Revan applies a fresh compress to the wound and covers it up with new bandages, then looks up at his face and away from his midsection. No point in staring. No point at all.
"There. All done."
The tops of his cheeks lift up just a little. Maybe he's smiling at her, or maybe not. Either way, it's a lot more serene than you would expect from someone who just got impaled by a lightsaber. It's got to be the painkillers. Malak's eyelids slowly drift shut. The smile-not-smile doesn't subside. Definitely the painkillers. She pulls back the covers on top of his body, and listens to his slow, rhythmic breathing as it progressively gets deeper. He'll be alright. He has to be alright. If he hadn't pushed her out of the way… well, she wouldn't be alive to feel bad about it. If only she'd been faster, if only she hadn't let the Sith gain the upper hand…
Revan is jerked from her thoughts by a little hand tugging at her robes.
"Is there some more for mummy?"
Revan looks down at the little zabrak boy, then at the empty bowl lying next to Malak's side.
"Don't worry dear, your mummy won't need this. Jolee's taking good care of her, she'll be on her feet in no time."
Tommy nods, then turns his attention to Malak.
"Mummy says it's his fault, you know. That he abandoned us, and that's why the bombardment happened."
"I'm afraid it's a little more complex than that…"
But it makes sense that an imperial citizen would feel that way.
"Is that what you think too?"
The boy shrugs.
"I don't know." He pauses. "Is he going to die?" he asks in a whisper.
"I don't think so, no."
Unless they fail to stop the masked Sith, unless she lets him get away again, unless he strikes again and they are too late. And since they can't predict his next move…
"You look sad."
There's pity in his gaze – or perhaps it's simply kindness, it's hard to tell the difference sometimes.
She tries to smile.
"I'm okay."
The little boy grabs her hand.
"Come," he urges. "Mummy says brooding doesn't get you anywhere." He points to the card deck on the floor. "Perhaps you could team up with me? Mission keeps winning and I don't like it."
"Well, I suppose if Mission's causing trouble, I don't really have a choice…"
"Oh, I wouldn't say she's trouble. She's nice. Just a cheat."
"Really?"
Revan chuckles. Nice. Just a cheat. An accurate assessment.
"You're not playing for credits, I hope."
The little boy shakes his head.
"The credits are mum's. Can't bet with that."
No, of course not.
"I have a box of sweets, though," he says, putting a hand in his pocket. "We could play with that."
"Let's just start with one game and we'll see how it goes."
Unsurprisingly, Mission wins the first game. And the second. And the third.
"I told you she was a cheat," the child says under his breath.
"Well then it's a good thing you didn't bet your sweets."
The boy nods in agreement.
"Come, now. Let's get you back to your mummy."
She gets up from the floor and glances at Malak, still lying unconscious on his bunk. She'll have questions for him when he wakes up. When he can take them. Impersonal, practical ones, but questions nonetheless. That's more than he can handle right now. But if there's one thing they have, it's time. It's a long ride to Coruscant.
When they get to the medbay, Tommy flings himself into his mother's arms, under the frown of an acolyte whose blaster burns are still being treated by Jolee. A couple is sitting in the corner, wiping tears from their faces as they put down a small holopic. Tommy's mother looks up.
"Thank you," she says, pressing the child tightly against her chest.
Revan smiles.
"Just doing our jobs."
Actually, some would argue that it's not, that the Jedi's purview is limited to the protection of the Republic itself, that they can't afford to go around protecting neutral worlds – let alone enemy ones – and that caring too much about the rest of the galaxy would merely lead the order into another conflict it doesn't have the strength to withstand. Well, screw them. If two Sith Lords deserve to be saved, then so do these people. Not only that, but staying back and letting them fend for themselves likely would have resulted in the padawans being drained and allowing another crazed Sith to go about eating planets. So yes, as far as she's concerned, she was doing her job.
"What will become of us?", the woman asks, and well, that's a legitimate question.
"I don't know," she says, because truly, she doesn't.
