Meetra watches Darth Azamin's shuttle lift off from her bedroom window. Satisfied that the immediate danger is over, she assembles her weapons on the bed and retrieves her old Exile clothes and boots. She has just kicked off her slippers to begin changing out of her Lady Sion disguise when Tony arrives.
"He's off. Don't worry, Cornelius is good for his word—he won't inform on us."
"I can't stay. It's too dangerous," she mutters as she starts fiddling with the buttons that close her fancy dress at the nape of her neck.
"Wait—you're not leaving . . . you can't leave! Not now!" Tony yelps.
Seriously? Meetra shoots him a look, annoyed by his wailing. "He knows who I am," she grinds out.
"Yes, but he won't tell." Tony says this with complete confidence that she does not share.
"Look, I'm sorry, but it's too dangerous to stay. Help me out, will you?" Meetra presents her back to Tony for unbuttoning. "This dress requires a maid . . ."
He refuses to help and starts arguing with her. "You can't leave! Now is no time to panic. Meetra, don't let fear control you! Things are starting to come together—"
"I'll panic if I damn well want to!" she retorts. "Are you going to help me or not?"
"Stop and think! Once you're on your own, you'll lose the power of the dyad to protect you."
"I'll manage."
"No, you won't! We've been over this before. You'll be dead in under a week. Stop letting fear control you."
She whirls on Tony. "Do not underestimate me!" Has she played his demure Sith wifey so well that he has forgotten what she's capable of?
The bond is bleeding her emotions into Tony, and he mirrors her rising anger for himself. "How did we get back to this again? I thought we were past this," he complains.
"We were until your Dark Council brother-in-law showed up and tried to kill me! If he identified me," she reasons, "then others will as well."
"I wouldn't count on that. Cornelius is in a class by himself when it comes to Force sensitivity and perceptiveness. No one else you're going to meet comes close to his abilities."
"That's not convincing." Not when her life is on the line.
"Okay, then if you are caught again, we simply handle it. Together we can protect you-you saw what just happened! Our power multiplies when we are aligned. We've known that your healing—your Light—is intensified by the dyad. Tonight, we saw that it is the same with my Darkness. I shot red lightning!" Tony's face says it all as he breathes out with awe, "I still can't believe I did that. I mean, I'm pretty good and all, but that's next level badass . . . "
Listening to him admire his own power has Meetra annoyed. His awesome Dark prowess isn't the point. "Even if we can handle others, Azamin is an issue. He will turn us in."
"Cornelius can be trusted."
"He was livid. He was fully prepared to kill me!"
"He backed down."
"Yeah, and then you threw him out!" Things didn't exactly end with accord.
Tony shrugs off the conflict. "He's family. Families fight."
Meetra shakes her head and grimly predicts, "By tomorrow, this place will be swarming with praetorians."
"It won't."
"How are you so sure?"
"For one thing, because Cornelius was far too tempted."
"Oh." Meetra pauses fiddling with the tricky buttons and considers, "Do you really think so?"
"Yes. He never saw any of what happened tonight coming. Not you, not the dyad, not my red lightning, not our offer to kill Vitiate and make him Dark Lord . . . We blindsided him."
Her eyes narrow. "But why, if he knows your political views—"
"I've never been able to act on them before. Sure, I did small acts of rebellion here and there, but nothing major. I've been all talk for the last hundred years. And that was fine because the matter wasn't ripe."
"It is now."
"Agreed. Lord Lacerate is going to force the issue and he could put things in motion that mean it's now or never. Meetra, Cornelius came here to talk about his Council appointment and to strategize for himself. He never expected we would have our own plot to add to the mix."
"Yeah? Well, that's his problem, not mine . . ."
Tony stubbornly keeps up his role as Darth Azamin's staunch apologist. "Cornelius has been very protective of me through the years. He's a very loyal man—"
"Who killed his own father!" She's sounding shrill, but she doesn't care. That sort of betrayal speaks for itself.
"It was Cornelius who helped me to consolidate control of this system many years ago. He was the one to help me find a new purpose after my revenge failed. And when I would occasionally run short of capital prisoners, he would ship me a frigate full of condemned men who had been court martialed by the Navy."
"To torture?"
"They were going to die anyway. I put their miserable, wasted lives to good use. But the point is this: Cornelius knew how unfairly I felt treated in my own life . . . he knew that as a result justice matters to me in ways most of my peers dismiss . . . And so, rather than see me forsake those values and condemn innocents to death so I could survive, he found me a substitute. That's the kind of man Cornelius Caesar is. He looks after people. He finds small ways to help people that matter."
"Maybe I have misjudged him . . . " Meetra hedges, tired of pointlessly debating the merits of Admiral Azamin.
"You have, I promise you! And if praetorians ever do show up, together we can handle them. They'll be nothing against our combined power."
"I don't even have the Force," she points out.
"You use mine every morning when we train. It's getting easier—you said so yourself. We just need to practice. The Force is with us."
"With you, you mean." Meetra sighs and cringes. "Those memories you saw—"
"The Darkness."
"Yes," she chokes out, upset at the reminder. "Those memories are what cost me my Force."
Tony disagrees. "It's still there."
"It's gone. Gone forever . . . "
"It's all still there. Cornelius even saw it."
"It's gone," she insists.
Tony digs in, too. "I promise you that your Force is all there. Maybe you can't perceive it, but I can. And tonight proves that I can use it!"
She rolls her eyes at his lust for power. "Red lightning?"
"Red lightning is just the beginning! I know you felt the same that I did tonight—that we were so powerful together . . . even invincible . . . " Tony's eyes flash yellow with excitement as he proclaims, "This is how we kill Vitiate! This is how we free Revan! But we have to be together-the dyad only works if we are together."
"Look, are you going to help me with these buttons, or not?" She's feeling trapped in her dress like it's some worrisome metaphor of being trapped as Lady Sion.
