A/N: This is just a little one-shot I've been working on for a while now. I finally feel it's in a good enough place to share. PLEASE review and let me know what you think!

Trigger Warning: I see a lot of people include this, and I would HATE to cause anyone any mental angst or pain, so be warned. This story does contain a suicide attempt, and although it's not successful, this is a very dark story. So don't read if you don't do well with things like that. Ok, on to the story:

A week before Empire Day…

It came back like it always did. The scent of earth and blood and death clung to his consciousness like a contamination. He rolled out of bed, in a low crouch when he hit the ground, frantically trying to see in the darkness.

Slowly his heartbeat calmed; the moonlight outlined shapes in the room. His sense of orientation returned as the images of his nightmare faded. He could see the outline of his bedmate, a raven-haired woman that he couldn't remember the name of. She was apparently a deep sleeper, thank the stars.

He could feel the thump, thump, thump of the beat in the music of the bar beneath his feet; it matched the rolling and hitching of his stomach. He quickly staggered into the 'fresher and threw up. As he sat back, pushing his sweat-damp hair out of his eyes, he realized he'd simultaneously drunk too much again and not enough at the same time. Neither the alcohol nor the sex had been enough to keep away the nightmares; they never were. He'd just hoped.

It was foolish to think this time would be different.

He got up, and after rinsing out his mouth, he walked to the window and raised it quietly. He could hear the crash of waves on the shore and the cool wind soothed his sweaty skin. Raleesh was largely an ocean planet with blue-green seas and pink sand beaches. It was a resort area that drew beings from across the galaxy. In a place like this, no one stayed very long and it was easy to vanish in Raleesh's transitory lifestyle.

Getting lost was something that Kanan Jarrus had become very good at over the years.

The day before Empire Day…

The busy bar traffic had slowed and Taryn, the closing bartender was able to sit back a minute and catch her breath. She gazed over the room and measured the small crowd that was left. The bar was full of serious drinkers. One tired pilot at one end of the bar was throwing back his six or seventh shot, she couldn't remember exactly. At the other end was someone she knew quite well, Jarrus, the weekend bartender.

She'd lost track of how many she'd served him, but Jarrus could usually handle his liquor pretty well. And anyway, he didn't have far to go to pass out—the bar owner had a few rooms upstairs that she rented out from time to time to employees and Jarrus had taken one. The dark haired man lifted his empty glass just a little, and she turned, grabbed the strongest bottle of whiskey, and came back to refill his glass.

"Leave it," he said once she was done with pouring.

"Hittin' it pretty hard tonight, Jarrus. Everything okay?" The brightly colored Theelin remarked, leaning against the back of the bar as she regarded him and pushed a strand of her multi-colored hair out of her eyes. He shrugged, a sad smile touching his features. It was the handsome bartender's night off, and for some strange reason that Taryn hadn't understood he had decided to drink himself into a coma. She'd tried to gently ask what was going on, but he had deftly turned each attempt at conversation to another subject.

"Everything's just perfect." He said in his most sarcastic voice and tossed off the drink. The Theelin liked the bartender/bouncer a lot. He was able to handle himself in almost any situation, and it made her feel better to know that he would take care of the riff-raff when they worked together. Just twice this week he'd escorted out two Aqualish troublemakers, and a very drunk Rodian who had fired off a blaster in the place. She admired the effortless way he disarmed the Rodian, escorted them out and returned as if nothing had happened. He wasn't even breathing heavy after throwing out the Rodian.

"Not gonna talk, huh?"

"Nope." This time, he didn't even use the glass, he drank directly from the bottle.

"Okay then. It's your funeral." The bar was emptying, and she bussed the few tables that needed it as she waited for closing time. The only people left were two humans in the corner, the miner at the bar, a Twi'lek male and Jarrus. Jarrus who had now begun drinking like a man with a deathwish.

