It's been a hell of a long time coming. And it's long. So I won't make it even longer.

Disclaimer: Still don't own KotOR.

Transition: passage or change; movement from one place or state to another
—Not an ending.

Time passed differently when you couldn't see.

She wasn't just saying it, either. Every moment was longer, with the sort of isolation that came from a lack of sight; and, with no perception of daylight, she lost touch with any kind of body clock. The Force-vision—space thank Jolee—was becoming more and more natural, but it was far too easy to stop concentrating, and memories came when she did.

And they were growing worse, too. Ashi had assumed they'd stop after the Star Forge, or, at the least, ease as she healed, but they seemed only to grow stronger as she did. No longer were they second-long images, but full-on blackouts, lasting anywhere from half a minute to half an hour. One had put her out for over an hour the other day, and Mission, coming to visit, had thought she was in a coma again. It had been bad.

In fact, the whole situation was beginning to transcend something as ordinary as bad. And this wasn't exactly helped by the fact that she was on fracking house arrest.

Head flopping against the head of the armchair, Ashi sighed angrily. Whole thing was fracked up, and it had all started—well, if she really thought about it, there were four things that had gone completely and irrevocably wrong.

The first was also the most obvious.

She was blind.

To say that she'd taken it badly when she woke up was an understatement. Ashi knew, without a doubt, that she would never forget opening her eyes and not seeing for the first time. Her first thought had been denial—I've been caught by the Sith, or even the Republic; I'm in a dark room; they're just trying to scare me—and the second, even worse, a faint whisper in the back of her mind wondering if this was what it was like to be dead.

Bastila had arrived first, having felt Ashi waking through the bond. The ex-Sith—or, alternately, semi-Jedi—had been overjoyed to see Ashi awake, just like all the doctors and Jedi who'd already come in to see her. Ashi let her talk at first, waiting for her vision to adjust with fading patience that quickly vanished. After a couple minutes, genuine fear had started to replace the confusion from her lack of sight. "Bastila," she'd interrupted, her voice like grating metal, "I… why can't I see?"

There was a pause, and then she'd heard a soft noise, halfway between a gasp and a sob. "Oh," Bastila breathed, and Ashi's heart took off.

"Oh?" she had hissed. "What do you mean, oh?"

Maybe it would have been easier for both of them if she hadn't had to ask.

When Bastila had tried to explain it to her, breaking the news gently, Ashi was well aware she couldn't have responded worse. For the first several minutes, the entire thing had seemed like a stupid joke, an impossibility. She wasn't blind. She'd be able to see again in a moment, and then she'd be fine. Yeah. Just a joke.

Bastila, in typical Bastila fashion, had been mumbling about 'irreparable core tissue damage' and 'rehabilitative therapies' when Ashi snapped. She'd shouted at her to leave, that it was a terrible joke, how it wasn't fracking fair when she'd already done so much. Bastila had left almost in tears, and Ashi—in typical Ashi fashion—had declared she didn't want to see anyone.

By the time Jolee came anyway, she'd been wishing she'd just died on the Star Forge.

He'd probably—no, he'd definitely saved her life with his idea.

Force-vision.

When he'd first told her, she'd tried to shoot down the thought before he'd even finished. That wasn't going to work, she'd interrupted; it was an aspect of sight, not a replacement for it. He'd shrugged, however, refusing to be intimidated by the voice that had driven Bastila out of the room. "Of course it'll be different," he replied. "Just try it, lass. Unless you have a better idea?"

Obviously, she'd had to after that, because obviously, she didn't. And… in a way, they had both been right.

It wasn't as if she could see again, and it wasn't effortless in any way, but there were some things that, even in their new way, were almost the same. People were easy—auras took the shape of their bodies, each with a color she'd soon realized was fingerprint-unique, and she'd learned to read emotions in them almost as well as she'd been able to read faces. Jolee, for instance: when she'd first made out his aura—a deep, earthy green—coming into focus, it had flared with warmth, a rich delight perhaps even more wonderful to watch than a smile. You could fake expressions, but auras were vividly candid. That kind of sight, to be fair, was an ability Ashi didn't mind having.

Other things were harder, though. Instead of strands of the Force being superimposed over the world, they now stood alone. After a little while, though, she'd started to see patterns; objects began to stand out, in the way strands of light in the air curved and wove around them. Walls were still tricky, but she was beginning to adjust to this way of seeing. She could walk around without hitting things now, even at a normal pace, and she'd even managed a sprint recently…

Though that wasn't exactly because she'd wanted to.