Tony must think he's making headway because he walks forward to assist. Meetra bows her head and lifts her hair, and he starts fiddling with the small column of tiny buttons. But like her, he makes little progress.
Already stressed, Meetra is easily frustrated. It makes her flippant. "Just rip them."
"No. This dress is beautiful, and you are beautiful in it." To punctuate those words, Tony drops a kiss on the bare skin on the nape of her neck.
It's unexpected in the context of their heated argument, and it causes her to shiver involuntarily. Still, Meetra resolves to ignore it. Kisses were what talked her out of leaving last time.
"Get to it!" she snaps. She's angry and taking it out on Tony even though he's not to blame for her unmasking. But she was finally getting comfortable with their ruse—maybe even secretly starting to enjoy her new life—when Darth Azamin comes along and ruins everything.
"Hold still," Tony instructs. "The buttons are a little stiff, that's all."
Meetra stands there fuming at her predicament. Soon, she'll be a hunted fugitive again. With no Force to protect her. With no friends or allies to turn to. And with Kreia looking to pounce so she can spread her misery and claim some validation. Damn, Meetra wishes her sojourn here at Fortress Sion had lasted a little longer. She's not ready to resume being the Exile. Not that she will admit it, however. . .
"Almost done."
After what feels like an eternity, Tony opens the last button. He proceeds to unzip her dress as well. His hands wander down her back to settle at her waist, resting there casually. This is the sort of easy physical intimacy they have developed from their nightly hands-on healing routine. As a standoffish,
emotionally remote Jedi, Meetra has never been particularly touchy-feely. But she has come to welcome Tony's touch that comes with an invigorating jolt of Force energy. She feels most alive when the dyad blooms to its fullest. It's the closest she comes to feeling like her old self.
She's going to miss this, she knows. The comfort, the security, the Force, the healing . . . Mundane things like morning sword practice, Tony's goofy puns, and his roses. Him . . . she's going to miss him. She might as well admit it. But that's not a justification to stay.
Meetra abruptly yanks down the cumbersome dress, too hurried to care that she has an audience. Standing there in only her bra and panties, she argues, "Your brother-in-law won't let us free Revan. He'll be angling to kill him as a rival."
"Only if Cornelius wants the job himself. And that's not clear."
"From what I've seen, every Sith Lord wants the job . . ." she grumbles.
"You might be right," Tony concedes. "But in the end, the Force gets to choose, not us. If the Force wants Revan, it will be Revan. If it wants Cornelius, then he will get the job."
Meetra looks up from the gorgeous dress she just shimmied to the floor in a crumpled heap. "I'm not confronting Vitiate so Revan will die . . ."
Tony meets her eyes. "Your friend might prefer a quick, clean death to whatever Vitiate is doing to him now."
"Please don't say that . . . " she gulps. "And what if it's Vitiate? What if the Force wants Vitiate to rule?"
"Then, we die."
"I'm not afraid to die," she whispers. Not for Revan's sake.
"Neither am I," Tony declares. "You can get to a place in life when the thought of continuing with the status quo makes the fear of death seem manageable. But I still want my death to mean something."
"I get it," she nods. "I'm not afraid to die, but I don't have a death wish. That's why I'm leaving."
Disappointed Tony looks more sad than angry. "I won't force you to stay. I won't lock you up. You will always have free will where I'm concerned," he sighs.
"Yeah? Am I supposed to say thanks for that?" In the context of Tony's Sith Lord status, that sort of magnanimity is probably unheard of. But Meetra won't say thanks for her Force-given freedom.
Tony's eyes keep wandering down. "What are you—oh . . . " Meetra belatedly realizes that what she's wearing does little to veil her naked body. Her bra is basically two scraps of lace harnessed by ribbons. It's a flimsy garment designed for seduction, not function. All of her underwear fits that description, really. But those are the styles the housekeeper deemed appropriate for a newlywed when she placed the initial clothing order.
"My eyes are up here," Meetra snaps, pointing to her face.
Tony tears his gaze away and smirks back at her. "I know, but the show's down below." His eyes wander lower again almost involuntarily. "Force, Meetra, you're . . . you're . . . " His voice trails off but the bond registers a jolt of lust that suddenly makes her throat dry.
Meetra immediately reaches for her old tunic to yank over her head. She does not need to get distracted by romance again since she's already conflicted over leaving. In a short time, she has become immersed in Darth Sion's world. She finds herself loathe to leave it.
"I don't like this Azamin scheme. Your brother-in-law doesn't strike me as the freedom loving type. If you ask me, he's a despot in the making," she sourly predicts.
"He's not. Cornelius is a pragmatist with progressive sympathies and no love for Darth Vitiate."
"I don't like him!"
Tony shrugs. "Given tonight, I'm not surprised."
Is he getting her point? "I don't trust him to be Dark Lord."
"Does that matter if we rescue Revan?" Tony angles. "Are you that vested in what happens in the Empire?"
Kind of. "I don't want to make things worse between the Republic and the Empire," she reasons.
"How about we meet with Cornelius again—"
"Are you fucking crazy?"
"Hear me out. Let's meet with him and discuss-"
"The answer is Hell no, Tony!" And wait, that came out a bit too shrieky.
"Don't let your fear control you . . . " Staring at her face, Tony worries aloud, "I can see that you are very afraid right now . . ."
It's true. But she has good reason to fear given that a leading contender for the title of Dark Lord nearly killed her twenty minutes ago. "Look, I'm sorry," she spits out miserably. "I'm sorry it took me a while to trust you . . I'm sorry that I wasn't able to finish healing you . . . I'm sorry that you'll have to go back to harming people to live . . . I know I was skeptical at first, but I did really want this ruse to work. I'm sorry it didn't work out. I tried . . . "
"I know you did. I also know how out of your comfort zone you were."
