Disclaimer: Just a reminder that they are not mine.
I wake in the medical facility of our village, quiet monitors beeping and humming around me. There is a whiff of bacta fluid and heavy-grade disinfectant in the air.
My monitors seem to have alerted the medical droid, as it shuffles to my bed and urges me to lie still as I try to right myself.
"Do you know your name," the droid asks in monotone.
"Jas'kah." I struggle with the word, my voice cracked and brittle.
"Do you know where you are?"
"Medical ward?"
The droid nods. "Do you remember what happened prior to being here?"
I scan my mind and pain erupts within it. The storm, the loss of my uncle, the destruction of the store and my home. Then, the haziness of the Eyes dimming my vision. The sheer cliff wall, the wind … and the man in black.
I sit up abruptly, immediately wincing as the room spins around me. The man in black. He saved me. He fought off the Eyes of the Damned with me.
"You must rest," the droid tells me.
"No." I try to look around slowly, allowing my inner equilibrium to recalibrate as I move my head. There is no one in this room with me. The other three beds are empty. Where is the man?
"I don't remember how I got here," I say pointedly to the droid. "What happened?"
"Rest now," it replies. "Rest and soon someone will come for you."
The droid must be confused. No one is coming for me.
I learn I am wrong. People do come for me. My father-in-law and mother-in-law come first. They appear to be humbled, although I'm unsure why.
They tell me little, but wish me well. My mother-in-law replaces the dead flowers next to my bedside with new ones. I am touched by the gesture and curious why they are pretending to care.
Others visit me – customers from the store. They tell me more than my in-laws. They explain that the remains of the store have been removed, leaving the rectangular lot empty and awaiting my decision of what to build there. My mind boggles at the thought; nothing in my life has ever been just my decision. They do hint that they would like for the store to return. The other markets in the village do not cater to the specialized off-worldly orders like we did, and the people are having difficulties procuring exotic spices or other such items from the other vendors. There is the murmur of an idea in my mind, a plan, but I am too weary to dwell on it for more than a moment.
I remain in the medical facility for the remainder of the week, eating bland food and growing increasingly restless. My mother-in-law visits every day. She stays briefly, talks little, and replaces the flowers on my nightstand.
When she arrives today, I ask her, "When can I leave?"
"Soon," she tells me, avoiding eye contact.
"Mohten said I could stay in the basement of the Counsel building. Is that still true?"
"Yes." She stares at the floor and fidgets with the ruffles of her skirt. Her voice drops in volume. "You may also stay with us, if you like."
My eyes widen. "Oh?"
"Yes. Mohten and…others feel that it is more appropriate for you to stay with us during the rebuilding."
Something within me rumbles. I do not wish to be dependent on them or anyone any longer. "I will stay in the Counsel building," I tell her. "I can manage."
I leave out the submissive echo in my mind that claims I do not wish to be a burden to them. But then I realize it is more than that. I want to be able to support myself. I will need the help of the Counsel, and I will need time, but I will rebuild the store and my home in the way I choose. It will become mine and mine alone.
The conscious acknowledgement of my first step towards self-reliance ignites a fire within me. I can do this. I will do this. There is no reason why I cannot.
My release from the medical facility is met with little fanfare. The same applies to my relocation into the basement of the Counsel building. The room is small and contains only a single cot overlapped with appropriate bedding. Empty shelves line the walls, the coatings of dust outlining the items that used to be stored there. I give a small sigh and make my way out of the room to the refresher facilities down the hall for supplies to clean my new home. I tell myself that life in a storage closet is temporary. It's a good thing too – as the lack of cleanliness in the refresher is downright horrifying.
~~~~/*\*/*\*/*\~~~~
It takes a month for the construction process to begin, and the estimated time to complete the new store is approximately three more. I am humbled by the donations of time and materials from the community and vow not to let their efforts be in vain. I insist on assisting in the construction, much to the dismay of my mother-in-law. We have a terse discussion on the topic that doesn't go well. My father-in-law intervenes, surprising me by taking my side of the argument. I am unsure why, but grateful just the same.
