There are two versions of Malak in Meetra's head.

The first was strong. Dependable. He could make you laugh until your sides ached, watching with that amused grin of his as he lead conversations. He stood out in a crowd—he couldn't help it—but even if it wasn't for his height or his tattoos, his quiet confidence would still stand alone. He'd still be the person you'd trust to know what's going on, to tell you what to do.

He was a good friend.

He'd check in. He cared. He was patient, could teach you anything. Meetra would talk to him for hours after her lessons, and time passed like it was nothing at all. They'd sit in the sun's reflection through those wide windows of the Coruscant Enclave, light shifting over them, passing through them in waves of gold that eventually faded into dusk.

Then came the second version of Malak.

He became violent. Devoted. He couldn't see things clearly because he didn't want to see things clearly, and when he stepped into Revan's shadow, he let himself disappear completely. Something else emerged. He fell because he wouldn't choose to stand on his own.

He lost his gentleness, his kindness. His words became sharper, his blue eyes began to fade. The battlefield was no longer a battlefield—it became a place to prove that the Jedi were wrong about him and Revan. About the Mandalorians. About everything.

At the time Meetra understood it, at the time she might've agreed with it, but in hindsight it's easier to see how the darkness called to Revan and Malak long before they became Sith.

In hindsight, she thinks their fall might've been the only thing to save her from her own.

And now? Well, who knows who Malak is now...

"Meetra?"

Her steps carry her closer to him, and in the darkening night her eyes can't stop moving over him. His height, his breadth, the way he watches her like she's a ghost come to life—and maybe she is—but the air feels colder now and she has to tip her head back to see his face. Up close, the mask isn't as perfect as it first seemed; she can see the thin line where the prosthesis begins and ends, what's real and what isn't.

"Malak," she breathes. Her eyes blink heavily, and a longing for the past washes over her so intense that she can't help the soft gasp that escapes her mouth. Too much has happened between them. She's pushed it all down and hidden it away, and now eight years of being apart is over. It takes just a moment for everything to change.

"I thought you were dead" he says, and his voice is all wrong. There's something jagged and mechanical about it instead of that smooth, soft tone that always betrayed his intimidating appearance.

"Funny," she returns, "I thought you were dead."

"A lot of people do," he says, and his lips pull up at one corner as he takes her in. "You look good, Mee."

Meetra's eyes close for a half-second too long, and she wants to turns away because she can't do this. For all her anxiety, for all her anger, hearing him call her that familiar nickname again turns her into that starstruck kid she was when she first met him.

She's saved from saying anything only by the way Malak's expression shifts as he looks over her shoulder and the sound of Atton's footsteps comes closer. Malak's brows pull down as he regards him, and disbelief sits openly on his features as he says, "Jaq?"

"Atton," he replies, and Meetra looks over to see him with his hands shoved in his pockets, a smooth smirk covering the nerves that she can feel through their bond. "I ditched Jaq right around the time I ditched the Sith."

"You—" Malak starts, but his words break off as his gaze returns to Meetra. "Is she here?"

The hope in his voice rings empty in the spaceport, and Meetra glances at Revan's ship behind him as Atton murmurs, "Guess that answers our question."

She falters for a half second as the realization that it's always going to be about Revan hits her all over again. The anger she's harbored for years knew this, but seeing Malak again...she forgot. She almost thought it would be different.

Oh, her heart lurches in her chest. Why does she always want it to be different with him?

"You don't know where she is," she states, because she knew that before, but she needs to be certain.

Malak's features, both real and fake, fall as he understands. He takes a half step back, turning his head to look at the Ebon Hawk, and stays like that for a moment before his shoulders drop and he says, "No, of course I don't."

"You're sure?"

"You know I wouldn't be here if I did," he says, and something guarded comes over him. "How did you get her ship?"

Carth asked the same question back on Telos, but it sounded a lot less accusatory coming from him.

"We found it," she answers, something equally guarded returning to her. Whatever softness that threatened to spill out dissipates as she considers how much information she wants to tell him. "It's kind of a long story."

Atton shifts his weight beside her—she'd assume discomfort, but she knows he knows better than to give himself away. "'Found' is a loose term for it," he says. "It was more of a last resort, really. We didn't have many options at the time."

Malak's eyes narrow on Atton, but he lingers only for a moment before turning to look at the ship again. Meetra wants to know what he's thinking but she won't ask—she wants to know a lot of things, but she wouldn't dare to ask.

"I think I'd like to hear it," Malak finally says, looking back to her. "I have time for a long story, if you do."

"I—" Meetra falters, knowing that this is a choice she has to make. She could say no, she could leave, say that she tried, and no one would fault her for that. Malak doesn't know where Revan is, and that's all she came for, right? At the end of the day, there's nothing else for her here, and this is the choice she needs to make:

If she's going to continue to ignore the past, or let it back in.

It isn't over, Kreia had said to her all those weary days ago. Did the woman's final breath mean this? Did Kreia see Malak in her future, and if she did, is that what she wanted for Meetra?

Does Meetra still care about Kreia's opinion?

It isn't over, repeats in her head, shining like a bright spot in the Force, and if her resolve was crumbling before, she feels it fall altogether. Her eyes find Atton's, silently communicating her decision, and he nods. She looks back to Malak, and with a sigh she says, "Yeah, we have time."

The line of Malak's shoulders softens slightly as he gestures to the right. "Come on, I have a place where we can talk privately."

"This way," he murmurs, and Meetra and Atton are left with the only option of falling into step beside him as he takes to an unfamiliar road. In the streetlight's glow, most of the buildings look the same. Though they're unevenly matched in height, they're all comprised of brick, square windows, and wooden accents, each with a sense of belonging to the others.

Meetra focuses on them to distract herself from the fact that she's walking next to Malak, still only coming up to his chest. The silence between them stretches on so awkwardly that it feels impossible to break, which doesn't happen until Malak finally clears his throat and asks, "Did Bastila send you?"

"Yes," she answers, and glances up and to her left; he watches the road ahead of them.

"Is she okay?"

"Yes," she repeats, and drops her gaze to the cobblestones under her feet. "She had a vision."

This time she feels his eyes on her, but she won't look at him. On her other side she can feel Atton do the same—she hasn't told him this part.

"Of what?" Malak asks, and it's impossible to ignore the concern that laces his mechanical voice.