That's a nice acknowledgement, but it changes nothing. "Well, we're busted now," she snaps. "The game is up. This is goodbye."
"Meetra—"
"This is goodbye."
"Okay," he relents. "But I think you should heal me before you go."
Is he still trying to change her mind? Does he think that she will get one last taste of the Force and be persuaded? Meetra won't risk it. She holds firm. "One more healing session will mean nothing in the long term . . . "
He responds, "Go look in the mirror."
Meetra grabs a boot and sits down on the bed to yank it on. "Can you get a ship ready for me? I want to leave tonight. Like now. Right now." She doesn't have a plan yet, but she'll make one up.
"Meetra, go look in the mirror."
"Why?" What is he harping about? Is this more delay tactics?
"Go look in the mirror."
Something about the way Tony says this suggestion the third time gets her attention. Maybe it's his obvious trepidation or his too gentle tone, but instantly Meetra is wary. He's got the demeanor people use before they inform you that you have a serious illness or that there's been a terrible accident or that you're being laid off and the company is going bankrupt.
"Yeah, okay . . ." She looks to Tony questioningly.
He nods and softly encourages, "Go on."
Now, she's really spooked. Meetra drops the boot. She walks fast into her bathroom and turns to face the mirror. There she sees what Tony had been reluctant to tell her . . . what he had wanted her to see for herself.
Her eyes are yellow.
YELLOW.
FUCKING YELLOW.
Staring at them in disbelief, Meetra suddenly can't breathe.
Her yellow eyes must be what had convinced Cornelius Caesar that she is no ordinary Jedi. They're what Tony means when he keeps saying her fear is controlling her. Her eyes say what she refuses to acknowledge—that she is full of Darkness so strong that it seeps through despite her best efforts. But Meetra can no longer pretend otherwise for look at them . . . Just look at them . . . Her eyes bear testament to how far she has fallen. The Council was right-it was just a matter of time. She started down the Dark path at Malachor, and now forever will it dominate her destiny.
Meetra is horrified. Simply aghast.
With a trembling hand, she reaches for a perfume bottle on the vanity. Rearing back and summoning Tony's borrowed Force, she heaves it hard at the mirror with a resounding rebuke. "NO!" That is not who she is. With her last breath, Meetra will resist this awful fate. She is not Dark. She refuses to be Dark. Whoever that yellow-eyed woman in the mirror is, she's not Meetra Surik.
Upon impact, the mirror explodes glass shards in all directions.
Tony is by her side in an instant. "Are you cut? Where are you hurt? Show me!"
She's not hurt. Not in ways that bleed, that is. Meetra pushes hovering Tony back, physically resisting him and all he represents. "No!" she snarls, her eyes shut tight against the very sight of herself.
But as usual, Tony is persistent. He nabs her flailing arms, holding them tight. She's barefoot and there is glass everywhere crunching beneath Tony's boots. But no matter. He sweeps her legs out from under her, catching her up in his arms to carry her back into the bedroom.
By the time he sits down heavily on the bed with her, Meetra has stopped fighting. She starts sobbing into Tony's chest. She's crying her eyes out from distress and self-disgust.
Tonight's memories of the super weapon must have brought her yellow eyes on. For try as she might, Meetra can never successfully distance herself from those complex emotions. But her crying fit now is for so much more than guilt over Malachor V. It's an outpouring of everything from that period of her life which she has swallowed hard, sucked up, and successfully repressed for years. This is grief over her many dead and Dark friends. It's sorrow for her loneliness and fear for her future. There's frustration and shame over her exile, too. And regret—so much regret—for things said and left unsaid, and for things done and left undone.
"I'm s-sorry," she gasps into Tony's chest. She's soaking his armor with her heaving sobs. It only adds to her humiliation because a true Jedi would be horrified at this out-of-control display of emotion. This is undisciplined. Flagrant. Indulgent. But she can't help it. Right now, probably nothing can stop it.
Tony is a Sith born and bred, and he has been taught to embrace his feelings. He won't pass judgement on her meltdown, instead he encourages it. "Let it out. It will help," he croons in her ear as he strokes her back. "It's not good to keep too much bottled up."
That advice is the antithesis of her childhood instruction. There is age old Jedi teaching to 'search your feelings' which means to distance yourself from your present mindset and analyze it objectively. You evaluate your emotions in order to master them. 'Search your feelings' is basically code for 'control your emotions.' It's usually said by Jedi Masters to Padawans as reproof.
Tony wants her to ignore all that. "Darkness can consume you, if you're not careful. You must learn to vent your negative feelings."
Meetra keeps crying and Tony talks softly as he strokes her hair. "That can be hard for women. Men usually act out, and that is fine in the appropriate setting. But women tend to internalize things. They can end up with obsessive rituals or controlling eating regimes or even self-harm. Those sorts of coping mechanisms are counterproductive. They allow Darkness to cripple you rather than empower you. It's best just to let it out. Women so emotional by nature . . . "
Tony's trying to help, but the vast cultural chasm between them is showing again. In the modern Republic, speaking aloud those kinds of gender generalizations would get Darth Sion in trouble. Because everyone knows that men and women are fundamentally the same and any perceived differences are societally imposed limitations which harken back to the institutionalized sexism of bygone days. But Meetra lets the point slide. Tony is rocking her a little now, like she's a child. It feels good.
Does he understand that this moment is her rock bottom? Yellow eyes are everything Meetra's ever been warned against and taught to fear. This is the nightmare scenario she has tried so hard to resist. When Revan and Alek went rogue and then went Dark, she didn't join like the rest. She hung back—no longer really a Jedi but stubbornly averse to becoming a Sith. She alone wanted to find a middle path between the two sides of the Force, braving the slippery slope of moral equivalence and situational ethics. It was a lonely place even before she was condemned an exile. But here she is now calling herself Lady Sion, wearing dresses, and sporting yellow eyes. She's become the full Sith anyway, despite her best efforts.
