Characters: Aayla Secura, Bly

Rating: K+

Summary: Bly and Secura offer tokens of trust to each other on a reconnaissance mission to Ryloth. Takes place sometime between "Jedi Crash / Defenders of Peace" and "Liberty on Ryloth". Parts of this story were inspired by a photoshoot done of Paikea's magnificent Aayla cosplay.

A Dream Not Apprehended

…

Bly jerked awake, heart pounding. For a moment he lay there in his armor, rapid breath echoing in his helmet, the last images of the dream holding him down: the rifle heavy in his hands, aimed at her back; her body facedown, smoking.

A bright pool of stars through his visor reminded him of where he was. When he sat up and took his helmet off, the night air was chilly and clear. All around him, his brothers lay quiet on the sparse grass, amongst the packs of relief supplies they'd been carrying all day. He seemed to be the only one awake besides those on watch.

Usually his bad dreams faded quickly, leaving a vague uneasiness but no memory of what he had seen. The images of this one stuck in his head, confirming who it was he'd killed. Aayla. A physical ache rose in his chest. His left hand rested on the ground by the rifle he'd done it with and he pulled away, tucking that hand under his right arm as he tried to hold himself still and calm down.

There was a sense that the dream before that moment had been normal, happy even. Perhaps they had been walking single-file as they had for most of the previous day, she always a few steps in front of him, making conversation. He had shot her in the back, without warning.

Bly swallowed and got to his feet, heading for the edge of camp. It was only a few steps away; the general had asked him to choose twenty of his most respectful men for this relief mission. They were, apparently, in a valley sacred to her people, where no powered vehicles were allowed.

Around him, the dark silhouette of the hills they were winding between loomed, and the knobby, twisting shape of the trees—the only trees he'd ever seen on Ryloth. They shed leaves with every tiny wind. He could hear a few of the dry little shell-shaped leaves clacking against the stones they fell onto. It was the only thing he could hear, he realized when he stood still and held his breath. The silence felt unreal.

He set his helmet down on a large white rock outside the last ring of sleeping men. Running it off had been his first idea, but he realized what he truly needed to ease his mind was to see the general alive, as irrational as it seemed. So he looked back the way he'd come, struggling to pick her out in the dark valley lit only by starlight. Her skin and clothing was impossible to pick out among the bright white of his brothers' armor.

"Bly. What's wrong?"

He jumped and turned to see her approaching from outside the camp. Her steps were so quiet.

"Your watch isn't for another two hours," she added, hushed. "You should rest."

"I was just," Bly started, but didn't even know what he was going to say. "I couldn't sleep."

"You're shaken."

"Shaking?" Bly said, and huffed a nervous laugh. "I'm not shaking. I'm fine." He looked at his hand. He wasn't shaking, not outwardly anyway, no matter what his chest felt like.

"No… something has shaken you. I felt it when you woke up suddenly. Was it a dream?"

"Yeah," Bly sighed. "I'd rather not talk about it if that's alright with you, General Secura." He couldn't bear the thought of describing what he had done even in the simplest of words. It was just a dream, but how could his mind even think of such a thing in the first place?

"That is your choice," she reassured him, and put a hand on his pauldron. Before he could think about it, he had reached up to lay his gloved hand over it. The brief feeling of her hand warm and alive under his brought a rush of warm gratitude at her simple existence, but he quickly pulled away.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"Is there something I can say to ease your mind?" Secura offered, slowly lowering her hand to her side.

Just hearing your voice is helping, Bly thought, but couldn't say. He didn't want her to think he was asking anything of her. He wasn't. Just knowing she was alive and nearby was all. If she had been asleep he would have sat and listened to her breathing, like he did with his injured brothers sometimes. To make sure they still were breathing.

"It's kind of you to offer," Bly said quietly. "I was just going to try and run it off."

"Is that normally what you do to calm your mind?"

"Yes, General Secura. When I can."

"Then I will stop delaying you." He could only really see the outline of her. "But be careful, if you decide to run alone. There are predators in this valley, and the sound of your steps will carry far in the silence. Some might think because it's only a single set of steps, you will be easy to kill. Stay close to the men on watch."

"I will. Thank you."

She moved back into the midst of the sleeping troops, and Bly watched her for a moment before pulling himself away into a jog. He hoped he hadn't seemed either too secretive or too honest.

