Meetra's thoughts often drift back to that confrontation with Visas on the Ebon Hawk. It was the first red lightsaber she'd seen in years, and the fight nearly broke her, but it was the four words her friend spoke that have never left her alone:
My life for yours.
Meetra was just a girl when she went to war. Meetra—full of life, full of promise—watched the brutality the Mandalorians unleashed on the galaxy, and felt herself protest at the injustice of it. She listened to the reports, spent every morning reading updates, and she waited for the Council to act.
They all thought it would be Master Kavar to lead them to war, but Revan was the only one who asked her to move.
Or rather—it wasn't Revan, it was Malak who invited her out to talk. They went to their favorite cantina—Meetra could still, to this day, trace the steps there from the Enclave—and they sat close together at a table in the back. It was her turn to buy drinks, and she remembers standing at the bar, looking over her shoulder at him. He picked nervously at the table, looking smaller than his large frame would suggest, and she smiled to herself with a rush of fondness that she'd feel, perhaps, for the last time.
"She's leaving," he said later that night, his hand tight around his glass, and in her memory she always found it funny that in that moment, he separated himself from Revan.
But even then, Meetra knew better. "You're going with her."
He lifted his gaze from where it was fixed on the table, and despite the dim light of the cantina his eyes still shone. "It's the right thing to do."
"What did the Council say?"
He gave her a look, one that said you know better, and asked instead, "What do you say?"
And how he always turned it around, made her feel like she had some importance in the situation. She wishes she knew then how much she needed her opinion to matter, and how easily Revan and Malak used that against her.
"Are you asking me to come with you?"
Nineteen. She was just nineteen years old.
"Would you say yes?"
It was such a dangerous question—it still is, even now. How do you ask someone to walk away from everything they've ever known? Away from what defines them?
But Meetra just nodded, her heart racing as her hands curled into fists to keep from shaking. She looked into those blue eyes, and agreed to something much bigger than she could've imagined then.
When it comes down to it, her and Malak aren't that different. That night they made plans to leave the Jedi for a cause they both believed in, but it didn't take long for both of them to lose sight of what that was. They both lived and suffered during the war; both of them became something else entirely.
Both of them stood by Revan, and what they really said was, My life for yours.
—
Only—somehow they both survived.
—
"What was she like?" Meetra asks Bastila. The two of them left Carth's office together, and now they continue to walk side by side through the station. It's busier in the early afternoon, with people rushing through the corridors—travelers and droids and workers repairing the damage that was done just a few short days ago.
Meetra tries not to think about the role she played in that.
Beside her, Bastila asks, "Who, Revan?"
"Yeah."
She makes a short sound as she seems to think about it. "She was...quiet. It was obvious that leadership came naturally to her, but she held herself back. She spent a lot of time meditating—or just thinking, I suppose. There were many good moments, and many parts of her I hadn't expected."
"Like what?" Meetra asks, keeping her gaze locked on the patterned floor beneath their feet. She steps carefully between lines, letting herself get distracted by it. It helps.
"She'd make jokes, or she'd tease me—which I deserved," Bastila says with a short laugh. "I didn't see it that way at the time. She made me realize a lot of things about myself, but I don't know if that was intentional. She just...had a way with people. Our friend Mission was only fourteen years old at the time, and Revan was fiercely protective of her. There were moments where even I couldn't believe that she was the Sith Lord she once was."
Sounds nice, Meetra thinks in her head. She doesn't believe it, of course, but there's no reason to tell Bastila that, who continues, "It's how I imagine how she might've been before the war."
Meetra frowns. "I thought you'd met her before."
"Only from a distance."
And there's nothing Meetra can say to that. It's a habit now, something she had to learn the hard way, not to say anything against Revan to someone who praises her.
"I should warn you about Dantooine," Meetra says, shifting the conversation, shifting her posture as she tries to move on. "It's rebuilt, but it's not what it once was."
"No, I don't imagine it is." They walk in silence for a second before she asks, "How bad is it?"
Meetra shakes her head. "There are many ghosts there."
Three more, now: Kavar, Ell, and Vrook. It's been mere days since Kreia killed them, but it still feels like it happened from a distance. Truthfully, she hasn't gone near the memory since the moment she left the Enclave. How can she? She'd gone to see them with honest hope, but they've never known what to do with her. They let her go and they took her back, and each time they told her what a monster she's been. They prepared to take the Force away from her, once and for all, and the worst part is that they would have succeeded if it hadn't been for Kreia.
And how much more confusing did that make everything? A hero, a villain—in the end, she was just like Revan.
It's not something that can be understood.
"I haven't been back since it was bombed," Bastila says, her voice very quiet.