And that feels so wrong. Meetra grew up on the dogma of the Light that teaches Darkness is a choice—it's a moral failing for those who are weak and choose the easy path to power and a selfish agenda. Is she weak? Is she selfish? Is she evil? Meetra doesn't believe so. But those yellow eyes say otherwise. It is crushing.
The bond tells her that Tony's been this low before himself. He too has been lost, confused, and paralyzed by the past. He knows this same existential dread—the fear that all you have gone through, all that you have lost, is meaningless in the end and so your pain has no purpose and there is nothing that can be learned from it. You hurt and that's all there is. It's one step from the nihilism of Kreia that they both seek to resist.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, the two-hundred-year-old Lord of Pain is something of an expert on suffering. "When people say that pain is a kind of wisdom, they mean that it matures you," he intones, sounding like a sage of Darkness. "It is a universal experience because sooner or later all must endure it. Whether it is physical or emotional, life promises pain for everyone. Take comfort in that commonality. Embrace the empathy it kindles."
"But it's too much . . . " she sobs. Her pain is on a different scale than for ordinary people.
He knows. "For those of us who survive great loss, for the few who witness the unimaginable and live to tell of it, we have a special burden. My best advice is to make something positive out of it. Nothing will change what happened in the past, but we can affect what happens in the future. So, right the wrongs. Fix the system. Change the underlying assumptions or the values that led to your tragedy so that it will not reoccur for others."
"War . . . who can stop war?" she complains, bitter at this trite-seeming advice.
"We can stop war possibly. You and I . . . if we oust Darth Vitiate."
Tony's still trying to get her to stay. He's doing it with logic, not with threats and violence. It's very Darth Sion and it's disarmingly effective. Too bad she's far from rational thought currently.
She's becoming embarrassed at how long this crying jag has gone on. But Tony brushes aside her concerns. "Shhh. I am here for you. You are my gift from the Force and there is nothing I won't do to make you happy. Let me take care of you."
So as the waves of repressed emotions keep coming, sobbing Meetra clings to Tony and rides each crest out. Eventually, she starts to calm. Slowly, she regains her equilibrium. For like a late summer thunderstorm on Coruscant, this cyclone of Darkness blows itself out from its sheer intensity.
In its wake, Meetra is left with a face of smeared makeup, a runny nose, and a persistent hiccup.
"Better now?" Tony murmurs.
"Yes." She pulls back and looks up at him sheepishly.
He brushes a lock of hair out of her eyes and tells her, "Go in my bathroom and wash your face. Then, I want you to heal me."
"Do you think I can still do that?" Can a yellow-eyed Jedi use the Light?
He squeezes her arm for encouragement. "I know you can. And I think it might help."
"Yeah, okay . . . ". The Light sounds like an excellent idea right now. Meetra disentangles herself from Tony's lap and heads next door to wash up. She takes care not to glance in the mirror. She can't bear to see those yellow eyes again. They are too triggering.
When she returns, Tony has already begun removing his armor. Meetra starts assisting him. "What am I healing?"
"Whatever you want. I just want you to feel the Light."
But can she still do that? She can. When Tony's armor is off and her hands are on his bare skin, she summons the Force to heal like usual. Meetra is ready to faint with relief. This is the Light she craves and the hope she needs right now.
Tony beams down at her, but she can't summon a smile in response. She sets about healing with determination and Tony does not disturb her by speaking. Ten minutes in, she is the one to break the silence.
"How are my eyes?"
"Keep going." It's not what she wants to hear.
"Are they any better?" she frets.
"Look up."
She does.
"Yes. Yes, I think so," he judges. "But keep going."
Encouraged, she doubles her efforts. It must feel good because her patient sighs with pleasure. "After you leave, I'm going to spend the rest of my days wishing I had been a proper Sith and locked you away," Tony muses lightly with a wry set to his mouth. "I should keep you in a cell wearing that dress from tonight and only take you out to ravish you . . . I would be the only person you would ever see and you would grow to both love and hate me, and it would be peak Dark romance with a creepy dose of cheap sleaze thrown in."
It's playfully said, but Meetra's answer is serious. She shakes her head. "That's not you."
"I know. But right now, I wish it were." He flashes his slightly crooked grin and teases, "What do you say? Will you be my Jedi concubine? Can I handcuff you to the bed?"
His goofy leer is completely non-threatening. Is he trying to coax her to smile? It doesn't work. She shakes her head. "That's not you." Even at the beginning when she was in the cell, Darth Sion was giving her roses, cookies, and weapons.
"You're right. It's not me," he relents with a rueful sigh. "I don't want to be with any woman who doesn't want to be with me. I don't want to dominate you."
"I know." That's not just Tony's approach to dealing with her, it's Tony's approach to ruling his system. He doesn't rule by fear, he wants his people to like him. And they do. Time and time again, she's seen him feed off the ego boost of adoring crowds. Often, he's more like a Republic politician at a campaign rally than a baleful Dark despot.
With the bond so effortless, he knows her thoughts. "Free will matters," he grumbles. "It's less ideological than it is pragmatic. It's just easier to rule if people want to obey, so you don't have to compel them. I would rather reward than punish," he harrumphs.
Listen to him. "You really are a very bad Sith except for the torture part."
And that's the first of many contradictions Meetra can't quite reconcile. Darth Sion treats his people with respect and courtesy, but maims prisoners without a second thought. He plays the part of the autocrat authoritarian leader in his warrior getup complete with concealing mask, but beneath it lurks twinkling eyes and a goofy grin and a man who wants to be liked. He has a deep commitment to his people, to their culture and their religion, yet he plots political assassination and revolution. He even advocates abandonment of the revenge of the Sith, which is pretty much the foundational belief of the Dark Side as far as Meetra can tell. The man is all over the place personally and professionally, and yet it kind of makes sense? He's a little bit of everything and that makes him overall quite moderate. Yep. He's a very bad Sith. The Sith are supposed to be extreme and uncompromising, and that's not Tony. In fact, tonight it seems like she's being the reactionary, stubborn one . . .
