May or may not turn into a series of oneshots, we'll see.
I haven't written fanfiction in ages, how did I get here. Thanks SWTOR.

The first thing he'd ever noticed about the Outlander had been her eyes. He wouldn't find it hard to believe if there are very few people in the galaxy who could say otherwise. She had a way of looking directly into those who held her attention, a far off look in them that made it seem as if she were staring into their soul rather than at their face. When they'd met all those years ago as enemies, he never would have guessed that she couldn't see him. If anything, it had made him uncomfortable, and by extension angry, feeling as if she could see every part of him. He'd wondered since, even whilst stewing in his own darkness, if this was a trait of the Jedi. First, it had made him want to snuff the Order out, to hunt them down and destroy them. Later, it had made him curious about their history and teachings.

Now, he knew it wasn't a trait belonging to the Jedi as a whole, regardless of the wisdom their people are said to cultivate, but of their Barsen'thor alone.

She sits with her legs crossed; her head bowed so that the few strands of hair loose from the bun she wears cascade down the sides of her face. Her eyes are only partially closed, her attention likely having drifted away from her hands neatly clasped in her lap. The faint glow that envelopes her adds a softness to her countenance he had not thought possible to achieve, given how serene she appears normally.

"Arcann."

When she calls out to him, humiliatingly, it startles him. His posture straightens, his form quickly maneuvering to mimic her position, head bowed as if he'd been meditating along with her.

He clears his throat as he catches her gaze, now looking directly at him, and is thankful she cannot see the color reaching the tips of his ears. Unfortunately for him, he can see the subtle upturn of her lips and the glint of amusement in her cloudy eyes.

"I was… lost in my thoughts," he explains, swallowing hard to cast aside his nervousness. He can feel the pangs of embarrassment in stomach, a sensation that has steadily become familiar during his time here.

"About me?" There's the barest hint of curiosity in her tone and he curses her ability to be so unintentionally blunt. Whatever the Jedi had taught her regarding suppressing emotions had worked almost too well: he's not sure whether she's playing innocent or intentionally trying to get a rise out of him. Not that it matters, he supposes, seeing as it works.

He squirms under her sightless scrutiny, trying not to linger on how ridiculous he's situated himself to behaving in her presence. The guilt he oft battles with when it comes to his relationship with her has a strong competitor in his humility.

"I… yes." Tapping his fingers on his knees, he eventually lets out a sigh and resigns himself. Arcann had made a habit of being as scarce as he could make himself since his induction into the Alliance, forcing his presence into the open only when it was required. Now, with Vaylin and Valkorian both gone, he'd been prepared to fade into the background… Instead, he finds himself battling with his own hesitation as he's dragged to the forefront of the Commander's company more often than anticipated.

Speak openly with me, she'd told him once. I always wish to hear what's on your mind.

Indulging curiosity regarding her life and character are privileges he'd only recently braved the act of breaching, at her insistence. Once, he would've thought himself unworthy of asking her anything about herself, after all he'd done to harm her. In many ways, he still thinks that's true… but she, at the very least, has convinced him she shares no such sentiments.

So, he braces himself.

"Your eyes…" He starts off slowly, watching her for any signs of anger or discomfort at the topic being brought up. As he should've expected, nothing in her demeanor changes. She continues staring, the only change in posture being a lean forward, urging him to continue. The gesture is small, but it causes him to relax. "Were you… born blind?"

"I'm not blind," she admonishes him gently, her brow quirking as if she can imagine the look of confusion on his face at the statement.

She lets the stunned silence linger between them for a moment, waiting to see if he'll say anything else. He doesn't, because he's learned that listening to the Commander is always far more fruitful than attempting to talk over her.

As the silence continues, her carefully crafted mask begins to slip away. First, its her eyes: previously dull with only the barest hint of confusion, they now almost seem to sparkle with childish amusement. Then, finally, she smiles. A real smile, not half-hearted or barely noticeable, but still graceful. Arcann almost chokes as he sucks in a deep inhale of air, because if there is anything he has learned about her, it's that witnessing these moments in which she openly puts on display the emotion that must constantly be pushed aside within her are among the most beautiful the Alliance walls have to offer.