She shakes her head to herself, thinking back to her conversation with Carth and Bastila in that cold white office on Telos, and wonders if she would've agreed if she'd known then how it would feel.

"She wouldn't say much," Meetra starts. "All she could tell me was that she saw Revan and I, and that Revan was in danger."

"What kind of danger?"

Meetra lifts a shoulder. "If I had to guess, I'd say imminent death."

It's mean, but it makes her feel a little better and it makes Atton snort.

"You're still mad," Malak says. It's not a question.

"Yeah, Mal," and she curses the nickname that slips off her tongue so easily. How much time needs to pass before she can let it go entirely? "I'm still mad. Is that so surprising?"

"No," he answers, and both of them fall into silence again as they walk towards what Meetra assumes is the edge of town. Malak leads the way only by a half-step, and around them the distance between buildings increases. The air grows cooler the longer they're out, and Meetra shrugs her hands into her sleeves to chase away the chill.

All the while, she feels the temptation to reach out to Malak as she did once upon a time. Their bond used to be such an easy thing—she would always subconsciously find him, aware of his presence in the simplest moments when he was close by. Now supposedly there's nothing where there used to be something, and Meetra won't let herself try to reach for it.

She doesn't want to know what that feels like.

"Why Tanaab?" she asks to distract herself, keeping her voice low. The silence is louder here, and raising her voice even just above it seems like an intrusion.

Beside her, Malak takes a deep breath and she dares a glance up at him. In the dark it's hard to make out his features, but he sounds distant as he says, "It feels like home."

"More than Dantooine?"

Perhaps the suggestion is mean-spirited as well. They both know what Dantooine meant to him; how much he loved and longed to be there. They both know that he was the one who ordered it to be destroyed, and that the home he once knew will never be his home again, no matter what the Jedi did to restore it.

It's always about the blame, isn't it? To look at an event and say, this was your fault, and hope that bringing it up hurts them as much as they once hurt you. It's not something Meetra's proud of, but neither is it something she feels entirely in control of. She's had eight years of conversations with him in her head, and it's already so much different than she thought it would be.

"I have an old friend here," Malak says, ignoring the question entirely. "She asked me to come stay with her."

Meetra frowns. "Who?"

"Her name's Frela," he answers, and the name sounds devastatingly familiar, but she can't place it until he continues, "Revan stayed with her family when she lived here."

And as angry as Meetra is with him, it's hard to hear the pain in his voice. Revan's name sounds ragged in his mouth, and all Meetra can do is nod. She looks to Atton but he just makes a small grimace and lifts a shoulder.

Malak takes them down a road that leads into the fields that stretch to the east. It's fully dark now, save for tall lamp posts that dot along the way. The warm orange glow pushes through the blueness of the night, stretching just far enough to reach the edges of the next one.

Long moments pass with just the sound of their steps filling the air. Meetra reaches out to Atton through the Force while they walk in increasingly uncomfortable silence, letting his presence keep her steady as her thoughts unwravel and waver and drift near the anger of the past.

He knows what it's like. Not in the specific but in the feeling—knowing that you can run from something for only so long until it chases you down.

She never thought she'd see Malak again, and yet...and yet...and yet...

He nods to a path that diverges from the main road, leading to a small house at the end. The lights are on, glowing warmly through the cracks of the closed curtains and leaking out onto the porch. Meetra feels like she's seen it before—she knows she must've heard about it, but it's familiar enough that she has to wonder.

Malak jogs up the front steps first, entering through the faded red doorway before them. Atton and Meetra follow warily, and inside the light washes over them, revealing a short hallway, a staircase, and patterned green wallpaper on wood framed walls. The smell of warm food fills the air, and Meetra can hear someone whistling a tune from another room.

It stops at the sound of their footsteps, and a moment later an older woman's voice calls out, "Is that you, my dear?"

"Who else would it be?" Malak calls back, taking off his coat and hanging it on the rack beside the door. Meetra and Atton share a look—both of them wondering what, exactly, they've just stepped into.

"Well I don't know," the woman's voice says, sounding closer until she's in the hall with them. "You ran out of here in such a rush."

She stops when she notices Atton and Meetra behind him, and a smile quickly passes over her features. Her face is clearly tanned from the sun, lined and wrinkled from age. Her greying hair is pulled back, and she wears simple clothes that she wipes her hand on before offering it to Meetra.

"I'm Frela Averre," she says. "Malak didn't say he was bringing friends."

"Meetra," she says back. "This is Atton. We're just here to talk to Malak for a moment."

Frela shakes Atton's hand after and grins at Meetra again. "You two stay as long as you want. Force knows he could use the company."

"You're all the company I need," Malak teases with a smile, and Meetra can't help but stare at his shiny teeth in the light now. In fact, all of him looks different in the light. His blue eyes shine clearer than they did the last time she saw him, his tattoos have faded into a soft gray, and something about his expression doesn't match his lighter tone.

Frela merely rolls her eyes at him, turning instead to Meetra and Atton. "Come into the kitchen, I have some food for you."

"Oh, you don't have to—" Meetra starts as they walk down the hall, but her voice cuts off when Atton's hand wraps around her wrist.

"I don't think either of us are in a position to turn down real food," he says, keeping his voice low. "It smells good in here, Surik."

She shakes her head. "You're so predictable."

When she looks back, Malak's eyes are on their hands but his gaze flicks back up to meet Meetra's. There's no visible change in his features, but she can feel his curiosity even as he turns to follow Frela into the kitchen. Meetra contents herself with a sigh before following as well. The three of them crowd into the small kitchen behind Frela, who pulls a couple of bowls down from the wooden cabinet and begins to fill them with something Meeta doesn't recognize.

"Now, I wasn't expecting guests," she says as she sets the food on the table. "So I'm afraid there won't be much for seconds. You say the word though, and I'll whip up something else for you two."

"That's very kind," Meetra says.

"Well you look hungry."

"Starving," Atton adds. "Thank you."

He makes a contented sound after his first bite, and she catches the amused grin on Frela's face. Meetra wishes she could feel the same, but she's too keenly aware that she's in a strange kitchen on a strange planet, sitting next to someone who might as well be a stranger, but at one point knew her better than anyone else.

The food does smell good, but Meetra's stomach protests as she looks down at it. It's taking everything in her just to breathe right now, so she doesn't think she could eat if she tried.