And Meetra can't breathe. "It was Malak, right? The one who destroyed it?"
Bastila nods.
It doesn't make her want to see him any more than she did before. She doesn't know how to confront the man who made a mockery of who he used to be, the one who destroyed what he once loved.
"What's he like, then?" Meetra asks, because if she continues that line of thought, she'll talk herself out of going entirely. "Malak—you said he's changed."
They turn down a darker corridor, where the lights sink low and the wide, wide windows replace durasteel walls. Bastila gestures to a bench where they sit down, and both of them look out into the expanse of space, quiet for a long time until Bastila says, "Truthfully, I wasn't sure about him. Not at first. He...turned me to the dark side, and I was afraid of what influence he might still hold over me."
When she doesn't say anything else, Meetra shifts her gaze over to Bastila, watching the shadows slip over her profile. "That's understandable."
"I let them go to Kashyyyk—I went back to the Council—and then I didn't see him again until after Revan left. He was under house arrest at the Enclave, just until the Council could figure out what to do with him. He was angry but resigned, and I can't blame him for that. I started visiting daily, and at first he wouldn't talk, but eventually he began to open up."
"About what?"
Bastila lifts her shoulder, finally glancing at Meetra. "Life, I suppose. He had a lot of regrets, a lot of things he said he wished he'd done differently. I could tell that he missed Revan, but he wouldn't talk about her. He claimed he didn't know where she went. I'm not sure I believe him."
But— "What would he gain from not telling anyone?"
"I've asked myself the same question these past five years," Bastila says. "Perhaps he thinks he's protecting her."
That's not good enough, that doesn't sound right, but Meetra supposes she'll find out for herself soon enough, won't she?
Bastila clears her throat. "There's something else you should know. In the aftermath of the Star Forge, he lost his connection to the Force."
Meetra can't help but press her lips together. "Well, isn't that something."
"I know this must be hard for you, but surely you can see why we believe you're the only one he'd speak to."
Meetra just turns her he head away. "How did he end up on Taanab?"
"We all knew there was nowhere else for him to go. We couldn't keep him at the Enclave forever, and he was too recognizable to stay on Coruscant. It was a few years ago, right when things truly began to fall apart, that he requested to relocate to Taanab. We said yes."
"Just like that?"
"What else could we do?" Bastila asks. "He was no longer considered a threat, and he had a safe place to go, so we let him."
"Have you heard from him since?"
"Only after Katarr."
Meetra looks over to see something different pass over Bastila's face. She's been out of touch for too long—there is pain here that she cannot understand. "So what makes you think he knows where Revan is?"
"Because if not him, then who?" Bastila answers. "I can't let myself believe that Revan's out there without a single trail to follow. When I search my feelings, I know there's a way to find her."
"Right," Meetra says, and turns her attention back to the window. Beyond it, her eyes trace over the stars that sit close together, tiny point of light that, if you squint, blur into one. When she searches her own feelings, there's nothing there regarding Revan.
Maybe her and Bastila are just on opposite sides of wanting to find her.
"I should talk to my friends," she says. "They deserve to know what's going on."
"Will you tell them the truth?"
Meetra lifts a shoulder. "You shared a bond with Revan, how easy was it to lie to her?"
"It was difficult," Bastila answers. "Necessary, but difficult."
And maybe this is necessary enough—Meetra knows she doesn't want to go into it, but how could she keep such a thing from them? She's already kept enough from Atton, who's earnestly asked her for the truth.
"Who do you have a bond with?" Bastila asks.
Meetra fights off a smile. "Um. All of them?"
"Five bonds?" Her voice goes up the slightest in pitch, but settles as she says, "That is...most unusual."
"Yeah, tell me about it."
"I have a ship waiting in Hangar J14, they can meet me there when they're ready. You have my holofrequency, right?"
"Yes," Meetra confirms. "I'll be in touch."
They both stand, and while there isn't a closeness between them, Meetra can feel some thread of understanding. They share a look, one that answers what's left unsaid, and Bastila parts with, "May the Force be with you."
—
Meetra makes her way back to the apartment, finds it empty, and takes a moment to sit on the end of the bed. She hasn't stopped in so long, even during her exile, and she's about pick up and start again. There's nothing to pack because nothing was unpacked, and the apartment looks the same as it did this morning but it feels different now.
She's been alone before. She can do this.
Her gaze turns empty and blurs at the edges as she stares at the floor, and it takes her a long moment to message Atton to find out where he is.
He sends her the name of a cafe that's around the corner, and Meetra lets herself breathe and breathe and breathe, then she forces herself to get up and go find him. She moves like a dream, like nothing is real, because nothing has felt real in some time. Maybe after Onderon was the last of it, partying with the Mandalorians on Dxun, drinking by the fire, kissing Atton in the woods. It was before Dantooine, before Atris and the Ravager and returning to Malachor V.
