This is a sequel to Ivy and Twine, but can be read on its own. The only thing you'll be missing is context and background for Revan and Malak.
—
The lines that you spoke were graceful and cut to the core.
You had everyone gripped at the part where you wanted the answers.
You see violent times but you get out alive in the end.
You learn fear is just a fleeting thing.
—
Meetra falls in and out of her dreams—images, flashes of Coruscant, of the sun sheening across the city, of the way the evening light echoed off the windows in shades of gold. She dreams of afternoons spent in the company of Malak and Master Kavar, and how the comfort of it still resonates deep within her. It's a time in her life that she'll always miss—when each day promised something new; something good.
She dreams of the ice in Revan's eyes, that coldness that never came undone; the feeling she can't name except for the way it made her hands shake. It happened before—it happened long before the wars and Meetra's one of the only people left alive that knows the truth: that before the monster was known, the monster was made.
In this dream she speaks up sooner, in this dream it doesn't take her as long to turn to Malak, to whisper, I think there's something wrong with Revan.
In this dream he agrees with her.
Meetra is made of memories that have been slashed apart and fit back together. She has watched the greatest of heroes rise and fall, and she's turned her back on them. She's been outcast, separate and alone, and still the Force dragged her back to the center of it, shined a light on her, and said, You don't get to walk away from the mess they made. You have to finish what you started.
Which would be easier, perhaps, if Revan had died along with Malak.
There are things Meetra doesn't say; there are things she can't. She willingly gave herself to what should have destroyed her, and part of her will always think, I could have done more. Part of her will always wrestle with the guilt and the sorrow, and somewhere underneath it all: anger.
It isn't over, is what Kreia says as she breathes out her last, and Meetra finally feels like she understands the older woman. It's what the Force has been saying this whole time—
This is just the beginning, and you have to be ready.
—
"She looks terrible."
"Helpful, thanks. Any other astute observations you'd like to share?"
"Oh, astute? That's a big word for you, ace. I'm not kidding, she looks like she climbed out of a sarlacc pit a few thousand years too late."
"She killed three Sith Lords in less than two days, how do you expect her to look?"
"Well, she might look better if you were able to kill one of them—you know, when you had the chance to."
"I wore him down!"
"You can't wear him down, he's invincible. The worst you could've done is take a cheap shot at his good eye."
"How do you know I didn't?"
"You didn't."
"I could've. And he's not invincible, Meetra killed him."
"No thanks to you."
"Nice. Yeah, while you were busy playing rockets with a wookiee, some of us were actually trying to help."
"Oh, don't bring him into this—"
Meetra stirs at the sound, opening her eyes only to flinch at the bright white of the medbay, all blurry and out of focus. In her peripheral are the dark shapes of Atton and Mira, and her head throbs as she turns to look at them.
"Woah, hey, take it easy," Atton says, and he steps closer to where she can see. Pale skin, tired eyes, and dirty hair—there's blood caked in his left eyebrow but he's managed to clean his split lip. In all honesty, he looks awful, but he smiles like everything is easy and despite the way her body aches, Meetra smiles back as he says, "You've, uh, taken on a lot these past few days."
"I'll say," she murmurs, and when she blinks, her eyes stay closed for a moment longer than they should. "Why are you two arguing?"
"It passes the time," Mira answers. "How do you feel?"
She takes a moment to assess. The first point of contact is where Atton's hand wraps around hers—that doesn't hurt. There's an indistinct soreness in her limbs and a sharp pain in her side, but it's mostly her head that aches behind her eyes. She sucks in a ragged breath and says, "I've been better."
"Lucky for you, I think you're through the worst of it," Atton says, and he squeezes her hand once. "Or at least, that's what Mical said earlier."
"I should let him know you're awake," Mira offers.
As she leaves the medbay, Atton raises his free hand to push Meetra's bangs out of her eyes. His lips curve into a smile as he watches her, and she wishes she could feel the same relief that sits openly in his expression. Her thoughts are a blur of memories of Malachor, both past and present. There's her and her pride, years ago, watching over a planet she was ready to destroy. There's her and Kreia, hours ago, standing at the center of the Trayus Academy, the older woman struggling with her last breaths as she asked her to go after Revan.
She needs you more than you've ever needed her.