"A very bad Sith?" he considers the point. "Well, maybe that's good. We Sith are supposed to be bad," Tony jokes.
"Seriously," she informs him, "you're terrible at being the bad guy."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"That's how I mean it. If I had to get captured by a Sith Lord, I'm glad it was you." Things might have been so much worse had she been caught by Darth Nihilus.
"Are you flirting? You're flirting!" Tony mock-accuses. He's trying to make her smile again. "Flirt with me some more," he coaxes.
"It's true." This isn't flirting. "If I have to be bonded to a Sith Lord, I'm glad it is you." He's kind of wholesome for a Darksider? Maybe a little noble? Definitely not the usual variety.
Tony's eyes flash yellow at her. "I knew you cared . . ."
"Not enough to stay. Don't get your hopes up."
"Leaving is an irrational reaction under the circumstances," he complains.
"Maybe so, but I'll take my chances."
"You'll be dead."
"I will trust in the Force to protect me."
"Trust the Force all you want, but don't expect it to protect you from foolish decisions that are so obviously contrary to the dyad it created to help you." He frowns at her. "The Force also helps those who help themselves, you know."
The phrase triggers a memory. "Revan used to say something like that . . . usually before he did something kind of Dark." Revan was a man who in maturity had a very malleable, pragmatic approach to ethics and the Force. Not unlike Tony, come to think of it.
"Stop letting your fear control you. Stop running away. That's always your first instinct—to flee and to hide," he accuses.
"I have yellow eyes, Tony. Yellow fucking eyes!" she hisses back. "That's scary!"
He wants to spin it differently. "Maybe it's progress for you to acknowledge what you have experienced . . . "
"I don't want yellow eyes!"
"They're looking better."
"Really?"
"A lot better, in fact. Go look."
"No. Not until you tell me they're normal again."
"Alright, keep going." Tony sighs wistfully. "This feels so good . . ."
"I know. For me too. But I'm not healing you until I pass out again. I learned that lesson."
"Yes, please don't do that again. But will you at least wait to leave until we can fake your death?"
"How convenient that you never found the time to do that . . ." Meetra slants some side eye up at Tony.
"There was no urgency. I thought you had decided to stay."
"I had until Darth-fucking-Azamin showed up."
"I didn't know he was coming."
"I know," she responds glumly, and they both fall silent again.
Five minutes later, Tony requests, "Look up at me?"
She does. "Still yellow?"
"No. You're normal."
"Really?"
"Yes," he smiles. "Go see."
"Oh!" With a little squeak of excitement, Meetra flies next door to his bathroom to look in the mirror. And he's right, her eyes look normal again. She is so happy that she claps her hands and cheers a little.
Tony wanders in while she's still admiring herself. He smirks at her exuberance. "I have long wondered if when you heal me, you heal yourself a little as well. Now, I guess we know. The Light helps us both."
"Thank you. Thank you," she gushes, turning from the mirror to him. Words cannot express how relieved she feels. She's hoping the bond relays the true depth of her gratitude.
He reaches to cradle her face, his fingertips at her temples, near her formerly yellow eyes. "I knew it was going to upset you. I didn't want you to see. I was hoping I could talk you into healing me and your eyes would resolve without you ever knowing."
Maybe Meetra should be upset at his paternalism, but she knows it was well intentioned. Tony was trying to avert the meltdown he just witnessed.
He starts choosing his words carefully now, watching her closely as he speaks. "Denial is how you cope, I know. I think that after tonight, after I saw a little of what you experienced in the war, I understand better why you hide from your Darkness. I do not fault you for it. I will not push you to confront it."
It's an important statement for him to say and for her to hear. Meetra beams up at him.
They are standing close, his hands holding her upturned face. So, it feels natural as Tony leans closer for her to lean in as well. And now, they are poised an inch apart. His breath is on her cheek. Her lips are nearly touching his. They stay in that posture for what feels like an eternity, each waiting for the other to make the first move.
Is he going to kiss her?
Should she kiss him?
Normally, Meetra is not shy about these things, but something about Tony puts her off her usual game. She overthinks him. That seems ridiculous given their bond, but it's the truth.
As she deliberates, Tony makes his move. In an instant, the soft brush of his lips becomes a hungry kiss. For her part, Meetra is instantly all-in. She encircles her arms around Tony's neck and pulls him closer. Their minds are bridged by the bond, so it feels right to be physically connected. In some ways, this passion feels almost inevitable.
This is where they left off the last time she wanted to leave. Tony hasn't made a move on her since then, despite all his admiring glances and longing looks. And that means the interim has been a slow burning fuse. It explodes now between them as their spark combusts. They have both been denying the attraction for weeks. Noting it, but not pursuing it. That lead up makes this moment its own kind of release.
Her mouth is all over his. His hands are all over her. This feels like madness. Like reckless, sweet madness. They're standing together in his bathroom, of all places.
"Don't leave me . . ." Tony pants into her neck. "Please don't leave me . . ."
"Kisses won't make me stay," she counters even as she arches against him.
"It's worth a try. It worked last time."
He's right, and that's a little galling. But she's enjoying this too much to stop. Kissing Tony feels a little like jumping to lightspeed. It's a momentary jolt followed by a rush. As always, the bond intensifies the experience. She feels her response and his too. That makes it extra heady.
Tony's hands are becoming aggressive. They creep up under her loose tunic now, his fingers daring to slip beneath her bralet. "We are a team . . . we are meant for each other . . . Who is going to help you the next time your eyes turn yellow?"