Meetra knows she hasn't given herself the chance to get over it, but she's always moved on without looking back.
She lets her thoughts unravel as she finds her way to the right cafe. She lingers in the entrance, and her eyes land on Atton sitting at a table in the back. His shorter hair still flops over his eyes as he sips at a cup of coffee, and she can't help but feel amused by it.
It takes a moment, but he catches her watching him, and the corners of his lips twitch into a small smile. The warmth of affection nearly makes her forget everything else entirely.
Meetra maneuvers through the cafe to sit down across from him, and Atton slides the pastry that was in front of him over to her, saying, "You have to try this."
Sometimes it feels like conversations never start or end with Atton, they always just pick up somewhere in the middle. Meetra raises a brow at him but tears off a piece. The pastry is coated in icing, still warm, and tastes of cinnamon. She closes her eyes for a half-moment as she takes in the flavor—a little too sweet but still very, very good.
"Stars, I feel like I haven't eaten anything in ages."
"Because you haven't," Atton says. "Unless you count that ration bar you crammed in your mouth on the way to Malachor."
Meetra grimaces at the memory. "I'd be all too happy if I never had to eat another one again."
"I think that can be arranged," he says, and grins. "You look good."
"Do I?" she asks, genuinely. After her conversation with Carth and Bastila she feels wrung out, so she imagines her appearance must reflect that. "I feel like I could sleep for a year."
"But then who would the galaxy turn to for all its problems?" Atton asks, and Meetra just rolls her eyes. "We gotta get out of here before someone else needs your help."
A little too late for that. Bitterness threatens to creep up her throat, so she swallows it back. "What do you think I've been training you guys for? I need a break."
"Exactly. I was thinking Boranda first, we could hit the beach for a while before heading back to Narsh. Lay low for a bit, spend all our creds; it'll be a good time."
"You've got this all figured out, hm?" She presses her lips together for a moment, then adds, "We should talk about it."
He raises a brow. Glances away. "Can't we put it off just a little longer?"
"I wish we could," she answers, and she can't tell him how much she means that. "Do you know where the others are?"
"Bao's working on a new remote, I think. No idea where Visas and Mira are. I talked to Mical for about thirty seconds before I realized that I don't have to anymore, so he's MIA as well."
"Glad I have you on top of things," she says as she picks off another piece of the pastry. "And be nice."
"I can be nice," Atton defends.
"Yeah, to me."
"Well who else is there?" he asks, and there's still a touch of a grin on his face. "Speaking of: did you want a coffee or something?"
"I'm all set," she says. "I'm serious though, we need to talk."
He leans back in his seat. "Fine. How bad is it?"
"What?" she asks, caught off guard.
"Oh come on, it's all over you. I saw it the second you came in here. Considering the fact that you just met with Onasi, it didn't take long to put two and two together."
"You're smarter than you look, Ace."
"I wouldn't go that far," he says with that signature smirk, but it only takes a second for it to slip off his features. "So what's up?"
She blows out a breath, and her hands idly pick at the pastry still in front of her. "The Admiral asked me to do a favor for him."
"What's the favor?"
"Nothing dangerous."
"Nothing dangerous," he scoffs. "I hate to say it, Sweets, but you have a knack for finding danger."
She thinks of Malak, of what she's heard about Taanab, and the things she would avoid if she was just selfish enough. "Not this time, I don't think."
Atton raises a brow.
"We have a...mutual friend," she continues, wondering how she can sound confident with Atton when she isn't confident in herself. "The Admiral wants me to speak to him, he believes he knows where Revan is."
"So what happens if he does?"
She breathes in, steady, and breathes out a shaken breath. "He doesn't."
Atton's quiet for a moment, and though his energy blurs into something indecipherable, his features soften as he leans back in his seat. His fingers loosely wrap around the mug's handle, and he asks, "How can you be sure?"
"I just—am," she says, but the words are flat and they're not enough. Her eyes glance around the crowded cafe. This isn't the place to talk about it. It just takes the return of her gaze to Atton for him to understand, and he nods before they wordlessly get up and head towards the exit. He walks in front of her, but he reaches back and his open hand finds hers, tangling their fingers together.
And Meetra's not used to this—casual affection, leaving herself open like this. Some part of her will always be waiting for the Council to find her, tell her she's wrong, and punish her. They've done it to her once before, twice now, and at this point she think she could handle it again for Atton's sake.
Perhaps for hers as well.