Her mind was occupied with cleaning and closing the bar as soon as possible so she could get off her feet and hit the pillow, so she didn't notice that the two humans were obviously encouraging each other to try something. As she turned to head back to the bar, one of the humans grabbed her hand. "So you busy tonight after work?" He'd clearly had too much, and was apparently acting out to impress his friend, who was snickering on the other side of the booth.

"Let go." She said in an even voice.

"Aw, come on baby. I heard that Theelins were real freaks in bed. I'm the sort of guy who likes to see for myself though." He stood up, yanking on her arm and pulling her off balance. He wrapped one arm around her waist, and squeezed her backside.

"You're not gonna want to do that." A deep voice spoke from behind the human, and he let Taryn go to turn around to face the owner of the voice.

Jarrus stood there, holding a broom in one hand. He spun it almost lazily in his fingers…a feat, Taryn realized, considering the quantity of alcohol he'd had. His manner was dead sober, however.

"What are you? The janitor?" The drunken man snorted with laughter.

Jarrus laughed mockingly, then almost too fast to be seen, the former Jedi hit the drunk with the broomstick three times before the man threw up a forearm to block. As it made contact, there was a crunching sound. The troublemaker screamed and fell to the floor.

"Kriff! You broke my arm!" the brawler cried, holding the broken limb against his chest.

"I'll break the other one if you're not out of here in 20 seconds; stay past that and you probably won't be able to crawl out of here," he said, his voice low. Even Taryn felt a shiver at the dark look in Jarrus's eyes.

The two men chose to believe him, and they scrambled out of the bar as fast as they could.

Jarrus handed Taryn the broom without comment, then went back to his chair at the bar, now weaving slightly before finding the stool. She shook her head and followed him back.

"Jarrus saves the day again." She smiled at him as she swept past him to continue her work behind the bar, settling the checks of the other patrons.

"That's me. Hero," he said sarcastically, downing another mouthful of whiskey.

He was ALMOST drunk enough to get to the point where he could think about this day without losing his kriffing mind. Using all the mental shields he had left, he had continuously pushed the memories of this wretched anniversary to the edge of his conscious thought and kept them there. It was working for the time being. He took another drink directly from the bottle. If he was going to drink like an alcoholic, might as well go all the way, he thought bitterly. The whiskey burned on its way down, but it was a good pain. He'd take it over the alternative of living through this day sober.

Taryn seemed to float back down toward him, wiping down the bar. "You're worrying me, Jarrus. One day we're gonna find you in that spare room after a night like this and it won't be pretty." The Theelin was more serious than teasing.

"What do you mean? You said I was pretty the first time you met me." Jarrus was smirking, but his light tone of amusement was false. The smile didn't reach the darkness in his eyes, and it troubled Taryn. When he saw the concern in her eyes, he turned his head away.

"Come home with me, Kanan. You need someone to keep an eye on you," she said suddenly, a nagging feeling tugging at the back of her mind. She leaned in and put a hand on his forearm, hoping to catch another glimpse of his eyes and maybe understand what was going on with him. She doubted it would happen, however. He was one to play his cards close to his chest.

"Don't think that's such a good idea tonight, beautiful." Another long pull on the bottle left it about half-full. He grimaced as it burned its way down to his stomach.

"You're not supposed to drink that stuff like that," she chastised. "C'mon. Talk to me. Something's up."

"It's...nothing. Everything's fine. A guy can just decide to cut loose, right?" He waved his hand like it was nothing.

"Yeah..." she narrowed her eyes at him. "You're lying."

He snorted with laughter. "How can you tell?"

"I just know. I know things, sometimes..." she leaned in close, sharing a secret. "Don't you dare laugh...but it was always whispered that my great-aunt was a Jedi. I always thought I got a little touch of that. Not enough to show up on the Empire's tests, but sometimes I know things and don't know how I know them."

His blue-green eyes studied her. Then he made a slight motion with his hand. "You won't ever tell anyone that again. Never again."

She nodded immediately, something in his voice compelling her to agree. He was right; it was a bad idea to spread that kind of thing around.