The stars were bright in the openings between the clouds, and more numerous than could be seen from most planets' surfaces. Like shining upside-down pools, openings in the dark well Bly ran circles through the bottom of. The men on watch didn't question his decision to lap the camp when he ran past them, his feet like dull drums in the desert night. They just nodded, said "sir", or in the case of Liam, held out his hand for a slap in passing. Bly counted his breaths and wondered what they had nightmares about, and if their silence meant they felt guilty too.

…

The next day the clouds had mostly gone, and the trees became fewer and further between. Bly walked at the head of the line after they broke camp, the smooth jade bullet-like seeds of the trees mixing with their static, dappled shadows on the ground. A tender green blush of grass covered the bare patches between the twisting white of fallen, wind-weathered limbs and glimpses of puddles in a tiny wash to the right.

Nothing moved but them. Bly couldn't tell if it was peaceful or eerie. The day warmed quickly as they marched, the sunlight pressing against their armor with silent persistence.

"General Secura," he said quietly at last, when they came out from the shadow of the last tree in sight. The trail wound uphill between boulders—grey and bright white—that contrasted with the dark red earth and grey-green brush. "I hope you won't mind me asking… but… whyisthis area sacred to twi'leks? Is it because there are more plants here than anywhere else on Ryloth? Are the trees very old?"

"That is one reason," Aayla said, picking her way up a steep portion of the trail, her arms held out slightly away from her sides. She was wearing a heavy pack too, her lekku pulled forward in front of her shoulders to keep out from under it. "Although there are some places on Ryloth with more plant life than here. Many spiritual leaders have come to these hills for guidance and training. The silence encourages self-awareness, and an increased awareness of other life forms that are not so easily heard."

"I've just heard those leaves falling," Bly admitted. "Nothing else."

Nothing else but their gritty footsteps on damp earth and sandstone. And the soft panting, rustling movement of the twenty men behind him. But they'd seen tracks near their campsite … whatever animals lived in this area must be pretty good at moving without being heard. The trail was getting steeper, and Bly leaned further forward against the weight of the supply pack.

"So we're taking these supplies," he panted, after twenty minutes of up, up, up, "to some of your people… who are here for…spiritual reasons?"

"Yes." Aayla lunged her way steadily up the hill, finally showing some strain in her breathing. "There are rumors that Syndulla's rebels have contacts in this place, and the Republic has been seeking an alliance with him for a long time. Hopefully, his people will allow me an audience before the Separatist presence on Ryloth becomes any worse."

"It's lucky we even made it to the surface with that blockade," Bly murmured. They'd had to borrow a specially cloaked ship for the job. "Do you think we might run into trouble with the civilian leaders too?"

"I doubt the people here will try to harm me, or any of you, when they see that I'm leading you here. However… they are likely to be armed." She sighed and stopped at a fork at the top of the trail, shading her eyes. "I wish it weren't so, but the holiness of this place has been sealed with the blood of many people over the years, intruders and spirituals alike. Some even say that's how the sand became so dark."

"I see."

Bly followed her gaze across the view that had opened up. So many hills and valleys: some of them gentle, evenly spaced mounds, others closer together with one side cut jagged by flooding. All covered their reddish soil with a velvety wash of grass and white brush. Off to the right, there was a smudge of darker green, a distant copse of trees snaking between the hills.

"This way," Secura said, heading for the middle trail.

It led up first, curving around the side of the nearest crest, circling a stand of boulders that seemed intentionally laid. Bly wondered where the rocks came from. Had they been in the hills all along, uncovered gradually as the soil eroded away? There was no high white mountain in sight for them to have fallen from.

Then the trail plunged down, steeply following the cut of storm runoff into a tiny valley—more of an impression—cupped between the nearest hills. The valley's bottom was flat, covered by a taller, even meadow of grass broken only by a small ravine. Coming down into it, Bly felt the land curling around him like a giant's hand. He was tiny, like an ant scooped up in that hand with its palm full of soil beneath him. Instead of being threatening, there was something comforting in the thought, even as they began to cross the meadow and there wasn't a speck of cover.

It was alright, he told himself. His DC-17s were in easy reach in their holsters, and there was the rifle on top of his pack as well. But right now he found he still didn't want to touch either of them.

