The sound of the Ebon Hawk's hyperdrive has grown intimate lately - calming, centering. Some conversations done, some still pending, - the usual detour to keep in touch with the crew, to know their mind, to solve conflicts. Once you're the glue - you gotta do the job, otherwise everything will fall apart. Apparently, it somehow seems much easier now, with Kreia's absence, although Meetra is still missing her in a way. But it's all over. They're going home.

The cargo hold is next, and it's good to see it still occupied.

- Brianna? - calling the girl by her true name is still unusual, but feels so... right.

- Ah, good to see you, master, - she smiles in response, ceasing her usual fighting movements and fixing her pure and admiring stare on the exile. - I think I didn't have the chance to thank you. For rescuing me, for my mistress... for everything you did for us. I am so glad to see the ice broken.

- What do you-

- I've fought both of you by now, remember? - the Echani smiles meaningly, flexing her wrists. - Whatever there is between you, it runs deep and strong within her. And it seems you also aren't as detached as one could think.

- Perhaps you are right... at least I do care for her as much as for any of you... at least, hrm, - Meetra rubs her chin in contemplation. - Speaking of your mistress, have you seen her lately?

- No... no, I don't think so, - the Handmaiden sounds suddenly concerned.

- I was going to check on her. After everything that transpired, after her world turned out a fake, I realize she has to rebuild herself from scratch now... to resurrect even. Although I meant to mend the old wound, I've merely opened it yet. I believe there's still something in place that needs fixing.

- And it's tied to you.

- Obviously, - the Exile buries both her hands in her hair, breathing out slowly. - Gotta get used to all things being tied to me, eh? I'll go find her.

- Please do. Now that I try my best to recall last seeing her, it was like... when we boarded? - Brianna converts all her concern into a sudden backflip and engages into a vicious fight with an imaginary opponent. The girl does have a heart of gold, her mentor thinks as the nasty burns from Atris's lightning catch her eye.

You want to find someone - you look for sealed doors, simple as that - and the Force confirms it. Comm room it is... a clever choice, considering the only security terminal being there. Pretty much Atris-like. Meetra has all overrides at her disposal, of course, but that should be the last resort. She takes a deep breath and knocks on the door:

- Er... hello?

Silence is the answer. Yet the Force brings a subtle wave of attention from the inside.

- May I come in?

There is an indecisive pause, followed by an unlocking sound, and the familiar icy eyes stare at her through the gap. Taking a small step back, Atris lets her enter, slides the doors shut and walks back to the furthest corner, landing on the floor in silence, her arms wrapped around her knees.

- Are you all right? - the exile asks softly, feeling like a fool, because she can already see the answer is an obvious "No fraking way".

- You should have left me there, - the archivist responds quietly, staring at the floor. - There's nothing I can help you with. I am a failure.

- Of course you are not, - Meetra objects with confidence, kneeling beside her and touching her shoulder gently. - Listen...

- No, you listen to me this time, - Atris snaps, leaning forward and grabbing both her hands with a sudden desperate flash within her eyes. - And please don't interrupt me, because I don't know if I will have the courage to finish. But I must get to the bottom of it. The truth is, even as you try your best to save me, even as you forgive me for everything I have done, I cannot help but blame you - hush, silence! - I know it's not your fault, it can't be, and it isn't, but I still blame you. For my misperceptions, my errors, my delusions... for my inevitable fall, because the root of it all lies here, - she puts her hand on her chest. - It's a war of my own I have been fighting for as long as I remember you, since our sparrings, since I'd been tied with that bond unconditionally, since the first time I wondered what your lips would taste like... and I was frightened with the thought to no end, because it wasn't the way a Jedi should think, and I really wanted to be one, a worthy one, no less. I couldn't see my life dedicated to anything else back then! So I fought it... and you did everything to make it so hard... and even harder. I thought I was serving some greater good back then, conducting my studies, but in fact I was only trying to solve my own problems, to run from my obsession unaware of it being in charge of my every action. I was willing to shape the Order in a way it would become my own crutches, and that was merely the first wrong turn I took of many. The voices of the past shouldn't be taken lightly, and my perspective was as biased as it could be. Everything I ever strived for, everything I viewed as my purpose - in the end, I appeared unfit for it. I have failed, failed miserably and completely. I am no scholar, I am zero, unworthy of every tiny bit of all that knowledge. No, hush! - she presses her cold fingers to the exile's lips. - That Mical boy of yours? He is everything that I am not. He is a walking reminder of what path I should've stuck to, but never did. All because... because of you. All because I couldn't overcome it. And I still... I still can't.

- Atris... - Meetra exhales, shaken, and draws her close, cradling in her embrace, feeling her stiffen within it with a bitter sigh.

