Disclaimer.

Homeward Bound

In a meditation chamber in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, Mical, the Jedi archivist and leader of the new Jedi Council, sat up as he felt a stirring in the Force from all the way across the galaxy. A presence he didn't know, but recognized all the same, an energy directed at Coruscant, at the Jedi Order, for the first time in almost five years. He hadn't known it then. The energy was wild, angry, containing more than a hint of the Dark Side in its essence, but weary and rigidly controlled, too, not given over to the evil within it. It was a call, like the beacon from a flare gun, signaling danger, but heralding safety at the same time.

The data file Mical had carried on his person for nearly a year now heated then, calling his attention to the first message he had received in months. Mical reached inside his robe to retrieve the file, and noted without surprise that he had received a large text file from a private holonet address. He opened the file, and a heaviness in his expression lifted as he read the title.

The Experiences of Jedi Knight Darden Leona at the end of the Neo-Sith War, from her trials in the tomb of Ludo Kressh on Korriban, to her confrontation with Darth Sion and Darth Traya on Malachor V and the destruction of Malachor. As told to Revan and Jedi Atton Rand. Recorded by Jedi Atton Rand.

There followed a short personal note. You're welcome, Blondie. Revan says hi. She can't wait to meet all you lunatics. What do you say we do lunch some time next year? –A

Mical stood, and walked out of his meditation chamber. He found Visas and Brianna in the courtyard with the younglings. Visas had three pupils seated around her, eyes closed, legs crossed. One was doing well, the Force swirling around her, her mind clear, but another struggled not to fall asleep while the third kept peeking at Brianna's class across the courtyard as they sparred with staves in the first forms of Soresu. The child's distraction was understandable. Brianna's pupils had just been careless—one to smash the fingers of the other, the other to let his fingers be smashed, and now the injured pupil was yelping and swearing in Mando'a. Brianna rushed to correct both the child's anger and both pupils' lapse in form, as Mical tried to hide his smile. He really would have to speak to Mira about her language next time she docked. The children were all too often very impressed with her in all the wrong ways.

It looked a scene of chaos, and some days it was hard to believe these children would ever grow to be Jedi. Yet three months ago, Soolyn, so focused before Visas, the Force bubbling around her like a spring, had been unable to cease complaining about her homesickness long enough to sit still for three minutes together. Five weeks ago, Ejan, the swearing Twi'lek boy, might have attacked Crie for such an unintentional injury. Now he was bowing, apologizing to his Master and his fellow pupil for his display of anger, frowning in concentration at his hands on his stave, determined, this time, to get it right.

Mical cleared his throat, and all activity ceased in the courtyard at once. Visas and her pupils stood, and everyone bowed, murmured "Master." Mical had protested the appellation at first. He knew he was still as much of a pupil as any of them, and indeed, in the evenings he still often trained with Brianna and Visas, along with Mira and Dustil, if they happened to be onworld. But for the sake of clarity and efficiency, he had at last accepted the title, at least in name.

"Imjee," he said, calling over the acolyte by the courtyard door, one of a few non-Force Sensitive adults nonetheless devoted to helping to bring about the return of the Jedi, who helped care for the Temple and often watched the Younglings when Mical, Brianna, and Visas had Jedi business in the city, the Senate, or the Council. The young woman stepped forward, and bowed, and the children, recognizing their dismissal, fell into line behind her. They passed from the courtyard after a few words of instruction and encouragement from each of their Masters. They would rejoin the Council at the evening meal.

"What news?" Visas asked, as she and Brianna followed Mical back into the Temple, taking a route toward the Council chamber. "There was still an hour of lessons."

Mical handed Brianna his data file, and she read the first lines of the message still displayed on it. "Darden and Atton," she told Visas. "They have found Revan. All are now returning to the Republic."

Mical felt the thrum of joy in the spirits of his two old friends. It echoed his own. "We must tell the others," Visas said. "Mira and Dustil. Canderous will wish to know as well."

"I'll send a message out within the hour," Mical promised. "We might also wish to consider informing the Senate."

"Revan was exiled from the Order at the end of the Jedi Civil War," Visas observed. "It was to be part of her punishment, for her betrayal at the end of the Mandalorian Wars, for beginning the war within the Jedi, although she could not recall it, and repented by the end. Do you believe the Republic will welcome her among us again?"

"The Republic did not exile Revan," Mical replied. "That was the choice of the Jedi Order, and it was not like Darden's exile, in that I believe it was Revan's desire the Order bar her from their ranks, and not the desire of the Council. At any rate, we are not the Jedi of the Jedi Civil War, and if Revan wishes to return now…"

Brianna caught his thought. "We could learn much from her," she agreed. But Mical sensed her doubts. "If she indeed returns to the Jedi, as well as the Republic. But it will be good to have Darden and Atton among us again."

"Though it will be some time," Mical reminded her. "The last time they reported from space coordinates any map in the Republic recognizes was many months ago."

