A/N: I hope you haven't forgotten all about my story and me in the few decades since I last posted, but if you have, I don't blame you. But here it is at last—the proof that I am not, in fact, dead. I apologize again for the long wait, and I wish I could tell you the next chapter will come more promptly, but unfortunately that is highly unlikely as it's only an idea in my head at this point. I hope you don't mind the suspense. After all, I'm not stretching the in-game plot in any unusual directions (yet) ;-) so it's not like you don't have any idea how this is going to play out.

Intergalactic Surgeon General's Warning: If you suffer adverse effects in the case of a Bastila overdose, this chapter may be hazardous to your mental health.

Disclaimer: This awesome game belongs to the people who made it, of whom I shall be forever jealous.

Dantooine – The Art of Telling the Truth While Lying

I ducked under Bastila's lateral slice, bringing my vibroblade back up with plenty of time to meet her next blow. I was getting better at this. But even as I congratulated myself on not getting nicked yet today, I couldn't help but wonder whether my ever-increasing skill would be enough to make up for years of lost training. The Masters' doubt in my ability to stay on the path of the light was contagious, and it didn't seem to be lessening as my abilities grew.

With a sigh, I straightened up out of my fighting stance and let my blade hang loosely at my side. My concentration was obviously elsewhere, and there was no point in going on like that.

"Why are they so worried that I'll fall?"

I wasn't sure if the surprise on Bastila's face was in response to my question or the fact that I'd actually been stupid enough to let my guard down in the middle of our daily bout of sparring. She'd been in mid-swing when I asked the question, and her blade was still hovering a hand's-breadth from my neck.

"Is it too much to ask that you warn me when you're going to stop defending yourself in the middle of a fight?" she demanded. "I could have killed you!"

"You have Jedi reflexes and you can read my mind," I reminded her. "I wasn't too concerned."

"I cannot 'read' your mind," she snapped, lowering her weapon and readopting her customary Vrook-like frown. "I can sense what you are feeling—nothing more. And I think you set too much store by a Jedi's ability to foresee the future."

I wondered how long she was expecting it to take me to figure out that she lectured when she was stalling.

"You still haven't answered my question."

"And we still haven't finished our practice session," she countered.

"Sure we did. You just beat me."

I turned and started walking back to the weapons rack on the wall. Bastila's frustration was palpable—literally, in my case. I still wasn't used to the sensation of being fed up with my own pigheadedness, though I'd been getting more and more practice lately. For someone who was frequently driven to distraction by my stubborn streak, Bastila could use some mellowing out herself.

But I knew better than to dwell on that, or she'd sense my resentment. Instead, I turned my Jedi self-discipline to the task of making sure I didn't place my practice sword on the rack any harder than necessary.

"Very well," Bastila sighed at last, stowing her vibroblade next to mine. "We'll make up for the lost time tomorrow. Now what was so important that you had to ask me in the middle of the exercise?"

"It's the Council. Are they ever going to stop worrying that I'll turn to the dark side?"

She considered me for a moment, but I could tell she wasn't trying to figure out the answer. She already knew.

"Probably not, no. The lure of the dark side is not something that grows weaker with time. A Jedi is never fully immune to the temptation, not even one so experienced and wise as Master Vandar."

I sighed.

"I know. But that's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" she asked. She was trying to be patient, and so far she wasn't doing too badly—for her at least. I appreciated the effort, which was probably helping, now that I thought about it. Because she could tell I appreciated it.

That wasn't the first time I'd wondered whether Bastila might get along with people better if she was bonded to everyone in the universe. Not that I would wish that on her. Picking up one person's memories and emotions was more than enough.

"Can we sit?" I asked, nodding toward a nearby bench.

"Of course."

I felt a spike in her level of concern, but the only outward sign was a slight furrowing of her brow. She led the way, and I imitated her delicate manner of lowering herself onto the bench without even thinking. As much as I still tried to fight it, Bastila was rubbing off on me. It was probably inevitable, but that didn't make me any wilder about the idea. I wondered vaguely whether Carth and the others would even recognize me when my training was done.

Bastila cleared her throat.

"Sorry. I'm trying not to think about them."

"It isn't that," she said, surprising me. "I'm just trying to keep your focus on the matter at hand. I can't help if you don't tell me what's bothering you."

I sighed, wringing my hands as I tried to figure out where to begin so that she would understand.

"Sometimes… I wonder why the Council decided to train me," I said. Bastila opened her mouth, and I held up a hand to stop her before she repeated the explanation I'd been hearing over and over again since I arrived. "I know it's because of our visions, and my strong affinity for the Force and all that. But… I still get the sense that they don't really expect me to succeed—that they're all just waiting for me to fall. Master Vrook may be the only one who admits outright that he doesn't trust me, but I know he's not alone. I can feel it every time they look at me, and I don't understand why. Is it really so dangerous for an adult to become a Jedi? Or have I done something wrong?"