"I'll get out of your hair," Frela says as she rinses her hands in the sink. "Don't hesitate to ask for anything."

They murmur their thanks and then it's just the three of them in the kitchen. Time passes painfully slow as the only sounds that fill the room are the chrono on the wall and Atton's spoon clinking gently against his bowl. Malak's gaze is mostly fixed on the table, but she can feel him glance at her for a moment before turning down again.

For what it's worth, she doesn't look at him either. Her thumb catches at the edge of the table, wooden and smooth except for one small chip that occupies most of her attention. Neither of them are willing to break the moment first.

Which is probably why it's Atton who does it, saying, "I'm not gonna lie, this is weird as hell."

Meetra only has a half-hearted smile for him before she pushes her bowl away from her; the smell is starting to make her feel sick. She knows, though, that nothing's going to get accomplished like this. If she keeps looking at Malak as the person who hurt her, then there was no point in coming to this house.

She has to look at this like any other mission, like she did before with the remnants of the Council. This could be Onderon, or Nar Shaddaa, or even the ill-fated Dantooine. She has to suck it up, offer what she has, and make some kind of progress. Otherwise she'd be better off just going back to the ship.

"We found the Ebon Hawk on Peragus," she begins, still keeping her focus on the table. It's something. "I didn't know it was Revan's ship until Admiral Onasi told me so last week."

And here you return, with her ship, without her.

"Peragus is a mining colony, right?" Malak asks, and this time Meetra can't help but look up. He meets her gaze at the exact moment, and though his expression is carefully neutral, she can feel the shift of concern leaking through. "Do you know how it ended up there?"

"As far as we know, T3 brought it back from wherever Revan was," she answers. Beside her, Atton lays his spoon down in his bowl, sitting back in his seat as he focuses on the conversation.

"Wherever it had been, it'd been left for scrap," he continues for her. "Thing was a piece of junk, we're lucky I was able to get us out of there alive."

"Lucky isn't the word I'd use."

He raises a brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Atton." Her mouth parts in disbelief. "We blew up an asteroid field."

"The Sith blew it up," he corrects. "Which makes it only partly our fault."

"The Sith?" Malak asks.

Meetra looks up into his now curious expression. "Yeah, they uh, came back for a bit, but they're gone now."

Atton snorts. "That's one way of putting it."

"Look, a lot has happened, Malak," she says. "Maybe it's best if you start with what you know, and then we can go from there."

He breathes out slow as he seems to consider it, raising a brow at her. "From when you left? Or when Revan came back?"

"When Revan came back," she murmurs, ignoring the mess of thoughts that want to come alive again at the question.

"Okay," he says, and leans back in his seat. He crosses his arms over his chest, and Meetra isn't sure he's even aware of the way he immediately closes himself off, but he does it and it takes him a long moment to start. "Revan confronted me at the end of the war. We were on the Star Forge, and she ended up saving my life instead of leaving me there to die."

"That's not what the stories say," Meetra interrupts, remembering the news breaking that Malak had died on that secret station. "But if she didn't remember anything, why would she save you?"

He gives her a look like it should be obvious, and answers, "You knew Revan. I had something she needed."

And right, that is obvious.

"She wanted to remember?"

"More than anything," he says. "I was very cold towards her because of it. I thought it was cruel for her to expect me to explain what happened, as if it wasn't the worst experience of my life."

Meetra watches him touch his chin, and for all intents and purposes she knows it got worse after she left, but now she has to wonder how bad it was. She won't ask, but she'll let herself wonder. "Did you end up telling her?"

She also knows how persistent Revan is.

"No," he answers, and the smile that falls over his lips is the saddest she's seen. "Something I still regret. It's why she left, in the end. She said she thought she could find a way to remember."

"And you have no idea how?"

He shakes his head, turning it away, and it doesn't take a Force user to recognize the grief that passes over him.

"No one disappears completely," Atton says. "Believe me. She must've left some kind of clue."

Malak recovers whatever slip of control he had, answering, "Trust me, she didn't. So for you to show up in her ship..."

"Yeah," Meetra finishes. "I haven't seen her since the day I left, Mal. Not even a trace of her. All that remains are stories and rumors, and you have to know that I don't want to listen to those."

He looks at her for a long moment before turning away. "No, I don't imagine you would."

Meetra doesn't want to say anything to that. Maybe it's another thing she shouldn't have brought up, but the day she left Revan and Malak shamefully lives at the front of her memory more often than not. She looks to Atton instead, letting go of it as she takes comfort in the small smile that he gives her. Under the table, he presses his hand to her thigh, just for a moment, and it helps. It does.

"So what happened after you got her ship?" Malak asks eventually. Distant. Distracted. "You said there were Sith?"

Her answering sigh is long and weary. "Did I mention it was a long story?"

"That's why we're here," Malak says, and he clears his throat as he gets up. "I'll put on the kettle."

Meetra mentally prepares herself, allowing her mind to trace the steps back to Peragus, and takes a deep breath. As the kettle makes low rolling noises on the stovetop, she tells him about waking up in that abandoned fuel depot. Some of the details get glossed over, (you're skipping the best part, Atton says when she mentions she met him there), but she makes sure to tell Malak about the HK droids and Sion.

"Someone actually picked up that project?" Malak asks as the kettle whistles. "I hated HK-47 more than anything in this galaxy, but I thought an army of them would be useful."

"They might've been if they weren't a giant pain in the ass," she says. "But the 50's are all gone now, if you can believe HK."

Malak looks over at her, stilling where he's pouring tea as a mild look of disbelief crosses over his features. "You have him?"

She nods. "I know what you're going to ask, but no, he doesn't know anything about where Revan went. Neither does T3."

"They're the only things she took with her," he mutters darkly, and finishes the tea, bringing two mugs over for them before going back for his own. "Which means wherever she is, she's probably alone."

Meetra's hand finds the handle of her mug, and she doesn't know what to say to that. Malak's gone dim in an instant, and beside her Atton sips at the too hot tea. She sighs as she continues her story, "We ended up on Telos, which was...a mess, but we met Bao-Dur there. Do you remember him?"

Malak's fingers drum against the outside of his mug, just once, from pinky to index finger. "He was an engineer, right? Iridonian?"

She hums in confirmation. "We also ran into Atris."

"Kriff, that must've been something. Was she angry?"