"Maybe not so long," Visas pointed out. "Before, Darden and Atton searched for Revan, wandering as she wandered, lost in the mist. Now they have found her, astrogating a route back to Republic space may not be so difficult."

Brianna was silent a moment. "What of Dustil?" she asked then. "He is doing better, but Revan's return may unbalance him once again."

Mical's thoughts turned to the powerful young man they had had the privilege of meeting when they had first come to Coruscant after the destruction of Malachor V. Trained in the ways of the Force by the Sith and Jolee Bindo, it could not be said that Dustil Onasi was of the old Jedi Order, but he had still had much to teach them of the Force and the Jedi when they had met. All Darden's pupils had immense respect for young Onasi, for all he had deferred to their leadership upon their arrival to Coruscant, claiming he had abandoned the ways of the Jedi for a time when the Sith began moving against them and after the death of his Master, and, like Mira, he preferred the more active role of a Knight to that of a Master rebuilding the Order.

"All of us must confront the obstacles before us. As Darden and Atton must justify their choices in the face of traditional expectations of the Order, and Revan must bear the burden of her past, and the still heavier burden of her ignorance of it, as Jeli struggles to keep her mind on her task—"Visas smiled, "And Crie fights to correct his stance, so Dustil must come to terms with his feelings of anger and abandonment, find compassion, understanding and forgiveness." Mical paused. "All must do the same, in their way, Jedi or not."

"'Emotion, yet peace,'" Visas murmured.

"Even so."

"We should still be the ones to tell him," Brianna said. "We should be there when he hears, face to face. We should call him back to Coruscant before telling him directly, so we can help him."

Mical considered this, then nodded. "That is sound advice," he agreed. "We are all stronger together. Though I imagine we shall have to brief Mission Vao at the same time."

Brianna's nose wrinkled. She didn't care for Dustil's excitable adopted sister and frequent partner in his travels, judging Mission far too passionate to be a good influence on a Jedi, however well-intentioned she might be. Nevertheless, she knew it was the right decision. Mission Vao deserved to hear of Revan's return in person as well. Brianna did not argue.

"I'll send a message to the Hawk's Honor," she said, bowing.

"And I messages to Dxun and to Mira," Mical replied.

"I will send a holo-transmission to the Chancellor," Visas finished, "Appraising him of the situation, though like you," she added to Mical, "I believe it will not be their place to interfere. Nevertheless, they should be made aware. Then I will return to the Temple, and meditate on the travels of our friends, and what that will mean for our Order. Their return may change many things."

The three Jedi parted ways then, and went to prepare the galaxy for Revan's return.

Carth was going over his kit and trying to decide if he should risk leaving the ship. Things were starting to get a little dicey. Darden had left the Ebon Hawk over thirty hours previously. Atton had been gone for twenty. There hadn't been word over the comms for eighteen, and an hour ago while Carth had been supervising the fuel truck, Aithne's damn assassin droid had snuck out, too, probably for the same reason Carth was thinking about leaving. Eighteen hours without contact on a foreign world out at the hind end of space was a long, long time. He'd come all the way out here to find a Jedi, not lose two of the only ones that they had.

Carth spread out the component parts of his blasters, examining each piece to make sure it was clean and in working order. It'd been a couple months since he'd been off the Ebon Hawk. Since the second time a desperate crew had tried to pirate the ship, they'd all decided it was better to leave a guard onboard, as well as take precautions in docking, and considering his history with Aithne and her potential response, Carth was almost always assigned to guard duty, while Atton or Darden made supply runs and investigated their leads. Carth didn't like it, but he couldn't deny that it'd been a good thing he'd been on the ship, once or twice. Still, half the reason he'd come was to protect two of the Republic's only Jedi. Darden and Atton were his responsibility. If Revan was willing to stay stranded wherever the hell they were just so she didn't have to see him again, fine, but he had to make sure Darden and Atton got back to Republic space. If eighteen hours meant that they'd somehow run into trouble so bad all three of them couldn't handle it, and not just that Aithne had been even more stubborn than he remembered or Darden had gone on even more than usual, Carth needed to get in there. On the other hand, though, it'd be just their luck if he left and found out all the others were fine, only for the Ebon Hawk to be stolen by pirates. T3-M4 was better in a fight than most astromechs, but he was still only a utility droid, and he hadn't been able to keep the Ebon Hawk for Aithne.

Carth, having cleaned and calibrated all the parts of his blasters, began to reassemble them again. Aithne Morrigan. It'd been almost five years since she'd left, but the ache was still as present as the morning he'd woken up and found her gone. He understood why she'd left. He'd half expected it, though he'd hoped she wouldn't. He'd prepared, sent a message with T3-M4, but it had still hit him like a freighter at FTL when she didn't even say goodbye. He'd told Darden that he was waiting for Aithne, and it was true. If he closed his eyes, he could still see her bright smile and dancing eyes, hear the passion and challenge in her voice. He'd never known another woman like Aithne, with her razor intelligence and overwhelming conviction and courage, that amazing strength alongside a vulnerability he hadn't expected. The way she'd faced up to her past, the mistakes she'd made, and turned away was incredible. Carth had loved her seven years ago and he still loved her now. He was pretty sure he'd always love her. But damn it, now they'd found her at last…he was angry.

