If you remember way back at the start of "In the Morning," I mentioned that the story occasionally skips forward in the timeline--about two years after the story actually starts. This (and the other parts called "Interlude, Part ") is one of those chapters :) They were initially going to be in bold, but once I took a look at ff.n's chapters in all bold, I had a change of heart :P

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Chapter Eighteen: Interlude, Part I

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Nichyn was late on his visiting day. Adapting from NLY's tempo to Gallinore's—that is, where the Ryms always had one more thing to run back for—was something on which he still worked.

Lera didn't mind. Nichyn had come even when the others had work or training; he had never broken that promise.

She continued with her writing until he arrived. She had gotten past the beginning of Dr. Pilk's "last step to recovery." Mentally, it had been the most difficult to write. She hadn't been greatly involved with that first part of Sanar's journey, and the details had been hazy. But everything after…

A tall, wiry boy sat down across from her. "What's up?"

Lera grinned and brushed her hair out of her face. "You've got yourself some working slang," she noticed immediately. "Very cool, Nichyn."

His eyes betrayed his continuous concern, but Nichyn smiled back. "I'm quite proud of myself," he agreed.

"As you should be." The dishwater blond flipped her notebook shut. "Just you today?" she checked. "Shanya said she and Arelyk might be able to come, but since they're not behind you…"

"They'll come in a few days." He shifted uncomfortably for a moment on his chair, then abruptly moved to sit next to her. "Stuff came up. You know how it is. Sorry."

"No, I wanted to see you today. Really." She stood. "Wanna go walk around? The visiting lounge isn't as bad as some of the rooms, but…"

He nodded quickly. Even as he adjusted to peace, Nichyn still sometimes got the jitters. Fighting and being on his guard for so much of his life on NLY had left its mark on him, never to fade.

The planet did that to people. Even Lera had a few such marks.

"So…how are you?" he asked once they were outside.

He always asked, and he always wanted the answer. She almost wished—for his sake—that he didn't care quite as much. Nichyn had enough people to lose sleep over without worrying about her.

"I'm…alright." She brightened, having almost forgotten that she had solid, good news this time. Eagerly, she watched his face as she spoke. "Dr. Pilk said I can come home soon."

"That's great," Nichyn replied, beaming.

Lera loved his smile.

"Did she say when?"

"As soon as I'm done this last project of hers." So it was vague. Lera didn't feel guilty about her response—she doubted Nichyn would care much for the truth.

"How long, do you think?"

"A month…maybe more." The memories came easy enough, and sometimes the words did, too. Lera's problem with this story was keeping her emotions in control. Someday she'd tell Nichyn, but not yet. He'd probably know that part, anyway, when the truth came out.

"Never mind about me," she said. "I'm all we ever seem to talk about when you visit. How's your studying? Stumbled across any new, astonishing facets of democracy?"

"I'm not sure I trust the senate," he confessed, easily adapting to the subject change. "It seems like they hamper necessary decisions. What if they are chosen poorly? In times of crisis, they could take up too much valuable time."

"I read about something like that, somewhere," she mused out loud. "I can't remember where… But it was around the Clone Wars. The political leader—the Chancellor, in the Old Republic—can be issued emergency powers, I think. That way, he or she doesn't have to put forth ideas to the senate before acting."

"That could result in a terrible situation," he replied grimly.

"Uh…yeah. Actually," she said with a wince, "I just remembered where I heard it: Galactic History 10 class. It's how Emperor Palpatine turned the Old Republic into the Empire."

"You mean like the New Empire? The one you were at war with several years ago?"

She nodded. "Some guy was pretending to be Palpatine back from the dead. I can't remember his name—they only found out at the end of the fighting." She grew quiet, remembering the war.

(Which war?)

"I noticed you were writing when I came."

If she hadn't known him, Lera might have been fooled by Nichyn's "casual" remark. But she knew her friend—even as well as she knew Arelyk. Nichyn was well aware that she hadn't written much since her admittance to the hospital. He had probably been waiting for a moment to slip it in, or to use it to distract her.

