Despite all the realizations and small truths that Meetra's found, there are always more.
And this is one: looking at the strange new ship beside the Ebon Hawk, Meetra thinks she finally understands Bao-Dur.
It isn't the ship itself that makes her think of him. There isn't anything familiar about its make or model, no similarities in its lines to anything she's seen before. In fact, this ship is entirely a stranger to her, a stranger to Atton, and a stranger to Malak, whose whole spirit wakes up at its sight.
No, it isn't the ship, but rather the feeling that comes over her as she considers what it means. Finding Bao-Dur on Telos was nothing short of the Force merging their paths back together after their years of separation—how else does one stumble across an old friend like that? She remembers, then, thinking that he was doing so much better than her. She was jealous of the way he'd moved on, certain about what he was doing because he was doing something good. He looked at his hands and decided to make up for the crime they both committed.
But that is who Bao-Dur is. Slow and patient, calm and focused. He fixes things. Where she ran from her past, he ran towards his future—
(though later she found that it was still a form of running, still a way to escape the hurt that nothing you do will ever make up for—)
and she knew she'd never have the same goodness in her. Back then, she thought she was a lost cause, looking at someone who shared the same pain as her but used it to heal instead.
But now it's like the galaxy has turned to her, it puts this ship in her path, and it says, do you get it now?
She thinks maybe she does. That this is what Bao-Dur knew all along.
Being good is just a choice you make. It isn't because of who you are, but despite it. It's because you take the opportunity when it presents itself to you.
And for all of Meetra's flaws—her hesitance, her lack of forgiveness, her anger that she still feels threaded in the clench of her fists—she looks at this unknown ship, and finally thinks that maybe this is something she can fix.
—
The thought lasts for as long as she can feel her fingers. Despite her heavy outer robe, the cold still clutches at her as she follows Malak's footprints through the snow. Follows, because his long legs carry him further and faster, because he has hope, for once, and it's made him more alive than she's seen him since they found each other again.
Atton stayed behind with the unknown ship. Once they'd determined that it was empty, the three of them decided that someone should watch it, just in case its owner came back while they were searching for the temple. And where Malak has brightened, Atton has dimmed. Equal and opposite energies. Hope and fear. She knows Atton doubts that it's actually Revan, and part of her hates to admit that he might be right.
Her own doubt swooped through her stomach long before Atton had said, I have a bad feeling about this, but it can't matter. They have a goal here, and whoever that ship belongs to will either be the answer or just another question.
So Meetra follows Malak through the cold. The terrain itself isn't too difficult, the surface is packed enough that only every few steps her boots dig into the snow. Malak's footprints are more consistent, deep and shadowed and when she gets tired, she carefully steps into them. Her chapped lips quirk into a smile because once upon a time she followed in his footsteps, to war, to death, and now she does again, through the cold, towards something she knows he feels hopeful for but still makes her so uncertain.
Because if it is Revan, then where do they go from here? This mission is more than reuniting the two former Sith—there are so many questions to be answered, and so little trust to be found. Meetra doesn't know how she'll feel when she looks upon Revan's face again. Her resentment has kept her going, her blame has resounded through her thoughts for too long.
I wish I met you earlier, Revan had said to her once. It was during the war, when from time to time Revan would actually sit and have a conversation with her. She was a dead spot in the Force, then—empty and silent. She always was around Meetra, who didn't understand why. She couldn't believe that such a powerful Jedi could feel so hollow. Maybe it was something Revan chose to do, that she understood the bond but didn't want it.
Which perhaps hurts a little more.
I wish I met you earlier than I did, Revan had said once to her, and Meetra didn't think much of it at the time.
Why? she'd asked. What would be different?
And those cold blue eyes turned away from her, the soft line of her lips turned down as she answered, Enough.
Meetra swallows now, her throat suddenly dry. It isn't the cold air that does it but she pretends it is, and it isn't that she never understood what Revan meant then, because she does. Because some part of her felt it too, that they met too late, that being friends was never on the table for them despite the way it should've been. Revan was already too far gone by Coruscant, and Meetra never reached her and Malak never stopped her.
The phantom ache in her chest feels real, and her gloved hand half-raises for a moment before she stops herself. She has to blink at her surroundings, at the white on white landscape, the faded gray sky, and the distant, weak sun. There's an emptiness here, similar to Nathema but still alive. There are no mountains, no cliffs, no trees or animals or anything that would give this place a certain feeling. No—it's a sprawl of snow: lonely and distant and spreading.