Aayla slid and loped the last few meters of steep, damp, crumbly soil and slowed to a walk, just ahead of him. All at once as he followed her example, Bly recognized the feeling. It was becoming more common since their mission on Jendiria. It had been there on Maridun, walking through the savannah at dawn, even despite the men they'd lost. And while looking out over the Lurmen village at sunset, pausing on a run to clear his head, wondering about beings that would rather die than fight. Just as he was struggling to put it into words, the general glanced over her shoulder and smiled.

"You seem to be feeling better."

Bly grinned back, even though he knew she couldn't see it through his helmet. It relieved some of the pressure in his throat. "I'm just… happy to be here, Genera Secura."

"It is beautiful, isn't it," she said in a wistful murmur.

"Yes, general," said Liam in a hush, coming up just behind Bly with scopes in hand. "No sign of anyone so far. How much farther do you think their base is?"

"It is not a base, Captain," Aayla said patiently. "It is a sanctuary."

"Right. Sorry, General." Liam put a hand to his helmet and cleared his throat. "I meant no disrespect. It was, uh… just the first word that came to mind."

"Don't worry. At this pace we should reach the sanctuary by tomorrow night."

"Very good," Liam said, and fell back a ways.

Bly could hear him talking to the others quietly, although he couldn't hear any words. He watched the grass on either side of the narrow trail brushing the dinged-up white of his leg armor with each step. The weight of the pack on his back felt right and familiar somehow.

For a moment, the image of his dream the night before came back as he watched the grass brush Aayla's legs too. He imagined he could feel the presence of the rifle on top of his pack, even though he couldn't see it. But he let it fade, thinking instead about how at home she seemed, despite that trace of sadness in her voice. What would it be like to know you had an ancestral history somewhere? He listened to the sound of the little green blades being struck aside by dozens of feet and wished he could sit down in the middle of the valley and listen to her tell stories about this place. Surely she knew some. But they had to keep marching.

…

By the end of the day, they had found their way to another sparse grove of the knotted trees, and a few filmy clouds appeared just in time to turn orange.

"We can rest here for the night," Aayla said quietly, and Bly turned to call to the others.

"Packs off! Time to rest."

A collective groan of relief came from the other twenty men, and Bly sat down on a nearby rock to ease his own pack off. With the weight resting against his back now rather than on his shoulders, he took off his helmet and wiped his face. There was the slightest breeze. It felt good.

After a moment's rest watching the other men, Bly turned around to check the pack's balance against the rock and came face to face with the rifle that was strapped atop it. His hand was already on it, and he went still, trying to shrug off the image that was rising again.

There was nothing special about this rifle. It was identical to all the other DC-15As that were in use throughout the GAR. It wasn't even his. Nothing was his. It was just one he happened to be carrying.

For a moment he struggled against the irrational urge to take his hand off the rifle, but the feeling wasn't going away.

He picked it up and glanced around, knowing he should be divvying up assignments for the night. "Liam," he called, and the captain came over immediately. "I'll take first watch with Swift, Zander and Driver. Send Raf and Worthy to scout for water and build up our supply. I'm sure we'll need it for tomorrow."

"Yes, sir."

Bly looked for his general after Liam walked off. It took him a minute to spot her, coming around the side of a split white boulder the size of an AT-TE. It was catching a few broken rays of the setting sun from between the surrounding trees and slopes of earth.

Carefully, amid the gentle clack-ca-clack of falling leaves, Bly picked his way over the stones and bonelike branches toward her. She walked slowly, touching the trees occasionally as she passed them. Like she was looking for something, Bly thought. Or listening.

When he was a few meters away, she stopped and faced him. He stopped too, waiting for her to speak, but after a few moments he got the feeling she was waiting for him.

"General Secura," he finally said. "Have you ever been to this sanctuary before?"

"No." She stepped up onto the sloping trunk of the nearest tree. It grew crooked out of the sloped ground, nearly horizontal at first. "I wish I had. I haven't spent much time on Ryloth." She looked up at the rest of the tree. Bly wondered if she was going to climb it.

"Oh. But it's your homeworld, isn't it?"

"I was born on Ryloth," Aayla said simply, seeming distracted by the tree. "But I have no memory of anything before my training began at the Jedi Temple. Still… I have always tried to be aware of the struggles my people face, and…. some, at least some, of their history."