Bastila's sharp grey eyes softened just a little.

"You haven't done anything wrong. Your progress has been remarkable, and you have shown every sign of adhering to the light. It is simply your age and your past that concern them."

"My past?" That was an answer I hadn't heard before. "What's the matter with my past? I've never even gotten a fine for speeding."

"I wasn't referring to your record, which is, of course, spotless," Bastila said with care. Her tone betrayed as little as ever, but it didn't take a genius to figure out she was trying to placate me.

And I wished she wouldn't bother. I would much rather know the truth than have my feelings spared.

"What then?" I demanded.

Bastila didn't actually sigh, but she shot me an exasperated look that produced much the same effect. She knew I wasn't going to let this one go, which didn't leave her many options. She was going to tell me, and we both knew it.

"I doubt you'll find the answer to your liking," she said at last, "but if you must know, there are a number of things about you that the Council finds… worrisome. Your history of attachments to friends and family is a given, considering your background, so the Council won't hold that against you, provided that you remain committed to the Order. But where they do take issue is your willingness to subvert the law, or any authority that gets in your way, in order to achieve your objectives. The Council—"

"You can't be serious," I interrupted.

"Please, let me finish," she said, though she managed to make the polite request sound like a reprimand. "I appreciate the lengths you went to in order to find me, but they are some cause for concern. In addition to breaking into the Sith base, which is a legitimate military target, you involved yourself in an illegal gang war and killed more than a few locals who stood in your way. The Council simply wants to be certain that when you find yourself in a difficult situation, you can be trusted to act as a Jedi should, and not fall back on… old habits. Memorizing our Code is one thing, but abiding by it out in the real world is an entirely different matter."

"Well, how are they going to find out what I would do in the 'real world' if they never let me leave the enclave?" I demanded.

I didn't mean to sound as snappish as I probably did, but punishing me for my method of rescuing Bastila was just… ridiculous. The whole planet was under Sith occupation! What did they want me to do? File a "missing person" report at the Sith military base? I thought I deserved some credit for at least trying to minimize the casualties by winning Bastila in a swoop race rather than holding Brejik at blasterpoint and demanding her release. It wasn't my fault he went back on his word and tried to kill us.

And I seemed to recall Bastila dispatching quite a few people during her escape, too.

"Be mindful of your thoughts," Bastila said, jarring me back to reality. "You're starting down a dangerous road."

"I thought you couldn't read my thoughts."

"Well, you're not exactly trying to conceal them, are you? I know it doesn't seem fair, but you must be able to understand the Council's concern. You have the potential to become a great Jedi, but you would be an equally great threat if things were to go… badly."

I sighed. She was right, of course. I supposed I was meant to find the compliment regarding my abilities inspiring, but all it did was make me wish I were a little more ordinary. It was hard to believe that only a week ago, I had worried I would be rejected for training due to a lack of potential.

"Do you think I'm going to fall?" I asked at last.

She blinked rapidly, taken aback. It wasn't often that she actually voiced her own opinions—or that I asked her to.

"And you can tell me the truth," I said. "You won't hurt my feelings either way. Between Carth and the Jedi Masters, I'm long past expecting anyone to trust me."

Bastila looked me straight in the eye when she finally answered, and there was something like pity in her eyes. Her earlier impatience had disappeared without a trace.

"I don't know," she said simply. "I know that probably isn't the answer you want to hear, but it's the truest one I can give. You keep surprising me, and I can only hope you'll prove the Council wrong as well."

And then she actually smiled. It was faint, just a slight upturning of the corners of her mouth, but it was there: the proof that she had a heart in there somewhere, buried under all the Jedi propriety.

"Thanks," I said. I didn't have to elaborate; she knew I meant it.

"You're welcome. But I don't think you have the right to be quite so astonished that I'm capable of smiling," she added stiffly.

It was all I could do to keep a straight face.

"You're kidding, right?"

"No, I'm—! For your information, I am as human as you or Carth," she protested hotly. "Perhaps even more so than your friend the Mandalorian."

A feeling very much like homesickness washed over me at the casual reference to my companions on the Ebon Hawk, but like a good little Jedi, I didn't let myself dwell on it. There would be time enough to miss them when they were gone.

"Oh, come on. Canderous isn't that bad," I said, forcibly keeping my tone light. "He's just a little rough around the edges. Besides, now that we're free of the Sith quarantine, he probably won't be sticking around much longer anyway."

"One can only hope," Bastila said, a little too readily.