I find early on in the building process that the traditional skirts and blouses I've worn all my life are not appropriate for the toils of labor. I order new, foreign clothing - the female versions of boots, pants and shirts. They are restricting at first but I learn to appreciate them and plan to order more once the store is up and running.
One afternoon, as I'm pounding away on the support structures while five others are welding and cutting, a chill runs up my spine. Given the warmth of the sun beating down on my shoulders and my sleeveless tank, I doubt it is the weather that has caused the sensation. I stop my work and scan the surroundings, brushing the dirt from my arms. My skin has darkened from the sun, and the dampness of my sweat seems to attract each particle of dust, encouraging it to cling to every last pore. I do not look my best, nor do I care, until I see the cloaked figure at the far end of the street.
It is the man in black, although it appears I can no longer refer to him as such. His attire is different now – the cloak is pale brown and he wears a white shirt and mud-colored pants tucked into black boots. The hood masks his face but I can feel his eyes upon me. I freeze in the moment, recalling his touch against my forehead, his presence in my mind. I blink and he is gone, the trail of his cloak rounding the corner to disappear behind the homes the only indication he was ever there.
Many questions flood my mind. Why was he here? Did he move to the village? Why the change in clothing? These are minor compared to the most pressing question of all – What happened up there on the Cliffs after I lost consciousness?
I spend the rest of the day lost in thought. Distraction does not become me, as I smash my thumb more than once. I attempt to focus on the task at hand, but the questions remain, murmurs in the back of my mind.
~~~~/*\*/*\*/*\~~~~
The opening day of the store is filled with excitement. Many of the village has come out to celebrate. I scan the crowd for my man in black as I cut the white ribbon tied across the front doorway, but I do not see him.
All who attend wish me well as they cross the threshold, scanning the new interior. I make station behind the new shop counter, pleased at what my village and I have created. The storefront area is smaller, the shelves and compartments filled primarily with items from off-world. That is what the villagers need and that is what I will provide. High tech equipment neighbors exotic spices and herbs. There is an area for produce and other fresh goods, but as there are other grocers in the village, I chose not to be their competitor. Instead we are talking of a collaborative cooperation to ensure we all prosper. The meetings are in their infancy, but there is traction to them. Many wish me to take the lead for the cooperative and become a Counsel member, but I am hesitant to do so. I would be only the second female Counsel member, and I would prefer to focus my attentions on the new tap café section I've created along the longest wall of the store.
My heart swells with pride every time I see it. I cannot wait for the last of my appliances to arrive so I can begin my new journey in preparing and providing food to the people of my village. There are so many recipes I want to try, so many conversations I want to experience as people sit in comfort and enjoy my food.
I'd like to think that my aunt and uncle would be proud of what I've become, but a part of me is mired in doubt. My appearance has changed; I am hard and firm where I once was soft and doughy. My hair is short where it once was long, my clothing form-fitting where it previously was loose and flowing. I catch the odd stare from some of the old-timers, but the majority of my customers seem ambivalent. Then again, they are more interested in my wares than my looks. A sense of normalcy returns as the day wears on. I process their purchases with practiced ease, mimicking the consummate professional my uncle once was. It is comforting to them to know their needs are being heard, and it is a comfort to me to finally confirm that I can continue the traditions my family once valued. I spend that first night in my new apartment above the store snuggled into starchy white sheets and a pale blanket. It is the best night's sleep I've had in years.
~~~~/*\*/*\*/*\~~~~
Three months later, before the suns rise, I am behind the tap café counter, pouring stimcaf for my regular early morning customers. There is a new communications tower being built a few clicks away, and the crew has to be on site early. No other place is open at this time, and when I overhead their conversation one day as they were ordering supplies, I agreed to open early for them.
I enjoy their dry banter; it is a refreshing start to my day. They are a mix of locals and off-worlders, and they are all male. Their brash humor is amusing to me as it is very much the opposite of everything that Josel ever was. Who knew males could be so free-spirited and entertaining?