She laid her hand on the nearest branch. The bark was rough with deep furrows. Bly came closer and stepped up onto the tree with her. What he wanted to do seemed ridiculous now that he had to say it. It was ridiculous… but….

Aayla turned her head to look at him, still holding onto the branch like it was the arm of a friend. "I wonder if being a twi'lek will make any difference at all in whether or not these people will speak with us. I have more in common with the Jedi than with them. I know so little of what it really means to struggle and live on this planet for generations."

"Is that why the Jedi Council sent us here instead of some other team?" Bly asked. "Because a twi'lek might trust a twi'lek?"

"Possibly." Aayla shrugged and sat down on the trunk, one knee up to rest her arm on. "I hope I will be allowed to help them, somehow."

Bly sat down near her, but not too near. There was no way to bring this up without sounding at least a little awkward. May as well get to the point.

"General Secura," he began again, looking down at the weapon resting on his knees. "Have you ever handled a blaster rifle?"

"Not one like that," she said. "Why do you ask?"

"I'd like to show you how, if you'll let me." Bly slid off the trunk to face her and held the heavy blaster out toward her with both hands. "This belongs to you as much as it belongs to me, and… I think you should know how to use it."

Aayla's eyebrows pinched and she looked between him and the DC-15A. "I don't think that's necessary, Bly… I have my saber, and the Force."

"I-I know, of course you don't need it. I just…" Bly sighed, embarrassed. But he didn't lower his hands. "Please, General Secura. It would mean a lot to me if I could show you. There isn't much a clone can give a Jedi, but…."

"Alright." Her face slowly fell into a smile. "I think I understand. Show me."

She slid off her perch on the tree and took the blaster from him. There, he told himself, as he watched her balance the weight of it. It was in her hands now.

But Aayla's hold on the thing was uncertain. She hefted it level with her chin, resting the stock on top of her shoulder. The front end dipped when she tried to keep it steady.

"I am already seeing that this is more complicated than I thought," she laughed softly.

"It's alright," Bly reassured her. "If you brace the stock against your shoulder, it's a lot easier to keep it steady."

"Itis on my shoulder," Aayla said. She let go of the front of the gun with her left hand and clumsily switched her grip by the trigger. "You mean the other shoulder?"

"No." Bly supported the rifle with his right hand, and guided her right hand back to the handle with his left. "No, you had it right the first time. Right hand firing, right shoulder. Your left hand braces it, here." He lifted a few fingers from where he held the shaft, tapping the side of the rifle.

"I don't hold on to this?" Aayla touched the sniper scope that was in resting position.

"You can, if it's a more comfortable grip. It's the sniper scope. Some guys use it as a handhold when it's in resting position, but since it can unlock and move back up top if you knock it hard enough, I don't trust it while I'm aiming."

The stock was still resting on top of her shoulder. Aayla shifted her grip and struggled to keep the rifle level and steady. Bly, his hands over hers, carefully pulled it forward enough that the end of the stock could rest curved against the front of her shoulder rather than the top.

"Better?" he asked quietly.

"Oh. I see," Aayla said seriously. "That is better."

"Your elbows are in, that's good. Now, to aim," Bly said, shifting so he was standing behind her and could see more of what she saw. "You want to try and put your target right in the middle of these two points." He reached over her shoulder and touched the sights on top of the rifle. "Your mark will be a little above the imaginary dot in the center of the square. If you have the right form, it should be as easy as looking straight ahead and letting your body follow."

"How is it? My form?" Aayla asked.

"Are you pressing it back into your shoulder to keep it steady?" Bly asked.

"Yes."

"Alright. Relax your neck." Bly suddenly became very aware of his own hand on Aayla's warm left shoulder, his right hand still resting on her right elbow from checking its position. One moment, he felt a deep warmth from the memory of waking up concussed with her hand pressed against his collarbone, so relieved to be alive. The next, he remembered how nervous he'd been, trying to explain his feelings about that moment to her. He quickly let go and took a step back. "Sorry, General Secura. I didn't think—I should have asked before I corrected you." He had been manhandled in his own training so many times he had almost forgotten he was dealing with a Jedi Master.

"It's alright, Bly," Aayla said seriously, not moving to look at him. "Continue." When he hesitated, she turned her head over her shoulder to smile at him and repeated, "It's alright."