"So angry," she says, and can't help the laugh that falls on her next breath. How could everything have gone so impossibly wrong in her life? "Funnily enough, she didn't mention you were alive."

His lips quirk up to the side. "Probably because she wishes I wasn't."

"Yeah, well, join the club."

Atton snorts.

Malak's gaze shifts to him and then back to her. "So did she know anything about the Sith?"

"As far as I know, not much," Meetra answers honestly. "She didn't want to help us. I should've known she'd be hostile, but...in the end, she let us go. It wasn't until later that I learned that she'd fallen."

"What?" he asks, but it's barely the whole of the word, just the breath of it.

"The holocrons," she confirms. "Pretty ironic, actually. She chose to exile herself."

Malak's brows shoot upwards. "What about the Council? Did they know?"

"There isn't a Council." And how has he missed so much? Everything they grew up with is gone and part of that is his fault. A lot of it is Revan's, and most of it is the Sith's, but they all played a hand in how this fell apart. "We sought out who was left: just Vrook, Ell, and Kavar, but it turns out they were as angry with me as Atris was. Or maybe not angry, but...scared. They would've—they tried to—" Oh, how does she say this? "It would've killed me..."

Atton's breath hitches as Malak blows out a breath. "They tried to kill you?"

"They were going to take the Force away from me. I don't think I could survive that again."

Malak rubs his hand over his face. He has to remember what it was like the first time, right after Malachor, when her wound was fresh and aching and raw. She'd been so numb, then, but now she can see how horrifying it must've been. To Revan and Malak, to the Council, to the entire galaxy looking at a Jedi so broken.

But she healed. And they would've taken that from her.

"What happened to them?" Malak asks after a long, slow pause. His voice sounds different for asking it.

She breathes in through her nose. "They're dead."

His gaze is heavy on her but she can't meet it. As much as Kavar hurt her in the end, she can't deny the role he played in her life, not only as her Master, but as Malak's friend. The three of them spent so much time together, and it's something she would take back if she could.

But now—Kavar's dead, Malak's different, and she isn't sure how to deal with it.

"Did you..." he starts, but she shakes her head immediately.

"Kreia revealed herself at that time. I'm still not sure what she was, or what her true purpose was, but she killed them. To protect me."

"Only good thing that schutta did," Atton mutters.

Meetra finally dares a glance at Malak, and all that's noticeable about his expression is the frown on his broken lips. The bottom one must be part of the prosthesis, but his top lip is too mangled and scarred to be anything other than evidence of what happened to him. He frowns, but then he shakes his head to himself. "So what about the Sith?"

"We fought them," she finishes. "I fought Kreia. Then Bastila and Admiral Onasi sent me to see you."

"When was this?"

There's an empty grin on her lips as she answers, "Last week."

"Kriff, you must be exhausted."

Atton laughs a short breath and Meetra lets her smile fall. "I think I've been tired for the past ten years, Mal."

The nickname doesn't feel as sick on her tongue now, but there's still something uneasy about it.

Those broken lips turn up at one corner—a sympathetic smile. "You guys should stay," he suggests. "Just for the night—get some real rest. We have plenty of bedrooms here and I'm sure Frela would love to cook you breakfast in the morning."

Her attention immediately goes to Atton, who raises a brow with a smirk. "Sounds like a good deal, Surik," he says, but in the Force she can feel him question it, knowing that this isn't an easy place for her to be. I'm out if you're out.

She turns back to Malak, and maybe it isn't only her exhaustion that has her agree with an, "Okay."

He gets up, collecting their mugs in one hand before placing them in the sink. "Come on, I'll show up upstairs."

The floor creaks as the three of them trudge up the stairs with heavy steps. All the while Malak explains the layout of house, and once they reach the top, he points to a door that leads to the bathroom at the end of the hall. "We have one bedroom here, the other is right on the opposite side there."

Meetra's gaze follows to the door he referred to, but she shakes her head, looking him in the eyes as she confesses, "We only need the one."

Malak spends a moment looking back and forth between them, and his brow scrapes down for a second before returning to a neutral expression. He takes a step back as he says, "Right. Do you need anything else?"

Her and Atton glance at each other before they both kind of shake their head a little. "We're good."

"Okay, goodnight then," he says quietly, and turns around, going back down the stairs.

"Do you think that freaked him out?" Atton asks as they go into the bedroom. It's sweet, with two wood framed windows on the far side, and a large bed at the center of the wall to their left. There's a quilt spread across it, patterned evenly with blue and white squares.

"Probably," she murmurs. She pulls off her robe, and the weight of the evening sinks so heavily on her that it's a wonder she doesn't immediately collapse onto the bed. "I think we're all a little freaked out, to be honest."

Atton sits first, working on taking his boots off. "How are you holding up?"

"Okay," she answers, and sits beside him. "As well as I'm dealing with any of it, I suppose."

They both stop for a moment, and Atton's expression is more gentle than she's imagined he could be. "Come here," he says, and he wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her back onto the bed with him. They shuffle around the pillows and the quilt until they're settled side by side below it. "Come here," he says again, and he kisses her lips, effectively blanking out the worry in her mind.

Both of them are too tired for it to go anywhere, but it's nice to lay beside him and kiss him lazily, letting everything else disappear completely. They're in a strange place, and pieces of both of their past are in play, but what does any of that matter when his mouth is on hers?

"He called me Jaq," Atton grumbles once they part.

"Is that worse than the potential of him forgetting you?"

This close, she only gets the sense of his expression rather than the whole thing. "Maybe. He seemed...sad."

"Yeah," she murmurs, and closes her eyes. "He did."

"Were you expecting that?"

"No." When neither of them fill the silence for a short moment, she continues, "I thought he would be angry. That he'd want to...to argue or...I don't know, talk about the past more? He's not who he was, but at the same time, he is. It's confusing."

"He never really talked when I was around," Atton mumbles, and she thinks it's the first time he's said anything about it. "He had the metal jaw then, and he'd just look at you with those yellow eyes. I hated it whenever he was there."

"They were getting to that point before I left," she says, "but I'm glad I didn't have to see that."

"You don't seem as angry, either."

"Yeah, I don't know..." she says, letting the words drift off. "There must be a limit to how much you can process things before you just start accepting them."

"It's been a lot," he murmurs.

"It sure has."

