There is a reason why people slot themselves into groups. Soldiers, mercenaries, Jedi, off-worlders. In every cantina, you can see them. Speaking different languages to those around them, or sometimes not speaking at all. Sometimes it's good enough to simply sit with someone who knows. Who understands. Who was there.

It was the reason they came here still. Each year, every year, on the same day.

It was hard for Mission to remember how they had found this particular cantina. She could remember why as easily as her own name. It had been just after they had won the Battle of the Star Forge, when the balls and speeches and presentations were just starting to mount up. She had been standing in a corner, in a dress that fit her perfectly yet was one of the most uncomfortable thing she'd ever worn, and some high-ranking Republic officer made a comment about 'the staff' and tried to order a drink from her.

The officer realised his mistake when he saw the look on her face and tried to laugh it off, the woman at his side chuckling as well. Mission had forced a smile and almost ran out of the room before she caught herself. Running made you a target. So she walked across the room, past Jedi and Admirals and more stuck up rich people than she had even seen in Upper Taris.

When she ran into over six foot of pure Mandalorian muscle (and that hadn't been just a sorry-I-didn't-see-you near miss, it had been a full on collision with rebound), Mission just looked up at him. And he had looked back at her, with his trademark half-scowl.

"You wanna get out of here?" Canderous had said finally.

She had nodded and he had slung an arm around her shoulders and they set off for the exit. On the way, Mission had seen Canderous catch Carth's eye. Before they reached the double doors leading out of the room, she saw Carth say something to T3, who then trundled off to where Juhani and Jolee were chatting with some Jedi Masters as Carth wove his way through the crowds towards Revan and Bastila.

Less than an hour later, Mission had found herself in a random cantina, safely sandwiched between Carth and Canderous with the entire crew of the Ebon Hawk crammed around the small table. Gone was the finery they had all been wearing, gone was the forced smiles and meaningless pleasantries. This was the real celebration of the Heroes of the Republic. A Mandalorian, a wookiee, a twi'lek, a Republic pilot, two actual Jedi, one retired Jedi and a reformed Sith Lord. No Admirals, no Masters, no speeches. Well, not until Jolee got totally plastered.

In the space of one evening and far too many drinks, this cantina became important to them. Exactly a year later, all ten of them had made it back there, to remember, to commemorate. Jolee had even told the exact same stories.

But then things had changed, a little every year. First Revan had disappeared, taking the droids with her. After that, it wasn't the same. Every year, there had been less people. Last year, there had been only two sitting there.

Mission sat in her seat, a glass of juice in front of her. Every year, a glass of juice. The same juice, as well, some fruit concoction from Bakura. She'd be too young to drink anything else that first year and by now it was… tradition.

It was better to think of tradition, than to wonder what might happen next.

What if nothing happened next?

What if she was the last one to come?

Canderous had never expected it to end up like this. Okay, so Revan leaving hadn't been the greatest surprise of his life, but the Jedi Princess and the rest of them having to go underground, that had not been anticipated. Mind you, at least they had an excuse. Well, the droids had disappeared with Revan, so they were out of the picture.

That left three: the furball, Republic and himself.

So why was he the only one still coming?

He had last seen the furball the year before last. Canderous had long suspected that Mission had been twisting his furry arm to make him come. Things on Kashyyk had been bad for decades and the last few years were no exception. Last year, when the wookiee wasn't there with Mission when Canderous got there, he couldn't help asking. Even though he knew the answer.

"Oh, you know," she had said, blushing. "It's a long way, just for a drink."

And he found himself nodding in agreement. Never mind that he had come from Dxun and she from the Outer Rim.

Canderous wasn't angry at Zaalbar, though, or with their Jedi friends or even at Revan. He understood, in a way. They had travelled together and fought together and even saved the damned day, but life went on. Things changed.

He hadn't expected to come back again. Last year was meant to be the last. It was time Mission went on with her own life, and he had more important things to do.

But then the Exile had stumbled into his camp and offered him another chance at being a hero. A hero for a Republic that was drowning, falling, failing. And, like the idiot that he was, Canderous had gone alone.

Canderous had known that travelling on the Ebon Hawk again would be strange. A different Jedi giving the orders, a different pilot at the helm. Someone else had even claimed the garage, his old territory, for their own. It had brought back memories, not all of them bad admittedly, but memories were always slightly painful. He had found himself wondering about the others, something he hadn't done for a long while. And he found himself remembering Mission. Not the Mission that he had last seen in this cantina, the Mission that had bugged the hell out of him on the Hawk.