She moans as his fingers find her nipple and begin to tease. "I'll come back to you," she impulsively offers. "I will come back and heal you now and then."
"No. Stay. Be with me," he demands. He pulls her closer. "Stay."
"It's too dangerous," she sighs out against his lips, continuing their bickering between kisses. In truth, their disagreement is situational, not personal. They see the same facts, but draw different conclusions. That doesn't make them enemies, it makes them people with different priorities. And so, there is little heat to the conflict on either side.
In fact, the heat between them is something different entirely. Things keep escalating fast. And while Meetra's enjoying every moment of this tryst, she feels compelled to set limits. "I . . . am not . . . fucking you. That was our deal . . ."
Tony starts negotiating. "Define 'fuck.'"
Does that concept need explanation? "Keep your pants on." She refuses to sleep with him, but a little more of this torrid make out session sounds good. After all that has happened tonight, Meetra feels very close to Tony right now. She wants more. She can't get enough of him.
Tony's hands are on her hips. They reach behind to squeeze. "Alright. I can do that," he agrees as she moans a little and he grinds suggestively against her.
And wait—what exactly did she just agree to? Meetra pulls back and looks up at Tony questioningly.
He smirks at her and confesses, "I know you hate them, but you look really hot with yellow eyes."
She giggles a little. "A Sith hot for power? What a surprise . . ."
"What can I say? You slay me."
Meetra groans. "No bad jokes."
He's goofy now as he leers. "I won't lock you up if you agree to tie me up."
"We're not fucking, remember?"
"I'll settle for you spanking me," he angles.
"In your dreams, laser brains."
"I might just dream about that. But for now, I'm going to enjoy you with my pants on." Tony gleefully swoops in for another never ending kiss.
When they both come up for air, she keeps setting limits. "I'm not sucking your zombie dick, if that's what you're thinking."
"That's fine. As a general rule," he informs her, "the Sith prefer procreative sex."
She snorts. "Are you serious?" He's serious. She laughs at his primness with worldly Republic condescension. "You people are so quaint."
He doesn't take offense. Instead, he whispers huskily, "I still remember how to please a woman." There's a twinkle in his eye to underscore that promise.
"Very well, then," she glances up at him coyly. "Get to it."
"Yes, my Lady." Tony proceeds to throw her over his shoulder and march into his bedroom.
Upside down, she pounds on his back and protests, "Put me down!"
"As you wish." Tony stands her up next to his bed. "Are we doing this?" he asks.
"I guess . . ."
His hands reach to unbutton her tunic. Meetra allows him, watching in silence. When he's done, she shrugs the garment off. Tony next unfastens her trousers and eases them down. They puddle on the floor beside her cast off shirt, and now she's as bare as before.
Tony's eyes are all over her again. It's a good thing that she's not self-conscious. Communal showers in a Jedi dormitory long ago negated any concerns for modesty. It helps that Tony himself is still bare chested from healing.
Well, here goes. Meetra raises a hand to untie the ribbons of her bralet. But Tony stays her efforts. "Let me do it," he requests.
Tony undresses her like he is unwrapping a Life Day present. He's boyishly gleeful, she notices, and that heightens her own anticipation. Maybe it's the bond bleeding his thoughts into hers, but she's getting increasingly excited. Where is this heading? She doesn't know, but she can't wait to find out.
"I'm still leaving," she feels compelled to warn as Tony reaches to untie the ribbons on one side of her panties.
It's buzzkill that he pretends not to hear. Instead, he blinks at all the bare skin he has revealed. "You look like a little girl . . ."
What is he talking about? Oh, right. Her hairless bikini line. She giggles. "No woman is all-natural down there in the Republic."
"Huh. Why not?"
Why indeed? "I don't know. It's just the fashion." Even celibate Jedi woman disdain the full bush. "Some think it more hygienic."
"Fascinating," he marvels.
She snorts. "At least this way, a guy can't complain that he can't find the important parts."
Tony assures her, "I know where to look."
"I'm going to hold you to that."
He laughs. "I'd be disappointed if you didn't."
The exchange feels very them. They are bickering even as they go to bed. As Meetra lays down next to Tony, she's glad this moment isn't a grand, climactic surrender on her part or some forcible seduction. Instead, this is her realizing how improbably close she and Tony have become in a short time. She wants to share something with him before she leaves. They'll have a little fun before she resumes life on the run as the Exile.
And so, here they are rolling around in his bed exchanging open mouthed kisses and fervent caresses. It's weirdly playful compared to her past experiences. Meetra has had plenty of casual sex, but it has never felt this low key. Is that because there are no rules being broken since the Jedi Code no longer applies? Or is it because she's completely sober for a change?
Tony settles close beside her, propped up on one elbow so he can easily kiss her. Then, he sets to work leisurely exploring her anatomy.
"Oooooooh," she sighs as he dips a hand between her legs.
"This is me not-fucking you," Tony whispers wickedly before he drowns her with another languid kiss.
Meetra soon discovers that Darth Sion does indeed know how to please a woman. He doesn't poke with fumbling fingers, he rubs the right spot with the perfect amount of pressure. He's using the pad of his finger, drawing circles as he lets his pace vary. He's not in any hurry, and that's the best part. His tongue wanders her mouth as his fingers play below. Meetra soon starts to writhe beneath his attentions. Tensing and clenching at first. Then heaving and gasping. Eyes closed tightly, her body becomes increasingly taut.
Meetra knows how this pleasure works, how it builds to a climax. Like most every celibate Jedi woman, she is something of an expert at self-gratification. She spent many a night in the women's dorm satisfying herself before drifting off to sleep. It wasn't until she was at war with the Crusaders that she had sex with a man. And so, she knows when her body is ready to tip into momentary oblivion. She's poised to find her pleasure now. Right there at the brink. But damn Tony, he won't let her get there. For just as she's ready to peak, he backs down.