Meetra's tired. She's so tired after months of fighting for her life, fighting for this crew, fighting to understand why the Force would put her through all of this. It's been a fight to understand her wound, her power, and now—why Revan needs her.
Revan's never needed her. She's only ever needed to use her.
"Malachor's gone," Meetra murmurs, her voice hoarse. "Kreia's dead."
"I know," Atton says, and he's still touching her. One hand's still curled around hers, the other rests against her temple as his thumb smooths over the top of her cheek. It's more tenderness than she expected from him, but if she focuses, she can feel the warmth of the Force in his hands.
As much as he refuses to believe it, healing comes naturally to him.
"Why didn't that kill me?" she asks, because some part of her always assumed that going back to Malachor would be the end for her. As if she hasn't paid for her crimes enough, the planet itself existed only to finish what it should have done all those years ago. If Malachor is destroyed, then she should be too. She was tied to it—a graveyard of the past, broken and wounded, just as she was tied to Kreia.
"I don't know," Atton murmurs back. "I honestly couldn't tell you, but I'm glad it didn't. I can't lose you yet. We just started, Surik."
She hums, her lips pulling up only slightly at the corners. Her whole body feels wrong, but her vision's steadier now and her aching head calms against Atton's touch. It's true, though, it's easy to get lost in the rush of everything always happening, but time has been very short, and their relationship is still at the beginning.
(It hasn't been that long since they first met, even less time since Korriban, when—after burying her former master, after escaping that forsaken cave—she broke down. She still remembers gasping for air, avoiding the sight of her ragged image in the refresher's mirror. Atton found her, wrapped his arms around her, and Meetra pushed. Meetra gave in to the desire she'd shoved aside. Meetra, ruined and desperate, needed him to know but couldn't say it, and so she'd put her lips to his and kissed him again and again.
And Atton—well, he was the one to pull away first, his eyes full of sorrow as he said, Not like this.
She'd paused, her hands still cupped around his jaw, the taste of cigarettes still on her tongue as she realized that he meant it. That he wanted her but he wanted something different. That all the bravado, all the flirting and the jokes, covered the fact that he wanted it to be real—not this desperate attempt for comfort, to drown out the pain of what had happened.
So Meetra let go. She looked him in the eyes and said, Okay.
Because he will always be more to her than the fool Kreia says he is, but even a fool can be brave.)
Meetra watches him now, blinking back the white lights that continue to dominate her vision. The medbay has never been her favorite room on the Ebon Hawk, even less when she's bound to this bed, but its not so bad with his gaze intent on her. She forgets sometimes how striking he is, sometimes she gets caught up in the image that he wants people to see. The scoundrel. The cheat. The liar.
She gazes back at him, her dark eyes locked on his, and she knows that it's a front he's put up for a very long time. Perhaps it's what's drawn them together—they're two people who know what it is to be broken, they know what it is to heal, but they can't seem to figure out how to put down the mask.
But they have each other, and they still have a ways to go. Meetra blinks back the residual ache in her head, leaning into his touch as she asks. "Where are we going?"
He smirks. "Back to Telos."
"Of course we are."
"The Admiral sent us a message, by the way. It sounds like he wants to speak to you again."
She groans. "Of course he does."
"You're awful cute like this, you know."
Meetra narrows her gaze, fixes it on him and his wicked grin, and says, "You're such a charmer."
He winks at her, and it's just a second later that Mical walks into the medbay. Meetra pretends she doesn't notice the way Atton's hand falls from her face as he leans back in his seat, tilting his head to look at Mical. His other hand stays wrapped around hers, but all softness slips from his features. Meetra understands her bond with both men, but she'll always be uncertain about their relationship with each other.
"It's good that you're still awake," Mical says as a greeting. Considering all that they've been through, he looks fairly normal. The only thing that gives him away is the exhaustion in his clear blue eyes. "How do you feel?"
"Alive," she answers. "Which is better than the alternative, I suppose."
"Anything's better than that," she hears Atton say under his breath, and when she looks at him he gives her a small, close lipped smile. "I should head to the cockpit, we'll be landing in a couple hours and I, for one, still don't trust TSF."
Meetra nods, but before he leaves, he leans over her and places a kiss against her forehead, a smile lingering on his lips as he pulls back. Mical takes his seat a moment after he's gone, and his blonde hair falls forward over his face while he reads the datapad in his hands.