But, joltingly, the implications of blindness kept sinking in. She'd never really see again, and no matter how beautiful it was to watch the universe in motion around her, there was no replacement for the stars, or the city at night, or the faces of everyone she knew. Frack, she had to think about it to see where a wall was. This was miserable with a couple faint perks, but miserable nonetheless.

There were plenty of other things to depress her, though, if only she thought about it.

The second of these, at the risk of complete and utter vanity, was her face.

She knew there was something bad straight away to blind her, but this seemed to surpass bad. Concentrating, she could define a wound running from the right side of her forehead to the left corner of her lip. It was almost ironic, she registered wryly: Alek was dead, and she'd all but inherited his disfiguration—everything but her jaw was scar tissue now. Mix the pair of them together, and you'd get one normal face in total. The Force had a fracked-up sense of humor.

Shortly after she'd woken up—well, come to that, probably about a couple days later; thought it bothered her in retrospect, she had no way to know precisely—Bastila had visited. She'd been there to check in on Ashi, ask about the Force-vision, make sure she didn't seem suicidal yet. While she was talking, Ashi quietly took hold of the bond, worming her way into the back of Bastila's mind, and looked out through her eyes.

That was the part where she'd cursed aloud, nearly a shout, and Bastila had realized what was happening, shoving Ashi quickly into her own mind. It was too late. Ashi had gotten to see what her face looked like.

It was nightmarish, more scar tissue than skin. A dark, still raw-edged scar tore like a stripe down the middle of it, from above her right eyebrow—now almost nonexistent—to the corner of her left lip. The skin there was mottled and rough, like wax that had melted and reset strangely, and her nose was slightly crooked, as if it had been broken once too many times. Dark circles ringed both her eyes like long-cast shadows, juxtaposed by small white scars flecked like snowflakes across her forehead and cheeks.

In the middle of the debris, her eyes were clouded and eerie, like glass fogged by condensation. It took Ashi a moment to realize what she'd looked like, and the irony was almost too funny. She had the same expression as the blind Elders had.

"Ashi," Bastila had said softly, "it's not as bad as you think."

Oh, but it was.

The new Jedi hesitated. "If you're really upset about it, I'm sure that some kind of arrangements can be—"

"I want a mask," interrupted Ashi.

The declaration, only half a joke, was going to have repercussions for that very reason. The big names in the Republic, through a clandestine confession by the Council, had been informed who their great hero actually was, and intended to break the news to the rest of the galaxy very, very carefully. There was a line they didn't even dare to toe, and a mask was miles past the other side of it.

As soon as Ashi demanded to know why the Republic would care whether or not she showed her face anyway, the third bad thing came to her attention.

The Republic—bastards—had interpreted 'Ashi's awake now' as 'Ashi's finally cooperating' and scheduled the awards ceremony. Ashi had instantly declined to attend. She didn't care about an award; why make a public appearance if she had to look like a gargoyle while she did it?

And there was the involuntary shudder that accompanied any suggestion of getting a medal for killing Alek. Ashi was fairly certain the Republic wouldn't be so eager to congratulate her if they'd been present at the fight, but considering how distrusful they were of her already, she kept silent about the memories and her opinion of Malak. Her face was her excuse not to go, she informed them—and no, she wouldn't be upset to miss it; the truth was, at this point, she really didn't care.

But everyone else did, replied Dodonna.

Everyone else can screw themselves, thought Ashi, and formally responded with something along the lines of 'I think they'll live.'

The galaxy wanted its hero, countered Dodonna, admitting finally, Needed its hero.

Ashi understood—the Republic needed its propaganda—and, too tired to fight it, conceded. Sort of.

Some of them dressed up for the ceremony: Carth in Republic uniform, Dustil and Mission in armor, and Bastila in Jedi ceremonial robes. Canderous and Jolee hadn't bothered. Ashi had, in a manner of speaking, dressed for the occasion. No one had been able to stop her when she'd turned up, for lack of any better description, looking like a Miraluka. A cloak which she'd been informed was gray hung loosely around her, a large hood throwing her face into shadow. The shade cast extended almost to her lips, below which her hair spilled across her shoulders, the only flash of color to her figure. Beneath the hood, a layer of bandage was wrapped across her eyes and upper face, hiding the worst of the damage.

It was unsettling to feel her eyes covered and see nonetheless, but Force-vision wasn't to do with the eyes themselves, and it was the closest she'd get to a mask now. A couple of her friends had winced to look at her when she arrived, but Mission had raced to hug her, and Canderous had nodded approvingly. Finding some way to frack up the Republic's plans could never be amiss with him.

Ashi was almost beginning to think it might even… well, that it wouldn't be awful.

