Dark Temple Throne Room, Dromund Kaas; 44 ABY

"Are you going to kill me?" The question was calm, almost conversational in its tone, that belied the circumstance.

"Why shouldn't I?" Jaina asked bluntly, "You're Sith."

"You might think I'm evil, but I'm a necessary one." Vestara said, reaching up to run her fingers along the broad edge of the blade. With her other hand, she motioned for Ben to stand down, as he was tensed to intercede. "If you kill me, you also destroy the balance."

"And me," Ben moved forward. "You wanted to know why Dad changed his mind, we can show you, too."

Jaina could feel the blood pounding in her ears, the heady rush of adrenaline that was probably the only thing keeping her on her feet at this point. When Ben reached out, she saw Vestara's fingers twitch. It was all it took, that slight, innocent, movement that sealed her fate. Jaina lunged, blade leading the charge and felt the momentary resistance as it pierced flesh.

Ben saw what was happening, what would happen, thanks to the residual precognition his Flow Walking bestowed upon him. He didn't think twice, instinct more than anything else, shoved Vestara back and intercepted the razor edge with the only thing he could: himself.

Vestara could only stare, her previously mindset shattered by a blur of motion as a sharp, intense pain. Not her own, but from the person in front of her. Ben's eyes were wide, more shocked than anything else, the barest flicker of azure in their depths was dim and faded. She caught him before he could fall limp to the ground, clutching him close to her chest, unwilling to let him go. Not after all they'd gone through, to die like this. She ignored Jaina, surprise evident on her face, as she dropped with Ben to the floor of the throne's dais. "Don't leave me, don't you dare." Some part of her mind idly noted that she barely sounded like herself. Her voice was hoarse and raw.

Jaina loosened her grip on the instrument as soon as she realized what she'd done, but it was too late. The Dagger had done its damage. In shock, she watched the Sith girl cradle Ben's sallow body on its way to the ground, careful to lay him down so as not to push it in any further. Her quiet words raw with emotion, the first time Jaina could remember Vestara not in control of herself.

Ben looked up, Vestara's head was wreathed in long brown hair. The soft lighting gave her the appearance of a halo. He would have thought her the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, if it weren't for the tears. Swallowing some of the pain, it was already starting to fade as a numbness started to take over, he reached up to brush an errant tear off its intended track. His voice, when he managed to speak, was a whisper. "Don't cry, you know I never liked it when you were sad."

Huffing out a sob, Vestara tried for a smile, but it only made her feel worse. "I—I know." She couldn't force herself to say anything more, her throat felt tight, constricting. It made her breathing come out in ragged gasps.

The numbness was spreading, it'd reached his chest. Arms, now unwilling to move, lay flaccid against the rough floor. He wasn't scared, of all the things he thought he'd feel at this time, peacefulness was not one that had ever been considered. True, Ben had imagined all the scenarios in the past where he could have fallen, but it would have always been going down fighting to the last breath. It felt odd, to lie here waiting for it, simultaneously accepting it was over while rebelling at the pain his passing would cause. His last conscious thought was to feel warm lips, wet with tears, pressed to his own. All in all, not a bad way to go out.

Vestara felt his light go out, a candle flicked away by a breeze, and what little control she'd mustered to show him before he died, cracked. She cradled him and rocked back and forth, as if he were a child, her hunched form racked with sobs.

She stayed that way for as long as she could, focused entirely on Ben. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. They were supposed to have gone away together, they'd won, hadn't they? It wasn't fair. She could have been happy, she had been happy during the time they'd been together, but fate was cruel and sadistic, dangling a future and ripping it away in seconds. She gradually came back to herself and stilled. Her grief morphing into anger. No, it wasn't random fate that did this to her. Her head swiveled sharply. She hadn't even realized she'd dropped her illusion until she spoke in a cracked, choir-like voice that was acidic in tone. "Are you happy? You took everything from me!"

Jaina hadn't moved a muscle, frozen where she'd stood. The words ripped her out of her vigil. She didn't even know what to say. She tried to kill this woman, but now couldn't bring herself to look her in her sparking ruby eyes, accusing her of horrible crimes. When she did manage to start to say something, it was cut off. "I—"

Vestara had never hated someone so much in her life. She thought she'd hated Abeloth, was certain she'd hated Cronal, but they paled to now. When Jaina started to speak, the sound sickened her. How dare she speak after what she did? Not even using her hands, Vestara wrapped a vice-grip around the Jedi Master's neck, raising her two feet off the ground. She watched in sadistic pleasure as Jaina struggled to breathe, wanted to watch her die just as she'd watch—her eyes darted down, her hands had squeezed tighter on Ben as she'd attacked Jaina. A look of fear flashed behind her eyes and the Jedi Master dropped to the ground, landed on her knees gasping for air.