"Your vitals look good," he says.
"I've got a good doctor."
He glances up once before he does so again, and this time his eyes stay on her. Mical is a warmth that she's grateful for. She always thought it was fitting that they found him on Dantooine—he radiates the same peace as the plains, as the hazy lines of purple clouds on the horizon.
He lowers the datapad to his lap and, as always, sees straight through to her heart. "I know that couldn't have been easy for you."
"No," she confirms, and though she'd rather leave the image behind, she can't help but think of Kreia in those last moments. She never felt especially close to the woman, doesn't think she could've considering who they both are, but there was a respect there. There was guidance, even if it couldn't always be trusted. "No, not at all, but I'm curious what life will look like without her in it."
"The bond's been broken," he says quietly. "Do you know how?"
She shakes her head but the lingering pain is enough to make her wince. "You can always count on Kreia for a good mystery to solve."
Mical cracks a smile. "Now that it's done, hopefully there will be plenty of time to solve it."
"Hopefully," she repeats, "but I get the feeling that won't be the case."
"What do you mean?"
She sighs. "There were things that Kreia said..."
It doesn't take him long to catch on. "Revan."
...the true war is not against the Republic. It waits for us, beyond the Outer Rim. And she has gone to fight it, in her way.
"I don't know if I can ignore it," she says.
He watches her for a long moment, and she can feel the tug on their bond. It's just a shift, just the slightest feeling but it's there, and it helps him stumble onto the truth. "You want to ignore it."
Meetra just shakes her head. "What I want has never really mattered when it comes to Revan."
It's not something they talk about, but it's not something she hides. Their fallout is public knowledge—their bad ending: the moment that she looked at Revan and Malak and said she wouldn't follow them to whatever hell they were heading for.
But her words are sharp and sit uncomfortably in the medbay. Mical glances away for a moment before asking, "What did Kreia say?"
And, like you, she knew she must leave all loves behind as well, no matter how deeply one cares for them.
"Not much," she answers, and isn't that like Kreia? She gave her wisdom as a parting gift but it wasn't enough. She always says so much but it narrows down to the smallest portion. Why must the lesson always be taught through the riddle? She sighs. "No doubt things will become clearer once we get to Telos."
"I'm sure," Mical murmurs, but he doesn't look satisfied. She feels that pull on their bond again, but this time he just lets out a long breath, turning his attention down to the datapad for a moment before looking up at her again. "You should get some rest in the meantime."
Meetra nods; she knows he's right. "Thank you, for everything."
"Of course," he says, and he smiles warmly at her before getting up. Pausing in the doorway, he turns to regard her. "You should be proud, you know. What you've done is no small thing."
He doesn't give her the chance to answer, he walks out of the room shortly after saying it, leaving Meetra with some nameless emotion creeping up her throat. It's something she hasn't felt in a long, long time.
There was always the shame for what she'd done, who she did it for, and how long it took her to let it go. This whole journey's brought her more healing than she could've expected, but it's not easy to look back at her actions and feel anything close to pride. She was never meant to be the hero, still doesn't feel like she is, but Mical's words hold some thread of truth.
She lets the thought carry on until she begins to drift off again, falling into dreams of city towers.
—
Mical's the one to wake her up when they land, but Atton comes by just a moment later. The two of them help her up, and while her first few steps are unsteady, she's able to walk without their support by the time they make it to the garage.
Taking a breath, she looks up to see the rest of her crew gathered at the top of the loading ramp. They look to her, and she feels a different emotion well up inside of her as she regards them. Bao-Dur, Canderous, Visas, and Mira. Her crew. Her friends. T3 beeps behind her and she looks back to see HK waiting there as well.
She wouldn't be here without any of them.
"Hey," she says, and feels the corners of her lips rise. "I don't know what happens next, but I'm so grateful for each and every one of you."
After everything they've been through, everything that's happened these past months, to look into the eyes of these people she's grown so close to and know that they made it, to see the echo of relief in all of them, to feel the Force humming between them—it's enough to give her the strength to keep going.
It's Mira who rolls her eyes. "Okay, you sap. Let's get moving, I heard they're giving us our own rooms and I really want to sleep in an actual bed, for once."