She considered making her answer fuzzy; Nichyn had made very clear his view on what had happened. But she didn't want to lie to him.

"I'm writing about everything that happened," she said bluntly. "With me, Sanar, Kyp, NLY…Prophecy and Vengeance…and him." At Nichyn's stricken look, Lera slipped under his arm. She always felt warmer when Nichyn held her. Besides, he seemed to take comfort in holding onto her.

"It's Dr. Pilk's project, Nichyn. I'm supposed to find some way to express what happened."

He squeezed her shoulders, yet his entire body remained tense. "I don't like it."

"I didn't think you would," she said wryly. The girl smirked up at him. "You're my overprotective guy-friend. The project's…kinda stupid." Actually, after writing some of it, she wasn't so sure of her own opinion. "Not like I'm in charge of my therapy, though."

"But…you just have to express it, not write about it all. Why don't you just throw some paint at a poster, and assign it some 'meaning'? Why write it?"

Lera rolled her eyes at him. "Because unlike someone I know, I have no artistic talent whatsoever. I failed 'Stick Figures 101'." She smiled humourlessly. "Besides, someone has to do it, and since Devnos seems to have passed on the gift of recording things… Why not push it a little further?"

A flick of his eyes betrayed Nichyn's unease. "What do you mean, he passed it on? You aren't—he didn't—"

"No, no visions," she was quick to assure. "I'm still blind to the Force, and inaccessible to Prophecy. I just…meant…" How to explain what she was only beginning to feel, somewhere deep inside her? "I'm different, now. The past year…with Devnos, my parents…even with you…it changed me."

"Devnos," Nichyn repeated in a tight voice.

She pulled away from her friend just enough to see his face. "Nichyn, about Devnos—"

The dark-haired teenager's expression hardened. "I don't want to talk about him," he snapped.

Lera involuntarily stiffened. "O-okay," she stammered. She left his embrace to walk ahead of him by half a step. In front of her, her hands played uncomfortably with her shirt. "Um, w—we don't have to, then, if you d-don't want to. U-um…"

"Lera…" He exhaled sharply, and she thought he might have cursed under his breath.

Sometimes, she thought Nichyn had as much baggage about—and as many unresolved issues from—The Occurrence as she did.

"Look, I'm sorry," he said as he caught up with her. "Of course we can talk about—him. If you need to."

Reaching a bench, she sat down. "We don't have to," she told him tiredly. "But we should, eventually. It happened, Nichyn. We can't ignore it."

"I know. I just—" He struggled for words for a moment.

(Nichyn never struggled with words unless it had to do with her, or translation confusion. Sometimes Lera hated that she did that to him. Sometimes she didn't.)

"I agreed to help."

"But you didn't know—"

"Neither did he," she replied softly.

"He should have."

"How?" she pressed. "How could he or I—or anyone—have known?"

"Somehow," Nichyn replied. Stubborn. He was always so stubborn. "And how can you defend him? After everything he did—"

She gave him a look. They had been over this many times before.

"You can't expect me to be nice when it comes to Devnos," Nichyn growled, looking away. "I could kill him."

Straightening, Lera stared at him. "You don't mean that."

"You're in a psychiatric hospital because of him," Nichyn snapped. "I do mean it."

"First of all, I am in here because of Prophecy." Lera's voice was sharp and firm. "Secondly, he is both already dead, and your uncle."

"He led Prophecy to your door."

Lera sighed, and quietly said, "I don't want to argue." She patted the seat next to her. "Sit down. I have to crane my neck to look at you when you're standing. What is Shanya putting in your food?"

He obliged her, but said, "You wanted to talk about this, Ler. You can't change the topic now."

Wearily, she leaned back against the bench. Taking his hand, she played with it. "Don't you think there's already been enough death for this prophecy?" she asked, not looking at him.

"Is there ever?" he retorted. But his fingers tightened around hers.

Lera couldn't answer. "At least it's done now," she said.

The lie clawed at her throat, worse than any sin she had previously committed.