Atton just lets out a long, slow breath, and she can feel him begin to drift. It's been a long, long day. He shifts his body beside her, tucking himself around her back as he wraps his arm around her waist, his lips to the back of her neck. "You ready to sleep?"

"Yeah," she says back, reaching up to turn off the light. The room floods with darkness, with just the blue light that slips through the curtains to ghost over everything in the room. Meetra feels her eyes close, and desperate for sleep, she very nearly drifts off.

But then her mind thinks of Malak, and she tries to reconcile the way he looks now to who he was in the past. There are two different versions of him in her head, but this new one exists somewhere outside of those, and she doesn't know what to make of it.

Atton was right. He's just...sad, and maybe Meetra would find it pathetic if she didn't have such a weakness for him. Five years without Revan—even longer since she didn't remember him—and he clearly still cares about her. He's spent five years between being held by the Jedi and living in this house, and Meetra knows well that five years is enough time to build a new life, but he hasn't. He's come back to the place Revan once lived, staying in the same house she did.

It just doesn't make sense. Their devotion to each other was never clear beyond what little they showed her. Meetra knows they grew up together, that they trained together for a time, but she never quite believed that Revan loved Malak the way Malak apparently still loves her.

Or seen a different way: Malak deserved to be loved by someone who wouldn't do what Revan did to him.

Sleep, she tells herself, quieting her thoughts. Her eyes shut tight and she reaches down to place her hand over Atton's. Just sleep.

But sleep doesn't come, and time stretches on as the shadows of the room shift across the walls. Her open eyes watch them as Atton breathes steadily beside her, and she reaches out her senses, feeling his calmness beside her, the brief flicker of Frela down the hall from them, and Malak...still downstairs. Meetra glances at the clock. It's late.

She gets up before she has a chance to think about it, worming her way out of Atton's embrace. She uses the Force to aid her vision in the dark as she finds her way back to the stairs, which still creak no matter how light she keeps her steps.

The kitchen light seeps into the hallways downstairs, the glow feathered and warm as it leaks out. Meetra follows it, finding Malak in the same place that he was before, and she stops. They're the same people they always were, but circumstances have changed them so completely; it's impossible to go back.

But even still—she feels different, like an old self that she's put on again.

"You can join me if you want, Mee," he says before turning his head. When he does, he's full of yellow light as he blinks up at her.

She still hesitates for a moment, but she comes closer to sit across from him. Like this, she can look into those familiar blue eyes, lined faintly with his increasing age. Thirty-four now, but still somehow the same boy she knew once upon a time. "I didn't think you'd be able to sense it was me."

"You've talked to Bastila," he states, and sighs. "It's just an echo of what it was, but it isn't completely gone."

"That's still something."

He shakes his head. "You can see for yourself, if you'd like. You were always the one who could reach people."

She considers it as she stares into his eyes, remembering a time when her bonds were an easy burden to bear. She closes her eyes against the distraction of looking at him, and focuses on the Force. Her senses reach out, and she can feel the way they're naturally drawn towards him, a familiar presence to her. Her senses brush up against his, feeling his back down and let her in, and—

He's right. Where he was once vividly alive in the Force, bright and blinding, he's dulled to a small light. He's a candle in the face of a star, and her stomach churns with the memory of the feeling. Of what she once lost and has now regained.

Not that he deserves her sympathy.

"Okay," she murmurs, opening her eyes again. "I understand."

He presses his lips into a smile. "I haven't felt anyone else in the Force for some time now. It's hard to believe that I didn't sense Kavar's death."

"It happened on Dantooine, you know. They rebuilt the Enclave, and died at the center of the Council Chambers."

"Of course," he mumbles, grief spilling over onto his words. "It always comes full circle, doesn't it?"

"Considering I had to confront Kreia on Malachor V, I'd say yes, it very much does."

"You went back?"

She nods. "Yeah, then we blew it up."

His lips turn up but it isn't quite a smile. It's what a smile could be, perhaps, for someone who doesn't bear the same burdens as them. "Good," he says, and she can feel the weight of the word. So much changed for them both on that cursed planet—to know it no longer exists is a great comfort to Meetra.

"So you and Jaq..."

"Atton," she corrects. "What about it?"

"You know what he was?"

"I do." There's an edge to her voice; she sounds cold. "Worried?"

"Naturally."

"That isn't who he is anymore," she answers. "Just as I'm not who I was. Just as they say you aren't who you were."

He looks away.

"You don't get to be worried anymore, Malak."

"I know," he says. "It's a habit when it comes to you."

She hates the way that softens her, the way her shoulders relax as she leans back in her seat. "Well you don't have to. He's good for me."

"Okay," he offers in defeat, but there's a warmer smile on his lips. "Are you happy?"

"As much as I can be." She lifts a brow. "Are you?"

"As much as I can be," he echoes, but it's entirely unconvincing. It's all over him: the slope of his shoulders, his tired eyes, the way the air feels heavier just by being in the same room as him.

She shakes her head. "What are you doing, Mal? Just waiting for her to come back?"

"Is that pathetic?" he asks.

"Yes."

Another weighted grin. "I knew I could count on you to tell me like it is."

"I always have," she says, her words darker. She always kept it straight with Malak, but he never listened before. "Look—your life has never been separate from her. You've had years to start over, and yet you haven't."

"I'm doing what I can," he says. "I know you don't like that answer, but it's the truth. I have a job in construction and I've been helping Frela with the house and the farm, but life isn't the same without Revan. I can't even think about it too much or it gets too dark in here." He taps the side of his head. "How am I supposed start over when I'm not even supposed to be alive, Mee."

"Don't give me that."

He raises a brow. "What?"

"Starting over is the only choice we have," she says, and the pain of the past sharpens her words. "Even if it you've lost everything."

He's quiet for a long moment, and maybe this is as close as he'll get to agreeing with her: "It's hard..."

"I know," she murmurs.

"But look at you," he continues, and a more genuine smile finds his lips. "You've changed."

"Of course I have," she says, ignoring whatever part of her that wants him to explain. What does he see now that he didn't see before? "It's been eight years, Mal."

"Don't remind me." He shakes his head as he looks away. "Do you feel old yet?"

"Getting there."

They lapse into silence, and Meetra unintentionally reaches for Atton, letting the steadiness of his sleeping comfort her. Malak sighs, looking down at his hands, and suddenly his uneasiness is at the forefront of her mind.