He knew why Aithne had gone. He understood. But that didn't change the fact that she'd been wrong. Aithne had looked in all the wrong places for the Sith, and while she'd been chasing ghosts, the Jedi in the Republic had been assassinated one by one. If it hadn't been for Darden, the Jedi would be extinct. Aithne'd been right: there was a threat. But she hadn't remembered where or what it was, and leaving had been just about the worst thing she could have done. When Carth thought of the way things might have played out if Aithne had been around to investigate what had happened to Juhani, or to hear about Katarr, sometimes he saw red. At others, he had to admit that Aithne might just as easily been on Katarr with Bastila when Nihilus had come to kill the Jedi there. The what-ifs still danced in his head. And if Aithne had thought she was making things better for him, for Mission and Dustil, or any of the others by leaving…well. She'd been wrong about a lot of things.

None of that changed the fact that Revan was the best there had ever been, Carth thought grimly, snapping his second blaster together. The Jedi needed her. The Republic needed her. After the Jedi Civil War, the Jedi Masters had dismissed her from the Order to avoid having to punish Aithne further for Revan's war crimes, in light of everything Aithne had done and the fact that she remembered almost nothing about her previous identity. That was before the last three Sith Lords had exterminated almost all of the Jedi. If Darden Leona and Atton Rand were willing to return to the Order after this mission, if the Order was willing to accept them, then it needed Revan, too. And if the Jedi lost Revan, just because of Carth, he'd never forgive himself for letting Rand and Leona talk him into taking leave and flying out to the Unknown Regions, Republic interest be damned. There were dozens of Republic operatives who could have protected Darden and Atton just as well or better, and he'd known Aithne might not want to see him.

Carth remembered the second call from last night, when Aithne had paged the Ebon Hawk. The second she'd heard his voice, she'd signed off, and when she paged back, about two minutes later, she'd been obviously upset. She'd said that she still loved him, true, but she'd also said that she'd been sure she was leaving with Darden and Atton until she knew he was onboard. He should have stuck to his orders and stayed in the Republic, but damn it, he'd wanted to see her. And Darden and Atton had insisted that he needed to be the Republic's representative, something about Aithne confronting her fears. When Darden had explained it to him…well. It fit in with some things he'd noticed, before Aithne'd left. So he'd agreed, because if Darden thought he could help Aithne, he wanted to help her, even if she never came back to him.

Carth sighed, because that was it, wasn't it? He was angry, there needed to be a guard on the ship, things might never turn out like he wanted, but if he could help Aithne, he would do whatever was in his power. Always. Carth holstered his pistols in their belt, but didn't put them on. But just as he raised his wrist to finally hazard a com-call to Darden, find out if he'd scared Aithne off for good last night or if a rescue was in order, he heard the screeching creak as the ramp of the Ebon Hawk descended, and four voices echoing from outside.

"…if you would like me to evacuate him, I would be pleased to do so."

"That won't be necessary, Aytchkay. I'll stow my stuff in the cargo hold and…" the voice broke off, quieted. Carth's heart had jumped into his throat, but even with every sense attuned to the voices in the entrance, he couldn't hear what Aithne said next. She'd gone too quiet. Still scared half to death. So instead, he made his way to the cockpit, unwilling to force things, scared to death himself that if he did, she'd run.

Darden and Aithne had a quiet exchange, and the next words Carth heard clearly were Atton's. "You got it from here?" he asked. Calm, practical. Like Darden, Rand had a gift for putting people at their ease, though they expressed that gift in very different ways. Carth wished he handled situations with half Rand's flexibility. He had no idea what he was supposed to do now.

Carth sat in the cockpit and began the start-up sequence. He pushed the button to raise the ramp and seal the airlock, cutting off Aithne's escape if he couldn't face her in person just yet as her laugh rang through the halls of the Ebon Hawk for the first time in years. It was like someone had physically punched Carth right in the gut. "I think Darth Revan can carry her suitcase from the loading ramp to the cargo hold, yes. Thanks for the help, Rand. Aytchkay? With me."

"Yes, Master."

Steps were coming up from the entrance. Rand's. Damn it, Carth thought, they weren't even going to give him the time it took to get the ship in orbit to pull his shattered thoughts together and work out what the hell he was supposed to do next, were they? He'd never resented Rand's insistence on piloting at least half the time more. Rebelliously, Carth switched on the artificial gravity and shifted the stabilizers into gear, even as he knew in ten seconds he'd leave the cockpit like he'd left the Republic, because he couldn't wait to see Aithne now anymore than he'd been able to wait to see her then, no matter the fool he made of himself when he he saw her again.

