It's been eight years since Meetra last saw Malak.

Eight years, and it all fell apart so fast. It wasn't much of a fight, in the end. No—there wasn't anything left to fight. Revan had made her choice and Malak was resolved to stay with her until she ruined him. Everything was left broken, empty, and tired. The look in Malak's eyes: broken, empty, tired.

Eight years. It's longer than she ever knew him for. They used to be so young. He was just nineteen—just a kid—and Meetra barely sixteen at the time. She'd always try to finish her lessons early, rush through Coruscant's Enclave, and catch him and Master Kavar before they'd finish sparring. He used to joke around with her, invite her out with his friends, and say, Someday you're gonna put us all to shame, Mee.

Eight years. It's strange to miss someone who's hurt you.

"How?" Meetra asks, and she can feel Carth and Bastila's shared gaze on her, but she focuses on the wide window at the end of the room. Beyond it, the black void of space swallows up the light from the station as ships speed by, and it's comforting in the only way it can be.

"Revan confronted Malak on the Star Forge," Bastila begins, "but instead of killing him, she decided to save his life. She kept him hidden up until the time she left."

Meetra's gaze is still fixed on the window as she murmurs, "Malak's alive."

"He is," Carth confirms, and there's enough sympathy in his voice to catch her attention. "I was with them briefly on Kashyyyk, and I was the one who took them to Coruscant. I should've known something was wrong when she asked me to look out for him, just in case."

But she's still catching up, and that's too far ahead. "Did the Council know?"

"Yes."

"How were they okay with that?"

"He'd changed," Bastila admits, and it doesn't look like an easy thing for her to say. "I know firsthand how terrible he became, but even I recognized the difference in him."

Whatever spark of hope that ignites in Meetra's chest dies quickly under a wave of anger.

"He and Revan—" she starts, but it can't go anywhere. She hasn't had to talk about the two of them in so long. "Where is he now?"

Bastila sighs. "He's on Taanab."

That's where Revan lived before the wars. Meetra almost says this aloud, because it's the only way she can try to understand it. Revan saved Malak. Revan left. Malak lives where she once did. None of it adds up—the pieces don't fit the puzzle, and there's so much that Meetra doesn't know about them anymore.

"Did she remember him?"

It wouldn't make sense if she did, but it wouldn't make sense if she didn't. From what Meetra heard, Revan's broken mind had been replaced with a new identity and new memories, so why would she save a Sith Lord if she didn't remember him? The old Revan would have, the one that Meetra first met on Dantooine all those years ago. Say what you want about her, but their loyalty to each other was never in question—it's what dragged him down with her, after all.

But if Revan remembered him, why would she leave him behind?

"I don't think so," Carth answers, and laughs a short sound to himself. "You know, we had a knack for arguing about it. Up until the end, she hadn't remembered anything, but I don't know if that changed. I don't know if that's why she left."

Bastila adds, "I never sensed her memory return to her. Our bond had frayed, but she still felt like her new self."

Something about that doesn't sit well with Meetra. Her new self. She doesn't know how anyone could just accept that. How could they know who Revan was and let her be anything else? Why couldn't they hold her accountable for what she'd done? They let her go—they always let her go.

"Do you still sense her?"

"No. Not for five years, now."

This isn't right. How is Meetra supposed to show up on Malak's doorstep and say, Remember me? I've never yelled at anyone the way I've yelled at you, but that's fine, where's Revan?

How is she supposed to confront her past when she worked so hard to leave it behind?

She sighs. "It sounds like Revan was just using him. If she left without remembering him and he hasn't gone after her, then he doesn't know where she is."

Their shared gaze lands on her again, and she can feel the questions lingering in the air. It's Bastila who frowns at her, her pale skin easily shadowed by the cold white lights of the station as she asks, "Why do you believe that?"

"Just—given who they are, what their relationship was like," Meetra explains, which isn't much of an explanation. She hates the loyalty that she still feels for them. It was a well kept secret during the war, no one ever spoke about it because Revan didn't want to appear weak, didn't want anyone to know that anything could make her weak. Malak held so much control over her, even if he never realized it. He could've changed so much if he'd only realized how much he meant to her.

It was easier, to see it from the outside. Meetra only found out by accident—she'd walked in on the two of them in the war room, compromised only by their proximity and the guilt in Malak's eyes as Meetra stood in the entrance, brows furrowed.

She only knew as much as they told her—never felt right about asking, anyway. They let their guard down in front of her after that, but Meetra never questioned how long they were lying to everyone.

(Her and Talvon used to gossip about them during their downtime, both of them were somehow simultaneously angry with Revan and Malak but still craved their attention. They'd share a look when the two of them would disappear into the same tent, or when they'd have unspoken conversations in front of everyone. But then Talvon died, and Revan and Malak had each other, and Meetra's always had to deal with it alone).