"I'm not blind," she repeats, her hands uncurling so that she can reach up to gently touch the scars that mar one side of his face. The touch had made him flinch, in the beginning, after she had confessed her care for him. Now he leans into it, allowing himself a blissful comfort he may not deserve, but that he selfishly needs more than he needs anything else in this world. "I simply cannot see as you do."

Arcann smiles, despite himself. Whatever shame he harbors for sharing quiet moments like this with her cannot always outweigh the warmth he feels from her presence, nor the wistful thoughts she shares when asked personal questions about herself. She very rarely answers such things in a way that's straightforward, but he doesn't mind. There's something gentle in the way she presents herself: a simultaneously painful, yet lighthearted mystery to unravel, little by little. Something that made his chest ache and yet feel lighter at the same time.

He raises his cybernetic hand to lay over the one on his cheek, the opposite reaching out to gently grasp hers still resting in her lap. His own touch is unsure, his confidence never quite up to par with her own, but she does not flinch away from the cold metal of his fingers closing around hers.

"The stronger my connection with the Force became, the worse my vision," she explains after a moment, her airy tone of voice making it clear she's recalling memories from a place of introspection rather than sadness. He's glad. The two of them have spent far too many nights together navigating a maze of regret and guilt to reach solid ground with one-another. Curious as he may be about her, he does not wish to bring pain to the surface of her heart to sate that curiosity unnecessarily. "Some theorize the two were connected. Others believe it was a coincidence."

"What do you believe?" He tightens his grip on her hand and lowers it from his face, scooting closer so that their knees are touching. To onlookers, they would look childish. He supposes he should be thankful for her knack to find secluded areas of the base to meditate in: or that people simply avoid her when she does so.

The way they interact now, it would be hard to believe where they had been almost two years ago, lightsabers at one-another's necks.

"I can't say for sure. Perhaps not everything needs a destiny, nor an explanation." She shakes her head, attention drifting to their hands resting together between them before searching once more for his face. He lets out a soft chuckle simply so she can steady her gaze and it makes her smile grow softer. "I didn't mind. Not… afterwards, that is. I must have been terrified when it happened. But the Force… it lets me see this galaxy in a way not many have the opportunity to."

Adoration swells in his chest, his emotions suddenly overwhelming. He'd told her, when she'd admitted to having feelings for him, that he admired her, but in moments like these, he thinks it will never be enough to list off the reasons why.

"What does your world look like?" His voice is low when he asks and he can tell from the way she presses her lips together that it affects her, but aside from a brief, knowing smile, he does not push further. He does not wish to distract or tease, not when his interest is so genuine.

"I had a friend who once asked me the same," she muses, something in her expression seeming to drift far away once she settles.

He waits for her to elaborate, but when she doesn't, he bites down on the inside of his lip. Someone from before the carbonite, he rationalizes. He can tell when she skirts around subjects for his sake, when her lips remain parted as if she'd meant to say more but stops herself just short of it. She doesn't want to hurt him. Before the telltale ache of guilt can begin to fester, she clears her throat to continue.

"I see light… in everything." In contrast to her contemplative tone until now, her words come out in a breath, as if in awe of her own musings. Often, when asked to speak of her time learning to rely on Force sight to continue forward in her life, he'd noted she always spoke matter-of-factly about it. How she saw the world and what it looked like to her: they're wildly different. "The Force is connected to all things. All that it touches, I see life flow through, as if the entire world is breathing. Colorless and yet full of vibrancy. Both bright and dark, shadows and light seamlessly melding together…"

She falls silent. Patiently, he waits to see what she will do, knowing by the subtle tilt to her head that she isn't done speaking. Another lock of brunette hair falls in her face. He's tempted to reach for it, but he doesn't.

After what seems an eternity in silence, she lifts his hands and spreads his palms against hers. The gesture makes him tense for a moment, the overwhelming instinct to pull his artificial arm back to his side a strong urge which he has to mentally fight before being able to relax again. She waits for him to settle, before pressing her weight against his hands and using it to push herself up to her feet.

Standing above him, their fingers now interlaced, she leans over his now shorter form, searching his face. He holds her gaze and tries to ignore the sound of his heart suddenly pounding in his ears.