He'd always been a fool for her.

Aithne flicked off HK-47's power switch and stepped back. She'd reactivate him after a little maintenance. Maybe a limited memory wipe. She could tell he didn't like remembering killing Bao-Dur any more than the others liked knowing he'd killed him, and honestly, it was probably better if Aytchkay forgot he was capable of those kinds of unilateral on-mission decisions, or if she even disabled that feature until she'd tweaked his personality to be sure he never decided that it'd be more efficient to shoot a companion whose calf had been grazed. She'd had him play back his visual records from the mission to Telos as a holo, once Darden and Atton had left them, and she was satisfied that Bao-Dur had indeed been dying when HK-47 terminated him, but she knew her droid, too.

Aithne rolled her shoulders and looked around the cargo hold. Her trunk was over by the secret compartment, on the other side of the hold from the food stores. She'd take her bag and bedroll wherever she ended up sleeping tonight. She hadn't decided yet. Didn't really want to think about it. Aithne hoisted the bag up on her shoulder and started moving through the ship.

The old girl was a mess. As early as the end of their hunt for the Star Forge she'd had a few patches on her, but now they were everywhere. Big ugly seams where bulkhead breaches had been welded together, panels of different color where they'd been replaced at different times on different planets. They were the Ebon Hawk's scars and skin grafts, and they told the tale of all the hells she'd been through in the last few years. But the hyperdrive still hummed with reassuring confidence. The stabilizers were kicking in now as someone flew them out into orbit, dampening inertia with every bit of the power Aithne remembered. Aithne wondered who was flying. Atton and Darden had never gotten around to talking about who actually piloted the ship these days. Pilots tended to be possessive and competitive, and both Carth and Atton had a lot of history with the Ebon Hawk and more than their fair share of talent. Not that Carth was a professional pilot anymore, but Aithne remembered how he'd missed it, even when he'd only been in command a few months. She hoped they were playing nice.

Moving through the halls of the Ebon Hawk, the emptiness echoed with the footsteps that had used to walk them. Not just Aithne's old friends, but the ones Darden had told her about as well. She could hear Mission arguing with Zaalbar at the table, insisting she wasn't cheating at pazaak, and no one ever buying it. She could hear Juhani chanting Jedi learning verses from the cargo compartment, but the echoes of Bao-Dur's blowtorch reverberated, too. Aithne closed her eyes and tried to forget how he'd looked in Aytchkay's recording, bleeding out on a factory floor. All of Darden's companions had become real to Aithne over the course of the two-day tale her two friends had told her, but only Bao-Dur and Atton had faces for her, and she'd watched Bao-Dur die. She'd deleted the recording after she'd seen it. She didn't want Darden or Atton to go looking. But it reminded Aithne of other companions she had lost. Jolee to sickness, Bastila on Katarr. Juhani—to some nameless Sith on a nameless world. Who knew when? Her teacher, her best friend, her comrade-at-arms. Darden still hated herself for overlooking her feelings as she'd sensed Bao-Dur dying. Aithne hadn't known Jolee, Bastila, and Juhani had gone until yesterday. How had it been for them? Quick and painless, or long and agonizing? What sickness had got Jolee, in the end? And Bastila, consumed by that Nihlus monster—was she even one with the Force?

Aithne's feet had slowed and slowed, and finally she leaned against the bulkhead, eyes closed, and just breathed, feeling the cool metal against her forehead and forearms. The Jedi-as-they-were were gone, all of them, and here they were on the Ebon Hawk, Darth Revan and the Butcher of Malachor, the sole survivors of the old Order. That was fair. Aithne laughed, so she didn't sob, and felt the ghosts looking over her shoulder. They were always looking over her shoulder.

A chirruping beep sounded behind her, and her left leg gave a little as T3-M4 ran up against it gently. "Yeah, it's me, buddy," Aithne said. "You found me. Good work."

The astromech beeped his own greeting, and a query whether or not all her servers were functioning properly. Aithne smiled through her blurry eyes. "No, I'm fine, Teethree. It's good to be home. It's just—feels pretty empty around here, you know?"

Teethree informed her there were three more organics onboard than when they had last been together. "I know," Aithne answered. "Still feels empty. Don't worry about it." She ran a fond hand over the droid's casing, pockmarked and carbon-scored, but still good. Teethree beeped a farewell, and rolled away to do his job elsewhere, but as he did, Aithne fancied she heard a distinctly pleased tone to his humming. He'd done the job Carth had asked him to do and retrieved her. All was right in the little astromech's world. Aithne envied his simplicity.