His eyes skated away from her, glanced around the bar and then came back to rest on the bottle as he took another drink. Unconsciousness was not far away and he skidded for it gratefully.

"C'mon." She snatched the bottle away before he could grab it back. "You're gonna kill yourself if you keep this up."

His laugh was so sudden and sounded so strange and unexpected that she felt a chill go through her body. Kanan buried his head in his arms and continued to laugh until she came around the bar and took him by the arm. The three patrons left could handle themselves for a moment.

"You need a rest." She hadn't missed the dark circles under his eyes for the past two days. "You're gonna have one hell of a hangover tomorrow."

"Hangovers are the least of my worries." He laughed that cold laugh again.

"So what are your worries?"

He shook his head and didn't reply. She walked him to his room, which was a little tricky on the stairs, opened the door and let him in. Jarrus was a favorite with all the female staff and she knew a couple of girls that had visited this room who would be quite jealous right now. She was different, however, not one to be swayed by some slick talk like she'd seen him use on most of his conquests. She deposited him on the bed and he fell over onto the pillows immediately. She helped him get situated and searched his eyes.

"I gotta get back out there. You gonna be okay?"

"Yep." This time she couldn't get a read on him at all. It was as if no one was there behind his dark greenish-blue eyes. She shivered again and tried to pass it off as his drunken state. "All good. Thanks."

"Okay," she sighed, heading for the door. When she took one last look, his eyes had drifted closed. Satisfied that he was passed out for good, she left his room and locked the door behind her.

Later…

He instantly woke from a deep sleep, his heart exploding in his chest. The screams of that long off battlefield were as fresh in his mind as they had been that very day.

Caleb.

We cannot win this battle.

You must run.

Go. I'll be right behind you.

Her voice in his mind. Endless repetitions of those words once more reopened the wound that would never seem to heal.

He looked around the room desperately as the sounds and smells of that day assaulted his senses. There was no way to be free from it, no matter how he had tried. The past always rose in his mind, refusing to be pushed back. The emotional pain overwhelmed him until it was an actual physical agony in his chest that caused him to sob. It was as if someone had run him through on a saber or shot him with a blaster.

A blaster. Reeling, he stood up and staggered over to the closet. In a moment, he had retrieved his blaster, nice and heavy in his hand and cold against the skin of his palm. It wasn't the light, elegant weight of a lightsaber, but it would do the job he needed it to do. His other hand held him steady against the closet door.

He pressed the cold barrel under his chin and closed his eyes. Master Billaba would be disappointed in him, but she couldn't have known how this would be. No one understood. He was in a universe of people, but was still utterly, completely alone. He tightened his finger on the trigger, knowing just a little more pressure would end it.

Suddenly a fragrance arose around him so strong and concentrated it assaulted his senses. It was sweet and spicy at the same time. He trembled on the knife edge of memory, then it came to him. Chalactan roses, his master's favorite flower. They had grown in one of the courtyards of the Jedi Temple, and in addition to caring for them when she was able, their quarters were always filled with the scent from the heavy blossoms she would cut and bring inside. One moment the fragrance wasn't there, the next it was all around him. His breath caught in his chest. It was a scent that he'd strongly associated with the first few weeks as her padawan, before they'd begun to leave the temple on missions, and the flowers never failed to make him think of her. He opened his eyes and looked around him through a watery veil.

Master?

There was no one to see. He was alone, but the scent of the flowers became even more powerful, as if in response to his unspoken question. There was a gentle drift of wind against his hair.

The blaster dropped from his fingers to clatter on the floor. He swayed, fell to his knees, then to the floor. He pressed his face into the thin carpet that covered the cold duracrete, squeezed his eyes shut and still the spicy scent of the Chalactan roses permeated the room. It was as if the fragrance was emanating from the molecules of the very air. The scent seemed to drain him of the all-consuming anger and pain, leaving him with only a profound sorrow that, although it seemed never-ending, was easier to bear. His tears continued until he had nothing left, then he drifted into a sleep where blessedly, for once, he dreamed of nothing.