—
TSF meets them in the hangar. Lieutenant Grenn personally leads the team, helping them unload the Hawk and offering to show them to the block of apartments that have been reserved for them. Everyone tiredly goes along with it, slinging bags over their shoulders and following behind.
Meetra lingers, though, once she catches sight of Admiral Onasi waiting opposite of the ship. His red uniform stands out among all the grey durasteel, a bright spot against the dullness of the station. He's too far away to catch his expression, but she knows what he wants.
"You coming?" she hears Atton ask, and she turns her attention to him. The rest of the group has moved on but he stands only a few steps ahead of her, with his brow raised and his sleeves rolled up. Meetra glances at Onasi again and she knows Atton follows her gaze.
"I should speak to him first," she answers. "Go on, I'll catch up."
She senses his hesitance, but he nods absently. "Ditching me already, sweets?"
"Trying to," she says, and meets his grin. "Nothing works, though, I can't seem to get rid of you."
He just rolls his eyes. "You could blow him off, you know. I'll write the doctor's note and everything. Anyone can see that you're injured, he'll understand."
"I think I'll be okay."
"All I'm saying is that it wouldn't hurt to wait. A shower and a good night's sleep would put you right."
The smile doesn't leave Meetra's face as she draws closer. "Atton Rand, are you worried about me?"
He's lulled in, drawn to her like he can't help it. He glances down at her lips and Meetra smirks as one of his hands settles on her waist and he asks, "Now why would I do a thing like that?"
"You're worried about me," she says with some measure of satisfaction, and leans up to kiss him. "I promise I'm fine."
He levels her with a look, like he's trying to figure her out, but he seems to accept that there's nothing he can say to make her put this off. Meetra Surik is a stubborn creature, and Atton's been around long enough to figure that out. He takes a step back. "Come find me later?"
Meetra hums. "You've got it."
He takes another step back. "And tell Onasi he can answer to me if he tries to bring your mood down."
"Yeah, yeah," she says, but grins as she backs away as well, this time in the direction of the Admiral who continues to wait across the hangar. Meetra's injuries still feel stiff and agitated, and once Atton's eyes aren't on her, she allows her shoulders to drop, wincing at the way her body aches.
She didn't think there was anything more to discuss between her and Onasi, but apparently something's changed. She can feel it in him—the anticipation, the renewed flame of hope. He's always worn his feelings just under the surface, where they could be reached if one tried hard enough, but this—this is as obvious as the color of his uniform.
"Master Surik," he says as she approaches, and his voice carries that same gravelly, rough edge to it. "I can't thank you enough for what you've done. I think we both know that the outcome would've been different if you weren't here—I still owe you one."
She huffs out an awkward laugh. "Considering I'm the reason it happened in the first place, I'm not sure how grateful you should be."
Admiral Onasi has such a sad smile, she thinks as she watches him. His lips press together in a way that could be happy, if you squint. There's such a warmth to him, all brown eyes and dark hair, his beard a little fuller than the last time she saw him. The distance in his gaze is exactly the same, and she wonders if this, too, is evidence of what Revan's done.
She left without warning, he'd said at their last meeting. None of us could wrap our minds around it. It just didn't make sense, for her to leave all of this behind.
"Regardless," he says now. "We're happy to have you."
She offers him a grin of her own, wondering if he sees a different kind of sadness in hers. "You wanted to talk?"
"Yes," he confirms, and nods to his right where they fall into step together. They walk down a corrido lined with the same dull colors of the station, and their footsteps make quiet noises below them. "I thought I made my peace with...the situation, but there's been a development."
"What happened?" Meetra asks.
He presses his lips together and keeps his head forward. "Look, I've never claimed to know much about the Force, but I can tell when something's up. There's someone who needs to see you, but it might be better to let them explain."
She has to hold back from asking who it is as they approach the door to his office, but she can't help the unease that sinks into her stomach. Thoughts rush through her mind, cycling through everyone from her past that could potentially show up behind that door as her hands curl into fists. She keeps them at her sides as the Admiral goes ahead of her, scanning his ID to enter the room.
It looks the same as it did the last time she was here: mostly empty except for the photographs on his desk—people she doesn't recognize—and awards that he's accumulated over the years displayed behind it. The only difference this time is the woman who stands at the window with her back to them. There's the obvious outline of Jedi robes, and her hair is long and pulled into twin braids that trace down her back.