Jaina, much to her own surprise, didn't blame the girl for reacting as she had. The emotions coming off of her were being broadcasted with a strength than even a novice could perceive. Anger, grief, and fear comingled. All powerful to those ingrained with the dark side. But Vestara wasn't using them, they were just there, being experienced in every excruciating detail.

"You took everything from me," Vestara's voice was softer when she repeated the words, not looking at Jaina this time. The fire in her eyes died when she'd looked at Ben. She realized that killing Jaina wasn't what Ben would have wanted, and he deserved to have his wishes followed. She pulled his body closer. The tears were back, trailing slick paths down her face. She didn't even bother wiping them away. They didn't matter. Nothing did at this point.

"I'm . . . sorry," Jaina could think of anything else to say. It sounded hollow, especially to her. No matter what she'd thought personally about the Sith girl, she recognized the pain she saw there. Her words didn't appear to have registered. Vestara carefully reached around and picked up the dagger that had fallen out, the other hand never parting from Ben, as if she'd lose him if she let go.

"Should have been me," Vestara muttered to herself, voice low and insistent, speaking to herself. She gazed intently at the lack-luster blade she held. Face contorting with rage, she hurled the blade at Jaina's feet.

Jaina looked dumbly at the weapon at her feet, unsure what she should do. Vestara, however, didn't feel like waiting for her to figure it out. "Do it," she hissed. "It's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

Didn't she? Jaina had done this, hadn't she? Her fingers twitched over the blade. She could, the girl wanted it, right? She was a Sith, she didn't deserve anything better. Jaina looked up from the dagger and saw Vestara, still kneeling with Ben in her arms. The tears in her eyes made them glisten in the light. Jaina's resolve faltered, she couldn't do this. No matter who Vestara was, Jaina couldn't let it to be like this. Why couldn't she have fought, betrayed them again, anything to have validated attacking her? "I—I can't."

Vestara's reaction was visceral. "You can't? You stand there after what you did and have the gall to tell me you can't?" She practically spat the words, her free hand curled into a fist. Her nails cut tiny groves into her palm, trickling blood down her wrist. She waited until Jaina averted her eyes and snapped. "Fine. If you won't, I'll do it myself."

The dagger dragged itself back across the stone floor, scraping a white line behind it. Vestara clutched it's handle in her hand, the now-healed cuts pressed flush to the handle. She wasn't going to be like Abeloth, alone and angry. She refused. Death wasn't a foreign concept to her during her training, but it was always a failure, the ultimate failure of a Sith. Suicide wasn't even an option, no true Sith would take that way out. No, they used their emotions to give themselves power. A part of Vestara knew that, but it was overpowered with the part of her that had been growing over the past year. This part had done all the things she wasn't supposed to do. This part had loved, been loved, and was now bereft of its partner.

It was more than not wanting to be like Abeloth. True, that was a factor, but it was a secondary one, one thought up to give a rational explanation for what she wanted to do. No, the truth was much more simple: she didn't want to live, not without Ben. Shifting her hold on him, she tilted his head against her own, their foreheads pressing. "Together forever," she murmured before kissing him one last time.

Jaina felt foolish for not moving. The soldier inside her railed against not neutralizing the threat the Sith girl posed herself. Another part, one that she really didn't want to acknowledge, cried out, demanding to know why she wasn't stopping the girl. The kiss was brief, there's not all that much that can be done when only one party involved was breathing.

Vestara never looked back at Jaina, all but ignored her as she flipped the dagger, pointing the tip to her chest, slightly off center, just between two ribs. Vestara didn't plunge it in, it was, instead, sickeningly slow. Her face twitched in pain as the knife's edge sliced into her. When it reached her heart, she honestly expected it to be over right then, but their metamorphosis apparently wasn't going to offer an easy end. When the tip came out the other side, she started feeling it take effect, the deadened feeling coming from her limbs. She'd felt Ben experiencing it, so it wasn't unexpected. The tears had stopped, though they hadn't dried yet. The gasping breaths were back, but now for an entirely different reason. She felt tired, oh so tired, and leaned over Ben. Once her eyes found his face, they never left, she didn't have the heart to blink. She died with her eyes open, staring endlessly into the face of the last person she loved.