The swoop bike was in excellent condition, at least by professional racing standards. Davik only had the barest interest in swoop racing and Canderous had the feeling that the bike was only here to fill space. You could tell it hadn't been ridden in anything resembling a real swoop race. The paint-work was still the original, Canderous could tell, and the engine was brand new, with no repairs or additions.

But whilst Davik had wanted the swoop bike to be little more than a statement of his wealth, Canderous' new employer, Jayden, wanted it to be worth something in the kind of races she was bound to get involved in. Well, he needed a project anyway.

Canderous had just lifted the engine hatch when he heard someone coming into the garage. Several people already had, but they had left quickly. Whoever was standing there now was sticking around. They could stand there for the rest of the trip for all he cared.

"Are you really a Mandalorian?" the hoverer asked.

Canderous put down the tools with a silent curse. It was the kid, the Twi'lek who talked too much. And from what he had seen of the girl interacting with her Wookiee friend, ignoring her just didn't work.

"Yeah," he said, doing his best with one word to make the kid realise that she should leave.

"Like the ones who destroyed worlds?"

Ah, so that was what this was about. Canderous stood up, wiping his hands on his trousers. "I'm not ashamed of what I did in the War," he said levelly.

She was frowning at him. "So you have blown up planets?"

"Sometimes."

"Why?"

"Honour."

"How does slaughtering a world make you honourable?"

He had anticipated that question. It was asked often enough, in different forms. But unlike when that pilot had been talking about it, this kid didn't sound accusing. Just… curious.

"Success in battle is the only way to obtain true honour, whether the battle in on land or in space," Canderous said. "The more risk in the battle, the more honour you can earn."

"So a Mandalorian would find destroying a whole world…" The girl paused, obviously thinking something through. "Challenging? But a good challenge? I mean, like, worthwhile?"

A minute ago he had been willing to throw her out on her ear, but that answer made him pause. "In a way."

"So you agree with what the Sith did?"

"There was no honour in the destruction of Taris."

"Taris wasn't even worth honour, huh?" she asked.

"Kid, why are you here? Shouldn't you be spilling your guts to the furball or Jayden?" Canderous replied.

"She just says it's terrible," Mission said in a small voice. "And I already know that. I thought you could tell me why they did it. Why someone would do that to kill one person."

"I can't," he said and watched her face fall. "I know why I helped to destroy worlds, but the Sith are not Mandalorian. They have no honour. You can tell, by the way they destroyed Taris." He saw the confused look on her face. "My people used Basilisk droids, to rain down on the planet and destroy it, using waves of troops supported with ships and more droids. The Sith attacked Taris, a world without orbital defences, from orbit. They left men still on the surface while they did this, left them to die. Which is more honourable?"

"Personally, I think you're both pretty bad," she said finally.

"I never claimed to be good. Now get out of here, Blue, before Republic says I'm corrupting you."

Maybe he had corrupted her. A man like Canderous always kept an ear to the ground and he had heard a lot about Mission's exploits. The kid was making a name for herself and he respected that. Even if it was a name as one of the best smugglers in years. Blue seemed happy, on the rare occasions that he saw her.

Like tonight.

She was sitting at the same table, with the same old drink in front of her. He knew she hadn't seen him yet. It was past time she moved on, after all. A single night sitting alone at that table would be all it took. It would be better for her, it would make her stronger, more independent.

So why weren't his feet moving?

Actually, he knew the answer to that question. Canderous was going soft, that was both the answer and the problem. He was Mandalore, he had destroyed planets and slaughtered more people than he could even begin to count and yet he couldn't crush the childish hopes of one little Twi'lek. Brilliant.

It didn't help that he had seen the high and might Admiral Onasi just yesterday. Carth had stopped coming to this little get-together after Revan left. No surprise there.

But Canderous had, in his own way, tried to get Carth to come tonight. If Carth turned up, Canderous would be off the hook. He could stop coming and let Carth fail to turn up one year and leave Mission alone. But it didn't work. He had reminded Onasi of the date, actually going so far as to ask him what it was, only to get some Republic Standard Date rattled off to him. The mention of this planet had only got him a vague look.

No, Onasi had already moved on, if not from Revan than from the rest of them. Running away from the memories, that was Canderous' bet. Coward.

But Canderous was no coward. If not coming here was running away, then Canderous would keep coming to see Mission until Bastila developed a sense of humour.

And as he sat down and saw the look of relief and genuine pleasure to see him on Blue's face, he told himself once again:

Next year. Next year I'll stop coming.

But he knew he wouldn't.

"So, how's the new planet working for you?" Mission asked.

"Everything going fine," he said, motioning for a drink.