But even Dodonna hadn't seen the last and largest problem coming.

With a sigh, Ashi slumped back in the chair, letting the memory float to mind. At least thinking about this kept everything else at bay. It had been in front of a sea of at least four hundred auras, all surging and seething blues and purples, that Dodonna stood at a podium, and a ramrod-backed officer pinned the medals to their chests, one at a time. Each was met with tumultuous applause. They started at Carth—or, as they announced him, 'Commander Carth Onasi'—and moved steadily down the line. When they reached Ashi, they skipped her.

Ashi had frowned, and felt the soft bandages creasing against her face, but said nothing. Probably Dodonna had a special congratulation for her.

Or maybe they were just scared of her.

Ashi liked that option, and her lips curled into a smile under the hood of her cloak.

At last, however, the calling of names ceased—the last being T3-M4 and HK-47, by which time the applause had dwindled slightly. Dodonna cleared her throat, and Ashi saw her straighten, a new flush of color spreading through her aura. Pride, Ashi realized, with some surprise, and gratitude. There were few things the soldier could have said to win some of Ashi's trust at that moment, but, seeing that, Ashi found herself less angry at the woman. After all, the admiral been fighting a hell of a long time—if she considered it, Ashi even remembered a Captain Dodonna from back in the Mandalorian Wars. It was about time she had something from this war to brag about.

So when Dodonna again bent her head slightly to speak into the microphone, Ashi stood up straighter despite herself. "We have one last Cross of Glory to bestow today," said the admiral, her words echoing through the pavilion. "We have left this for last, as the final member of the Ebon Hawk's crew is perhaps the person we are most indebted to of all. She risked her life to defeat Malak"—here, Ashi's jaw tensed, but she bit back the reflexive reaction—"and destroy the Star Forge, bringing the Republic its single greatest victory of the war and irrevocably breaking the spirit of the Sith!"

Her voice rose, the intensity with it, until it boomed across the heads of the crowd. Cheers resounded through the air. Ashi lifted her head higher, conscious of the hood and her bandaged face and the cameras she'd been informed were in front of her. She thought that Dodonna made the entire thing sound more impressive than it had been.

"For this," Dodonna continued, her aura glowing like flames leaping higher, "I am proud to present the final Cross of Glory, the highest honor the Republic can bestow, on Ashi Luc—"

Ashi sensed the group of five approaching from behind her mostly because of their auras—they shone dark, unusual indigos, tossing and turning frantically. She forced her vision to narrow towards them, scrutinizing them even as she stood straighter in front of the cameras. They stood in the wings, just outside the view of the audience, and she suppressed the urge to turn and look, knowing it wouldn't help.

And then, cutting Dodonna off with no warning, all five people came charging towards her.

Ashi hadn't moved, more from disbelief than from inability to have dodged, but two bodies rammed straight into her, sending her sprawling to the ground. A hand tightened on her arm and she kicked out, catching someone in the stomach. Her foot connected with armor, but sent someone reeling back nonetheless, swearing loudly.

Suddenly, half the audience was on their feet. Dodonna had pulled back from the microphone and was shouting angry, incomprehensible words as Ashi scrambled to her feet. Canderous, Jolee, and Carth had grabbed for weapons they weren't supposed to have brought, and one of the five attackers raced towards each of them, fumbling for possession of the blasters and lightsaber alike. Even though all the motion was visible to Ashi, however, she could take in only fractions of it. Both the man she'd kicked in the stomach and his free companion were advancing on her. She broke into a run, heart racing more from fear of sprinting blind than from the action.

A hand grabbed her cloak, jerking it tight around her neck. Ashi, not pausing even to consider, slipped the robe off, the hood falling free from her face. A couple of the spectators gasped, but Ashi was distracted as from behind her came a curse, and then a roar. The familiar blue-green aura of Zaalbar—newly laced through with scarlet—descended on one of the men, his snarl nearly deafening even as Ashi raced away.

Vague details of the room were visible to her, illuminated by the flow of the Force around them, and she recognized stairs down from their stage towards the audience. Slowing fractionally, she stumbled down them, and…

She sensed it as if in slow motion: the single unimpaired figure leaping from the stage, flying towards her. Then they hit her like a sack of bricks, sending her skidding to the ground. Ashi spat out blood as her jaw cracked the ground, struggling up, but a knee dug into her back. As she yelped, her hands were jerked behind her roughly, the cold nip of cuffs at her wrists and telltale shick of metal telling her exactly what was happening before her captor even spoke.