"Malak!" she calls, watching the line of his shoulders shift before he looks back at her. He's wearing a jacket that he packed, but it doesn't look heavy enough, and where he stops, Meetra catches up to him.
"What?" he asks, and his cheeks are tinged with pink from the cold as his breath fans out in front of him. "I think we're almost there."
He's probably right, which makes the dread a little worse.
"We should stay together," she says, which might be funny, coming from her. It might be funny considering their past. It might be funny because she never thought she'd be with Malak again—she thought he was dead and yet here they are together, on a cold, cold, planet, looking for the woman who once ruined them both.
His gaze pauses long enough for him to understand. "You don't think she's here."
"I think we need to be careful." She'd briefly considered giving Malak a lightsaber, just in case. They don't know what danger they'll find and Revan's letters have certainly warned them enough, but—
It's still Malak. He was still a Sith. She still can't trust him like that.
But he relents, and they walk together with their footsteps crunching over the snow the only sound in the shifting silence. The wind bites, brutal, and Meetra hopes that Atton's weathering it okay. The thought of him is enough to warm her in this frigid place, and she keeps her mind on him until another temple rises on the horizon.
In the wide open spaces of the landscape, it stands alone. Dark gray among all the white, it looks similar to the last one they encountered. There isn't a real sense of scale here, no trees to compare it to, but the closer they draw to it, the larger it looms. The outer stones are smoother, snow covered only in certain spots, and from the top stands another rod, this one rising into a full circle.
It takes her breath away all at once despite its familiarity. Perhaps it's her nerves, perhaps it's the cold. Either way, her senses are on alert as they approach the temple, close enough to see the light that leaks out of the doorway from inside.
Then there is another presence within her reach, and she stops to look at Malak, hoping that her eyes can communicate that they're not alone. He seems to suspect it though, his hand thoughtlessly resting on his belt as though reaching for the lightsaber she did not give him.
She takes out her own, though, and steps ahead of him. It could be Revan, she thinks to herself even as she becomes increasingly sure that it isn't. Her suspicions are confirmed once they enter, torch lights on either side of the doorway, revealing a tall, broad shouldered man. He stands with his back to them, but at the sound of their entrance he turns.
She takes in his deep red skin, deeper red eyes, and fleshy, hanging skin along his jaw, and grips her lightsaber a little tighter.
They watch each other for a span of time that feels long but might be short, and a profound disappointment washes over Malak, palpable in the stale air of the temple.
"Who are you?" Malak asks.
"Someone who seeks the same thing you do," the man offers, as though he senses that they know he's dangerous. That they know he's Sith.
"And what is that?" There's hostility in Malak's voice, and Meetra's stomach churns with uncertainty as the energy in the room twists.
The man before them eyes him carefully, the color in them pure red, unlike anything she's seen before. "A woman."
Meetra frowns. Beside her, she can sense the flare of anger in Malak, and knows that she needs to start talking before it escalates. "Who are you?" she repeats.
"My name is Scourge," he says, his grin is slow and sly. "I suspect your trail ends here."
Malak does little to hide his reaction. "What do you mean?"
Those red eyes pass back and forth between the two of them. "Your names, first."
"I'm Meetra," she speaks up. "And this is Malak."
"Malak," Scourge repeats. The two of them stand at about the same height, leaving Meetra to crane her head back a little. The Force hums quietly between all of them as they eye each other. "I believe this is for you."
He steps to the side, where another podium sits. There's a letter on top, a datapad beside it, and Malak forgets all caution when he sees it.
"No..." he murmurs, and desperation leaks into his voice as he goes to grab it. Meetra keeps her gaze on the Sith as Malak steps around him.
"Why are you here?" Meetra asks Scourge as Malak picks up Revan's letter. The situation feels like it's quickly falling out of control, and she needs to find a way to put it back together.
"I told you," Scourge says. "I seek the woman who came here."
Meetra narrows her eyes. "You don't know who she is."
"No," he admits, "but I know her purpose, and I suspect our paths have crossed for a reason."
"And what reason is that?"
Scourge shifts his weight but he doesn't answer, instead he looks to Malak, who clutches Revan's letter too tightly in his hands. His brows lower and his jaw clenches—Meetra isn't sure what Revan's letter says, but clearly it isn't good.