They walk quietly through the busier section of the station until they turn down an empty corridor. About halfway down, Atton stops and leans back against the wall, and Meetra faces him, her arms crossed in front of her.
She sighs. "It's Malak."
"What about him?" Atton asks, and his eyes narrow in confusion.
"He's alive," she says in a rush, needing to just get the words out there and be done with them. "He's been living on Taanab since the end of the war, and the Admiral asked me to go see him."
She watches for a reaction, but there's nothing there. Atton's eyes stay on hers and he blinks and blinks but nothing else gives him away until he asks, "Malak's alive?"
It's the same question she'd asked yesterday.
She nods.
"Kriff." He turns his head away, and this time she feels some anger ebbing between them. She understands it, of course she understands it, but it doesn't make it any easier to bear. "How did that happen?"
Meetra explains it to him the best she can. That Revan saved Malak's life, hid him away, and gave him back over to the Republic when she left. That they didn't know what to do with him, they let him leave, and now she's the only one left to talk to him.
"And she didn't remember him?" he asks.
Meetra shakes her head. "I don't think so."
"But you're sure that he doesn't know where she went."
"You knew them, right?" she asks. They've talked about it but they haven't talked about it, and she knows that Atton has his own story with them, but it's as buried as the rest of his past. His gaze lowers and for the first time, Meetra wants to ask what it was like for him, but what comes out instead is, "You must've witnessed their...relationship."
"Yeah," he says as his gaze returns to hers, and his brows dip down. "Probably not the same way you did."
"But you know they were together, right?"
"Is that what that was?"
"All I'm saying is," she starts, and takes a breath. "If Malak really has changed, if he's anything like who he was before the war, and if he has any inkling of where Revan went, then there's no chance that he'd keep that to himself, let alone stick around for five years without her."
For all the damage their relationship did, at least it made them predictable.
"I guess," Atton says.
"If I left and you knew where I was going, would you come after me?"
"You are leaving," Atton says. "And I know where you're going."
"Okay, not my best example," she says, exhaling around something of a smile. "But it's Revan and Malak, you know? They don't stay apart."
Atton presses his lips together, his shoulders relax, and his eyes are still fixed sharply on hers. "I get that, but why do you have to go alone?"
"I just—" How does she say this? "I don't want to be who I was then. Not now. Not in front of you."
His expression softens at that. "That bad, huh?"
"Would you want to bring me home to Alderaan?"
It's a cheap shot but he takes it in stride. "What, and listen to Pops tell you about how his good for nothing son died a war hero? Sounds like a great time to me."
"That's not funny."
"It's a little funny," he says with a wry smile, but it falls and he sighs. "Come on, who's gonna watch your back, Surik?"
"I'll take T3 with me."
"Blasted droid gets all the fun."
"Oh yeah, I'm sure it'll be a party," she says, turning her head back towards the main corridor. All kinds of people pass in a stuttered motion, unaware of her and Atton at the end of this hall. She blinks at them for a moment before turning back to him. "Come on, we should go talk to the others."
—
They gather in Atton and Meetra's apartment, and Meetra stands near the foot of the bed, facing Mical, Visas, Bao-Dur, Mira, and Atton as she explains the situation to them.
She doesn't mention Malak, doesn't say anything about Revan, but she tells them that she's doing a favor for the Admiral, and that she'll meet them on Dantooine as soon as she's done. They accept it better than Atton did, but she wasn't expecting them not to.
Mical is the only one who shoots her a concerned look, but it gives way to the interest that passes over him when she mentions that Bastila will be the one to accompany them. Surprisingly enough, Visas perks up at that as well.
Meetra's eyes stay away from Atton, who stands at the back of the group with his arms crossed as he leans against the wall. Their bond feels distant, closed off, but she doesn't blame him for that. How could she? They're in a situation that neither of them have been in before, and it isn't any easier to navigate than the previous eight months.
"I think Dantooine would be our wisest course," Visas offers. "It's familiar ground to us all, and I sense that there is still much to learn from that place."
"Yeah, what she said," Mira adds.
But Bao shifts in his seat, his eyes dropping to the table before lifting to Meetra again. His skin glows cold blue with the whirring light of his arm, and it ghosts over the small smile that finds his lips. "I'm afraid I won't be joining you—not right away, at least."
"Is everything alright?"
He smiles. "Perfectly fine. I'm following your example, General. After Malachor, I feel that it's finally time I return to Iridonia. As soon as I'm finished, I will meet you on Dantooine as well."
"Of course," Meetra says, and allows herself to meet his smile. She looks between them all, and feels that same swell of pride she'd felt on the Hawk. They've all been broken, beaten down, and pulled apart, but somehow they all found each other, and the bond will carry on even when she's far away from them.