"Revan," crowed the soldier, jerking her to her feet by her handcuffed wrists despite her struggle and string of curses, "in the name of the Galactic Republic, I hereby arrest you for crimes against the galaxy—"

A gasp rang up from everyone in hearing distance, and for those not so lucky, the word was passed on instantly, a murmur growing like a storm gathering force. On the stage, nearly all motion had ceased, Dodonna's jaw hanging slack as she took in the chaos her ceremony had become. All eyes had been on Ashi, in the iron grip of the Republic officer, but she had never heard the nuances of her charges. At that moment, as she twisted away from the soldier's grip, a second captor—the one, Ashi suspected, that she'd kicked previously—pressed a stun baton against her neck. Her eyes had rolled back into her head, a final slurred protest dying on her lips as she collapsed.

By now, Ashi had learned it hadn't been Dodonna's fault. Apparently, even parts of the Republic kept secrets from each other, and capturing Revan unawares and in public had been planned by a loop the admiral wasn't part of. However, that couldn't lessen Ashi's fury, and left to her own devices, she might have spent the next few minutes indulging the feeling.

But, caught up in remembering, it was as if she'd pulled a tripwire before recalling it was there. Ashi found the newest image rising up to take the place of the ceremony's disaster.

How inescapable the flashback was was worrying, she knew, fringing on dangerous. The memories still refused to fade, and it was beginning to frighten her. Every night, when she slept, it was the same thing: a rapid-fire collage of her life, like watching a train wreck in slow motion. She knew the ending, could see every second bringing them closer to falling, but couldn't do anything but watch it fall apart.

Even during the day, though, they lingered insistently, like ghosts with business still unfinished. Each time she delved into them, though, she came up with shadows and holes in the images. She was sure, a nagging suspicion, that there was something she had to remember, but didn't know what.

And it was all made worse by the newest fragment, something she'd recalled just before she woke up from the ruined ceremony. It swelled, overwhelming her attention, and suddenly Ashi felt herself sinking into remembering…

…"What do you mean, what's the point?"

"I'm just asking what they did. Rev… they've got a point," Malak said, wrapping his arms around her from behind. She stared out from the ship's window at the pinpoints of starlight in front of her, juggling conversation, incredulity, his sudden proximity—even she couldn't concentrate all the time, especially when muscles like that were pressed against her—and the nagging thought for her to keep up her guard. At this range, despite her armor, he could gut her before she even had the chance to call him 'apprentice'.

"I'm sure," he continued dryly, "that you've got something figured out, Rev, but what is it? There's got to be something else, right? Something more than just… ruling the galaxy." He leaned his head on her shoulder, and she heard him smiling. "What's the plan, mastermind?"

Mastermind. Soon, he'd just say master, and this was precisely why. Listening warily, she frowned: he hadn't sensed it, too? Didn't he notice the way the Mandalorians had prepared for battle, with stealth they'd pulled seemingly from thin air? Or the tickling in the back of her mind, a touch she'd first felt at Malachor and since had been unable quite to forget?

And what it told her, precisely, was—was—was so important—

A flicker through the memory like static, a video jumping, and then the faintest sense of secrecy as she shoved something to the back of her mind and pressed her lips against Malak's cheek. "Because we can do it better, remember?" she whispered, and knew she was lying, though, to Ashi's near-pain, didn't remember why. "We deserve it, Malak."

"Good enough for me," he replied, twisting to kiss her directly, his lips familiar and eager against hers as she ran her hands along his shoulders…

Ashi blinked, and then she was lying in the armchair in the empty apartment again. Malak's face was gone, though her lips still felt the memory of pressure, and her eyes ached for the vision they had lost. Neither upset her significantly—lingering senses were growing to be a typical side effect of the blackouts.

What did upset her was the gap in the memory: the hole where it stuttered for just a moment. She'd had a reason, a legitimate cause for everything she'd done, and she needed to know what it was. In two days, she was going to be on trial—yet further proof of how time flew now—and the defense's current plan was to put her on the stand and have her apologize profusely. What else would she do, plead innocent?

It wasn't convincing. As a matter of fact, it was so unconvincing that it'd probably land her—if she was lucky—a life sentence.

But if she could remember a reason for everything…

The apartment cell in the Coruscanti Republic Headquarters was silent save the soft breath of a single person. Ashi shifted in the chair, feet hanging over one arm and head resting on the other, and closed her eyes, letting the memory swallow her again.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we return to the case of Revan vs. the Galactic Republic. Prosecution, rise…"

The voice of the Supreme Chancellor rang through the enormous Senate Hall, magnified until it was a roar to fill the spiraling, boundless chamber. Ashi, at her table near the foot of his stand, took a deep breath; under the table, her fingernails dug into her palms. It was the third day of her trial, an event which, despite all news networks having been banned from recording, was being followed by almost everyone in the galaxy. It was so massive the trial had become the responsibility of the Senate rather than the judicial branch, an occurrence Ashi had been aware was possible but had never seen before in her lifetime. Only the worst cases—the largest, the most controversial—were actually deemed outside the court's jurisdiction.