His appearance says anger, but the weak threads of their bond awaken such a sadness that it nearly brings tears to her eyes. Feeling the emotions of others—particularly when you don't want to—never gets any more comfortable.
But then he lowers the letter, looking at Scourge darkly. "How did you know she was here?"
His voice is laced with suspicion, and Meetra almosts asks to read it, but she wants to know Scourge's answer. The Sith merely looks at Malak with a solid expression, not shaken in the slightest. Their energies are completely opposite.
"I have been following her," he explains. "There are those who would wish to stop her, but I am not among them. Instead, I offer you my aid."
Meetra's head spins as she tries to piece together this particular puzzle. She glances once at Malak but only asks, "Aid in what?"
He looks at her simply. "Closing the temples."
Is that what Revan's doing? Meetra feels a litany of questions on her lips but doesn't utter a single one. "What do you get in return?"
And here Scourge pauses. "Her trust."
"Why do you need that?" Malak snarls.
"And more importantly," Meetra adds, "what makes you think we need your help?"
"I had counted on the possibility of running into you. I've been tracking her for some time, encountering the letters she's written to you. As I've said, we seek the same goal, but though she requires my help, I know she will not accept it. Not unless you take me to her. And as for my part in this—" Scourge's eyes shift pointedly to Malak.
Malak looks back, long and hard at Scourge before his gaze wavers and drops to his hands, where the letter and datapad remain in a tight grasp.
"Because she didn't leave any coordinates," Malak finishes for him. "She wants me to turn around."
Meetra frowns. What? This isn't how it was supposed to go. "Why?"
"I think she wants to protect me," he says, holding up the datapad. "I gave this to her before she left, told her not to read it unless it was her last resort."
"So her leaving it behind..." Meetra's voice trails off.
It goes unsaid. Her last resort. A pang of grief sprints through Meetra's chest, there and gone in a flash. Malak's clearly last longer, given the lost look in his eyes.
But they are not alone, and it is not the time to fall apart. She turns to Scourge. "Let me guess, you know where she is?"
"Perhaps," he answers. "There are three temples she has yet to touch, it's only a matter of which one she is at."
She frowns, knowing she can't pretend to know what's going on here. "What are these temples?"
Scourge's clear red eyes pin her in place for a long moment and she makes herself face him without fear. There is something wrong beneath the surface but she can't name it. She can't figure out the pieces in play now that he's here.
Finally he answers, "They were built by the Ar'adat thousands of years ago. They're vessels of great power, capable of manipulating space itself. Their energy is unparalleled, but they have been...wrongfully used."
Meetra feels herself shake her head. It's not the full truth but it's more truth than they had before, and despite all the questions she has about his explanation, the one she makes herself ask is, "Who misused them?"
"That is not important," Scourge answers. "What is important is that the woman you seek is stopping them. Her power must be great for her to accomplish such a task, which is why I fear that she will not have the strength to finish it."
Malak breathes in, the sound sudden and when Meetra shifts her gaze to him, his expression is pained. "But you could lead us to her?"
"Malak," she says sharply. She looks to Scourge. "You expect us to take your word for it?
"As I am taking yours," he says back, but it's not the same, is it? Blind trust, blind faith, a Sith—all for Revan.
But if their goals truly are aligned, then this won't be the last they'll see of him anyway. And if there is no other way to find Revan, then this is where their trail will end. If this is their only choice, then, well...it's not much of a choice at all.
She takes a slow breath in. "What do you propose?"
"I will come aboard your ship," he says, and there's something expressionless about him. Something distant and cold—calculated. Perhaps that's what throws her off. "I will give you coordinates, and we will discuss all that's left to discuss."
"You have answers," she states.
His gaze flickers to Malak before returning to her. "So do you."
It's a long moment that passes before she nods her head. It's just the slightest motion—imperceptible, if you aren't looking for it—but Scourge watches her with those red eyes, and she knows that he understands. He knows that she's agreeing to this foolish proposition.
She turns her gaze to Malak next, to see guarded fear cloud his familiar face. I don't know if this is right, she hopes her eyes communicate. I think I'm only doing this for you.
If Malak wasn't here, would she turn back? The road that leads to Revan has been anything but smooth, but still she keeps going.
Maybe it isn't the time to ask why. Not yet.
They walk in silence back to the Ebon Hawk, mostly because of who they are, but also because they have to bite back the cold. Meetra's teeth chatter as she crosses her arms over her chest, and still she lets Malak lead the way—they form a line with him at the front, and her at the rear. There wasn't a chance she'd let Scourge walk behind her.