Surely the Jedi can put up a few refugees for a couple days, but there were over five-hundred civilians in Dreshdae, most of them Czerka employees, not to mention the acolytes themselves, whom she can't imagine will be welcome on Coruscant. Add to that the fact that Malak is virtually free, the already existing refugee crisis, the reconstruction of the Outer Rim, one or two ill-timed headlines about the ever-rising debt or the interminable debate about the political influence and the autonomy of the Order, and with the slightest bit of bad luck, Chancellor Tol Cressa will find himself dealing with protests for the weeks to come. Really, there's no way to predict how the Republic will handle this, but if there's one thing that she knows, it's that neither he nor the Senate will be thrilled.
"I suppose the Jedi will help you," she offers, because 'help' is vague enough that it's the only way not to lie.
"How?"
"I don't know."
Twice in a row. She doesn't like that answer, but it's the only one she's got.
"Did you work for Czerka?" she asks. "I heard they had offices on Coruscant."
It's a little dishonest on Revan's part, because she knows perfectly well that Czerka doesn't do humanitarian work – nor even care that much about their employees' safety, if her experience on Tatooine is anything to go by – but the woman visibly relaxes at her suggestion.
"You're right. I'll head there as soon as I can."
Revan changes the subject.
"Are you hungry?" she asks. "My friend Canderous is making dinner. It's usually quite tasteless, but very filling."
Tommy leaps to his feet.
"Of course, we are!"
"Good. Then follow me to the main hold and grab a plate."
There are a dozen new passengers aboard the Hawk alone, and some have to sit on the floor in order to eat their meal, but it's a comfort to most after the ordeal of the day, and Revan herself is grateful for the 'quite tasteless, but very filling' food that Canderous spent the hour making despite the exhaustion of the battle and a minor leg wound. They eat in silence, mostly. It's hard to make conversation when you've just lost everything you had in the world, Carth tells her later, when she joins him in the cockpit. They're handling it well, he tells her. It's out of her hands now, anyway. There's nothing left to do but wait – for them to recover, if they can, and for the Sith Lord to show up again. And she knows that, of course, but it doesn't make her feel any better about it. Carth tells her it's okay.
"Thank you for being here today," she says, and she means it.
"You got it," he answers, and dismisses her thanks with a slight hand-wave. That's usually his line when the conversation is over and he wants to resume whatever he was doing, but he won't flat out tell her that. It's fine. She's run out of things to say too. Or at least, she's run out of topics that Carth would understand or be willing to discuss. That black, empty feeling around the Sith in the tomb? No. The sensation of caving in, the struggle to ward off the void, the way the word 'Malachor' flashed into her mind the second she met his hollow gaze… also no. The way she lost control when she saw Malak fall, her concern over his injury, the mushy smile-not-smile or the way he gingerly caught her hand and she didn't mind? Hard no. So, she leaves him alone, and Carth doesn't object.
The ship is quiet now. Too quiet, almost. She finds Jolee snoring on a chair in the medbay, Juhani meditating in the cargo hold, and Zaalbar enjoying yet another midnight snack, which she knows better than to interrupt. The hyperdrive works just fine, as do the droids and her lightsaber, and there's plenty of food left for breakfast, no incoming transmissions, no new holobook to read, nothing left to do but think. Which she might as well do in bed, so that is exactly where she goes.
Revan awakes to the sound of Jolee reprimanding Malak, a tinge of amusement piercing through the mild chiding.
"Hey, hey, hey, I know you're disappointed that it's only me, but there's no need to glare at me like that."
"I'm not glaring," Malak answers with a hint of irritation.
"Sure, you are. Now stop pouting and let me dress that up, it'll only take a minute."
Malak doesn't answer, but Revan can feel the surge of embarrassment emanating from the bunk behind her, followed by a slightly louder exhale and the sound of a medkit popping open.
"See? That's not so hard."
There is a short silence as Jolee gets to work.
"There was a refugee boy last time I was awake," Malak eventually says.
"Uh uh. Tommy. Good kid. Made friends with Jyn, too."
Another silence.