It leaves her unfulfilled. She wants more.
He, in turn, begins anew, stroking her yet again to almost fruition.
"You're killing me. Just killing me," she pants.
He chuckles against her cheek. "You'll die happy."
"I can't take much more of this."
"Sure, you can. You love this."
It's true.
"Stay with me and we'll do this every night," he croons.
"I can't stay . . . "
"Stop being stubborn. Stop being afraid. Nothing can harm us while we're a dyad."
"Hush," she pouts, glaring up at him. "You're spoiling the mood."
Tony answers with another delirious kiss. "I will let you hide from your Darkness, but not from the truth of us. We are poooowerrrrful together," he purrs into her ear, sounding very Sith.
"Stop talking," she commands.
Tony laughs. He seems content just to kiss and stroke her body. But as he continues his prolonged teasing that never quite culminates, Meetra starts to feel very unfulfilled. She's as lustful as she's ever been, stoked by Tony's expert foreplay that leads to nowhere. It has her rethinking her ground rules. Maybe she wants to sleep with him . . .
But can Tony even perform? She heals him nightly, focusing on two of his three mortal wounds. Never once has he asked her to address the stab wound to his upper thigh that she worries is essentially to his groin.
Could he be impotent as a result?
"So . . . uh . . . does it work?" she ventures. Suddenly, she's dying to know.
"Does what work?"
"Your uh . . . little Sion . . . I mean er . . . tiny Tony . . ."
"What? Tiny who?"
"Your . . . forget it . . ." she mumbles, embarrassed to be asking and embarrassed for him as well.
The bond must clue him in because Tony now affirms, "All of me works. It's not pretty down there on the best of days, but the equipment still functions." He reaches to pull her hand over to cup his crotch. And yes, she can confirm that there's a throbbing bulge just like there should be in this context.
Time to do a little teasing herself, Meetra decides. She starts rubbing hard through his pants as she innocently inquires, "Does that hurt?" She knows it doesn't. Tony's immediate delight is lighting up the bond. If Tony doesn't have blue balls by now, Meetra plots, he will soon. Two can play at this maddening game of fondling.
"That's not little Sion, that's big Sion," Tony boasts. And then, he to demonstrate, he rolls over on top of her.
And oh, she has forgotten the delicious feel of the weight of a man on her body. As he rubs his clothed self against her nakedness, Meetra feels a thrill that registers through their connection.
"When you're ready, I can satisfy you," Tony promises a little smugly.
And Hell, how about the present? Meetra wants more, and she wants it now. And why not? They're both adults and they're even fake married. Plus, she's a woman who is confident about asking for what she wants.
She tells him, "Stop teasing me and let's do this. For real." Time to unzip and whip it out.
The request isn't received like she expects. Tony abruptly sits back on his heels, still straddling her. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"Yes. Let's do this. Put that Dark dick in me and let's make a disturbance in the Force."
But this too becomes a negotiation. "Are you sure?"
Meetra rises up on her elbows and raises an eyebrow. "Do you want me to beg? Don't make me beg."
Tony doesn't answer immediately with an enthusiastic kiss. In fact, the bond tells her that he's deliberating. So much for being in the moment and throwing caution to the wind.
And now, for the first time, their bed play feels awkward. Meetra's never had a man turn her down for sex before. In her experience, men leap at the opportunity, especially when they know nothing is expected of them in return.
But not Darth Sion. He starts asserting leverage. "I'm not doing this if you're going to leave me."
She blinks up at him. Really? Like, really?
"You don't get to love me and leave me." The bond reveals what he's really saying: 'Don't hurt me.'
Ugh. How is she suddenly the bad guy in all of this? Is she the seducer? The user? That's not how she was envisioning this encounter. "Tony, I — I—" she babbles, stalling for what to say.
"Just say you'll stay for now."
"For now?" she yelps.
He nods. "Same deal as before. No future assurances beyond your present intention."
Now, it's her turn to deliberate. She frowns as she thinks. Honestly, she's negotiated arms deals for the Republic that involved less posturing than going to bed with Darth Sion.
"I've got that red lightning," he reminds her. "Together, our combined powers will keep us safe." And that's very Sith of him, to be talking Force at a time like this.
"Well?"
Wavering Meetra caves. "Oh, alright."
She is rewarded with his goofy grin. "What was that you wanted?" Tony quotes her, "Put that—"
"Put that Dark dick in me and let's make a disturbance in the Force."
"As you wish." Tony starts divesting his boots and pants so he can apply himself to the task.
Meetra has had her share of partners, but she's never been with a man who approaches the act like Tony does. For one thing, again he's in no rush. This is not a quick fuck that sates a biological drive and provides a rush of pleasure. Tony's not running for the finish line so much as he is meandering. Meetra discovers to her delight—and no small amount of additional delayed gratification—that she has gone to bed with a Sith Lord who is a master of tantric sex-albeit in the culturally-preferred, procreation-friendly missionary position. But whatever, because this feels amazing.
Tony is talkative, too. It's a mixture of endearments and dirty talk in Old Sith and Basic. "Cara hostis," he groans as his hips grind and roll. "Cara hostis, you are miiiine . . . " She's meeting him movement for movement with her own bucking thrusts. "Uxor Jedaii, this is the best kind of blasphemy," he brags, adding, "Who knew Light Side pussy would feel this good?" with a wicked chuckle.
Thanks to the bond, if it's good for him, then it's good for her. So, as he works himself inside and out, maximizing the friction to coax every last delicious sensation from his efforts, Meetra enjoys the benefits directly and indirectly.
"Now, you are really killing me," she pants. "I'm dying . . ."
"It's a good way to go," he jokes. But he doesn't let up.