The two ships come into focus soon enough, and Atton perks up, even from a distance. She feels the confusion radiate off of him as he sees that there are three of them, and that the third definitely isn't Revan.
"Are we running from something, or are we collecting tall, bald men, now?" he asks, only slightly out of Scourge and Malak's earshot.
"Not now, Atton," she says, frustration bleeding into her voice.
He falls into step beside her. "I'm good with the first one, you know, but the second?"
She follows his gaze towards Scourge. "He might know where Revan is."
"Yeah, and he looks like a Sith. Like not like Revan and Malak kind of Sith, but like the ones in those legends."
"I know," she bites out. "That doesn't mean we can't use him."
"Is that what we're doing?" he bites back. "Do you even know anything about him? Like why is he here, and how did he get you to agree to take him with us?"
"Revan stranded us. It's our only option."
He puts a hand on her arm, they both stop. She can't find it in her to meet his gaze, so she stares at the snow-lined horizon and sighs out a breath. Atton does the same. "Our only option?"
She knows what he means. It's what she'd be saying just a week earlier, but...but things are different, somehow. Meetra doesn't give up and she's decided to do this and some part of her wants it. As much as her anger still burns for Revan, Malak's words keep repeating through her mind.
I know I can't ask you to forgive either of us, but it might help you feel better.
Is that too much to ask? Meetra finally sees a way out, and Atton reminds her of how little she wants to take it.
"If we're going to find Revan, then yes," she answers, knowing deep down that it's the truth. "Doesn't mean that I like it."
He gives her a look. "Good to know you haven't lost all your common sense."
"That's not fair."
"You haven't liked any of this," he says, and if there's anything good about this, it's that he keeps his voice down. "At what point do we say enough is enough?"
"Stop it," she says, because she knows he's right and she knows she should agree. Maybe this is her blind faith from the war, the need to be accepted by Revan and Malak, or even to follow through on her word. To make herself honest, to show that she is what she says she is and despite the foolishness of her quest, she will complete it.
She doesn't know when this changed.
"Wait," Atton says when she takes a step back towards the ship. Meetra bites down on the inside of her cheek and faces him again. Malak and Scourge go on ahead, blurring into the white snow. Atton's eyes are sharp on her, cold gray, and the bond between them feels wary. "Were you going to ask my opinion on this, or are you just calling all the shots again?"
She breathes out slow, through her nose. "Again?"
"It's what you do, Surik."
Guilt churns in her stomach, but she'd rather that than the sliver of anger that sits below it. Her voice is empty as she says, "That's because if it was up to you, we would've left Mical on Dantooine."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
A tired laugh escapes her mouth on her next breath. "It wasn't much of a decision, Atton. Like I said...our only option."
Atton's gaze stays on her. "That doesn't make it the right thing to do."
"That's why I have you here, right?"
Because if it wasn't for him, she'd be alone with Malak and Scourge. If it wasn't for him, there would not be a single person she could trust, and she fears that it would've been the end for her. If she'd gone through with her original plan, with what Kreia asked of her, then—
She fears it still might be the end anyway, and perhaps this is the most foolish decision she could make.
But Atton doesn't push, because he's an enabler, because there are too many feelings between them and that's what Kreia warned her about. Atton doesn't push because she knows he'll have her back, and he knows she's bull-headed and stubborn even when it's dangerous.
"Right." He sighs, reaching out a hand to squeeze her shoulder before they resume their path back to the Ebon Hawk.
She doesn't think it makes either of them feel better.
—
"Tell me who you are."
Meetra stands at the opening of one of the Ebon Hawk's corridors. Her arms are crossed, defensive, and her lightsaber remains clipped to her belt, just in reach. They're back in hyperspace now—Scourge only provided the coordinates once they were in the air with his ship magnetically connected to the Hawk.
And now he sits in the main hold, red fingers curled around a cup of caf as he looks up at her. His lips curl into a grin, one she'll never trust, and he says, "Clearly my name is not satisfactory."
"No," she says, because a name doesn't tell her anything about him. A name doesn't give her a reason to believe him past her own need, because he is here on her ship and it's a threat to them all. Because even if she argued otherwise, she knows taking the only option presented to you rarely provides the results you want. "I need to understand why you're here. Why you're helping us."
His shoulders slump as he breathes out, as though this conversation was expected but it still annoys him. "I'm a historian, of a sort."