I am frying nausages in back, listening with half an ear to another round of ribald jokes, when the chimes above the door to the store ring. I wonder if this is Sorani. I made good on my word to do right by her and her husband after they housed me from the storm that night. They were struggling to fit into our village and needed the income. I hired Sorani to tend the store for me two weeks after the tap café opened. She handles the basic transactions and any stocking or cleaning the store requires. Ultimately she is doing my old job. I do the complex research and purchases, and I tend to the tap café single-handedly. I've never felt more alive in my life; the increase in profit margins an added bonus. If I am lucky, I will be able to repay the town by the end of the year and own the store free and clear.
I peer through the open alcove between the kitchen area and the store, expecting to see the auburn waves of Sorani. Instead I find the dun-colored cloak of my man in black. My body and senses stiffen at the sight.
He approaches the tap café area hesitantly and stands for quite some time before finally settling himself at the furthest stool at the counter, tucked in the corner nearest the rear of the building. He does not remove his hood and appears to be waiting patiently.
I turn the nausages down to simmer and cover them to keep the moisture in. With an air of confidence I do not feel, I walk through the half-height doors and approach him.
"How might I help you?"
He is slightly restless, his body shifting slightly beneath the cloak. When he does finally speak, his voice is clear and a note lower in pitch than I remember. "Are you familiar with Tatooine cuisine?"
"Yes. I am cooking nausages now and was considering preparing some dustcakes. I also have H'Kak bean tea." I pause, waiting for a response from him, but none is forthcoming. "Would you like some?" Again I wait in vain. This is silly and my one-sided conversation is attracting the attention of my regulars. Either he orders something or he has to go. "I'm afraid…"
"Yes," I hear him murmur. "Please."
Okay then. "I'll have the tea for you shortly," I tell him in my professional, polite tone.
I hand him the steaming cup minutes later with no comment. It disappears under that hood as he drinks. The last of my regulars is leaving, bidding me good day and good profits. Sorani is still not here yet, and I hide in the kitchen to avoid interacting with the man. I do prepare his dustcakes, adding a touch of spices that I think work well to flavor the meats. I serve him three cakes along with four of the nausages and leave him to his meal.
Sorani finally arrives and I go to greet her. She raises an eyebrow at my new and unusual patron, but I give her a stern look to dismiss her curiosity.
"He's okay. I'll handle him."
Sorani nods and we return to shop talk – the tasks needing completion, the orders arriving and requiring processing. I'm attempting to teach Sorani the financials, but it isn't going well.
My man in black makes a slight cough and I realize I've abandoned him. Mollified by my rudeness, I return to him, clearing his plate and utensils away. Ever aware of my role as a hostess, I politely ask, "Is there anything else you would like?"
He shakes his head in a negative, the hood obscuring the movement, barely discernable. For some reason, this sparks ire within me.
"I can't see what you're doing when you hide under that hood." I scowl at him. "I don't understand why you insist on wearing it indoors."
I know instinctively I've provoked him. He raises a hand, a metallic biomechanical hand I never noticed he had, and flips the hood of his cloak back. The steel blue of his gaze meets mine, and a half-shriek of horror escapes my lips. His dirty plate drops from my grasp to the floor, shattering into many pieces.
He is still within the shrouds of the Eyes of the Damned.
I step away from him and he cringes at my movement, returning the hood to cover his features. I glance at Sorani, but she is focused on a datapad, oblivious to her surroundings.
"How…?" I ask.
His voice is cold. "How what?"
"How is it that you still carry them? I thought…you defeated…we defeated them."
"Defeated whom?"
I scan the store. There is the early light of dawn, innocent and distracted Sorani, and no one else.
"The Eyes of the Damned," I say in a harsh whisper. I have never spoken the words aloud before.
This sparks amusement within him and he barks a choking laugh. "The Eyes of the Damned?"
Embarrassment and humiliation pour through me, reminding me of my last days with my uncle. I shake my head, willing them away. I am not that person any longer.
"Okay, what do you call it then?" I ask with a snarl. "The darkness that haunts your gaze and eats at your soul? Don't deny it isn't there – I can see it as plain as the daylight."
His brows furrow. "Wait, you can see it? See it within me?"
"Yes. You wear them. They dilute your aura to greyness and cloud your vision. Do you not know this? I thought…" My voice trails off. I thought he understood what we were doing, what we were fighting.