"I'll see you all soon, then," she continues, ignoring the ache that settles in her stomach. She walks them to the door, but Mical hesitates behind the rest.
"Be careful," he murmurs, and as she looks up into those blue eyes, a strand of long blonde hair falls loose from where he tucked it behind his ear. "I will not ask you what your task is, but I sense it is greater than it appears."
And the weight that sits in her stomach only feels heavier. "Thank you."
Mical doesn't say anything, but he doesn't move, either. She senses the conflict in him, and raises a hand to squeeze his.
"I trust you," she says. "Please look out for them, they'll need you."
"Not as much as we all need you," he returns.
Meetra just presses her lips together, and lets go. "Then I'll be sure to come back as quickly as I can."
He nods, and though it takes a long moment, he turns to go. Meetra watches his retreating form as he jogs to catch up with the others. Mira looks to him and gives him a small punch in the shoulder, and she can see the smile that turns up one corner of his lips as he looks back at her.
They'll be okay without her.
The door closes and she turns back to the apartment, to Atton who's taken a seat at the end of the bed. He looks up at the sound of her coming closer, and there isn't anything harsh on his features, but the tension is palpable in the room.
Still, he reaches his arm out and Meetra steps into it. He pulls her to him and she pulls him to her. It's much like this morning, with him sitting in front of her and her leaning down to kiss his cheeks, his jaw, his lips.
"This better not be goodbye," he mumbles, and Meetra thinks about Revan. They all know she left without saying goodbye—that one day she was on Coruscant and the next she was gone.
Five years. Meetra wants to believe that she wouldn't do that to them.
"You gonna miss me?" she asks.
"Believe it or not I can make it a few days without you," he answers. "I've done it before."
She thinks back to Dxun, when he stayed behind to work on the ship. Between the ghosts of the past, the Mandalorians, and his absence, she'd been fully distracted. "The first time doesn't count."
"And why not?"
"Because I hadn't kissed you yet," she says against his skin. Her hands rest at the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing over the ends of his hair.
She feels his smile as he says, "Then the second time definitely counts."
"I suppose." She actually tries not to think about Onderon, being separated from Atton, confronting Kavar again. All the fear, stress, and worry is still alive, still there, and even if he says he didn't miss her, she missed him and it's not a good feeling.
Atton literally pulls her out of her thoughts as he drags her back onto the bed with him. They lay against the flat of it, side by side, and Meetra tucks her arm under her head as she watches him.
"I don't know how to feel about this," she says, and to clarify: "I never imagined that I'd speak to Malak again."
Because he was dead. He was dead and Meetra's heart sank when she heard the news. Sitting in a run down cantina on some backwater planet, her eyes fixed on the holovision in the corner. It was small and the image kept blinking out, but the news was still the same: Darth Malak had been defeated at the hands of Revan.
The ache of losing him was met only by the relief that passed over her.
"What do you think he'll say?" Atton asks.
She takes a long breath as she lets herself think about it. "I don't know. It ended badly enough that I have to wonder if he'll be angry when he sees me."
Atton's quiet for a moment, but then, "Are you angry?"
And she has to grin—something old, something defeated. "Yeah, I think I am."
His gaze drops to the bed cover beneath them, allowing a rare moment of silence to pass as they stay there together, stay close to each other. She doesn't know what's going on in his mind, won't allow herself to go there. She knows what he was and he knows what he was, and if there was ever a time to run, to pick up and get away because everything is uncertain—
Why wouldn't it be now?
"I should go," she murmurs after a while.
"No," he mumbles back, and moves forward until he's fully tucked into her space. "You really shouldn't."
Her arm automatically reaches around him, resting her hand at the base of his neck. She leans down to press her lips to the top of his head, and she doesn't know what to say. Her head tells her that it's fine, that everything will go according to plan, and she'll be back with him on Dantooine in just a few days time.
Her heart says something else entirely.
"Will you walk me to the ship?" she asks, and she knows immediately that it's the wrong question. She knows she should leave him here because it only gets harder after this, and it's already taking all her strength to make herself go.
She asks it anyway.
"Yeah," he says, and when he looks up, there's a certain sense of stoicism in his gray eyes. Meetra sweeps a hand down over his cheek, watching the fan of his lashes as he blinks. The light is too bright in the room—it glares over the higher points of his face and leaves the rest in shadow.
She looks at him, and sometimes all it takes is just looking. She looks at him, at the way his eyes watch hers, the way his hair spreads out against the bed; her eyes trace over the fullness of his bottom lip, and she almost smiles at how he pretends not to care about his appearance but keeps his face meticulously clean shaven.
Meetra looks at him, and sometimes all it takes is the looking. She looks at him and she honestly, truly, thinks that she might love him.