So yes, even now, even still, it's not something that's said aloud.

All she can do is shake her head. "I don't know if it matters anymore. Even if he knows anything, I don't think Malak would speak to me again. In the end, there was very little trust between us."

"He still might be our only chance," Bastila argues, conviction laced in her voice.

"It has to be worth a try," Carth adds.

Kreia. Carth. Bastila. No one's asked Meetra if it's what she wants to do. They place it before her, tell her it's necessary, and expect her to take action. To them, it doesn't matter if these people hurt her—not if it means saving Revan from whatever danger she got herself into. Not if even slightly concerns Revan.

Meetra's exhaustion hits her all at once, the weight of the past few days falls over her as she tries to come up with an answer. To find Malak. To find Revan. Is this why the Force came back to her? To throw her mercilessly into the past?

"I'll think about it," she settles on, taking in Carth and Bastila's expressions. There's an emptiness in them left behind by Revan's absence, and for a moment Meetra wants to believe them. "We should talk in the morning. I just need some time."

Sympathy passes over Carth's expression. "Of course."

But Bastila just watches her with the same searching gaze, and she doesn't say anything until they're standing at the door.

"The Force is guiding you," she murmurs. "I'm afraid it can't be ignored."

Meetra just presses her lips into a smile that's not quite a smile. She knows this—she's here, isn't she? She won't pretend it's for any other reason.

She says her goodbyes to them as a protocol droid meets her in the corridor. She listens to its mechanical footsteps as it leads her back to the apartments, and her mind is a mess of thoughts that follow her.

Malak's alive, Malak's alive, Malak's alive.

There's nothing to distract her: it's late and the station is quiet, and she can't stop the images that come back to her. Malak in the Enclave's hallway, wide windows shedding light over his porcelain skin. Malak on Dxun, curled in on himself sitting in front of the campfire. She'd laid a hand on his shoulder then, felt the dizzying confusion of the Force in him, and told him they'd make it out okay.

There's the image of Revan on Dantooine, commanding everyone's attention. She never needed words, never needed the mask. It's just who she was, and the thing is, she never looked the part—she could school that sharp gaze into something innocent, could always reign it in when she needed to.

She was always dangerous.

Meetra's mood has darkened by the time she's led back to the block of apartments. They look exactly the same as they did the first time they were here—her, Kreia, and Atton locked up together. So much has happened since then, it feels like she needs to reach back to even find the memory.

Inside it's dark and she leaves it like that. The window lets in enough light to see the shape of Atton, fully dressed, sprawled halfway on the bed like he didn't quite make it. Meetra has to stifle a laugh as she takes in the sight of his booted feet hanging off the edge, his head tipped to the side, and his eyes closed as he takes deep, even breaths.

What am I going to do with you? she thinks to herself as her smile falls. She tugs on her own robes as she thinks about it, thinks about what Kreia said, thinks about the look on Bastila's face. She knows what she needs to do but she looks at Atton, too, and wonders if she has the strength to do it.

Down to just her undershirt and her leggings, she draws closer and unties the laces of his boots. As gently as she can, she attempts to pry them off of his feet, but he stirs after she gets the first one off, tilting his head further into the top blanket before opening his eyes.

"You're back," he mumbles, his voice low with sleep.

She's a little less gentle with the second boot, letting it drop onto the floor. "Did you pass out?"

"Something like that." It takes him a moment to sit up, and he looks at her in the dark with tired eyes. "How'd it go with Onasi?"

Meetra just makes a sound, somewhere between a hum and a groan, and crawls over him on the bed. She settles in even as she feels his gaze locked on her, and pulls up the blankets as much as she can with him sitting on top of them. He's propped up on one elbow, and Meetra huffs. "Come here, please."

"You always ask so nicely," he says, but instead of coming closer, he gets up. The blankets are trapped in her fists, tucked up under her chin as she watches him take his jacket off. Most of his clothes follow, and the light that drifts in from the window touches all over his lean body. He comes back to her, settles in beside her, and in the dark they face each other.

Meetra lets go of the blanket to reach over, pushing his hair aside where it falls over his face. The single touch gives them permission to lean into it, and Atton pulls her closer. She goes willingly, tucking herself against him as she feels his arms wrap around her.

She's too numb to cry, but the weight of her emotion is still present in the room.

"I'm gonna have to have words with Onasi, aren't I?" Atton asks, his mouth against the top of her head.

Meetra allows herself to breathe, pushing her thoughts aside to focus on his touch. She presses her lips to the smooth plane of his chest and closes her eyes. "Not really your style, Ace."

"Well I'd offer to take his credits, but he doesn't strike me as the gambling type."

"I think he'd surprise you."

"That bad?"

"Something like that," she says, because it's easier than talking about it, because talking about it means she'll have to think about it and right now she needs it to go away.