Bly took a deep breath and nodded. "Let your cheek fall against the stock. Then your eye should be lined up correctly with the sights. Keep your left hip pointed at the target." He put his hands on her shoulders again, barely pulled at them, rotating with her as he stood behind, and reached around to adjust her elbows again.

"Like this?"

"Yeah. Good!"

"What am I aiming at?" Aayla asked.

Bly's first inclination was to choose a large knot on one of the old trees, but it probably wasn't respectful to damage an organism that old just for target practice. "That tall rock. I mean…if it's alright to even fire a shot in this place."

"I think one or two will be fine," she said. "Is my stance still good?"

Bly breathed out a soft huff as he stood back to look. "It's just about perfect."

"I suppose the principles of proper lightsaber form apply here too." The general stood very still, breathing evenly. Bly didn't even have to tell her to go to the zone his own trainer had coached him toward, where one's body was relaxed but firm.

"When you're ready," he said softly, "squeeze the trigger, like you're just pulling your finger back into your fist."

The DC-15A erupted into a loud spray of about seven shots—Bly and Aayla both yelled in shock and could hear more shouts coming from the men around the other side of the boulder.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! If you hold it down, it's repeating—I forgot to tell you—"

"I knew that," Aayla said, laughing, shaken. "I knew that; I forgot."

"I should have warned you."

The rock was blackened with blaster marks. A handful of whoops and cheers came from the direction of the camp and Bly looked over to see a dozen of his troops with blasters in hand, some still relaxing out of firing pose.

"Great shot, General!" Liam called.

"That rock never stood a chance!" another laughed.

"I did hit it, didn't I?" Aayla smirked. "All seven blasts. You must be a good teacher."

"Thanks," Bly laughed self-consciously, rubbing a hand over his own short fuzz of hair. He took the rifle back when she offered it, and it felt a little easier in his hands. As he slung it over his back, he heard Liam calling to the others.

"Alright, alright, come on. Back to your stations."

"Thank you," Bly murmured as the crowd dispersed. "For letting me do that."

"Thank you for trusting me with your weapon," Aayla said simply. She reached for his hand and without thinking he lifted it to meet hers halfway, startled when she actually took it. But after she grabbed it, she turned it palm up and set her lightsaber in the curve of his palm. "Now you try."

Every word Bly had ever learned fled from his mind for a few seconds. The lightsaber was heavy—it had a real weapon's weight. When the shock wore off enough that he could move again he nearly dropped it in his haste to give it back.

"No! I can't—I can't, General Secura. Please." He held it out to her. "I can't take it."

"But this is only fair," Aayla said, raising an eyebrow at him. "You trusted me with your weapon, and now… I am returning the gesture."

"It's not the same! My rifle belongs to you as much as it belongs to me or any other clone, and I wanted it to be—for its use to belong to…." Bly stopped himself, not sure what she would think if he finished that thought. "But—this—you're a Jedi, you made this yourself, it's—it's like a part of you. Isn't it?" Realizing she wasn't taking it back, Bly held it carefully with both hands, even though he knew if he dropped it, it wouldn't break. The idea of dropping such a symbol was still too much to bear.

"In the end it is only a weapon, like yours." Aayla said. But after she studied his face for a moment, she held out her hand and allowed him to hand the saber back to her.

Bly let out a long breath when it was back on her belt. "I'm honored that you would even think of trusting me with that, General Secura, but… it's a Jedi thing. I couldn't."

"I hope someday you will believe me when I say that I trust you." Aayla looked a little sad. "And that you are as worthy as any Jedi."

Bly couldn't find anything to say. Overwhelmed, he stared at his general, this person he'd been adjusting like a cadet just moments ago, this person who had saved his life so many times, who had accepted his confusion, who with single phrases calmly defied everything everyone else he'd ever met believed. When she said things like this, he stood on the edge of a cliff overlooking space itself—impossible, awesome, terrifying.

Even as he thought this, part of him wondered again if he was the only one who reacted this way to her. And part of him wondered why she would say something that was, according to most of the galaxy, so obviously untrue. But what if it was true? Do I want it to be true?

"I…" I believe you, Bly wanted to say, but he knew it was a lie.

Aayla put a hand on his shoulder briefly before she turned back toward the camp.