"Did I say something wrong?"
"No. No, it's... just memories. How is she?"
"Mostly alright. Got a burn on her forearm, but it'll heal."
Jolee pauses, and Revan hears Malak shifting slightly on the mattress.
"Now, if that makes you feel any better, she told me about the fight, you know. Never thought I'd be saying that to you, but it's a good thing you were there."
"Well, I'm certainly not much use now…"
Jolee huffs, and the medkit clicks shut.
"What do you want me to say? We all have low days."
Jolee's footsteps echo down the hall, and the room falls silent again. Revan closes her eyes in an attempt to go back to sleep, but all she can think about is the questions she needs to ask Malak, so she just gets up and out of her bunk.
"Hi," he says when she stops near his bed.
"Hi. You look better."
"Less drowsy." Malak points at the drip. "Jolee reduced the dosage."
"Oh. I assume it's more painful, then?"
Malak shrugs slightly.
"Different."
"I, um… I know it might not be the right time but I've been thinking and I was hoping to ask you a couple of questions."
Malak's eyebrows narrow.
"Not these questions," she clarifies, remembering the conversation they had a few days ago. "That doesn't mean I've given up completely, but," she takes a breath, "I won't pry it out of you."
Malak snorts.
"That's… well I suppose that's as good a concession as I'm going to get, isn't it?"
Revan bites her lip. That may have been… a rather aggressive way to put it, but the words are out and there's no point in dwelling on them any longer.
"Do you remember yesterday's fight?"
"Hm hm. A little too well, if you ask me."
"So, you remember the Sith Lord."
"Yes."
"Have you seen him before?"
"Not that I can remember. And I've seen many strange people in my life but I think I'd remember this one. There's something off about him, and I don't mean the usual 'steeped in darkness' kind of thing. This one felt… hollow. Dead, somehow."
So, Malak felt it too.
"And you have no idea where he came from or how he could have gained control of the fleet."
Malak shakes his head.
"After Karath's death I… I let Admiral Varko handle the succession."
Revan winces a bit as she remembers why. Malak looks away.
"Varko was… very traditional. He wouldn't have picked someone he hadn't known and trusted for a long time."
"And where is this Varko now?"
"Dead. He was on the Star Forge minutes before we fought."
Great. Another dead end. Revan swallows.
"I don't like this. Being so…clueless."
"I know. We'll figure something out. Does Yuthura have any leads?"
"She didn't seem to when I last heard from her. She's still recovering aboard the Dauntless. Took quite a bit of shrapnel, I'm told, but she'll pull through."
"Good. That's good." He pauses. "We're going back to Coruscant, I presume?"
Revan nods.
"And I have no doubt our dear friend Bariss will be there to greet us when we arrive."
Malak rolls his eyes.
"Lovely."
And as expected, she is – with that too-wide, shining smile, a writing pad, holocameras and a dozen of other reporters as well – and of course, she knows more than she's supposed to.
"Miss Thule, is it true that Lord Malak and yourself have been involved in a ground operation on Korriban and that the Jedi transports that have just landed will soon be pouring out Sith refugees onto the streets on Coruscant?"
And here we go…
"I believe 'pouring out' is a rather strong term for this. As I'm sure you're aware, Dreshdae is a very small outpost, and the arrangements for their relocation have yet to be discussed with the Foreign Office and emergency relief services. I assure you the situation is well under control."
Which may be a slightly optimistic way to put it, but not an outright lie.
"Am I to understand that the Jedi acted without prior consultation with the Supreme Chancellor and the Senate?"
"All relevant agencies have been informed by Master Atris, but the operation itself was carried out by the Jedi Order under the supervision of Master Vrook Lamar, without the involvement of Republic troops and resources – as is typically the case for relief missions of this scale."
"I see. In light of the Jedi Council's… controversial neutrality during the Mandalorian wars, doesn't it surprise you that it was so prompt to react to a humanitarian crisis on Korriban of all places?"
Oh, she doesn't like where this is going.
"I believe this is for them to answer."
"Of course, but what do you think?"