"I see light in you," she says softly, seemingly after a long pause of consideration. "Perhaps you do not always see it in yourself, but I have watched the light in you ignite and grow in the time that you've spent with us. It's become more apparent since Voss. At first, you were a flicker… then a beacon… now a blaze."

The fondness with which she speaks of him strikes him so deeply that it hurts. There will always be darkness within him. They both know this to be true. It will always be apart of him, no matter the amount of healing and self-reflection he's exposed to, nor how far he runs from his father's shadow, from Thexan's. And yet, the way she looks at him now, as if she's seeing him… how can he not feel laid bare by her?

"You're so bright, it's blinding to me."

His heart feels as if it shifts from his ears to his throat and, without thought, he's moving to stand with her. Keeping a tight grip on her hands, he uses them to pull her forward against his chest. She barely has time to adjust herself before his lips are against hers, his arms releasing her to snake around her waist. She's just short enough he has to lean down, the strength of his hold lifting her up onto her toes to meet him the rest of the distance. It takes her a moment to react, but once she settles and her body relaxes into his, he feels her hands clutching delicately at the fabric on his back.

Despite the suddenness of the gesture, there's no force behind it, no sense of urgency like there had been the first time he'd kissed her. Rather than letting the moment pass, he holds onto it, each press to her lips longer than the last: harder, yet kinder each time.

She is far more awkward than he is. Through romantic intimacy, her sheltered life as a Jedi becomes most apparent as she fumbles through the motions, desperately making an effort to follow his lead in a rare show of inadequacy. If he weren't so endeared, perhaps he'd find the irony of this being the one area in which he had managed to best her, despite his initial shortcomings.

He kisses her tenderly as his arms begin to loosen their hold on her, letting his lips linger against hers before slowly allowing her to regain her footing. He releases one hand from her waist, finally pushing back the mess of stray hair from her face to tuck them behind her ear.

"Commander…" Her nose wrinkles in distaste at his use of formality in this moment, but she doesn't comment on it. "I do not deserve you."

The sentiment isn't strong enough. He cannot put into words the depths of the emotions he feels for her. To say he respects her, or cares for her: it simply isn't enough. And he could choke on the irony of it all, because she is the last person in this galaxy who should be within his reach. He stole her life from her. Imprisoned her, harmed her, hunted her down as if she were a trophy to be destroyed. It aches to see her now, staring up at him with the same serene, forgiving eyes she'd watched him with through the worst of his pursuits. He had always assumed she'd seen him through his darkness.

"You can say that as many times as you like. I think you do," she counters, calm as ever. Considering the flush of her cheeks, he'd find the contrast funny, if he weren't holding his breath. "But it doesn't really matter what we believe. Whether you or I deserve each other is inconsequential." She spreads her palm over his chest, feeling the quick rhythm of his heart under her fingertips. "I love you. Your darkness, your light, all of you." It isn't the first time she's said as much. That does not make it less meaningful. "I love you, Arcann. That's all."

That's all, she says. As if the weight of those words doesn't shake him to his very core, each time she says them.

He takes a step forward, closing the already barely existent space between them. Resting his cheek on the top of her head, he wraps her in his embrace again. Pressed against her, he closes his eyes tightly in an attempt to keep at bay the stinging. He has to swallow before he's able to speak again, "I love you, too." He pauses, noting how hoarse his voice comes out, but a reassuring hum from her breaks his hesitation. "I love you."

She pushes against his chest, forcing space between them, but it's only enough for her to push up and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. As she pulls back, they stay like that, wholly unburdened by the responsibilities of the Alliance they would have to return to, if only for that moment.

He almost finds himself wishing she could see the way he's looking at her then, how deeply he feels for her. But there's a slight quirk to her lip, another genuine smile, and he wonders if perhaps she can anyways.

"So, tell me," she starts, hands lacing together behind her back as she attempts to regain some illusion of propriety, despite the mischievous spark reignited in her eyes. Arcann finds himself smiling back at her, already privy to what she's preparing to ask him and exactly what she's trying to get out of him in response. "What does your world look like?"