Darden had told her she'd head to the starboard dormitory, so Aithne headed portside. It was empty when she got there, but she saw the old, big, worn, brown leather pack by the bottom bunk by the door. A pair of pistols in a weapons belt had obviously just been maintained, but the cap on the polish was tightly fastened in compliance with military regs. Still was a bit sloppy that Carth hadn't stowed all his kit in the footlocker by the bed before he left his bunk, which meant he'd been here not too long ago and left in a hurry and without thinking much. He'd been restless, probably worried they hadn't checked in. Aithne hadn't been able to face it, wouldn't have been brave enough to return if Darden or Atton had called, and they had seemed to sense it. Anyway, Carth had sat down for some heavy-duty maintenance on his gear, but when he'd heard the ramp lower, he'd headed straight for the cockpit, about as far away from the entrance as he could feasibly get. At best, giving her her space. At worst, nervous, disturbed, maybe even avoiding her.

That wasn't any good, though. Whatever happened between them, they were going to be on this ship together for a long, long time, and it was best they break the ice and hash things out at once, one way or another. Now if she could only get her legs to stop twitching like Twi'lek tentacles.

Aithne took another deep breath, and sat down on the edge of the second bunk to wait.

As soon as the rush of takeoff was over and everyone's stomachs had stopped swooping up in their chests, Darden slipped into the cockpit and swung into the copilot's seat. She bit off a chunk of ration bar and handed Atton one of his own. He took the other end without taking his other hand off the controls, and Darden opened the end of the wrapper for him without a word.

"Thanks," he told her, taking a bite. She hummed acknowledgment.

"Saw Carth heading out of here on my way in," she said. "There's a verd for you. I wasn't entirely sure we wouldn't lose one or the other of them before take-off. Or both. Not because they don't still love one another, but because they do." She laughed once, a little incredulous.

"Cue the long, awkward, depressing haul back to Republic space," Atton agreed.

"We don't know that it'll be awkward and depressing all the way back to Republic space," Darden smiled. "It might just be awkward and depressing for a few weeks."

Despite her levity, Atton could hear the pazaak game going on in Darden's head, feel the concentration and determination that she was putting into keeping it up. She wasn't doing it tonight to keep other people out of her head. She was doing it so she didn't accidentally walk into anybody else's. All the anger, hope, fear, love, and loss aboard the ship was practically making Atton's hair stand on end. He could taste them. Darden had warned him that Carth's borderline Force Sensitivity might be more noticeable in proximity to Revan; Revan's emotions overwhelming near Carth, but if they were this loud before they'd even said two words to one another, Atton wondered how their Jedi friends during the Civil War hadn't gone mad. Maybe they had. They'd taken on Malak's entire Sith fleet pretty much by themselves. Instead of going mad himself, Atton slipped into Darden's head to start playing with her. The emotional noise of their shipmates retreated to a manageable distance, and he could breathe again, though he kept up the actual conversation with Darden, too.

"D'you think they'll want the Ebon Hawk? Because I have a problem with that. And it's not like we can call up the Red Eclipse to take care of 'em like Ratrin Vhek. We actually like them." Atton made a face, and Darden laughed.

"I'm sure we can work things out so everyone gets what they want."

"You sure about that? Because last time I checked, there was only one Ebon Hawk, and now we have two pilots and two captains. As if letting Republic take the helm every now and then wasn't bad enough."

Darden shrugged. "Carth has a job and a family back in the Repulic, and ships they'll want him to command, too. Glitzy cruisers with big, shiny guns. Hell, maybe a dreadnaught. He's saved the galaxy what? Three times now?"

Atton waved a hand, dismissing it. "I lose track, and he doesn't keep it in the first place. Idiot."

Darden grinned. "You keeping track of our services to the galaxy?"

"You bet I am," Atton said. "Gotta know exactly how much everyone owes us. Let's see. That's the Mandalorian Wars, Kreia's little plot to exterminate the Jedi and the Force everywhere, and now we're bringing Revan back to help save the Jedi. Well. Maybe we haven't been as high profile as Revan and Republic, but I'd say we're doing pretty good. Gotta be some favors we can cash in for all that."

"Because you were always just thinking about how we could profit," Darden teased. "That was the only reason you did any of it."

"I'm not just in it for fame and fortune, sweetheart," Atton corrected her. "Women love galactic savior-types. There's that, too."

"Always an angle," Darden lamented, clicking her tongue in mock-regret.

"I hope it works out for them," Atton muttered then, unable to help it. His eyes darted over his shoulder, than back to the instrument's panel. "All this time? He deserves it. Hell, she deserves it. At least, she deserves to finally let things go, you know?"

"No one deserves anything, Atton," Darden replied, altogether too calm about things, in Atton's opinion. "And that's not the point and you know it."

Atton let out a frustrated growl. "I know that's not the point! One way or the other, he's got to move on and he couldn't do that until he faced her. Gonna take more time than a twenty-minute caffa date. I know. And she can't be any help at all to the Jedi until she's dealt with all the fear and guilt that made her leave in the first place. I get it. Still." He stuck his chin out, defiant.

Darden put her hand over his arm on the controls. "In the end, they'll make their own choices," she said. "And we'll be friend to both of them, whatever they decide. There's enough that won't be, whatever they decide."