"Look, I'm sorry for what happened between us," he says. "All those years ago...I know there's nothing I can say that would help, but...I still want you to know how sorry I am. You didn't deserve it."

"You're right, I didn't," she says, but whether it's her exhaustion or her soft heart, the fight goes out of her and she sighs. "You know, I spent a lot of time thinking about what I would say to you if I ever saw you again. I never thought it would happen, but I had this whole speech planned out."

"You want to say it now?"

But Meetra just shakes her head, and maybe this is what healing looks like: "It doesn't matter anymore. You hurt me...more than anyone's hurt me, Mal, but I got better. I picked myself up, and I have something else now." Her breath shutters out. "I can only hope you'll find the same, because I don't think Revan's coming back."

"Don't say that," he mumbles, and he rests his chin in his hand as he looks down at the table. Meetra watches him blink heavily, swallowing down the feeling that threatens to rise up.

"It's been years," she continues. "There isn't a single trace of her, and she doesn't even have a ship now. You have to admit that it doesn't look good."

"She promised she'd come back." He looks into Meetra's eyes as though daring her to say something. She doesn't understand—why would Revan make such a promise if she didn't remember him?

Still, she takes the bait. "Right, and Revan always kept her word."

There's a helpless smile on his lips as he drops his hand to the table and shakes his head at her. "No, I guess she didn't."

"And yet?"

"And yet," he says. "Here I am."

"You're still impossible," Meetra mutters. During the war, she wondered what it would take to strip Malak of his devotion to Revan. Apparently, not even darkness, death, and amnesia.

"I'm really glad you came. Despite...everything."

"I'm not sure I can say the same," Meetra says with a weak laugh. "But it's not quite as bad as I thought it would be."

"Hey, I'll take it."

They smile at each other, and it isn't normal but it's progress. Here they are, years later in the dim light of the kitchen, with answered and unanswered questions. She pushes back her chair, and as she gets up she says, "I should head back to bed."

He nods. "Of course."

"Goodnight," she murmurs, but hesitates. "It's late...are you gonna stay up?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. Don't worry about me."

Meetra half frowns for a moment before accepting his answer. She picks her way through the quiet house, letting her footsteps fall as quietly as can as she creeps back up the stairs. The bedroom door makes a small sound as it opens, and once she's inside it closes with a click.

Atton's asleep on the bed, his back to her, facing the window. The light that slips in through the cracks washes blue light over his skin, and Meetra—heavy with emotions she won't give a voice to, crawls in next to him. Pulling the blankets up, she leans forward until her forehead presses to the base of his neck, her arm looping around his middle: the opposite of how they were earlier.

He's so warm and smells so familiar and in this moment, his presence is enough to let her cast aside the thoughts that would so earnestly plague her otherwise. She lets out a breath, presses her lips to his skin, and lets her eyes shut as she falls into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The last thing she senses is Malak's presence, still awake, still downstairs, still at the kitchen table.

Morning light crashes in through the window and Meetra blinks against it. Her first thoughts are confused as her eyes move between the lace curtains, the white and yellow patterned wallpaper, and the quilt that lays across her body.

It takes an embarrassingly long moment before it comes back to her—Malak, Frela, the house. She looks over, and the space that Atton occupied has been left empty. She reaches out but it's no longer warm, and Meetra has to take a long moment before she wills herself to sit up and check the chronometer.

It's a relief knowing that they'll be leaving today. What they didn't get from Malak means they can finally let Revan go. And maybe Meetra can finally let go of the memories that still sit so rigidly in her chest. Even if it is what it is—call it healing, call it moving on, but sometimes the only way out is through, and Meetra's trying.

The stairs once again creak under her weight as she pulls her robe on, blinking new eyes at the bright farmhouse around her. It's still just as cozy with the sunlight streaming through, all colors and patterns and photos that Meetra only glances over. Her feet carry her the familiar path back to the kitchen, where she finds Frela standing over the stove.

"Good morning, dear," the older woman says. "Coffee?"

"That'd be perfect, thank you," Meetra says, and sits once Frela gestures at the table.

"I was so glad to hear that Malak convinced you to stay last night. No sense in leaving when it was already so late. Are you hungry? I've got hotcakes, porridge, eggs, and fruit: your choice."

"Thank you," Meetra says. "Whatever's easiest."

"More like whatever we have left," Frela murmurs, moving around the kitchen. "Between Malak and that handsome pilot of yours, I thought I'd have to make another trip to the market."

Meetra smiles. "He is handsome, isn't he?"

Frela raises a brow at her before she starts to move around the kitchen. "I'd say you're a lucky girl, assuming you two are together."

And her whole heart softens, the smile not quite falling from her lips but changing into something else. "We are."

We are, and how long did it take that to happen? It must've been since that first moment on Peragus, when they agreed to trust each other as much as they could, and even though that wasn't much, it still got them out of there. It still got them to where they are now, where I love you sits at the tip of her tongue and she doesn't sleep as well without him beside her.

"Thank you," Meetra goes on to say again as a bowl of porridge is placed in front of her. "For letting us stay, for feeding us. It's a kindness we haven't gotten much of in the past few months."

Frela just shakes her head. "It's my pleasure, really. I've only had Malak to take care of lately, and he's surprisingly simple."

The curse of being a former Jedi, Meetra thinks. Or whatever he is now.

"He used to tell me about you," Frela continues, joining her at the table. "He'd come visit Revan and tell us all about life on Coruscant. I've never been, but it always sounded so exciting."

Meetra nods. "You must've known them well."

"I only knew Malak as well as I could—he'd stay for one or two weeks at a time—but Revan...stars, I knew that girl. She lived here for three years, and in the end I considered her something like a daughter. I had two sons, you know, so it was a nice change of pace."

Had two sons. Meetra feels the line of her lips soften, her shoulders loosening in some thread of understanding. At first, she didn't know why Revan left Tanaab, only that she did. It'd shaken Meetra to her core. She wasn't even supposed to be there the day Revan came back to Coruscant for good, but Malak mentioned going to pick up her from the spaceport, and Meetra invited herself along. She didn't understand his hesitance until they got there, and Revan—strong, stoic Revan—collapsed in his arms, crying tears that Meetra was not meant to see.