…

They were lighting lanterns when Bly, his general, and his men arrived at the sanctuary, sore and tired. The sun had just slipped over the rim of the opposite hill, and the trail took them to a deep overhang of rock, its floor slippery with loose grit over hard-packed sandstone. Large bluish succulents guarded the last bit of trail, and Bly's pauldron freed two of the spider-like seedheads, their furred umbrellas catching the wind of their passing and the orange light of the first lantern a violet twi'lek youth lit.

When the lantern-lighter saw them, she didn't scurry away, but said something in twi'leki. Aayla responded in kind, her voice slow and careful, and Bly remembered that perhaps she had had to re-learn this language as an adult. More twi'leks melted into sight from the unseen back of the overhang, and spoke with her urgently. One even embraced her.

Bly and his men watched the exchange in silence, standing a little ways apart. Some creature made a faint, high-pitched rattling sound nearby, spaced apart by a few seconds each. Soon the overhang was lit from within by dozens of lanterns, and Bly could see to the back, where three small doorways had been carved from the rock and were framed by some thickly growing plant with tiny, round, dense leaves. The twi'leks and their lanterns trickled back inside until the doorways glowed.

Smiling, Aayla pulled away from the last of the crowd for a moment to turn toward Bly. "They saw us coming. They welcome all of us, and thank us for the supplies, but I think they would prefer for you and your men to keep watch out here for the night."

"We'd be happy to."

She translated, and a large green twi'lek pushed forward and clapped his hand against the side of Bly's pack, motioning enthusiastically toward the central doorway as he spoke.

"You all can follow him," Aayla said, and together they passed into the light. "But with your helmets off."

They took off their helmets. Inside the doorway it was much more spacious than Bly had expected, the stairs carved directly from the sandstone, the ceiling high and the walls shaped into impressions of clouds, hills, and sheets of rain. The stone was a mix of cream, yellow, and red streaks. The stairs went up first, to a wide landing with branching corridors, lanterns hung from the ceiling of each passage by chains anchored to the wall. On the other side of the landing there was a wider set of stairs going down, the ceiling etched with an impression of knobby branches.

As they reached the bottom of that larger set of stairs, each of the four passages curved in such a way that all Bly could see was a tantalizing flicker of shadows crossing lantern light, an impression of warmth and space. They turned down the leftmost one, and came to a long room with white stone counters along the wall and in the middle of the floor. Fires burned in three large clay ovens. Bly and his men took off their packs and set them in one open corner.

"I must go speak with their leaders," Aayla said. "Set up guard by the entrance, get some rest. This may take more than a few hours."

Bly nodded and led his men back the way they'd come, wondering just how large the network of caves was.

Out in the night, only a few lanterns remained. Bly took first watch again, sitting on the low wall made of chipped stone and clay that ringed the bottom edge of the overhang. Below it, the land fell away steeply where the flooding rains had cut into it year after year. A faint drumming came from behind him.

…

Bly's watch was over, but he sat with his back to a lantern, trying to shake off the nightmare that had come again not an hour from when he'd closed his eyes. His shadow was in front of him, blurred with the darkness the lamp couldn't reach. He didn't want to go back to sleep.

Footsteps made his hands twitch toward his hips from where they were tucked under his arms, but it was just a twi'lek. He knew Liam and a few other men were in earshot, too.

"General Secura," he said tiredly, when he realized who it was. "Were you able to get into contact with Syndulla?"

She shook her head and sat down beside him. "They have had no contact from him or his people in months. Or at least they aren't telling if they have. But they thank us for the supplies."

"So we came all this way to leave without a single lead," Bly sighed.

"Why are you awake?" Aayla asked gently. "You're exhausted. Could you not sleep again?"

Bly nodded. For few minutes he hesitated, but he couldn't hold it in any more.

"I have these dreams sometimes… I just… shoot my allies. People I know. And sometimes… I don't even care, in the dream… it's not until I wake up that I realize…." He tried to keep staring at the dirt floor, the edge of the light, but instead looked at her face, waiting to see fear or disappointment there.

She smiled sadly. "That's not so surprising."

"It isn't?" He stared.

"If part of you is becoming uncomfortable with the reality of the war."

Bly almost asked what she meant, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know. His own mind seemed in that moment like an utterly untrustworthy place.