Atton scoffed. "That's true enough." He was quiet a moment, then he got to what Darden knew was most on his mind. "Sure as hell wouldn't want to be them, either of them. Don't think I could be." His muscles twitched under Darden's hand, like he wanted to move away.

Darden regarded her partner. Atton joked, but over the months they'd spent together, he'd come to admire Carth Onasi immensely, she knew. And given how close Darden had been, at various times in their journey, to doing to Atton exactly what Aithne had done to Carth, and leaving to keep him safe, Atton couldn't help sometimes making comparisons between them. In Atton's head, such comparisons rarely came out in his favor.

She sighed, and stretched up, leaned over, to kiss Atton on the cheek. "For whatever similarities there may be between all of us, you aren't Revan or Carth any more than I am," she said. "You're Atton, and I'm Darden, and you don't have to worry about what you would have done if I had made Aithne's choices, because I didn't. All you have to do is be yourself, with me, in this moment, and in the future." She was quiet for a long moment. "We're going to need you," she whispered then.

Atton looked over at her, unsure at first what she meant. Herself, Aithne, and Carth would need him? The Jedi would need him? Then Darden paused in their ongoing mental pazaak game, just long enough for him to see where her thoughts tended. She resumed immediately thereafter, with a soldier's discipline, but Atton didn't. He didn't need to block out Carth and Aithne's emotions anymore. His own were strong enough, and for the first time since Atris' Academy on Telos when Kreia had forced her way into his mind, Atton's mental defenses fell in complete shambles around him.

This was very different than Telos.

Their hyperspace jump was coming up in less than three minutes, but Atton dropped the controls completely anyway. For all he cared, they could orbit the planet another half hour. He seized Darden by the shoulders, turning her bodily to face him, and stared. He stretched out with the Force, sensing everything about her. He blinked. Opened his mouth. Closed it again. Swallowed. "You—you're…"

"Yes," she agreed, with that same infuriating serenity. "I realized for certain a couple days ago. I was trying to decide when to tell you. Might as well be now, when it serves a purpose. Unless we make very good time, you'll be a father before we return to Republic space."

Atton exhaled, ran both hands through his hair until it stood up on end. His eyes were wide as saucers. Now the corner of Darden's mouth twitched. "…How?" Atton managed finally.

"No contraceptive method is perfect," Darden shrugged. "I don't know what it was, but a week or so ago something went wrong, and now…" she trailed off, searching his face, and Atton saw fear and doubt begin to steal across hers. "Are you…are you okay with this?" she hesitated, uncertain now. "Atton—"

Atton still clutched her shoulders, and now he crushed her to him, kissing her so hard and so fast that they smashed teeth and both winced. He didn't care. He kissed her harder, until both of them were breathless and Darden's cheeks were dusky red. Even after all this time, it was so easy to leave her blushing. He loved that. Atton left her lips and kissed the tip of her nose, both eyelids, and her forehead.

"Okay?" he asked her. "Darden…I'm fantastic. You?"

She nodded, and now he saw her eyes glittering, her lips curving up like she couldn't hide her smile one second more, and the smile stretched wider and wider across her face, until she was shone as brightly as a star.

"Mind you, I don't know how the hell we're going to pull this off," Atton added.

"Oh, me neither!" Darden cried, dropping her control at last to giggle, to laugh aloud. "Atton, what the hell do we know about babies? Can you imagine!"

But Atton could. All at once he could see it, a screaming little person with a shock of black hair and her green eyes, hurling processed vegetables at the walls of the common area, staggering around the corridors on chubby little legs running everywhere off limits, shrieking with laughter or refusing to cry the first time a knee got scraped, cussing the first time in front of them just to see their reaction, or quiet, sitting cross-legged beside Darden in the garage as she told stories of the Jedi, or taught the kid to read from borrowed Order datapads. Or maybe in the Temple, walking with Mical and the others as they explained different ways to be Jedi, not the by-the-seat-of-their-pants improvisational way Jedi were on the Ebon Hawk.

Atton wasn't sure if it was a vision or a wish, but Darden saw it, too, and she fell silent. Then she knotted her fingers in the front of his shirt and pulled him into another hard kiss.

"We'll be amazing," Atton whispered against her lips. He cocked an eyebrow, and grinned. "Even me."

"Especially you," Darden corrected. Then her eyes slid to the controls and came back dancing. "You missed the jump."

"We'll catch it the next time around," Atton told her. He brushed his thumb over her cheek, and Darden hit the door control with her fist, shutting them in the cockpit.

"That works, too," she said.

Aithne didn't have to wait long after the Ebon Hawk had glided into its orbital trajectory. She heard him before she saw him. His boots, his step sounded like a battering ram, and it was all Aithne could do not to shudder with every achingly familiar footfall. She stayed seated, bracing her arms on her thighs and staring determinedly at the floor. She supposed it looked not unlike she was trying to keep from being sick. She wondered if she would be sick.