She shakes her head. "That's not all you are."
Because there is no mistaking the power that dwells in the Sith before her, not in his false humility, not in his knowing smirk as he says, "No, I suppose not."
"I've never met a Sith before. Your people are just stories to us. Myths."
"I can assure you we exist," he says. "But that is a conversation for another time, and I'm certain you'd be more interested in the Ar'adat."
Meetra frowns but she listens as he begins to tell her about the ancient race. There are many different versions of the tale, some saying that the Sith themselves are descendants, some saying that time has not stretched on so long, and that they once existed simultaneously. Either way, they were knowledgeable, and they had technology that cannot be measured even by today's work.
She wonders if it's true, or if every culture has some version of the same thing. Her thoughts trace back to what she knows about the Rakata. Is it comforting to think that someone came before them, knew more, did better?
"So they built these temples? For what purpose?"
"It is not entirely clear," Scourge starts. "There is a theory that they are responsible for the Force entering sentient beings, but I have studied them for years, and still I understand little of what the Ar'adat accomplished with them. Everything I have read, however, indicates their danger and the potential power that they wield."
She frowns. "Is that why you want to close them?"
When he doesn't answer for a moment, Meetra is forced to shift her gaze back to him. She'd been focused on the table, but she looks up to see a distant expression on his face, different from the careful composure he's shown them thus far.
"Yes," he says finally. The word almost slips out, quiet, and he elaborates without her having to ask. "There is one that I have sworn my loyalty to. This assurance was...misplaced. He has used me for my knowledge on these temples."
Once again she's confronted with several questions, but lands on, "But what can they do?"
"For now it is not a matter of what can be done, but rather what has already been done," he states, and the words drop like a weight in her stomach. "They have been opened—aligned in such a way to create seams in the very space beyond each planet. These seams have let pure energy seep into the universe—dark energy—and if it continues, it could have dire consequences on the entire galaxy."
Another silence falls between them, but this time Meetra is the one to guide it as she stares at Scourge. Her mind pieces his words together but they don't quite fit.
"But why would you want to shut the dark out?" she asks, "When you so obviously serve it?"
Because even if it wasn't for his piercing red gaze or the history of his people, she'd still sense it within him. It lingers on the surface and within the depths of him, there and ready and waiting.
He shakes his head. "Does the reason matter, when our goals are aligned?"
Meetra breathes in, thinks of the last months of her life. She thinks of Kreia, the words You'll never harm her again, and says, "Yes."
His answer comes out in a quiet voice, as though he is ashamed of the very words he speaks. "The Force is about balance. These portals are tools of the dark, and I believe that should they all be opened, everything would fall. I may use this power, but even I can see the folly of the destruction it would cause."
"And Revan's been closing them?"
She doesn't need him to say anything, once she asks the question her mind traces back to the wounds of each planet and she thinks, Yes, that would make sense. She thinks of her burned hand, the strange drawings on the walls, and she thinks, Maybe we are all out of our element, here.
"I fear she may not be able to finish the task," Scourge is saying, and Meetra refocuses her gaze on him. "That is why I seek her out. In all my studies, I have found references to an outside source of power—a catalyst to these temples. To the best of my knowledge, I believe this catalyst is needed to close the final portal, or they could all be opened once again."
Meetra blinks. "Where is it?"
"I do not know," he answers, and Meetra senses his honesty beyond the dejected words. "That is part of why I need to find her."
"Revan," she says finally. "Her name is Revan."
She doesn't know why she tells him, though it's not like it's some secret. Part of her wants to believe Scourge, that he's telling the truth and he wants to help, but another part of her knows the story is carefully crafted and cannot be trusted.
She does not have the details. She does not have the facts. She does not know his true motivation.
These are things, she supposes, she will learn in due time.
—
She finds Atton in her quarters.
It's been a long day, she thinks. It's been a long day, even longer with the onslaught of information that's been thrown at her. There are things she needs to do: she needs to talk to Malak—to read Revan's letter. She needs to finish her conversation with Scourge—to truly understand him and his purpose here.
She looks at Atton, and she thinks she needs to apologize to him. Their argument earlier, however brief, doesn't sit well with her, and yet when she walks into her room, he offers her a smile that bleeds out her exhaustion. She breathes out, keeping her eyes on his, and swallows down the useless words she could be saying.