He studies me intently. "Interesting."
There is an awkward silence between us. Somehow I have become different to him. "I thought you knew."
"Knew what?" His tone is softer, gentler.
"That I was different. Special. I have a talent to see the auras and sense the emotions within people. I thought…" I lower my words to a whisper. "I thought you saw that up on the Cliffs."
He then lectures me with words I struggle to understand. "I saw you as a Force-sensitive who was being pulled towards the Dark Side, and it was making you suicidal for some reason." He lets out a small sigh, as if in regret. "I couldn't let you kill yourself, so I did what I could to help clear your mind so you could focus better."
His next words growl defensive. "I don't know why you passed out. What I did shouldn't have hurt you."
He doesn't know. He doesn't know nor understand that without him, I'd be dead. "You didn't hurt me. You saved me. You were a hero."
My announcement unsettles him; I can almost sense a rippling of embarrassment mired within his rejection and disdain of my words. He stands quickly and places a handful of credits on the tap café counter. "Thank you for the meal." He leaves my store, the swirl of brown agitated by his speed.
I blink at the empty stool and the shattered plate scattered at my feet. With cautious steps I maneuver around the shards and return to the kitchen for the whiskbroom and dustpan. The remnants of the plate are quickly removed, but the remnants of our conversation hover within me for the remainder of the day.
~~~~/*\*/*\*/*\~~~~
A week passes before he returns to my store and tap café. Our dialogue is stunted, he requests his Tatooine fare and I serve it to him. My prior words to him have found fertile ground, as he removes his hood when he eats. I note the changes immediately: the evenness of his beard, the highlights of blonde amidst brown and grey in his now-clean hair. I wouldn't say he has taken pains with his appearance, but he has made some effort. Intrigued, I study him from the kitchen in silence, curious. Did I have an effect on him, or did something else cause this improvement?
Pragmatism fights with age-old teenaged fantasies, with logic winning out in the end. I mean little to the man, and he is naught but a paying customer for my store and my food. Intriguing yes, but no more than that. I watch under hooded eyes as he leaves without a sound. After the door chimes to indicate its closure, I go to clear away his dishes and check for payment. He has left a goodly sum, much more than necessary. I divide the payment between my fair share and the overage, storing the excess within a small empty box that once held metal cylindrical washers. If and when he returns, I will give the excess back to him. I do not want his charity.
He does return, again in a week's time. Once I serve him tea I return to the kitchen and retrieve the small box containing his credits. I pause at the half-height doors, debating whether to confront him on this issue. Warning bells are tolling in the back of my mind, urging me to accept the kindness and leave the man alone.
"Why you standing there, Jasz?" asks Tobiaz. Tobiaz is another regular; he works in the Security Team established by the Counsel many years ago. He is one of the senior members of that Team, having been on it since its inception. His brown eyes are studying me with puzzlement, the wheels in his head trying to comprehend my somewhat abnormal behavior.
"Oh, daydreaming, I guess," I tell him. My warning senses are wise – now is not the right time for having such a conversation. I return to the kitchen and prepare the Tatooine food yet again. I also brew a new pot of stimcaf and once it is ready, refill Tobiaz's cup. He adds half of the small carafe of cream to his cup, nearly overflowing it. He slurps the diluted stimcaf down in 3 sips, and bids me good tidings. He's off to protect our village, and I'm alone again with my man in black.
If ever there was a time to talk, it is now. I retrieve his meal and carry the small box under the plate. His eyes do not meet mine as I serve him, he merely picks up his utensils and starts carving away at his dustcakes. I place the box under the counter closest to him, prepared to return it to him once he's finished. I gather the small, rolling stool I keep tucked away and settle myself upon it. I stall for time by organizing paper products stocked nearby, but given my penchant for neatness, there truly isn't much for me to do.
I am glancing at him repeatedly, wondering why it takes him so damn long to eat his food. After what must be my fifteenth peek, he bangs his utensils against the counter and sighs loudly.
"What do you want," he states condescendingly.
I am not amused.