"Do you want me to kick his ass? I mean, he seems pretty important but I'd do it for you."

"Is it wrong that I find that sweet?"

He laughs quietly in the dark. "Hey, there's a reason we ended up together."

"Remind me again why that is?"

"Real funny, Surik." He can't seem to help it, though. He kisses the top of her head and Meetra smiles against his chest.

"I think I am."

"You're something alright," he says. "Are you tired?"

"Very."

"Then come here." He adjusts his arms around her, and this is one of her favorite things about Atton: the way he always moves closer, how he's always somehow louder with his affection.

Meetra closes her eyes but doesn't fall asleep—not at first. Her exhausted body needs it but her thoughts are too alive. She can feel time passing, can feel it when Atton falls asleep. His body relaxes marginally, his breathing becomes steadier, and Meetra lays awake and listens to it. Her mind rushes again and again, but it's easier to manage with the slow inhale, exhale next to her.

She extends her senses, feeling the calm wave of sleep in the surrounding apartments. Tilting her head back, she studies Atton's face in the dark. She doesn't get many of these moments, not with everything going on, but in the quiet, in the peace of his sleep, she watches him and allows herself to draw closer to the truth of her feelings.

He just...looks so sweet like this. She lifts a hand to brush his hair out of his face—it's gotten too long, it nearly reaches his chin—and she watches the fan of his lashes, her gaze sweeping down to the soft curve of his lips. Some part of her still finds it hard to believe that this is becoming something normal between them. She hasn't allowed herself to feel like this before—hasn't allowed herself to get this close to anyone.

It terrifies her.

They don't talk about it, they just let it happen. Neither of them have said I love you, but in moments like these, Meetra comes so close.

Somewhere in her thoughts she must fall asleep, because the next thing she knows she's blinking her eyes open on the other side of the bed. They've drifted apart in the night—Meetra looks over her shoulder to see the outline of Atton's back. He's kicked off the blankets and lays on his stomach, making soft snoring sounds.

She sits up, and the perpetually dark station doesn't lend well to telling time, but a glance at the chrono tells her that it's only five in the morning. Wide awake, she gingerly gets out of bed, careful this time not to wake him.

She steps into the bathroom, flicking on the light and flinching at the sudden change. It takes her mind a long moment to catch up, and when it does her stomach drops as she sees her reflection in the mirror.

She moves towards it, her steps slow as her eyes trace over the yellowing bruises that line the left side of her face. Her eyes look...empty. Lifeless. Her hair is scraggly and hangs down by her shoulders. Her bangs are long enough now that they can be tucked behind her ears, and it's strange that something so small can make her feel so unlike herself.

She tells herself she's fine as she grabs a pair of scissors out of the medical kit. The first few cuts are made with shaking hands, but the steady sound of the scissors, along with losing the dead weight of it, brings her a sense of relief. It gives her something to focus on, allows her to drown out the thoughts that try to rise up. She starts at the bottom of her hair, making a blunt cut just above her chin, then evens it out.

The hair falls to the sink, and by the time she starts on her bangs, she hears Atton stirring in the other room. He enters just a moment later, looking a little bleary-eyed as the white light washes over him and he leans against the doorway. "Do you always cut your own hair?"

Meetra watches his reflection in the mirror, a small smile helpless on her lips. He moves to sit at the edge of the bathtub, resting his chin on his hand as he watches her. She skims the scissors over her brow before answering, "I don't trust anyone else to do it, so yes."

"Why not?"

She smirks. "I figure enough people want to kill me, I shouldn't give them scissors and access to my neck."

"Fair point."

Meetra finishes trimming her bangs, stepping back to assess her work in the mirror. It's not perfect, but she looks more like herself. Her hair has been cut more or less like this since the end of the war, after her exile, when she was on her own for the first time. It's a familiar self, one that she's used to, and it's almost comforting to see it again.

"What do you think?" she asks as she turns to face Atton, leaning back against the sink.

He watches her for a moment, and she likes the way his grey eyes crinkle as he looks her over. There's a warmth in his gaze, and his head tilts to the side before he finally decides on, "Beautiful."

"Charmer," she says, because it's what she always says, because she looks in the mirror and doesn't see what he sees. "How'd you sleep?"

He makes a short sound. "Good? Weird. I had weird dreams. Still better than the cockpit."

She thinks back to all the times she found him asleep in the pilot's chair, all the times he's complained about his stiff neck, and laughs to herself. "I wonder why."

"A real bed and my girl? Yeah, no mystery there."

Oh, her stomach drops at that. "Who are you calling your girl?"

"You know, just this powerful Jedi that I met on Peragus. She's really short. Quite recently cut all her hair off."

"Not all of it," she says, and glances over her shoulder in the mirror. "And you're next, flyboy."