He pulls her in, then. The distance between them shrinks until it's nothing at all, and she closes her eyes as his arms wrap around her. When she leans up to kiss him, she lets her walls down. She lets him in.
At this point it's a soft landing. There is no shock of the other presence within herself. Thoughts and words drift back and forth between them. Feelings, the explicable and inexplicable, get traded with each soft press of their lips.
I'm sorry, she thinks, fisting her hands in his shirt. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
And he pulls her closer.
It's okay.
—
She waits until the morning cycle to talk to Malak.
Maybe Atton was right. The longer they're on this journey the more she falls into old habits. Before, she would constantly roam around the ship, checking in on each person and making sure everything was okay. Part of that is just who she is—drawn to people. Part of it is the war—you don't command an army without making sure the troops are behind you.
But this isn't an army, and Scourge and Malak aren't her friends.
Still, something punches through her chest when she finds Malak. He's meditating in the dorm, or it looks like maybe he was meditating, but now he just stares blankly at the wall in front of him. It takes a moment for him to glance up at Meetra, and part of her wishes she was here to ask him to spar again, not to ask what the woman he loves wrote to say goodbye.
But for all that Meetra knows Malak, he knows her as well, and with one glance up, his lips thin out into a straight line. He stands, pushes past her, and grabs the datapad and the letter from a drawer under one of the bunks.
He holds only the letter out to her.
"Malak..." she starts, but the word doesn't sound right. It wasn't meant to be like this, she thinks. They were supposed to keep going, follow Revan's path until they inevitably found her. She knows better than to think it could be easy, but some part of her wanted it to be easier than this.
Still, Malak doesn't say anything, and Meetra takes the letter from his hand.
Malak,
I can't stop thinking about you these days. I've never been good with my words, but I keep writing letters in my head, desperate for you to know how I feel. I may not get a chance to ever tell you again—I may have spoiled and ruined everything good about you—but you are still alive, and there is so much more life for you to live.
I will make sure of that.
I love you. Some part of me has always loved you. even before, when I was a child and didn't know what it meant, I must've loved you. It's always been there, from Dantooine to Coruscant to Taanab. When you tried to bear the burden of the Averre's death for me, I knew it deep in my heart, even if I couldn't say it. When you followed me to war, when you killed for me, said you would die for me, I knew I need you more than you would ever need me.
I didn't tell you enough when we were together. I would say it a thousand times if I ever saw you again, to make up for all the times I told you I hated you. Some days I can hardly bear the weight of knowing what I did—how I took your heart and twisted it until you became unrecognizable. I hurt you so deliberately that I know I will never make up for it. I know I don't deserve to atone for my past, but let me try anyway: let me finish this alone.
I'm sorry for everything I've done. To the galaxy, to you, to those who will hear this story and never understand why it happened. It doesn't matter, as long as it's done. If you are kept safe, then maybe I can feel some kind of peace.
It's because I love you that I'm telling you to turn back. You have followed me for too long, and there is nothing to follow anymore.
R.
Meetra blinks back emotion as her eyes trace over the warped letters of the words. They're uncertain, written as though her hand was shaking. There's a feeling in Meetra's chest, one she won't name, and when she looks back up at Malak he won't meet her gaze.
She doesn't blame him.
"What's on the datapad?" she asks, her voice quiet and thin. She can't acknowledge Revan's letter. She can't do that to him, even if she knows she should.
"Memories," he answers. "I wrote to her, told her stories, and she saved our pictures to it. It's the only evidence of our life together."
Meetra wants to ask to see it but she knows it isn't her place. This feels like an ending, in a way. From that bright smile on Coruscant, that stone cold face behind the mask, the yellowing eyes at the end, the story of redemption, of turning around and making things right. She has said her goodbye, but how could it end like this? She was supposed to come back, Meetra was supposed to yell at her about everything.
It shouldn't end in silence.
But Malak clicks on the datapad and hands it to her. When she looks at the screen, she's confronted with her own face.
There they are, Revan and Malak, standing between Meetra, Talvon, Cariaga, and Nisotsa. There are smiles on each of their faces, unworn and unknowing of what's to come. Perhaps it should break her heart, seeing them like that. Perhaps it should push the tears past her eyes, considering that aside from Revan, her and Malak are the only ones still alive.
All she can think is how young they all look.
I remember this day, she wants to say. She wants to dip into that nostalgia with him, feel it all over again, share something good. She wants to do this, but the words go missing. What comes out instead is, "Can I have it?"