She still can feel her past discomfort at witnessing such a thing. Meetra had frozen in place, silently watching Malak run his hand through Revan's hair, holding her securely with his other arm and whispering words to her that Meetra, thankfully, could not make out.

It wasn't until later, that he quietly explained to her that the two Averre boys had died in the war.

"From what I know," Meetra says, clearing her throat. "She loved it here."

The older woman's expression turns sentimental. "She had to learn to love it, you know. She hated it here when she first came to stay with us, which she tried to hide, but it couldn't be helped. Arrogant young thing, but she had a good heart, as heavy as it was."

Frela casts an interested look her way. "You were one of her friends, right?"

"I wouldn't necessarily say that," Meetra answers, a little too honestly. "I was closer to Malak, but truthfully? No one else really existed when they were together."

"Don't I know it," Frela says. "I suppose that's what young love does to you—blinds you from everything and everyone else in the galaxy."

"Wh—" Meetra starts, schooling her expression into something far less confused than she feels. "You knew about them?"

"Please," Frela says, and Meetra frowns. "Those two were always sneaking off together, acting like I wouldn't notice. They might've gotten it past the Jedi, but you can't hide much from a mother's eyes."

Meetra has to take a deep breath. She'd thought that whatever they were happened only after they left for war. She'd thought—oh, she's such an idiot. How could she have missed something like that?

Frela continues, "I feel bad for him now, still tied to someone who might as well be a ghost. I miss my late husband, but at least I know for sure that he's gone. Malak, he—he's always going to hope she'll come back."

Meetra still can't bring herself to feel sorry for him, but—"It must be nice to have him here, though."

"It fills some of the emptiness, that's for certain," she says. "Don't look at me like that, dear. It's been a long time since I lost that foolish husband of mine, even longer since I lost my sons. Grieving gets you through the worst of it, but healing comes through living."

And doesn't she know it? It's what she was trying to tell Malak last night. At one point her only option was to start over, and it didn't look or feel like healing for a long time, but the Force came back to her, and her companions stood by her side, and it's as much healing as she could do without letting go. Healing by moving forward, by not looking back, by living.

Has it worked? Maybe. Perhaps not entirely. But it's gotten her to where she is now.

"I'm sure you're good for him," Meetra offers.

She shakes her head. "I'm doing what I can, but we both know I'm not the one he needs."

"I don't think Revan's coming back."

"But you're looking for her, aren't you?"

"I—" she breaks off. "I'm not. If Malak doesn't know where she is, then I don't think anyone can find her."

Frela takes a sip of her coffee, and her expression is so gentle, so like what Meetra imagines a mother to be. "That's a shame, then."

Meetra doesn't agree, but she won't say it.

"But even so," Frela continues, "I don't know a lot about the Force, but from what I've heard from both Revan and Malak, it has a will of its own. I hope it's looking out for her."

She doesn't deserve it, Meetra wants to say, but holds her tongue. Instead it comes out as, "She wasn't helpless to what she became."

"No," Frela says. "No, I suppose not, but I'm ashamed to admit that I contributed to it. In the meantime, I'll keep Malak as long as he needs a place to stay. It's the least I can do."

What happened between you and Revan? Meetra almost says, but she can feel the wrongness of the question. It isn't her place to ask, as much as she wants to.

"Right," Meetra says. "I should...look for Atton. We'll need to get going soon."

"Of course. If you need anything before you go—"

"You've been very generous."

She just nods. "If you do find Revan, would you tell her I'm sorry?"

Meetra's a little thrown off by the heavy emotion that comes off of Frela, and again she almost asks why, but it's still not her place. All she can do is nod, and say, "I will."

She finds Malak on the front porch, leaning on the railing as he looks out at the field ahead of him. Meetra follows his gaze to see Atton at the far end of the yard, standing at the edge of a pond that reflects the world around it. He throws stones across the surface, and in the Force she can feel how deep he is in his head.

She can't help the concern that pushes through her.

Malak turns back, sunlight on his pale skin, and smiles a little at Meetra. In the daylight it's easier to see him for what he is, which is why it's funny that the first words out of her mouth are, "How long were you and Revan lying to me?"

"Good morning," he says in return. He raises a brow but lets out a heavy breath, returning to the view as Meetra leans on the railing beside him. "Lying about what?"

"You and her. Your relationship."

"We were lying to everyone," he answers. "You knew more than most."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"It's supposed to tell you that we were scared," he says. "You should know what that's like by now."

His gaze turns back to Atton, and Meetra shakes her head. Besides the leftover guilt that still resides in her head, "There aren't any Jedi left to condemn me."

"Then I guess you're off to a better start than we were."

"Malak I'm serious," she says. "I thought that it was because of the war. I thought—I thought you were defying the Council. I didn't know it started before that."

He glances at her, and there's such a sadness in his expression that Meetra can't help but feel some of the heartache. His blue eyes shine clear in the morning light, and in those eyes he's just the same as he was before. It's not until he speaks, that his mechanical voice reminds her of where she is.

"Yeah, it started before we left," he murmurs. "Probably around the time I went back to Dantooine, but it wasn't until she came here that it developed into what it was."

"I'm guessing she didn't remember that part, either."

He grins, something private, and shakes his head a little. "No, not quite."

She's quiet for a moment, watching the lines of Atton's shape in the distance. The morning sun glances off of the water, obscuring him every few moments as he shifts into its light.

"Does it change anything?" Malak asks beside her, and Meetra sighs.

"I don't know," she answers. It's as honest as she can be. "I'm not sure that any amount of understanding will change the way I feel about what you and Revan did to me."

She hears him take a breath, and when she looks over at his profile, his brows are dipped low over his eyes. He turns his head towards her. "I don't expect you to believe me, but I never meant to hurt you, Mee."

"No, I don't believe you," she says with a soft laugh. It fades, though, and she's left with a truth she never thought she'd say aloud: "Despite what happened, I still wanted you to come with me when I left."

He looks away. "I know."

"But you'll never leave her, will you?" It's not a question, and now Meetra almost feels sorry for him. Almost. "Even when she leaves you."

"No," he murmurs, and the two of them keep their heads forward, both of their eyes on Atton in the distance. He just keeps throwing his stones. It takes a long time for Malak to ask, "So what will you do now?"

"Start over," she answers. "Again. I have five padawans now. What's left of the Jedi is on their shoulders, and I don't want to fail them the way that the Council failed me."