"I want you to finish your meal," I snark in reply and am immediately surprised at the harshness of my tone. Why does he spark this response in me?
"It's tough to eat when you're hovering like that. What do you want?"
"I wanted to talk to you about this." I turn the stool to face him and push my way towards him. When I am finally across the counter from him, I place the box with the extra credits in front of him.
His eyes shift from his plate to the box, and then finally rise to meet my own.
It is still shocking, to see the Eyes hovering within him. But I steel myself and meet his gaze. "You left this the last time you were here."
His brows furrow. "I didn't leave a box."
"No, the extra credits. You left entirely too many."
Those furrows shift to deep creases. "Those were for you." There is hurt in his words – I've offended him.
"I know, and…" Now I feel silly. Why couldn't I just accept his gift? "Look, it feels inappropriate, accepting that much money from you. I didn't do anything special to deserve it."
"You made me food," he states quietly, his gaze returning to the plate in front of him. "Good food." His voice is low, almost shy. "I was thanking you."
"I make everyone good food. They do leave a little extra, but not like what you left."
There is the tension of miscommunication and misunderstanding in the air, but I am at a loss of how to clear it. Moments pass and I do something I would never, ever have had the courage to do before. I reach out and touch his hand. The real one, not the claw of metal and leather.
There is a tingle in the back of my mind as my skin contacts his. He feels it too. His face lifts and the sea of blue I see in his eyes is deep and turbulent, the Eyes merely a thin film to hold back the storm. Something crackles between us, making my head light and my pulse quicken. I jerk my hand away and the tingles recede. He reacts as well, tucking his hand under the counter and breaking eye contact. The hood is flipped up a half second later.
What in the stars was that?
Through some miracle, I find my voice. "I… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have touched you."
His voice is tight beneath his shroud of muted brown. "No. But you did."
"I didn't…I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." I sigh heavily and share with him as much truth as I can vocalize. "I am sorry. I would like for us to be…well, to not be awkward around each other."
He pauses before replying, his words a lonely whisper. "I think I would like that too."
My insides do a little leap of happiness, and I am surprised at how easily I again feel like that giddy sixteen-year-old girl. I take a deep breath to regain my composure.
"Why don't we compromise? Today's meal is on the house, and I'll keep your gift from before. Deal?"
I hear the smile in his voice and can almost feel it in my mind. "Deal."
~~~~/*\*/*\*/*\~~~~
He returns the following week. I politely nod at him as he removes his hood, noting again the slight improvement in his appearance.
"The usual?"
"Yes, please," he replies with a slight smile.
I beam at him in return. This is progress.
When I am clearing his plates away, I notice his left hand absently resting on the tap café counter. The urge to reach out to him again is strong - to touch, to feel the awareness of him again in my mind, but I cannot bring myself to do it. Instead I look to him for guidance, perhaps I am fantasizing and he is oblivious to it all.
I can tell in an instant he is not. He is watching me beneath downcast eyes, a hint of desperation in is his gaze. He wants me to touch him. I place his dishes off to the side and roll the stool out again to sit across from him.
Hesitantly, I wrap my hand around his. The tingles return, stronger this time. I watch as his hand moves under mine, turning slowly until our palms touch, then our fingertips. His fingers are longer than mine, and thick where mine are slender. We are both mesmerized by the contact, ripples of attraction heightened by the anticipation for what might happen next.
His fingers start to curl between mine when the chime of the door followed by the shouts of voices shatters the haze around us and forces us to return to reality. A trio of workers has entered, and they're hungry for their breakfast. I withdraw my hand from his, the separation almost painful in my mind when we break contact.
"Duty calls," I tell him, my voice overly cheerful. I avoid his gaze – I am entirely too frightened by what I might find there. This is all a little overwhelming and I'm genuinely unsure how to handle it.
But customers I can handle. "How might I help you gentlemen today?" I ask in my bright professional tones.
I am scribbling down their orders when I hear the door chime again. I look up to see his hooded silhouette framed in the doorway. The hood turns, and I can feel the heat of his gaze from across the room. I blink and he is gone. But whatever is between us isn't over. I wonder when, not if, I will see him again.