Then again, there were a lot of people who weren't happy at all to see Revan back. Murderous, perhaps, was an accurate description of what she'd seen so far. Ashi wasn't too pleased with them, either.

She was equally opposed to the prosecutor. The senator of Corellia had taken the job, a woman with an oily lilac aura who used vivid descriptions—monstrous, inhumane, and singlehanded catalyst of the Sith War so far among them, in the opening statement alone. Already she had called Vandar and Dorak to speak, both of whom had been completely useless in Ashi's defense. "The mind wipe was meant to erase her other self completely, but we can't really know how much difference it has made," said Dorak, and even Vandar admitted doubts that their little scout-out of Ashi's mind had had a lasting effect.

Bastila, too, had been called as a witness, and it had torn at Ashi to watch her struggle to fight the crush of the Senate's questioning. The girl had insisted furiously that Ashi was a better person now, calling her own brief fall-but-return-to-the-Jedi-thanks-to-Ashi into play, but couldn't deny the memories she'd sensed through the bond. This meant that so far, it had been proven that, (a), Ashi Lucas was Revan, (b), that, this said, she was guilty of too many crimes to list, and (c), that there was no proof 'Ashi' wasn't Revan inwardly, waiting for a new opportunity to strike.

So the Corellian—and really, everyone who stood behind her—were all too ready to strike first.

"Your honor," said the prosecutor loudly, "the prosecution calls the Revan, the defendant, alias 'Ashi Lucas', to the stand."

A murmur like the echo of running water passed through the hall as Ashi stood, lifting her chin. They hadn't let her wear a hood, but the bandages wove in front of her eyes and over the worst of the scar, soft against her eyelids. Belatedly, she considered that looking half-mummified didn't help her seem trustworthy.

Refusing to show a hint of concern, however, she tilted her head up reflexively, focusing on the Senate's Supreme Chancellor. The man who currently came closest to running the galaxy branch was watching her closely, his aura—a rich green-blue—flickering between jabs of angry red and smooth, determined green. "Witness," he said, "take your place."

As she nodded, her seat rose, gliding smoothly through the air until it drew even with the Chancellor's stand. She was directly in the center of the room, the focus of every gaze as she took a deep breath. In front of her, floated the Corellian senator: in her own seat, now detached from its position on the wall. Ashi waited.

"Do you swear," droned the Chancellor, "to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, in the name of the Galactic Republic?"

A nod accompanied Ashi's reply. "I do," she answered, though inwardly wondering why, if the Galactic Republic was her opponent in the case, why its name should possibly mean anything to her.

"Proceed, senator."

"Ashi Lucas," drawled the Corellian woman, drifting imperceptibly closer. "We'll start with the basics, I think. You are Revan, correct?"

"Not at the moment."

The crowds shifted, and a prickle of crimson coursed through the senator's aura. "Were you or were you not," she clarified, "the same Revan who led the Sith Armada against the Republic two years ago?"

Ashi grimaced inwardly, hating the answer. "Yes."

"Yes?"

Oh, she hated lawyers.

"Yes," she repeated grudgingly. "I was."

"And you were attacked by Darth Malak, only to be saved and spared by the Jedi?"

"I was."

"They mindwiped you?"

"Yes."

"But it hasn't lasted?"

"It has," she corrected. "I don't remember everything. The memories aren't consciously mine—Revan, to me, is a separate person, and I'm separate from her."

A new pulse of red filled the senator's aura, determination not to be outdone. "But you remember some things."

"Yes."

"These memories have been slowly returning since your encounter with Malak on the Leviathan?"

A sinking feeling, dread settling heavily in her stomach, told Ashi where the woman was leading the line of questions, but she couldn't respond. "They don't come back fluidly," she disagreed. "Most of the memories are too damaged to come back."

Abruptly, the woman's voice was icy. "Answer the question, Revan," she hissed. "Have some of your memories continued to return since your capture by the Leviathan?"

Ashi took a deep breath. "Yes," she replied. "Some of them."

"And do you have any proof that they will not continue to do so?"

It took all her effort to speak without gritting her teeth. She could feel the stare of every senator in the room trained on her face, searching for even a hint of hostility. "No, I don't."