It was bold, incredibly bold of her to wait in his dorm with all of her things like this. Far easier to meet him in neutral territory, in the main hold or the conference room, anywhere but here, where there weren't just echoes of the men who had slept here over the years, but the walls remembered them, too, from the time after they'd left the Rakata homeworld, after they'd left Coruscant and Korriban and turned toward Telos. From trips they'd taken in the two years following. The impressions they'd left in the Force lingered here, strongly, and they buzzed, like a low level electric current over her skin. The tiny hairs on her forearms stood up with the hairs on the back of her neck, and she knew she had goosebumps all over.

Aithne sensed when Carth stopped in the doorway. She could swear his gaze was giving off actual heat, like plasma beams, burning over every centimeter of her, and she struggled to regulate her breathing, to stay calm enough she wouldn't burst into tears that second, would at least have time to speak before her hypertense, quivering muscles finally gave out and she had to shatter and collapse in a weepy, snotty mess at his feet.

When she was at last able to lift her eyes, he was there to meet her gaze, with laser intensity. Without turning to look behind him, he hit the door panel, answering her boldness with his own. The hiss of the door sliding shut echoed in the absolute silence between them. There was only the hum of the engine, the stuttering of the hyperdrive as it warmed up for the jump.

Carth didn't say a word. He just stared, waiting. Revan felt the blood wash over her cheeks and wished for a mask, but she'd abandoned the mask of the Mandalorian dissenter long ago and refused to don another. She wasn't a Darth anymore, nor an emblem of just retribution. Not a symbol instead of a person. After her capture, she'd been forced to accept her humanity, her fallible nature, and she'd worn it like a medal ever sine, a badge both of honor and of shame.

So instead of ducking her head or making an excuse, Aithne Morrigan held Carth Onasi's gaze. She stretched out with her feelings and felt his spirit through the Force, and she took every bit of the hurt, the pain, the betrayal and uncertainty she felt there. She deserved them. But worse, far worse, was his forgiveness, love and understanding. They were like salt ground into gaping wounds. So she let him see that, too, all of her shame and fear and weariness and regret, as she looked into his face without flinching.

And still Carth didn't say a word. Instead, he crossed the floor, closed the space between them, reached out and took her hands, and pulled her up into his arms. Aithne buried her face in Carth's shoulder, staring at the orange finish on his flight jacket. He smelled like leather and soap and gun polish and home, and her vision blurred. She wasn't going to be able to avoid the weepy, snotty mess.

"Force, I hate this thing," she managed, past the fist-sized lump in her throat. "You'd think an Admiral in the Republic Armada could afford slightly better taste." She twined her fingers in said offensive flight jacket, trying to hold him even tighter. "Bless you for keeping it."

Carth's laugh rumbled through his chest, and then he pulled back to look at her some more. He brushed a wayward curl back from her eyes and caught the first defiant tear on the ball of his thumb. "Welcome home, beautiful," he said.

Aithne turned her head and kissed his palm, and then she lost it. Shattered, like she'd predicted, just like a window with a bolt through it. "Kill me with kindess, why don't you?" she sobbed, laughing through the tears that had started falling in a torrent all at once. "Dammit, Carth—every day. Every damn hour. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I swear, if I hadn't really thought you'd be better without me, that I could do what needed to be done—but I couldn't, and all this time—"

Carth hugged her to him again, and held her, and spoke in her ear. "Don't worry. I'm sure I can get around to yelling at you sooner or later, if it'll really make you feel better."

Aithne laughed harder, near hysteria now. "Oh, great gizka," she cried. "It would!"

Carth shrugged. He kissed her fevered temple and rubbed her back. "I was going to," he said. "When I heard you were here at last, then after last night…I was so angry. Then I saw you sitting there and I…I just couldn't. I love you, Aithne."

"Di'kut, why?" Aithne demanded, pounding her fists uselessly against Carth's chest. She pressed several hot, frantic kisses along his jaw.

Carth shook his head. "It doesn't work like that, beautiful. There's no why, no reason to it. I love you. And I will never, never be better off without you."

Aithne began to quiet. She wrapped her arms around Carth's waist. "I know that now," she whispered. "I'm sorry," she said again.

Carth kissed her forehead. "Sorry I couldn't wait to see you. Guess I didn't follow your orders too well."

Aithne pulled back and stared at him. "Carth! You don't honestly think I'm mad? Force! You—you saved the galaxy! Again! While I was off chasing shadows in the middle of nowhere!"

"You didn't know."

"I could've let you help me. I could have let you all help me."

"You could have. But you didn't. It's okay. It's over now."

Now Aithne's eyes flashed, and she seized both Carth's hands in hers. "No," she said, squeezing hard for emphasis. "No. It's not okay. I know it's not okay, and don't you dare tell me that it is, Carth Onasi. But it will be." Holding his gaze, Aithne deliberately knelt, retaining his hands. "Carth, I'm sorry," she repeated once again. "I am so sorry. I will always be sorry. I don't deserve it, but please, please, I am asking you: Forgive me anyway. Forgive me, and I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you, to Mission and Dustil, to the entire rest of the galaxy."