"Me? Why?" he asks, and he raises a brow, automatically running his hand back through his hair.

"Because you need one. It's too long, I'm always pushing it out of your face."

He pouts. "What if I like that?"

"Cute," she says.

He just gives her a long look.

"I promise I'll make you look good," she continues as she grabs a towel. She comes closer and Atton doesn't pull away, so she wraps it around his shoulders. "Look, see? I'll be gentle."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Okay, go ahead," he says, and his shoulder relax in defeat. Meetra wonders if this is a sign of trust—Atton pretends not to care about his appearance but Meetra knows better. He's giving himself over to her and Meetra wouldn't ask for it unless she was certain that she could handle it.

She steps closer. Beginning with the longest parts, she methodically combs his hair out and trims the excess. She starts slow, wanting to creep up on the length instead of hacking it all off like she did with her own.

"So what was it about, then?" he asks. Silence never lasts long between them.

"What?"

"You and Onasi."

Meetra almost sighs but holds it in. She doesn't want to keep it from him, and she knows that she shouldn't keep it from him—knows that she probably couldn't, in the long run—but she doesn't know what to say. She doesn't want to repeat the words that were spoken to her in that office.

Taking a breath, she makes sure her hands are still steady as she moves to the sides of his hair. His shoulder presses against her stomach and she forgot about this, what it's like to touch someone so casually.

"He had more information about Revan," she finally answers, which is the truth. Her words sound careful because she's trying to be careful, and even if it wasn't for their bond, he'd probably still be able to read between the lines.

"Does he know where she is?" he asks, just as carefully.

"No," she says. "Not quite. He thinks he knows of a way to find her, but I'm not sure about it. I'm meeting with him again this morning."

The sound of her clipping his hair fills the space between them for a long moment, but then: "Meetra?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you going after her?"

"I don't know," she says, which is still the truth. It's one thing to know that you have to confront the past, it's another to actually do it.

His hand reaches up to wrap around her wrist, and she pauses, meeting his gaze as he says her name again. "Meetra."

"I don't want to," she says. "Believe me, it's the last thing I want to do."

"Yeah?" He turns her wrist over in his hand. The scissors are just inches from his face as he kisses the delicate skin there, and her heart sinks into her chest.

All this time and she still finds their bond remarkable. It was just a whisper at the start, just like the Force coming back to her. The bond is what keeps them together, pulls them apart, leaves them open and exposed even when they don't want to be. Atton doesn't play pazaak in his head as much these days, so she can feel the fear that he carries.

She thinks of Kreia's words, you must leave all loves behind, and wonders how much he has to be afraid of.

She thinks of herself, what happened in the past and what it means to confront that, and wonders how much she has to be afraid of.

She finishes cutting his hair. There isn't much left to do—she meant it when she said just a trim, but it already looks a lot lighter and the length won't get in his face as much as it did before. Atton stares tiredly at the white tiled floor in front of him and Meetra doesn't want this to hang between them, but she doesn't know what to say.

She steps back to assess her work, and Atton tips his head up, meeting her gaze. In some silent agreement, they move on.

"Are you done?" he asks.

"I think so."

"How does it look?"

Meetra smiles, running her hands through it. It looks close to what it was when she first met him all those months ago. "I'd say you look gorgeous, baby."

Atton laughs. "Oh it's baby, now, is it?"

"Mhmm."

"I like that," he admits, and Meetra loves it when he shows this softer side of him. There's a shy smile on his lips that she wants to kiss. She looks at him and maybe she does love him and that scares her, but he looks at her with such vulnerability and she thinks she owes him the same.

"When do you meet with Onasi again?"

"In a few hours."

"Perfect," he murmurs. "You're supposed to wash your hair after you cut it, right? Since we're both here, we might as well save on some time..."

And Meetra laughs, rolling her eyes, but she leans over him and turns the shower on. He watches her, and there's a different weight to his gaze as he pulls her into his lap. The spray of the water doesn't quite reach them but it might as well, and this isn't new but it is. To feel this and not hold back—Meetra has never allowed herself to fully let go, but Atton meets her there and it's enough.

This, at least, feels like it could be enough.

"I've been training them," she says to Bastila later. "Five of my companions. They're strong in the Force but they need to refine it. There's still a lot of things left for them to learn."

Bastila just looks at her with curiosity in her eyes, and beside her Carth watches in open confusion.

"If I go," she continues, her voice tight. "Will you take them to Dantooine?"

Bastila nods. "Of course."

Meetra breathes out. "If Malak doesn't know anything, I'm done. I'll meet you there and you can get someone else to find Revan."

"But if he does?"

"Then I'll do it," she says, with a tight voice in a cold office on a cold planet, promising something she'll never be certain of. She looks Carth and Bastila in the eyes and says, "I'll find her."