her words. Minutes later, the engines are whirring.


It's a long trip to Coruscant, and while Malak doesn't see a problem with skulking and mulling over his guilt, there are trivial matters that will, eventually, require his attention. He decides to start with the easiest.

He finds Revan in the main hold, absently scrolling through a datapad that's obviously seen better days.

"Revan?"

She looks up from her datapad.

"Hm?"

"Do you mind me using the sonic?"

"Oh, not at all but…" she bites her lower lip, like she used to do when she was embarrassed. "You're going to need clothes."

He nods.

"That's not a bad idea."

"I don't have anything your size, though. No one here does, but Carth might be the closest fit."

Ah. Carth. Sorry I bombed your planet, do you have a spare pair of shorts? No, not awkward at all.

"Forget it."

"Fine," she sighs. "I'll ask."

She gets up from her seat and marches out of the room. There's yelling in the port-side dorm. Silence. More yelling. Eventually she comes back with a pile of clothes and puts it in his hands. There's a set of worn-out pyjama pants and a tee-shirt with holes the size of his hand. They'll do.