"Never did things lightly, did you?"

"No," she says, allowing herself one smile that feels like it could be from the past. "I should go talk to him."

He looks at her for a long moment before nodding, but Meetra just turns to walk down the front steps.

The grass is soft under her feet as she makes her way out to the edge of the pond. If Atton hears her approach, he makes no notice of it. He just pulls his arm back and lets another rock skim across the water, skipping again and again until it eventually falls in.

"I used to do this with my little brother," he says. "He could never get the angle right, so he'd make me skip rocks until my shoulder ached."

"That sounds nice," Meetra says, and smiles to herself. "Show me how?"

His gaze finally flicks over to hers obscured a little by the hair that flops over his eyes, but he pushes it back before he comes up behind her and places a smooth, flat stone in her hand. He positions them so their left sides face the shore.

"Swing low, keep it flat," he says, and pulls her arm back and forth in a few practice arcs. She memorizes the feel of it, and Atton steps back as she swings her arm out again, letting go of the rock at the last moment.

It stays low, but skips high, falling in after the first jump.

"Not bad, Surik," he says, and holds out another rock for her to take.

Her second attempt skips three times before falling in, and she feels a triumphant smile come over her features. Glancing back at Atton, she sees the same mirrored on his own lips.

"Maybe we should go to Alderaan," he says.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," he murmurs, but his gaze shifts away from hers, back towards the water. "It might be nice to see what life could've been like for us."

She feels her brow twitch. "What do you mean?"

He pauses for a long moment, but eventually shakes his head as he turns to her. "Nothing. I get these dumb ideas sometimes. What about you, though? You seem less...anxious."

"There aren't any answers here," she says, glancing back at the house and the now-empty porch. "Nothing can fix what happened. Maybe now I can finally move on."

It's more than she can say for Malak.

He gives her an understanding nod. "So where do we go now, Sweets?"

Her chest warms at the implication of the question, the we're in this together. She's been so used to being alone, making decisions alone, but it feels good to have someone who so completely supports to her and chooses to stay with her. "Let's go see what those kids are up to on Dantooine."

"Nothing good," he mutters with a laugh, but he takes hold of her hand as they walk back towards the house. The breeze pushes over them, and with their backs to the sun, it's easier to take in the ochre fields, the line of trees, and the chimney sputtering out smoke in the distance.

"Could you see yourself living somewhere like this?" she asks.

"I've never been one for farming," he answers, but when she glances up his gaze is a little far away. Neither of them say anything else as they walk back.

Meetra comms T3 once they're inside, asking him to meet them here with the ship at the house. Frela gives her and Atton a hug in the kitchen, handing them what looks to be packed lunches.

"Thank you again," Meetra says, and as much as she wants to get out of here, she means it.

"You're welcome back any time," Frela says, the words just as honest.

Malak watches them with a sad smile on his mismatched lips. Real and fake, she doesn't know what he is anymore, but he's Malak and he's alive and somehow it doesn't feel any more real now that she's spoken to him.

He walks them out as the Ebon Hawk lowers itself into the empty field beside the house. Meetra watches his expression carefully, but the grief that pulls over his features is hard to witness.

"This was one of the last places I saw her," he murmurs as they approach the loading ramp. It shutters with a loud sound before lowering, and both Meetra and Atton stay where they are.

She doesn't know how to say goodbye to him. A huge part of her is relieved to be leaving, but some other part of her feels like there could've been more said. Eight years of wondering what this would be like, and it didn't quite measure up. But still—

Meetra shifts her weight to face him, dropping her shoulders as she offers him her hand.

He gives her a slow look, but it turns into an exasperated grin as his hand swallows hers in a firm shake.

He changed, Bastila said, and maybe Meetra can see it now as his smile evens out and he lets go of her. Atton shakes his hand as well, and then the two of them turn to walk up the ramp.

It's just as she's passing through the main hold, letting out a sigh of relief, that T3 whirs up to her, beeping out a trill that her tired brain takes a moment to translate.

"Yes, we found him, little guy," she says, letting her hand rest on his head as she makes to follow Atton to the cockpit.

But T3 beeps again, and she stills.

"What do you mean, you have a message for him?"

She looks up to make eye contact with Atton, who's stopped in the corridor and watches her with clear concern on his features. T3 beeps a third time, and she just nods absently. "Okay," she says, "come on."

Her chest pounds as she walks back to the entrance to the ship, knowing what this most likely means. Atton trails behind them and she hits the button to lower the ramp again, only to meet the confused gaze of Malak as he leans against one of the porch beams.

His eyes roam to T3 and back to her, and he calls out, "Did you forget something?"

She doesn't answer until her and T3 are down the ramp, stepping over the grass. "He says he has a message for you."

Malak's face pales as he bounds down the front steps. "From Revan?"

"I don't know," she murmurs, but she watches T3 roll up to Malak, who bends down on one knee in front of him. Behind her, Atton catches up and stands beside her as T3 beeps and settles down.

The entire mood shifts once Revan appears, her image transparent and a little blurry. Meetra's more interested in the way Malak's expression shifts, his hand automatically coming up to cover the lower half of his face as his brows knit together.

She looks different to Meetra. Her once short hair now reaches her waist in a long, single braid, and her once sharp features now look soft and tired.

"Malak," her voice starts, and that, at least, sounds the same as it did. "I hate the implication of what it means for you to see this, but I'd regret it if I didn't leave anything for you, just in case. There's...there's something I need to take care of, something I couldn't see before, and I'm afraid that what's in motion now will soon be out of my control."

Meetra sucks in a breath.

"Mal, if you're seeing this," Revan continues, "I'm sorry I couldn't remember on my own. I'm sorry I couldn't stay. I keep those last moments with you in my mind, and they help me through the harder days. I'm doing what I have to do, now. I finally feel like I've found the right path—that I'm doing the right thing. If I don't come back, I hope you can take comfort knowing that I thought it was worth it."

Silence cuts through the air as her image blinks out, and Malak drops his head into his hands. Silence cuts through the three of them, watching Revan who was there for a moment but has gone again. Silence cuts through, sinks down, and swallows them up. How do you break something like that?

"Malak," she says softly, but he shakes his head. She watches the line of his shoulders tremble, but eventually he lifts his red-rimmed gaze to T3.

"Play it again."