"Okay," she says, and looks away. She sits up, feeling a little lightheaded for a moment, and when it clears she feels his weight leave the bed.
The truth is they could probably use some space, but there's no time for space. Meetra cleans up the room, changes her robes, and her and Atton walk out of the apartment together, bags slung over their shoulders.
They walk once again through the corridors of Citadel Station, and all the while they talk about things that are easier than what's in front of them. Facing the past, reliving it...it's not what she asked for but it's what she keeps getting, and if she can put the memories of Revan and Malak behind her, then maybe it'll be done, once and for all.
The Ebon Hawk waits for her, refueled and ready to go. Her stomach tightens at the sight of it, knowing what this means, and she stops herself from reaching for Atton's hand only by the thought of having to let go again.
She hears him take a deep breath as their steps slow to a stop, and when she turns to face him, he pulls her into his arms.
And it's like—what if this is it? What if this is the start to a new journey, and everything she's gone through is just another story to tell? It might not be enough to intend to return if it's not what's in store for her, and she'd like to think that she has a choice, but the very fact that she's leaving at all tells her otherwise.
"Tell me not to go," she murmurs against his shoulder, eyes shut tight against the echoed light of the hangar.
And—because Atton is Atton, he answers, "Don't go."
"Tell me it's a waste of time."
"It's a waste of time," he says, and tightens his grip. "Is this helping?"
"No." She bites down on a defeated grin as she pulls back to look him in the eyes. Her mind draws back to that moment he taught her to use pazaak to guard her thoughts, that one moment that made her think that maybe something could happen here, after all.
You'll be right here with me, playing pazaak, where they can't reach you.
"Trust me, I'd rather stay," she says, and withdraws her gaze for a moment before returning it to him. "But I have to listen to the Force."
He shakes his head. "So it's the Force that's telling you to go alone?"
"No, but—" She sighs. "I promise I'll be fine."
"What if I'm not?" he asks, and for the briefest moment one of his walls slips. It's just a glimpse, just a fraction, but for that second she feels the conflicting emotions that run through him. Fear sits at the forefront of it all, and Meetra frowns.
"What do you mean?" she asks in return, but he shakes his head again.
"Dantooine," he starts. "Just—thinking about meditating with Mira. I don't know if I'll survive it."
"Atton."
"It's okay," he continues, and takes a step back. "Forget I said anything."
And it's always been hard to get him to open up, but right now Meetra can't let it go like he wants her to. She takes the step to close the distance between them and clutches her bag a little tighter in her hand. "I don't want to leave like this."
"Well I don't want you to leave at all," he says back. "And I think you're stupid for going alone, especially when Revan and Malak are involved—two people who have always been bad for you."
She turns her head away. "I know."
"What?"
"You're right," she says, and when she meets his eyes again, there's something different there. Something softer. "It is stupid, but I still need to do it."
"Take me with you," he says. "I promise, we can go to Alderaan straight after. I'm sure a Rand family reunion won't be as bad as Malak, but it's nearly there."
She rolls her eyes. "I think I'd like to meet whoever came up with the idea for you."
"Yeah, that can't be a good thing."
"Guess we'll never know, Ace."
A smile pulls at his lips. "Come on, you need a pilot."
"I need someone who's on my side," she says.
She feels his hand brush against hers before their fingers tangle together, and he moves just a step closer. "Is that a yes?"
Meetra hesitates for a second as she thinks about it, and the truth is she can see it going both ways. In an ideal scenario, she'd go alone, Malak wouldn't be angry with her but he wouldn't have anything for her either, and she could move on and leave it behind.
She also knows that ideal scenarios very rarely happen, and she can't deny that the idea of having Atton by her side is comforting in a way that might be necessary.
"Yeah," she says, and though the word comes out short and uncertain, she means it. "Come on flyboy, we have a past to confront."
—
It takes three days to travel to Taanab.
It's fun, for the most part. Once Meetra tells the others that Atton's coming with her, she tries to put everything else out of her mind. She lets herself forget about Malak, about their destination and whatever that might mean. Her and Atton take advantage of having the ship to themselves, and aside from the strange emptiness of it, it feels relatively normal.
In the last moments of their trip they sit in the cockpit, talking aimlessly while the mostly blue planet looms closer and closer. Meetra lets her eyes unfocus, blurring the shape of it into something undefined. The color shifts into areas of dark and light, like a wave rolling over them, and beside her Atton's telling a story about a Rodian he used to know.
It's harder, looking at Tanaab, to forget that Malak's there. The last time she saw him was on the Leviathan. She hardly remembers it now, the time following Malachor was a sickening haze of events that passed too quickly. She just remembers the open anger between them and the ugly, seething Force that lived within him. The worst of their arguments had already happened, all that was left was goodbye.