- You have always been so close yet so unreachable - even this very moment. You shine, you inspire, you keep drawing those who love you like moths to the light... and you spread your own love in return, so pure and untainted that it makes me feel... gratuitious. And disgustingly dirty.

- Don't... you shouldn't feel this way, really. The truth is, I've had quite a share of 'dirty' in my travels, - the exile admits with a small guilty grin.

- I don't want to know.

- And I don't want to tell, - because there's no point in listing all the faceless men, and there's absolutely no way she will ever tell anyone of that haphazard prostitute girl, stirring all the possible memories with just the right amount of that dangerous resemblance, and the awful lots of juma to turn the nitpicky brain off, and her fragile body, and her snowy hair, and much more juma afterwards... to forget.

- You know, - Atris whispers, touching the other woman's cheek with her trembling fingers, fixing an intense stare at her, - now that the very sense of my life lies in ruins, I cannot help but wonder... was it ever even worth it?

- You of all people know that history doesn't deal in ifs, - Meetra responds quietly with that strange look in her eye, brushing off the white strand of hair and palming the soft-skinned face. - We will never know if it was. And if it is... there's only one way to find out, - the archivist can feel the subtle breath upon her skin as the final words fall from the exile's mouth, and the next moment their lips find each other, one pair warm and tender, the other one hot and chapped, like a barren planet travelling around a distant incinerating star somewhere beyond the Outer Rim. And then the whole galaxy shuts itself out, and there is nothing else but the two of them kissing the hell out of each other, untangling each other's garments impatiently, exploring every inch of uncovered skin with utmost care and attention.

The exile's body can be read like a war story chronicle, all those scars and wounds, even if healed well enough, but still talking, and talking of things sinister and alien. Here's a series of ugly small cuts - a frag mine, then some blaster wounds - both light and heavy, then a large portion of cicatricial tissue from a severe burn, bearing a memory of explosion... A deep knife cut under her blade-bone is a newer one, probably four or five years old - a gift from some criminal in a cantina in the middle of nowhere... And the most recent ones, nearly lethal, not just talking but shouting out so loud that they could be felt from the distance back on Telos - the consequences of the Sith gunning the Hawk down. Even her face wasn't left untouched, the slightly speckled left cheekbone bearing a long lightsaber burn, and the nose... it's the oldest one actually, that barely visible deformation she got in the fight with Vrook's padawan like two lives ago - what a mess it was back then, with blood all over and running down! - the faint flaw that remained ever since, always stirring some ungraspable feeling inside Atris, causing unrest and uneasiness. And now that she is allowed it, she presses her lips to its freckled ridge, brushing the exile's wayward temple lock gently with her fingers.

Perfect, just too perfect, so smooth and fair, so fragile and untouched - like an exquisite porcelain doll, Meetra thinks in her turn while stroking the historian's shoulders and breasts gently, admiring her soft curves, kissing her collarbones, moving her hands down her hips - and further, brazenly and daringly, drawing a tense lusting gasp.

- Hmm... you've still had someone, haven't you, - she states teasingly, pushing deeper.

- Some- something, - Atris confesses, turning her face away with cheeks burning, her alabastrine eyelashes down, breathing heavily.

- Oh? I can fetch-

- No! Don't. I want it... this way. I want you.

- I will try my best then, - the exile murmurs in her ear, resorting to using the Force in a creative way it was never meant to be used - and the effect is fast and astounding, resulting in wild convulsions and a violent bite on her shoulder in a desperate attempt to remain silent, as sweet as it is painful, yet Meetra still savours the moment.

- You... stupid... - the fallen Jedi breathes when she is finally able to let go of the bitten flesh, her cheeks wet with tears, her fingers stroking the exile's messed short brown hair and the other hand palming her bleeding shoulder in an effort to mend it. - Love you... so much.

- Goes both ways, remember? - Meetra whispers, holding her tight and kissing the side of her neck.

- Yes... I can feel it's back now. That moment... when you were lost to the Force... I thought I was dying then. I thought you died. Don't ever do it to me again.

The severed bond, yes... The pain that is still fresh inside since Kreia is gone, the reminder awakening the long buried memories of much worse experience with hundreds of ties broken at once... and there she is, nearly slipping into the agony again, but caught just in time and brought back to reality by the watery eyes in front of her.

- Will try my best, - the exile responds with a most serious face and that familiar honest steely-blue stare of hers.

- Acceptable, - Atris smiles, drawing unconditional parallels with the recent usage of the words, and takes a quick embarrassed look at the wound. - It's... going to be another addition to your scar collection, it seems.

- Quite some teeth you have, eh?

- I- I'm sorry-

- No, you're not, - Meetra grins. - You know I'll treasure it for the rest of my life. "And the little Echani is gonna have a good laugh, it seems", she thinks, and the grin widens.