She shifted position beside him, straightening her back. "Will you let me teach you how to meditate? It should help you sleep more soundly, and sort your thoughts so they aren't so confusing."

"Isn't that just for Jedi?" Bly asked.

"Meditation? It's a tool that everyone should have access to if they need it. It is simply a way of knowing yourself and the universe with more intention."

"I thought that when Jedi meditate, they're connecting to the Force."

"Well… yes," Aayla said slowly.

"I don't think I can do that," Bly sighed, studying the way the lantern threw a grain of sand's shadow so far. He flicked it with its finger—it flew into the darkness and disappeared.

"You already are connected to it," she said. "But you aren't aware of that connection. That's all meditation is: becoming aware of present truths and letting them be what they are."

Bly took a deep breath and let it out, nervous. "So it is a Jedi thing."

Aayla laughed softly through her nose, and when she spoke her voice was a gentle murmur. "Close your eyes, Bly."

He closed them, saw the blurred neon afterimage of the light inside his eyelids, and listened.

"Start with your toes. Focus on how they feel."

Sore. His toes were tired and bunched together inside his boots, but his legs ached more. It wasn't a bad ache—he hadn't even noticed it until she'd spoken. He moved them, spreading them the tiny bit he could, feeling the slight padding of his under-suit's soles.

"Become aware of your body, piece by piece, moving up through your legs, into your back and your stomach… that's how the masters at the temple taught me to begin. Breathe in and out slowly as you move from one part of your body to the next."

His ankles were a little stiff, his right leg folded up close to him with his knee at a right angle from his hip, his left leg bent in front and halfway toward his chest. He could feel the weight of his left arm resting on his left knee, the way his armor encased his calves, his thighs, the resistance from where the pieces collided and restricted any further movement. Should he have removed it before beginning? General Secura surely would have said something if it was that important.

Still, he wondered if he was doing it wrong. And a moment later, had to bring his mind back to his knees, and up through his thighs. The feeling of the hard ground he sat on. He pictured the dark overhang, holding him inside it like a slightly opened shell, and the decline beyond, remembered the feeling he'd had while walking in that grassy stretch between the two hills. Focus.

His stomach. The familiar empty feeling of over a week on field rations. His back, every muscle below the surface tight, a slight, even burn of discomfort. He heard Aayla breathing beside him and forgot to breathe himself for a moment, then tried to sync his breathing to hers.

"If there is a thought or feeling you want to let go of," Aayla murmured, "imagine it moving in and out of you with each breath, gradually more out than in. Be patient. If you push against it too hard, it will come back stronger."

"Like a wave," Bly mumbled to himself, throat closing against the image of Aayla's smoking back. How could he let that picture back into his mind? He breathed in shakily, let himself remember the feeling of the trigger under his finger. The fingers of his left hand hung in the air loosely, relaxed from where his arm rested on his knee; his right hand rested on its side, on the sandstone floor. Harmless. A tiny ache between two knuckles, an itch on his left palm. A coldness in the tips of all his fingers. He breathed out and the image of the white rock, scored with blasterfire, rose in his mind instead. Bly swallowed, aware of his lungs expanding again.

That high rattle came again distantly, two overlapping, then three. Bly thought there were soft voices, just on the edge of his hearing, and somewhere in the night, sand shifted, the barely audible sound of multiple feet or hooves impacting softly on the earth in rapid succession. Aayla kept breathing, steady, calm. He realized his shoulders were drawn up, head bowed, closing in.

Breathe in. Bly nearly choked on the image of her hand limp on the red earth beneath her face. How could she say he was as worthy as a Jedi, even disregarding what his subconscious came up with?

"Whatever you think or feel… think it. Feel it. And then come back to your body. However many times you need to. Watch it pass through you."

Breathe out. Her back, moving away from him on the mountainside in Jendiria. Her body turned to leaves and grass, rustling around him, hiding beaked monsters, a blade torn in half between his fingers, its comb edge catching on the material of his gloves.

Breathe in. The restriction of his armor, the weight of the pack, the rifle in his hands, the weight of his head when he wanted to sleep. The cool desert air on his hot cheeks. Breathe out. His own breath on his upper lip. Are you alive? An exploding ship, the taste of a fruit he'd never learned the name for, the sight of Ryloth, Coruscant, Kamino from space. His own mouth watering at the mere thought of gentle, juicy sweetness. A building warmth behind his eyelids.