"And you're not listening, are you?" she hears Atton say, and she turns to look at him. The side of his face is lined in echoed light from the planet, and there's something sympathetic about his expression.
"Sorry—guess I'm a bit distracted," she says, sitting up from where she was slumped in her seat.
"Starting to feel real yet?"
"Yeah," she answers, her voice hollow. "Is it too late to turn around?"
"Technically no, but we've come this far."
She hums a short sound, turning her gaze towards the planet again, and she can feel her lips curve downwards. They have the coordinates for the town Malak relocated to—the Jedi wouldn't let him leave without knowing exactly where he went—so it's just a matter of landing and asking around.
The problem isn't that Meetra thinks it'll be hard to find him, it's that it'll be easy.
"After everything we've just gone through, you'd think I'd be ready for anything, but...I don't know. Am I really so screwed up that I have to keep confronting the past like this? How much healing does one person need?"
"I don't know," Atton says absently, and Meetra's brow twitches when she realizes he's genuinely considering the question. "It's supposed to be good for you, right?"
"Yeah, so I hear," she replies. "It's exhausting, though."
"You know, you could always try my method."
She raises a brow. "What—change my name and kriff off to Nar Shaddaa? Don't tempt me."
"It doesn't work as well as you'd think," he says, "but the offer is always on the table."
She grins, and for a moment allows herself to imagine her and Atton getting lost in a crowd on Nar Shaddaa. The dark cover of the planet, the neon lights that glow too bright, the anonymity. She's spent too much time living something similar, but the temptation to go back isn't as easy to ignore with Taanab literally sitting right in front of her.
"Do you think he'll remember you?" she asks.
"Probably," Atton answers, and when she looks over at him, he has his pazaak deck in his hands, shuffling through the cards like she's seen him do countless times. "Or maybe not. I don't know if I made that much of an impression on him—we never really spoke or anything."
"What about Revan?"
His hands pause for a short second before continuing. "I'm sure she'd have some words for me. Not any good ones, that's for certain."
"Bastila said she's different now."
"Yeah, well..." he trails off. "The hell does she know."
Meetra can't help the rush of laughter that escapes from her lips, and Atton's own mouth curls into a smile as well. She shakes her head, glancing back at the planet, and says, "This is ridiculous."
"Has anything ever been normal with us?"
"No," she answers. "I don't know why I keep expecting it to be."
"It's okay," he says in a shocking moment of positivity. "You'll be okay, and if you're not, we can still go to Nar Shaddaa and blow all our credits."
"Sounds like a deal," she says, and offers him a smile. "Thank you."
She catches sight of his grin as he turns back to the controls. "No sweat, Surik."
—
The Ebon Hawk touches down in a small spaceport just outside of Pandath. It's only marginally bigger than Khoonda, and Meetra feels like she's so anxious that she's ended up on the other side of it. She's standing across from her fears, hurts, and doubts, and she can see them so clearly, but she doesn't know how to shake them off.
At least there's an actual goal, here. There's a task she can carry out instead of listening to the vague worry that's been sitting in her chest these past few days. She feels sharper, more focused, as her and Atton leave the Hawk, stepping down the ramp into the spaceport.
They draw curious glances from those surrounding the area, and a woman approaches them for their landing fee. They glean some information from her—where the cantina is, mostly—and the two of them walk into town, leaving T3 to watch over the ship.
The buildings are small and sit close together, and though it's evening, she can see shapes of mountains looming in the west. The streetlamps cast a soft glow, shades of yellow orange, yellow gold that whisper over everything. It might be nice, but something about it doesn't feel right. It feels like Revan—that calm, warm exterior, and the raging cold inside; the tragedy that always sits just under the surface.
No wonder Malak came back here.
They end up at the cantina, and it's what Meetra expected: cramped but relatively quiet. Her and Atton find a table close to the back, and she keeps glancing over her shoulder, looking over the crowd just in case Malak's here.
He's not, but the possibility has her fingertips tapping anxious patterns across the top of her thigh.
Atton watches her with thinly veiled concern, and he takes a sip of his drink before he asks, "So what's the plan, exactly?"
They probably should've discussed this earlier.
"Wait until Malak comes in, or until I'm ready to ask someone where he is."
Atton's gaze lands somewhere beyond her shoulder, scanning the room before saying, "You know, I'm not sure which one's more likely."
Neither event happens while they're there, but Meetra slows down, feeling the alcohol settle her nerves. They talk but they don't really, because it's hard to focus on a conversation with the mission looming over them like this.