"There you have it, ladies and gentlemen." The Corellian woman straightened, turning to speak to the wall of senators directly behind her. "Before us, we have the Dark Lord Revan, who has admitted both to remembering her past and previous crimes and the likelihood that she will continue to recall these events. This woman led an armada against the Republic, crippling worlds and irrevocably destroying lives. Among the crimes she stands responsible for are the bombing of Telos and similar destruction of innumerable other planets, the assassinations of numerous political figures within the Republic, the brainwashing or even murders of Jedi who refused to join her cause…"

But I had a reason…! There was something lurking in the back of Ashi's mind, a fragment of memory expanding like a balloon inside her skull until the pressure felt almost painful. Frack, she needed to remember…

"And all this," continued the senator, voice rising, "for herself, through her vain desire to master the galaxy—"

"That's not why I did it."

A shudder ran through the Senate Hall, a collective intake of breath. Ashi barely registered she'd spoken until the words were already out. Scarlet swam in the Corellian woman's aura, dying the lavender a sick, swirling red. "Oh?" she demanded softly. "And perhaps you'd care to explain why, Revan? Enlighten us," she drawled, giving the wall of senators an indulgent glance as she spoke. "What is it you believe excuses your actions—what cause could justify… no, not justify: what cause could merit your tyranny over the galaxy? What plan did you have that made it all worth it in the en—"

Ashi remembered.

Something she'd seen, outside the Rim, something cold and dark and stronger than any they'd ever known…

Something that would come, she knew; something she had to fight at all costs. The Star Forge was a means, but far from an end—frack, the Republic had been a means for her. She'd eliminated those she had to so it would fall as she intended, but she intended to keep the framework of it, rebuild a stronger galaxy in its place…

…Because if she didn't, there wouldn't be a galaxy to rebuild after the True Sith came.

And… and maybe her plans had been ruined by Malak, who didn't understand, by the Jedi, who lacked the foresight to recognize the threat, and now by the Republic, who didn't trust her any more, their plan was very much intact.

They were coming.

Captured by every camera trained to her face, seen by every senator in the room, Ashi's face drained of color, her hands tightening against the edge of the seat. She stumbled against the side of the chair unexpectedly, sending a gasp ricocheting through the hall. The new flood of images, of panic, was rising in her, and she couldn't hold out against it, but she had to explain—she would never have this chance again.

"Because there's… something coming," they heard her gasp, her voice constricted as she clung to the rail. "Something out there… past the Rim… they're coming… we have to stop it…!"

The bailiff edged closer, ready to grab Ashi as she lurched sideways, scrabbling to grab onto something with her hands still cuffed. He grabbed her shoulder, free hand reaching to grab his blaster; before he could move, however, Ashi staggered into him—the fight to hold out against the memory proving too much—collapsing, as he abruptly let her go, to the ground.

The Senate, one collective organism, stared.

The Corellian senator, recovering within moments, turned to give the entire room a look of 'I told you so'.

In their seats below, Vandar and Dorak understood suddenly for the first time what the full cost of the mindwipe might be.

Ashi woke up in the hospital in time to figure out something very important was going on.

Her first thought was how badly she hated waking and not seeing, but the second was to register familiar voices nearby. She could make out soft murmurs, snippets of words unable to be heard, but two things stopped her from ignoring it: first, if it was the same hospital, these people were both doctors and Jedi, neither of which she trusted, and second, she'd recognized the people as their auras, through the wall of her room, came into focus. Carth's aura, and Bastila's, and even Vandar's to a smaller—no pun intended—extent, had exploded with color. Something significant was being said.

She reached out through the Force, extending her awareness until the words amplified with range. "Testimony... clear proof... is no longer in her right mind," she heard in an unfamiliar voice, and then, "Mental cleansing… may be best option."

"Mind wipe?" Carth demanded. "…want to mind wipe her? You're not serious… what screwed up her head in the first place!"

"Please, Commander—"

"Don't please, Commander me!" he growled. "…No way in hell I'm going to let you…!"

"Perhaps what Com… Onasi means to say," interrupted Vandar, "is that… not successful before… no way to know it would help her now."

"On the contrary," disagreed the Jedi—it could have been Ashi, but he sounded horrifically calm. "Mind damaged… since Malak's attack on her ship… possible that… cleansing wipe could remove issues entirely."

"And what would she remember?" Carth this time, warily.

"Little," the doctor admitted. "But all relationships could be rebuilt… give her a background including… friends and family. She would… free to live a healthy life… after the procedure." His way of speaking was just like his appearance: clean-cut and clinical, frosted with the faintest hint of apathy. "Please consider… may be only option… almost certain… drive her to insanity otherwise."