- You- mmph... - the boiled objection never gets out, as her mouth is stopped with a heartful lingering kiss: "Yes, yes, I know I'm a stupid bantha and whatever else. And I love you."

- So? Was it worth anything at all? - the exile asks casually, standing behind a seatback with several hairpins in the corner of her smirk and helping to rearrange the snowy tresses back into a perfect bun. She only has her vest and breeches on, since her robes are usurped by Atris, curled and bundled up in the seat, as happy as a clam.

- I am not sure... I'll need more statistical data to form an opinion, - she responds with a sly dreamy smile.

- You call it, - Meetra shows all her teeth, neatly doing the other woman's hair with her deft fingers.

- That's settled then, - the archivist concludes contentedly, rubbing her cheek against the rough brown fabric and falling silent for a while. - I think... - she adds musingly, staring through the control panels and terminals. - I think I have the strength to start anew now. To face whatever sentence that new Order of yours will have for me.

- What? Nonsense! I will never allow it. No. No more trials.

- But I deserve it, there's no point to deny that. And there's no Order without order. You will need it at some point, - her voice gains a familiar stern flavour.

- At some, probably, but it's too far from that point yet. We will need your experience with dangerous knowledge, your keen inquisitive mind, your expertise in the Force. Mistakes and wrong turns are inevitable part of any research, aren't they? If anyone is able to make best of the worst, it's you.

- Stop it, you flattering bantha. Your perspective is preconceived. Having fallen once, one could do it again easily.

- That's the point. There'll be someone to watch over you this time.

- I could never imagine I would agree to being watched over, - Atris smiles ironically as she slides out of her seat, steps up to Meetra, and looks her in the face. - But... there are many more things I couldn't ever imagine.

- The galaxy is an amusing place, - the exile replies with a meaningful smile, waggling her eyebrows.

- Stop it! - the blonde laughs out, landing a quick kiss on her lips and returning the robe to the shoulders of its rightful owner. - You are terrible at this.

- Not terrible enough for you though.

- Keep that up and that'll be enough, I'm warning you!

- Alright, alright, I yield, mistress! - Meetra picks up the broad ornate white sash and bends her knee actorly, handing it over. Attached to a sewn-in magnetic clasp, her old lightsaber is still there, and she can't help but soften her smile.

- Oh... by the way. I could return it to you now, I think.

- Don't. I like it where it is, - the exile says and bends over the security terminal. - Now to business... let us remove that camera feed.

- Good thinking, but there's no feed, - the historian smirks. - I've disabled the camera earlier.

- Hah, that's my Atris!

P.S.

- You what?! - Meetra freezes in the spot unable to believe her ears. - Why?

Atris stands before her, crumpling the strap of her crossbody bag, dressed comletely unusually for her - ordinary grey breeches, comfy boots, a short tunic, a low-key traveller's cape. The tail-end of a single plain braid sticks from under her hood, shining brightly on her chest.

- Leaving, - she repeats softly, but there's some deadly resolve ringing within the words. - It's not for good, I hope. But if I want to come home someday, I need to get away first. Replacing my prior isolation with another one is not a good idea, no matter how tempting it is. Please don't take it as if I am exiling myself, rather view it as a pilgrimage. I need to reconnect to the world beyond the temple walls. To get closer to the galaxy, to visit places that seem important. I need to find myself before I can truly bring myself back here. Maybe I will even bring a padawan along, if I am lucky, - she adds with a little smile, then grabs the founder's hands carefully, staring her in the eye and biting her lip. - I was hoping you'd understand. Of all people, you have to.

- I... I do understand, - Meetra sighs. - But-

- Mical has all the knowledge and skill you'll need, he's been a great student as well as a teacher. We've shared all we could, there isn't much left.

- You've thought it all through, haven't you? - she smiles sadly, pulling the archivist close and holding her.

- Please... don't make it harder than it is already.

- I... alright. Just... don't make it another ten years, will you?

- I'd rather kiss a hutt than miss you for another ten years! No... it won't be that long, I promise, - Atris presses her cheek to Surik's, burying her fingers in her disheveled hair. - Before I go... do you want your lightsaber back?

- Absolutely not! I want it to keep you safe... for me.

- Thought as much, - she smiles. - I have an apartment rented near the spaceport in order not to miss my shuttle in the morning. Come if you want to bid me a proper goodbye.

- Oh you have thought it through alright, - Meetra grins. - I say, let's go now.

Well, this is it, sorry if it disappointed you in any way :D Me, I blame the quarantine.
"To Remember You" can be considered kinda a prequel to this. TBH, all of my KOTOR2 series are parts ot the same story.