She's a sweaty, moaning, almost-spent mess when the insight occurs to her: this is what it means to make love. Tony's a guy who never went to bed with a woman he wasn't committed to. He's never had arm's length sex and he doesn't want to. He's said as much before: he likes his sex with attachment. He wants meaning. And that's fine, she supposes, so long as he doesn't expect her to reciprocate.
When it's over, they drift in a haze of afterglow, minds and bodies still tangled. Tony's a cuddler, naturally. Meetra tries to enjoy it. Normally, she just gets up and leaves afterwards.
She jokes, "You should be the Lord of Pleasure, not the Lord of Pain." She's trying to keep things light.
He nuzzles her neck. "Was that worth staying for?"
"I'm a fool for staying, but yes. That was worth it."
He corrects her pronoun. "We're worth it. Meetra, I need to tell you something."
Uh oh. That doesn't sound good.
"I . . . I . . . "
Oh Force, he's not going to tell her that he loves her, is he? That would ruin everything. "Let's just enjoy this," she shuts him down.
But as usual, Darth Sion persists. "I want you to hear this. I think it will help you feel better about staying."
She gulps, worried for what's coming next. "Okay . . ."
"At the outset, I didn't suspect that we were a dyad. I never knew we would end up together . . ."
Meetra must bite her tongue to keep from objecting to his phrasing.
" . . . but I did seek you. Let me explain why."
"Alright." She's listening. And now, Meetra learns that Tony's pillow talk isn't about love, it's about power. For in a hushed voice, he starts spilling the secret hunch that led him to her.
"There are many rumors about Darth Vitiate," Tony begins, "but the oldest concerns his rise to power. After the last war, when the Sith were disorganized in defeat, Vitiate called a meeting of the surviving Lords. Official history claims they debated for weeks before drafting Vitiate as Dark Lord. The Emperor purports to have been reluctant for the job, but he was convinced to accept the throne."
"Okay. So, what's the rumor?"
"It is whispered that the meeting was a trap. Vitiate gathered the Lords who mattered and killed them to seize power."
"Sounds plausible."
"Indeed. The juicy part is how he did it. He's a sorcerer by training, not a warrior."
"Yes, I've heard. It's why some claim he is not competent as a military leader, right?"
"Correct. Rumor has it he killed his rivals with a spell, not with a sword in a duel. But the spell got out of hand. It consumed not just the rival Lords, but all life on the planet Vitiate called home."
"Sounds dreadful."
"The planet is supposedly one of those inert gas giants now. Only Vitiate survived, and he was made immortal by the experience."
"How is that even possible? Wait, don't tell me—the Force, right?"
Ever pious, Tony nods. "We Sith believe that the Force protects its favorites. They live despite impossible odds and improbable situations. They endure by the grace of their creator, like demigods in our midst."
"So . . . sort of like you?"
"I'm no Vitiate," Tony flatly disavows any such status.
He resumes his tale of the rumored past. "Vitiate emerged endowed with incredible Force power from the Darkness he unleashed. So, when I heard of Malachor V, it reminded me of that old rumor—"
"Because I caused a planet to die and people to be obliterated?" she guesses sourly.
"Well, yes."
"I don't want to talk about it." She turns her head away.
"I understand."
"I mean it!" she bristles. "I don't want to talk about it! I did it to end the war and to protect the Republic, not for my own ambitions. I'm no Vitiate either!"
"I know that," Tony soothes. "The Force knows that, too."
"Does it? Then why did I lose my Force?" The Council claimed that becoming a wound in the Force was divine justice for her crimes, and Meetra half-believes them.
Tony has a more fantastical and romantic explanation. "I hope that your plight is intended to lead you to me . . . to someone who can use your Darkness. Meetra, hear me out."
Reluctantly, she agrees. "Alright."
"Once I learned of the Republic Exile who severed herself from the Force, I wondered about what you had seen that caused a war-hardened Jedi Master to turn away from her power. I set out to find you. Outwardly, it was in my official capacity. But really, I wanted to meet the woman who fought with a degree of Darkness unseen in over a thousand years."
"You saw some of it tonight . . ."
"Yes, and then I shot red lightning. The dyad amplifies your power on the Light Side. You know it to be true—your healing is far in excess of what normal Jedi healers can do. I'm betting that the dyad will similarly amplify my Darkness. That it will give me the Dark power needed to kill Vitiate."
She's heard this before. "Is this what you meant when you told your brother-in-law that I was a super weapon?" That comment had stung.
"Yes. You are the key! In you resides the power we need to match Vitiate's strength. But it's a power you cannot—or rather, will not—use. And that's where I come in. I want you to give all that Darkness to me."
"You're saying—"
"The dyad pairs us for more than our personal concerns. It's not just about healing me or protecting you. We are paired so that your Darkness can be used."
She shakes her head. "No one needs to use that power." Least of all her. She never wants yellow eyes again.
"Even if it's for a just purpose?" Tony wheedles. "To achieve something good?"
He sounds like Revan talking. "I used Dark power for a Light goal, and look where it led me," she hisses.
He nods. "To me."
Meetra swallows hard and stares at Tony a long moment. Could he be right?
"You've done it before, let's do it again. Make the sacrifice of the Republic and Sith souls lost that day have a greater meaning in the course of history. Use their tragedy for good by ousting your enemy—my enemy -the Emperor."
"What would that be—Dark or Light?" she worries.
"Does it matter? Maybe we need to move past those concepts," he hazards. "Let's see if a disgraced Jedi Master and a dead afterthought Sith Lord can usher in a new era of enlightenment. Or, at the very least, shake things up a bit," Tony plots mischievously.
"You really believe this could work?" She's skeptical.
But Tony is certain. "I do now. It's what I have hoped all along, but tonight's red lightning proves it. Vitiate won't see us coming. He is obsessed with the wrong Jedi. The real threat to him isn't Revan . . . it's you."
END PART TWO
More to come . . .