There was a very long silence. At last, Vandar spoke, sounding… thoughtful? Oh, frack… oh, space, no, he wouldn't, not really—

"Conceivably… could cure her," he murmured. "Perhaps… correct. It may be the best option."

"She'd be the same person you know," the Jedi replied confidently. "Just no longer troubled by these memories."

But then I'm not the same fracking person! Ashi wanted to scream, but she needed too badly to hear whatever Bastila or Carth said next. There was quiet for a long time, but then the girl sighed deeply. Ashi pictured her closing her eyes in thought, forehead creasing in thought.

"If… if it's the only option," she murmured at last, "then I think… we have to try it."

"Bastila!"

A surge of gratitude burst through Ashi as Carth spoke. The shock in his voice, and even more audibly, the disgust, was the best thing she'd heard so far. A chorus of shushes erupted around him, but he forged on, albeit more softly. "How could you say that?" he hissed. "She's your friend! She saved your life!"

"And we owe… to her to do the same!" snapped Bastila. "Carth… going to destroy her! …Can't even have a conversation without passing out; sooner or later she... start merging lines between Revan and Ashi, forgetting who we even are—"

The Jedi leapt in, cutting her off as her voice rose. "Commander, please understand that these memories, for Revan… uh," he corrected, clearly the recipient of at least two glares, "for Ashi, are a cancer to her… Will destroy her… nothing we can do to stop them. Consider this… not an erasing," he said calmly, spreading his hands, "but a cleansing."

Carth crossed his arms. "Her choice," he growled. "We ask her."

"She isn't in her right mind," the man objected. "Do… any idea what kind of stress introducing this… could bring? What that could do to her… already fragile state?"

Carth's aura, previously blazing with color, settled suddenly. a "Well," he declared, "then I refuse to give consent."

Thank space…!

"…All due respect, Commander… isn't your decision to make."

"The hell it's not my decision! I'm the only fracking one with her in mind here!"

"Actually, Commander, it might be best if you don't… seem to be clouding your judgment."

"Emotional attachments? And what the frack is that supposed to mean?"

"…Most appropriate person to give consent would be Padawan Shan. Her bond means… very close to Re—to Ashi… more capable to make the decision."

"Bastila." Instantly, all the anger dropped from Carth's voice, and Ashi saw a new orange shimmering in his aura, a renewed fear. Her own horror sharpening her senses and lending a terrible clarity to the scene, Ashi could suddenly hear every word he said. "Bastila, please," he whispered, shifting slightly—probably to look the girl in the eyes. "It's Ashi. You can't seriously agree to let them just… just destroy her!"

"Haven't you been listening?" Bastila protested weakly. "It's too late for that, Carth; she's destroying herself!"

Ashi couldn't take it any longer.

"Carth!" she exploded, jumping out of bed and catching herself unsteadily on the wall. "Carth, please!" She staggered to the door, coming face-to-face with him as, legs weak from lack of use, she stumbled into the frame. His aura was glowing a frenzied orange, tossing and turning in panic. "You know I'm not crazy!" she insisted, grabbing his arm. "Carth, don't let them do this! Bastila!"

She spun towards the Jedi, shaking her head frantically. "What's wrong with you? You're just going to let them kill me?"

"Ashi—"

"You think that's not what it is? They're getting rid of me for good; what else can you call it?"

A cold hand closed on her shoulder, and she heard the Jedi speaking next to her. His aura, she realized at this closer distance, was a placid, almost still blue-gray: he really, honestly didn't give a frack. "She's in no state to give an informed consent," he said calmly. "Clearly, Padawan Shan, she isn't in her right mind."

"Let me go!" she snarled, swiping at the doctor's hand. "Carth, Bastila, I saw something!" She'd stopped worrying about keeping any cool: she was aware that a combination of fear and fury was making her sound less and less credible by the second, but how else could she respond? There wasn't a reasonable way to take this. "I'm not crazy," she repeated. "I saw it; I told everyone at the hearing. There's something out there: I knew there was, and it's coming, and if you take away my memories there's going to be no way to stop it—please, and I want to be me, I like being me."

"Ashi…" Her voice was thick as she placed a hand on her friend's arm, but the gesture had unmistakable finality. "Please," she whispered. "This is going to destroy you otherwise—none of us can watch that, Ashi."

"I know who I am!" she spat, voice rising. "Look in the bond—I'm not confused; it's you guys who don't get it…"

"Excuse me!" called the Jedi. "Kolto sedative, please."