Jedi Temple, Shedu Maad; 44 ABY

As funerals go, it was a small one. The Masters and a handful of friends attended, among them a distraught Shula Shevu. That itself, wasn't what made this unique, though. For the first time in the memory of any of the Jedi present, these rites were being afforded to a Sith as well as a Jedi. The pyres were erected at the base of the Shedu Maad Temple, a courtyards cordoned off to the outside and most of the students. Not because they didn't want to come, but that the Council was unsure as to what they should do, whether the students should come. In the end, they decided they shouldn't.

Jaina felt like she was trespassing here. She shouldn't have been given a seat next to the other Masters. She couldn't tell what she felt more uncomfortable looking at, the pair of bodies being eaten away by flames or the kneeling Grand Master.

Luke hadn't woken up until a week after the incidents on Dromund Kaas. He'd suffered a severe concussion, though he'd been able to buffer his impact at the last second. When he opened his eyes, hoping to see the familiar face of his son grinning down at him, he instead saw a withdrawn Jaina, staring blankly at the wall opposite her in the room. He didn't even have a chance to ask, she saw he'd woken up and told him, words flowing in an unstoppable torrent.

He never judged her, Jaina was perversely resentful of that. He'd just took it in, shattering his heart in the process, but never blamed her. He should have, it was her fault. She killed him, killed them both, even if the latter was murder by proxy. It all felt similar to when Mara had died, the same emptiness took over the Grand Master. When he'd been well enough to walk, he went to where the pair had been laid out. Jaina had insisted they remain together, to the surprise of the other Masters. Luke stayed there for another week, only eating when food was brought in by Cilghal.

There was rumor among the Knights that the Masters were afraid that the Grand Master might not recover from this, and he wasn't doing anything to dispel it. Try as he might, knowing that Ben wouldn't want this anymore than Mara would have back then, he was burdened by weights of his own guilt. He could have avoided all of this if he'd only listened to them the first time. They wanted his support and he left them to fend for themselves, made them proved their sincerity. It just hurt too much to stay. He'd given his life to the Jedi, and suffered loss after loss here. This was the end, Luke decided.

True to his vow, the following day he'd informed the Council of his diminished capacity to perform his duties. He didn't exactly phrase it like that, though, it was more along the lines of 'I'm leaving.' His final words, much to Jaina's shock, was his support of her taking over for him. There were always things Jaina failed to understand about some of Luke's decisions, but putting her up for such a position while she was still coming to grips with her own moral responsibility topped the list.

"Why me?" She asked outside the Council Chambers, she'd followed him out after his abrupt departure.

He didn't turn around, shoulders sloped downward. "Because it's your destiny."

She hated that word, it left a metallic taste in her mouth. Instead she said what she had been thinking for weeks. "I killed them, I'm not fit for the responsibility."

Luke neither acknowledged nor rejected what she said, only pointed out. "I've killed a lot of people over the years, some directly and others I never even intended. You have to take your experience and grow with it, learn from it."

It was the longest thing he said since Ben had died. He waited a moment for her to say something, anything, but she couldn't form the words. Receiving no response, he resumed his walk. He strode out of the Temple and flew off the planet in the Shadow. It was the last time anyone would ever see the former Grand Master alive. Years later, he would be found in a small moisture farm on the remote desert planet of Tatooine.

Jaina took over as Grand Master that day, much to her own conflicted feelings. Over time, the pain of what happened on Dromund Kaas faded to a dull ache. She never forgot, and never forgave herself, but she put on a face for the others. Jag was the only one who ever knew the extent to which it ate at her, but his support and comfort let Jaina make a part of her veneer a little more real.

Over the years, a number of apprentices would come to her chambers and ask about the ornate handle attached to the barren wall behind her, why it was there. The Masters knew, at least they each thought they did. They were wrong, for Jaina didn't quite know herself. She knew some of it, what it reminded her of, why she could never make that mistake again. There were days when she wouldn't spare it a glance, and others where she'd lose hours staring at it.

Jag was probably the closest in verbalizing why the dagger was there, at least in his own mind. He was a soldier, so survivor's guilt wasn't something alien to him. He saw her looking sadly at the handle, lost to the past, always wanting to take back one mistake that caused so much pain. He never told anyone, most of all Jaina, but he knew it was there for one reason and one reason only: regret.

Author's Note: I honestly wasn't originally planning on posting this, but I'd imagine that there are some people who prefer their romance stories to have a tragic flavor. This version definitely gets more dramatic than the other one. There is a part of me that liked this more for that aspect. That being said, the other one is the 'official' ending, this is more for catharsis.