Malak nods, and a moment later the photo uploads to her own datapad. She feels like she should say something else, here. In fact, she knows she should, but it's so hard. It's harder than Meetra ever thought it would be, letting Malak back into her life. He isn't the same and she isn't the same and nothing could ever be the same, but that doesn't make it better. That doesn't make it good.
It is what it is and Meetra can't say anything so she lets her hand reach forward until it covers his. He lifts his gaze to hers, and there aren't any answers there, there isn't anything except open grief, but he turns his hand over and threads his fingers through hers, and that's enough.
Sometimes that's all it takes.
—
"Want to see something?"
Atton looks up from the pilot's chair, gray eyes dim in the darkened cockpit. "I'm about to, considering we're approaching Scourge's coordinates."
"Something else," Meetra says, and a strange wave of nervousness rushes through her fingertips before she holds her datapad out.
Atton gives her a long look before he takes it, and even though she knows they're okay, it's reassuring to see him like this again. She watches his profile as his eyes move to the photo from earlier, her nerves then drowned by the fond smile that steals over his lips.
"Look at you," he says, his voice soft. "You look so young."
"I think I'd just turned twenty," she says, letting the memory wash over her. It was a rare occurrence when all of them were on Coruscant at the same time, and they'd decided to go out. It was meant to be a quiet night, but between Talvon and Nisotsa, things got out of hand.
She remembers dancing with Cariaga at the cantina, both of them tripping over their laughter at whatever stupid joke they were telling, then. The rare sound of Revan's laughter echoed from the table, Talvon's even louder. Nisotsa flirted her way through free drinks, eventually getting someone to buy them all a round.
She remembers Malak asking a stranger to take their picture together, the five of them huddled in front of their table, arms wrapped around each other.
War was more than just a conversation, then. War was inevitable, but in that moment, none of them had to believe it.
"Is that Revan?" Atton asks, his fingertip hovering over Revan's face. Her eyes stare into the camera, and you'd never know she was smiling if it wasn't for the way her lips curved up at the corners. Looking at the photo, you would know she was in charge by her presence alone.
"Yeah," Meetra says, meeting the eyes of the woman they've been chasing, who might never be found. "Yeah, that's her. I thought you would've known."
He shakes his head a little. "I never saw her without the mask on. She was beautiful."
Meetra feels no jealousy at Atton's words. It's not an admission or an admiration, it's a statement. Revan is beautiful, Hoth is cold. These are things that are just true.
Atton's fingertip moves on from Revan, and Meetra's heart drops when he asks, "Talvon?"
She nods. To this day, she can't think about Talvon without her throat feeling tight. Her eyes trace over his shaggy blonde hair, his wide, wide smile, and for one moment she allows herself to miss him fiercely.
"Yeah that's him," she says finally. "Stupid idiot."
"Tell me about him?" There is caution in his voice. He doesn't know the story but he knows it's like most of her stories, meaning it doesn't have a happy ending, meaning it's hard to talk about. But it's less of a request and more of an opening, something for Meetra to either accept or say, Maybe another time.
She presses her lips together. "You know, you remind me of him, sometimes."
"What—charming? Handsome?"
"Talkative," she finishes with a grin. "It was never quiet when he was around, but I needed that. Especially during the war...some days it was so hard, but then he'd be there cracking jokes. We'd stay up talking all night, and it would make life feel normal again."
Atton just watches her as she speaks, and the loose thread of her words unravels. "He was in love with Revan, even if he'd never admit it. I would tease him about it but he never found it funny, and he and Malak never got along that well. I suppose it makes more sense, now."
Her face falls. "She obviously cared for him. He's the only one she told not to go with her against the Mandalorians. She didn't want him fighting in the war because she didn't want to lose him—she knew he only followed her because it was her, you know? He cared about the Mandalorians, but...he wasn't a fighter. I guess he thought he could protect her. He should've listened."
For a second, for a brief second, her mind flashes back to that awful day that he died, but she physically shakes her head to clear the memory away. Atton, sensing that she's done talking about him, hands the datapad back to her.
He might say something, she doesn't really notice. She looks down into Talvon's face, at those bright eyes, and swallows heavily. But then her gaze shifts to Revan, who so obsessively tried to spare him from the war that it hurt their relationship. Meetra's hand brushes along the woman's face, and for the first time in this whole journey, she hopes they find her.
For the first time, she wants to know what she'll say.