If Carth had blown her off and told her to stop being ridiculous, Aithne might very well have slapped him, but instead, Carth maintained eye contact and answered seriously. "Aithne. Believe me: I forgive you. Always." He nodded once, as if that was that, then he said, "Now get the hell up off the floor."

He pulled her up and into his arms once again, and Aithne looked up into his face. "It's been a long time," she observed. "I didn't think you'd still—once upon a time you would never have spoken to me again. You've changed. Thank you."

"It's been a long time," Carth repeated, by way of explanation. He gave a half shrug, tightening his arms a little. "I love you," he repeated once again, and at last, at last, Aithne started to believe him, and decided to let him.

"I'm so sorry about that," she said, in a drier tone this time. Carth chuckled. Aithne tilted her face up, and he kissed her. "I love you, too," she whispered. "Always."

Carth raised an eyebrow at her. "I'm sorry," he joked back. Aithne laughed again, but the laugh didn't hurt this time and the tears had gone. She kissed him, then buried her face in his jacket once more and groaned.

"Force, what are we going to do?"

"No idea," Carth answered at once. "But we've got a long time to figure it out." He checked his chrono. "Longer than I thought, actually. We should've made the jump by now. Everything should be working on the Ebon Hawk—maybe I should…"

Aithne was able to focus past her own turbulent emotions long enough to get some idea of the emotions churning around in the cockpit and she grabbed Carth by the collar. "Oh no you don't, flyboy," she said, stopping him just before he strode out the door to seize his cockpit back from the other pilot. She cleared her throat. "I don't really think Darden and Atton want to be disturbed right now." She wrinkled her nose. "Wow. That was fast. Seriously? The second I leave them alone? Is it always like this?" She glanced at Carth, who looked a little green.

"Oh, no. Not in my cockpit," he moaned. "Tell me they aren't…not there!"

Aithne shrugged. "Why not? Good as any other room on the ship." She laughed, and her eyes sparkled. "Sometimes better."

"Sure, but next time I'm flying all I'll be able to think about is them in my chair doing that!" Carth complained. "At least before you got here I could pretend I didn't know about it! Look, next time you sense them going at it with the Force, just don't tell me, okay?"

"Sure. Next time I'll let you walk in," Aithne agreed cheerfully.

"That's not what I…" Carth rounded on her, stared at her. Then he was back. He snatched her up and kissed her, bruising her lips with his, "Force, I've missed you," he told her, almost growling the words into her mouth.

Aithne was left gasping, her knees quivering like they'd suddenly turned to water. "Missed me…willfully misinterpreting…everything you say…that badly, huh?"

"You have no idea." Carth's voice was fervent.

"I'll have to keep that in mind. Forget Darden and Atton screwing in the cockpit," Aithne suggested. "We'll get into hyperspace eventually. I'd rather you stayed right here with me, anyway."

Carth pulled back and glared at her. "I could forget about Darden and Atton if you'd let me," he said, tongue dripping acid. Then he laughed, and picked her up off her feet and fell with her back onto a bunk. He hit his head on the bunk above, but the grin didn't leave his face for a second. "Tell you what, though, beautiful, I'd just as soon stay here, too. So tell me—I guess Darden's filled you in on everything that's been happening in the Republic for the last few years. But what have you been up to?"

Aithne shook her head. "Darden and Atton told me about the Sith Lords they faced, the threat I sensed before I left and how they ended it, about their Jedi. They hardly told me anything about you and what you've been doing. What do you say? Question for question?"

"Deal," Carth said, and they shook on it. Aithne lay with her head pillowed on Carth's chest, and he put his arm around her waist, and they began to talk, really talk for the first time in years. It wouldn't go further than that—not while Carth was still thinking about Darden and Atton doing Force knew what in his cockpit. Really. The Force knew what. Aithne didn't want to be thinking about it, either. But as she lay in Carth's arms, asking him questions about his promotions, his work, about their children, answering questions of her own about her research into her past, her travels, her adventures and all she'd learned and seen, getting to know and falling in love with him all over again, Aithne thought that for now, it was more than enough, just to be home.

A/N: Wow. It's been a long, long road. From way back when I was a baby high school fanfic writer working on the first version of Edge of Light and Dark. And here I am, six years later, staring down the end of my penultimate semester of grad school. It's been a pleasure getting to know Aithne, Darden, and all their companions, writing their stories, in defiance of all the frowning expectations of canon. To those of you that have followed me through all the adventure, all the drama, all the months-long hiatuses as I wrestled with plot and plot revision, with finals and life transitions and computer crashes, it has been my honor, and I humbly thank you. I'll leave Aithne, Darden, and their world here, and hope they get along alright without me. Clouded, the future is, but I think it might be bright.

Thanks again for reading,

LMSharp