Something about her is painfully familiar.
It's only a moment before the woman turns, and Meetra's lips fall into a helpless, sad smile as she takes in Bastila Shan's blue, blue eyes.
"I'm guessing we're not here to discuss the restoration project," Meetra says, but it falls flat. The room stays quiet as Bastila steps towards her.
Meetra knows her more from the news than any time that they've spent together. Bastila's the Jedi that was meant to save them from Revan—she was going to single-handedly stop the war. Meetra always thought that was too much pressure for any Jedi, especially as young as she is, but seeing her now, she can't deny the way the Force manifests itself in the woman before her. It's blinding—clear, strong, and capable.
Meetra's comforted by it as much as she's wary of it, but she extends her hand. "It's been some time."
"It has," Bastila confirms, and returns the gesture. The last time they saw each other was before she left for the war, and Bastila must've been only fifteen or sixteen years old, already touted as the next prodigy. Her reputation was undeniable and her devotion to the Council even moreso, and so the story goes—Malak couldn't convince her to join them, and Meetra hasn't seen her since that false image in the cave.
"I haven't told her anything," Carth explains as he takes a seat at his desk. He watches Bastila with a sense of familiarity and right—they've known each other for years at this point. "I figured it'd sound better coming from you."
"Yes, well," Bastila pauses, and those blue eyes pin Meetra in place. "I suppose we should get right to it. Forgive me, I wouldn't interfere at all if it wasn't for the vision I've had. It seems the Force is at work in you, and I feel as though you should have all the information if you're going to follow its lead."
Meetra has many questions for Bastila, like where have you been?, or why didn't you come sooner?, but what she actually asks is, "What was your vision of?"
Bastila just raises a brow. "You."
"Me?"
"And Revan," Bastila continues. "It was of the two of you, and she was in danger."
Meetra suppresses a sigh, knowing that the inevitable is coming, knowing that her opinion might not matter anymore. "You think I'm the one who can find her."
"I do," she confirms. "We've been searching for years, and it's been empty until now. Until you."
"I—" don't want to, she almost says, but it wouldn't help the situation. Her eyes look to Carth but there's still that sense of hope in him and she doesn't think that helps, either. She lifts a shoulder. "I wouldn't know where to begin. You're not the first—I know what I'm supposed to do, but I don't know where Revan is. I couldn't even guess."
Carth and Bastila share a look, and Meetra frowns at the two of them. Something instantly changes as they communicate without words—some silent rhythm, going back and forth with just their shifting expressions. It passes between them for a long moment, until Carth sighs and says to Bastila, "She's the only one from before. He'll talk to her."
"You're sure?"
Carth just nods, and Meetra feels something in her chest twist as the young woman turns to her. The room feels heavier than it did before, darker despite the industrial lights, and Meetra almost doesn't ask. She watches them wrestle with whatever they're uncertain of, and Meetra honestly doesn't think she wants to know.
But still she asks, "What's going on?"
Bastila takes a breath, sparing one more look at Carth before centering her attention on her. "There's someone who might have an answer for you—who might be able to help. He's...distanced himself from us, but we have reason to believe he might speak to you."
Bastila trails off and Meetra's heart pounds, as if somehow she already knows she's not going to like whatever answer they give her. It takes her a moment to find her voice enough to prompt: "Who?"
"Meetra," Bastila starts, and her tone is too soft. It's too gentle and Meetra doesn't understand what they're tiptoeing around, or why Bastila keeps looking at Carth the way she does. She glances at him one more time before she finishes, "Malak's alive."
And the room spins as the words sink in. She'd question whether Bastila said them at all, if it wasn't for the way they repeat relentlessly in her mind. The room spins and Meetra feels it in her head, in her chest, in her stomach. The stark white light of the office blinds her vision like it did in the medbay, and she can't focus on anything, can't breathe.
She can't do this because Malak is supposed to be dead. She'd heard about it and grieved in the only way she could, and that was it. She left it behind, and it's not fair for this to come back to her this way.
She'd left it all behind: Revan, Malak, the Force.
Both Carth and Bastila watch her, their eyes gauging her reaction, but she can only shake her head helplessly. It's a lost motion, and in this moment nothing else exists. There's nothing to say except for the single word that leaves her lips: "How?"
