There's a silence that follows the adrenaline of escape. Another close call, another brush with mortality. Another tally mark on her skin. Mal keeps count along her left hip. A row of raised scars, one for every near-death experience. It's the second addition in less than a month. What started as a reminder of her survivability is quickly growing into a warning of her recklessness. The fact that there are more scars than she remembers making chills her to the bone.

"Mal, are you in there?"

Bastila's dominating presence waits on the other side of the refresher door. The one person Mal has been doing her best to avoid on this small ship. She doesn't mind the young Jedi. Bastila's arrogant and a bit conceited, but that's exactly what makes her fun. What Mal doesn't like is the weighty stare when they're in a room together.

"Wait your turn, Jedi."

They'll be in Dantooine soon. The closer they get, the more her skin crawls. An entire planet destroyed in the hopes of killing a single person. The stakes of the war have changed. Will the Republic really let her walk away? She'll know for sure when they arrive.

"If you could meet me in the cockpit when you're done, there's something we need to discuss."

She knows Bastila wants to talk about what happened at the Sith base.

"I never thought I'd find someone strong in the Force on this backwater planet."

Bastila stepped forward igniting her lightsaber. "If you were anything more than a mere apprentice, that would hardly surprise you."

"I know your face, Bastila. I was talking to her."

She visibly tensed as the Sith pointed his blade toward Mal. A shiver ran up her spine. Mal was almost tempted to glance behind if only for comedic effect. But this was no joke. He was talking about her.

Their last two days on Taris were such a rush it's easy to pretend the moment never happened. Easy for everyone else maybe, but Mal replays the memory on a constant loop. Maybe she's knocked her head a few too many times. Can you get a dose of the Force from blunt trauma? Or maybe everyone can tell just by looking at her that there's a screw loose in there.

Carth eyes Mal warily as she steps into the cockpit. She smiles wide and shakes her head. The poor guy looks a little too relived that he's being spared her conversation. He slips out as Bastila turns to acknowledge her.

"Ah, there you are."

Mal smiles with too many teeth. "I didn't realize you missed my company that much."

Bastila frowns. "We've hardly been apart long enough for that."

"It was a joke."

"I don't see how that was supposed to be funny."

"I guess they don't teach humor at Jedi school."

Bastila's face scrunches together before she makes the obvious effort of smoothing her features back to neutral. "I wanted to talk to you about what happened on Taris."

Mal edges through the room, eyes drifting between the Ebon Hawk's flashing displays. "Can you be more specific? It was a busy week."

"It was indeed." Bastila's gaze feels like a two fingered touch pressing into the side of her cheek. "I'm referring to the military base."

Mal falls with a loud thump into one of the cockpit chairs. She swivels a full rotation before stopping to face Bastila. "Fun time. A lot of shooting, a lot of fighting. You even got to fling some people around."

"I did no such thing," she almost pouts.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I saw you send a guy flying clear across the room. No need to act modest."

"I'm not." Bastila recognizes the bait and takes a breath. "Did anyone else say anything like that to you while on Taris?"

"I don't think I met a single modest person in that city."

"You're being difficult on purpose."

"Was he right?"

That catches her off guard. "I… I can't say."

"Can't or won't?"

"Have you felt anything out of the ordinary?"

Mal tilts her head, wonders how much Bastila knows about her. Carth made a point to bring up the oddity of her presence every chance he got.

"Why did you assign me to the Endar Spire?"

Bastila stills. Her body quiets in such a way that it reminds Mal of a frozen lake, smooth and cold and silent.

"You were one of many chosen for this mission. Your skills make you a valuable asset to the Jedi and to the Republic, regardless of your criminal history."

"And my accident?" Mal challenges. "I know its in my file. You're not worried I'm loony from brain trauma?"

"No." In that one syllable Bastilla seems to melt. "The path to recovery is a hard one, but you've shown exemplary resilience. That indomitable spirit is why I assigned you to the crew."

Mal inhales sharply. She expected a stiff-necked response about due diligence and repaying debts, but this? This moment is tender in a way she can't describe. And just as quickly, it's gone.

"With that said, you are still under my command. I'll be meeting with the Council as soon as we land to determine our next course of action. I ask not to be disturbed until we arrive."

Bastila turns to leave so abruptly Mal thinks it's a joke until she's three steps into the hall.

"Hey, wait a second!"

She doesn't stop and at this point Mal doesn't have the mental energy to chase after. She spins to face the endless blur of hyperspace and truly wonders how she got sucked into this mess.

Desperate for something to do other than wait she breaks her truce with Carth. She plucks personal details like teeth from his unwilling mouth until their play fights brush too close to reality. Mission disappears into the bowels of the ship like a ghost. Hours pass between sightings and when Mal finally does catch her, the wound of Taris is still too fresh to talk about. Zaalbar refuses to humor her questions and it seems everyone can understand the little droid's beeping except for her, not that she'll ever admit it. Bastila has the potential to be an endless source of entertainment but keeps herself locked away "meditating" until they arrive. Canderous is an exercise in impulse control. His pent-up energy catches her like wood on a flame. Mal wants to fight him, go round for round in the cargo hold until neither of them can move. She grits her teeth and settles for a war story instead. For the rest of the trip, he leaves bloody footprints only she can see.

In the end, there's nothing left to do but sleep. Mal claims a bed, curls up with a blaster in hand, and prays for dreamless slumber.