Maybe it was realizing that she really wouldn't miss them at all that did me in, or maybe my willpower simply wasn't as strong as I liked to think it was. Whatever the reason, my thoughts finally turned to the eventuality I'd been trying to forget about ever since we left Taris: saying goodbye. After all, Canderous wasn't the only one who was as good as gone. I wondered how soon Carth would be going back to the fleet—and whether I was the only one who would be sorry if we never saw each other again. Then there was also the increasingly complicated matter of Zaalbar and Mission. Life-debt or not, it was hard to see the Jedi allowing them to hang around the enclave forever, or accompany me on my Jedi missions—assuming I was ever entrusted with any. I was sure that if I asked, they would say they still wanted to stick with me, but we had to be realistic here. Being a Jedi changed more than just my job description. In the past week, my whole life had taken a ninety-degree turn, and it was going to be hard for them to hang on for this particular ride.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have reminded you," Bastila said with a sigh. "I know you aren't looking forward to parting ways. But you do realize it was always inevitable. Even if you hadn't joined the Order—"

"I know," I said, wishing she'd let the subject drop. "The result would have been the same. But I'm still going to miss them."

"Why do my feelings tell me that by 'them,' you really mean Carth?"

It was a wonder I didn't snap my neck whipping around to face her. And really, I needn't have bothered. Bastila's expression was unreadable.

"Carth and I have been through a lot together," I said, in what I hoped was a passably neutral tone. "I've gotten used to having him around, that's all."

"Is it? He's been sulking more than usual since you began your training."

I'd picked up on that as well, the one time I'd seen him, but I knew better than to think my absence was actually the cause.

"We just watched an entire planet die," I reminded her. "He's probably remembering when the same thing happened to his homeworld."

I still didn't fully understand Carth's vendetta against Saul Karath, but after watching Taris go down in flames, it was harder to blame him.

All the same, I hoped Mission found a less destructive method of coping with her grief.

"Well, I'm not glad to hear it, but that does simplify matters," Bastila said at last.

Those "matters" happened to be my life, and I wasn't so sure I wanted them to be simple, but I didn't argue. I didn't want to give her another reason to suspect there was anything more between Carth and me than a lot of joking and simple camaraderie. The last thing I needed was for her to misread the situation and tell the Council, thereby demolishing what little faith they still had in me.

"Now then, if you don't have any more questions, you really should get back to your training," Bastila said, rising from the bench. "I believe Master Dorak has pulled some more documents from the archives for you to read."

I usually looked forward to seeing what the enclave's chronicler had for me, partly because he wasn't nearly as unpleasant to me as Master Vrook was, and partly because reading datapads was something I could already do well, unlike levitating them. But if I was honest, I also enjoyed my study sessions because they were some of the only times of the day I got a break from Bastila. This was more welcome some days than others, but never an actual downside for me.

Until today.

I may not have liked the turn our conversation had taken, but the thought of spending the rest of the long afternoon by myself, reading texts written by Jedi who were long dead, didn't hold its usual appeal—and I was pretty sure I knew the reason why. Bastila was more right than she knew; she shouldn't have reminded me of the upcoming farewells to be said. Joining the Order didn't just mean cutting ties with the people who had fled Taris with us. I was also renouncing my connection to my friends and family back on Deralia. I was about to lose everyone I knew in one stroke.

Bastila was about to become the only person I had left.

And somehow, that depressing prospect seemed to have shifted some of my problematic power of attachment toward her.

"Are you feeling all right?" she asked, frowning down at me. It finally registered that she had suggested I go to the archives a good thirty seconds ago, and I hadn't shown the slightest inclination to budge. And she would know.

"Sorry. Yes. I'm fine," I said.

"Are you sure? Perhaps you should take an hour or two off. You have been working nearly non-stop… with the exception of our last sparring session, of course."

I wasn't sure at all, but I did know that taking an hour off would only give me more time to wallow in my thoughts, and that was the last thing I needed. Unless I used that time to pay a visit to my friends on the Ebon Hawk… but what would that really accomplish in the end? They were still going to leave, and I was still going to miss them just as much.

"I'll go to the archives," I decided. "See you at dinner?"

Bastila said nothing for a moment, and I could feel her uncertainty. No doubt she still sensed that there was something wrong that I wasn't letting on, but by now she also knew better than to think pestering me was going to get any results.

"Yes. See you at dinner," Bastila echoed, bowing slightly before turning to leave.

She made it all the way to the doorway before I blurted out, somewhat guiltily and half shocked at myself, "Hey, thanks for listening to me. I know I can be… difficult."

"Do you?" she said. She turned to glance back at me over her shoulder, and unless I was imagining it, a flicker of a smirk touched her lips. "Then perhaps there is hope that you can be reformed yet."

And then she was gone.

I could say the same for you, I couldn't help thinking. That single wry comment was a far cry from the near-constant stream of repartee Carth and I had been had been trading, but if she was capable of teasing me, maybe there was still a glimmer of hope that I could teach her to have a real sense of humor.

It wasn't much of a life goal, but it was one more than I'd had an hour ago.

And even a Jedi could have a hobby, right?

To be continued...