And typically it wouldn't be, but this one's so personal that it's hard to feel like anything other than a hunted animal, constantly looking over her shoulder, expecting the worst.
"Okay," she says finally, downing the last of her drink. "I'm gonna talk to the bartender."
"You've got this," Atton says. "Let me know if you need backup."
She shoots him a grateful smile before standing up, smoothing out her robes and stepping towards the bar. She feels several pairs of eyes on her as she weaves through the tables, and she tries to form the sentence in her head. I'm looking for someone, she could start, Tall. Tattooed. He has a metal jaw.
"What do you need?" the bartender asks, and it's only then that Meetra realizes she's stopped a short distance away from him. She meets his gaze, but the thought of saying the words aloud makes her feel sick to her stomach, and all she does is shake her head absently as she turns and heads out the door.
The cool night air washes over her, lets her breathe for a second but she doesn't stop walking. Not even when she hears Atton jogging to catch up with her as she heads back towards the ship.
"So that didn't work," he says, and Meetra just shakes her head again.
"This is stupid," she answers, her voice harsh. "Carth and Bastila are the ones who want to find her, not me. They don't get it and they never will, and I don't know why I agreed to this."
Before Atton can say anything to that, she continues, "And it's not fair that Revan and Malak both seemingly came back from the dead. Why do they get second chances and I get put through the wringer again and again? They still get to do whatever they want while I'm the one left to be responsible. Revan saved Malak's life and then disappeared completely, and yet it's up to me to sort it out? I hate that, I don't want to do this."
"Okay," Atton says, and she can tell from his tone that he's out of his depth. Meetra wouldn't know what to do with herself right now, so she can't blame him for that. "Let's get out of here, then."
She's quiet for a long, long moment, letting the thought run its course. They could leave. Simple as that. They could pack up the ship, get out of here, and be done with it. But leaving would mean giving up. Leaving would mean going back on her word, and Meetra knows she can't do that. Not now, not after everything else.
Her faith in herself has gotten her this far. Her faith in the Force will get her further.
"No, I made a promise," she says, and she hates that more than she hates being here. Her voice is quiet, resigned as she continues, "I'll try again tomorrow."
Atton reaches for her hand and she's grateful for it. Right now, she's grateful that he's here, that he asked to come with her. "You know what? I noticed a lot of woods around here, we could set up some targets and shoot the hell out of them. It might make you feel better."
"That's not a half-bad idea," she says, and allows herself to take a breath. "I'm sorry to put you through all this."
"I'm the one who invited myself, remember?"
"Yeah. That doesn't make it any better."
"Hey, don't worry about it. I'm officially adding Alderaan to the agenda."
"If it's going to feel like this, I'd rather spare you from—"
Her words choke off as she looks ahead of them. In the opening of the spaceport stands a tall figure. His back is to them as he faces the Ebon Hawk, arms loose at his sides. Meetra's eyes trace over the familiar tattoos that come down the back of his head, and her heart drops into her stomach as realization washes over her.
Her hand falls from Atton's as her steps stutter forward. Malak must hear her, because he turns, and for a moment everything stills. In the soft lighting of the spaceport his eyes look so dark, and there's a heaviness in his expression that turns to confusion as he takes her in.
And where she was expecting to see smooth metal encase his jaw, there's a flesh and bone chin, full lips—exactly what he was before. She'd think it was a ghost, a vision of the past just like in the cave, but there's a cold, mechanical edge to his voice as he says, "Meetra?"
—
—
—
Half a galaxy away, a shaking hand loosens itself from where it was tucked into a fist. These hands always shake now, but the end is in sight and there's relief in the thought. One breath out, long and slow and nearly steady—grab the old familiar datapad, the one that's been read and reread again and again and again.
Five years worth of rereading. It still blinks on, slower these days. Scroll down to find the right words.
The biggest problem at that time was that the Council didn't want the details of Kae's exile to be public knowledge. I was told only because we were training together, but we weren't allowed to tell anyone else. It distanced you from your friends, especially Talvon. He couldn't understand why you'd keep something from him, and he blamed me for that. He blamed me for a lot of things. I know you don't remember Talvon right now, but you two were close and I came between you in a big way.
I wish I could say that I feel guilty about that, but I don't. I never will. I've always been selfish with your attention, and I always will be. When it comes down to it, I think you're the only person I've ever cared about.
That sounds nice, doesn't it? There was one time, at the height of our destruction, that I told you I regret ever knowing you, so.
I guess the truth is, we can betray just about anyone in this life, including ourselves.
Breathe deep. Read it again.
We can betray just about anyone in this life, including ourselves.
Including ourselves.
Including ourselves.
Including ourselves.