Revan takes a deep breath.
"I think… I think mistakes were made in the past, by the Revanchists and the Council alike. This new approach… I believe it shows a willingness not to repeat them, a willingness to learn, and that's not something I can object to."
The answer feels hollow, but the journalist seems satisfied and scribbles it down.
"Hmm. Interesting. Speaking of the Revanchists, where is Lord Malak?"
Quite evidently not here, she wants to answer, but knows better than to snap in front of a holocam.
"He was injured in the field and will be unable to attend the Council meeting today. Now if you'll excuse me, I have urgent matters to attend to."
And like last time, she walks away, blinking against flashes as she makes her way towards the airspeeder. Alone.
Revan bites her lower lip, her hands still clasped behind her back as she paces the Council Chamber and tries to ignore the throbbing in her ears. She takes another look at Yuthura's handcuffs. Taking precautions, she understands. Keeping an eye on the Sith, she understands. But treating Yuthura – her friend – like a criminal, the day after she fought by their side and nearly lost a limb in the process? Now, that doesn't sit well with her.
"This woman risked her life to help us find out about the ritual, and once again to protect the people of Dreshdae, people she could not hope to gain anything from. Sith or not, she deserves our respect!"
Atris shakes her head.
"We can't very well let her and her students roam the streets of Coruscant unchecked."
"Can't you, now? Because you're letting Darth kriffing Malak do just that and none of you seem to have any problem with it!"
"Malak's case is different. We need his help, and he's with you."
"Oh. A former Sith Lord monitoring another former Sith Lord. Completely foolproof."
"We trust you, Jyn," Master Vash says, "and the public doesn't know about your past. For all intents and purposes, you're a Jedi like any other."
Revan snorts. A Jedi like any other. Sure. Because all 'Jedi like any other' destroy planets, try to take over the galaxy, get captured, mind-wiped, and asked to kill their former apprentice, whom they later realise they might have known a little better than they thought, then are sent on a mission to assassinate the new leader of the imperial fleet, only to discover he just wants to eat them all. But yeah. She's 'a Jedi like any other', and there is nothing, absolutely nothing wrong with her, no troubled past, no attachments, no newfound propensity to use Sith lightning when angered. Really, she's just the wisest choice for this.
"You could take them in," she finally says, half-bracing herself for a rebuke.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Take them in. Most are young, and have only recently joined the Sith. Many could still train as Jedi."
"And what of those who won't?"
"They are Force-sensitives. A target of choice for the man we faced. We'll have to watch them closely."
"Are you suggesting we use them as bait?"
"I'm suggesting we protect them… and the rest of the galaxy."
She doesn't say 'no' because, even if that is not the primary intent, there's still a very real possibility that it'll come to that. And if it does, they'll need to act quickly.
The masters look at each other.
"We will discuss this with the Chancellor's office."
They dismiss her. Later that day, they call her back: her suggestion has been approved, and accommodations are being prepared for the acolytes who wish to train as Jedi. The other refugees are being put in touch with Czerka – for which many used to work – or offered work on Telos, where a restoration project has just been approved. It's hardly ideal, but it's a solution to keep them off the streets for the time being. Revan doesn't object.
Days go by, then weeks, and things get easier. Quiet, even. Ever since they escaped Korriban with the padawans, there's been no sign of the mysterious Sith Lord or his fleet. Sometimes, it makes her wonder if she's just imagined the whole thing, but then, Malak and her start sparring, and she forgets to be careful. She watches him bend over as a blow lands into his stomach, and he assures her that it's fine, even as clutches his middle and leans against the wall to catch his breath. After two weeks, it stops happening, whether because she's memorised the exact spot to avoid or because he's regaining his strength. Either way, she stops hurting him, and the matches get harder. Sometimes, Juhani joins them too, but most of the time, it's only the two of them. It's a little awkward at first, and then it's not. It's almost 'normal', now. Pleasant. Peaceful – which is an odd thing to feel when you're fighting. But Revan is not fooled: this is the calm before the storm.