Breathe in. His body, identical to so many others, but his. His. Breathing. Breathe out. The only thing in the galaxy that really belonged to him. His aches, his muscles, his bad dreams as the result of his own neurons shuffling images and fears around, clenching his own stomach. Breathe in. His own lungs, his own tightened chest. Breathe out. That speck of sand he'd flicked out of the circle of light, waiting in the darkness, no less real.

He lost himself in the rhythm. It was comforting. He could hear Aayla breathing too, their rhythm slightly mismatched. It was good. He existed on his own, cradled in this body, this armor, this overhang, this quiet night, this pocket of breathable air and gravity, this galaxy where someone had decided to create an army of clones. In. Out. In. His back relaxed little by little, his body swaying slightly as he breathed. The pressure in his chest and throat didn't go away, ebbing and flowing.

Breathing uncounted ins and outs, time became a measure only of how long each breath lasted. It was a familiar enough feeling from a march, a battle, a run to clear his head. His mind wandered through images and feelings, finding no answers. His body was getting sore in a different way, from holding position for so long.

Finally, Aayla stirred next to him, breaking the quiet. "How do you feel?"

Bly could almost feel the command from his brain traveling to his eyelids, telling them to open. The orange light of the lamp was beautiful on the sand, and the rough paint and grit of his leg plates, and the backs of his hands. He shifted into a roughly cross-legged position, flexing his fingers slowly. Moving felt like waking up.

"Thank you." Bly looked to his left, where Aayla sat, half her face lit, the other half dark. She smiled and that pressure welled in his throat again. "I feel… grateful, mostly." For a moment, he had the urge to throw his arms around her shoulders like she was a brother who'd just survived a deadly mission. Instead he stared at her, wondering if she really saw him the way she said she did.

Yes, he realized. She did. He put a hand over his face.

"What?" she said softly. "Bly? What did you feel?"

"I… I don't think I felt the Force or anything like that," he said, rubbing his forehead self-consciously. "But… I just… felt more real, I guess. Or… significant, maybe. I don't know… I think it helped. Thank you."

Aayla looked pleased when he finally raised the courage to look up at her again. He smiled tentatively back, and she held out her lightsaber again.

"I am not trying to make you anything you don't want to be," she reassured him. "Whatever tools you use to make your way through life… they are only tools. They can be powerful symbols. But you are free to choose what they mean for you. Or whether they mean anything at all."

Bly hesitated, overwhelmed. And then, to his horror, he heard himself laugh.

"I'm sorry, General Secura," he apologized instantly, nearly putting a hand over his own mouth. "I… it's not funny, I just… I don't know what I'm feeling right now."

He realized he was grinning when Aayla grinned back.

"Take it," she said.

"Are you sure?" Bly asked reverently. But he knew her. She had never said anything to him she didn't mean. His hand closed around the offered hilt, fingers curling against the warm skin of her palm before he lifted it away. The rest of his body was still awash in that peculiar, comforting awareness of itself as he got to his feet and turned the saber over in his hand, settling into the grip.

"Turn it on," she said, smiling. It was a full smile, a sunny smile he'd only seen rarely, her eyes creased up, the lantern catching the whites of her eyes and turning them gold.

He didn't ask this time, but looked in amazement between her face and the hilt in his hands. "This is enough," he said. "More than enough." He took a deep breath. "You put your trust in me… as a person, not just a clone," he said, holding it fully with both hands. "I think that's what this means to me."

Her blue-green hand reached into his line of sight and closed around his own gloved hand.

"Don't be afraid," she said simply, before she pressed his thumb to the button and the blue light flared out from just above his hands, a soft vibration running through the heavy cylinder and up into his arm, sending warm thrills up to his scalp.

Bly stared at it, nearly vibrating himself. He had never seen it so close before. And Aayla's hand on his, strong, with careful, deliberate pressure. He could see the dirt under her nails in the light of the saber's blade.

"Would you mind if I ran with you, next time?"

Bly tore his eyes away from the brightness and switched it off, exhilarated. "I'd be honored, General Secura. I'm honored. This is…thank you, for—" He swallowed and breathed a soft laugh of gratitude and amazement. "Thank you."

"Now we are a little more equal," she said, her smile fading quickly as she took the saber back. "That is what this means to me."

…