"Hey!" she snapped, jerking back from Bastila's touch. "Hey, no, you can't—"

Ignoring her entirely, the Jedi grabbed for her arm; she swiped at him, but his cold fingers snapped shut around her wrist like a manacle. A moment later, she felt the sting of a needle in her arm. "No," she protested, but the word slurred in her mouth, and then her legs turned liquid and she pitched forward.

Incredulity freezing him in place, Carth watched for not the first time—but, though he didn't know it, what was to be his last time for a while—as she crumpled in front of him, whatever she'd been about to say lost as she blacked out. The Jedi caught hold of her, an orderly rushing to help him cart Ashi back into her room. The door slammed in front of them, and as the noise hit him like a slap across the face, the enormity of what had just happened sunk in at last.

"I can't believe you," he spat, whirling on Bastila, and the girl flinched away from him, terror in her eyes. The hypocrite—he wondered if she'd seen the same emotion in Ashi's face, seconds ago.

"I'm sorry," she blurted, "but it's for the best. You don't understand, Carth: I've seen her mind; it's falling apart. When they say she's going insane, they mean it. She's unraveling."

"And so you think you should finish the job!" he accused, voice climbing. Down the hall, a couple nurses spared concerned glances for him, eyes widening in interest as they recognized Commander Onasi himself—and roaring at Bastila Shan, no less.

"Calm yourself, Commander Onasi!" chastised Vandar, raising a gnarled finger. "Bastila has a much deeper understanding of Ashi's condition than you. You would be wise to trust her judgment in his matter."

He took a moment to stare both of them in the eyes. Bastila seemed to choke as she met his glare, but there was a shadow of pity in Vandar's face as he stared back. Somehow, it only made Carth angrier. "Actually," he replied, his voice low and biting, "I'm not sure I can trust either of you any more."

He spun on his heel, turning away before either of them could say a word, and made it all the way to the garden in front of the hospital before he broke down.

He nearly fell onto a bench, eyes sliding closed. He'd lost her—frack, she might as well have been killed by Malak as to have this done to her. Where was all the fracking protection he'd promised now? No, he couldn't even keep that promise. And because of that, she was going to...

No.

She'd been right: they were going to kill her. So he had to stop it.

But she officially wasn't safe here—or anywhere, really, where the Republic had jurisdiction.

So… she had to get out of here.

They'd run away.

He dismissed the idea—with some effort—as stupid before it had even fully formed. The Republic was going to be watching him closely enough now, let alone if he tried to run away with a Sith Lord. And… and he had other responsibilities: Dustil, and probably Mission. He wasn't going to leave his son behind for any reason. Besides, even if he didn't owe the Republic anything any more, he did owe Dodonna a hell of a lot. She had a war to finish fighting, and he wanted it seen through.

He was too… too responsible, Carth realized sadly, to do that.

But Ashi had to get away, and she had to be with someone who could protect her. Someone who'd betray the Republic in a heartbeat for her if that was what she needed, and someone who'd make sure nothing happened to her if it killed them.

There was exactly one person he could think of.

The very idea disgusted him, but it wasn't about him. It was about Ashi, and who could keep her safe. And the truth was, no one was better equipped for it than the person he had in mind. They could take the Ebon Hawk, sneak away at night, and… and Ashi could go look for whatever was coming from past the Rim. Maybe it did all sound insane, but if he was giving her the benefit of the doubt on that front, he might as well go all the way.

And then if worst came to worst, at least she'd be with someone as crazy as she might well be.

With a grim smile, Carth stood and turned onto the street. First things first: he had to make sure that the man would agree to help in the first place.

But somehow, he didn't think this would take much convincing.

The next day, Carth arrived at the hospital and apologized reluctantly to Ashi's doctor for his conduct if not his reasons, asking to speak to Ashi. Not to his surprise, the Jedi was skeptical at first, but Carth drew himself up to his full height and explained that he understood it was necessary, and he would stand behind it—and the support of a new war hero was nothing to scoff at—but he wanted to say goodbye to her. Alone, he added pointedly, walking into Ashi's room as he spoke and letting the door click shut behind him.

Within five minutes he'd explained the plan to her, speaking quietly but urgently. As he did, he slipped the security clearance card out of his pocket—it'll get you out of the hospital, just be quiet—and into her hand, pressing it against her palm—and you'll be able to get the ship. I'll make sure you can get out without them getting caught.

She was quiet for a moment, and then suddenly reached to hug him, burying her face in his shoulder. "Frack," she muttered. "I owe you so much, don't I?"

"You can make it up by taking care of yourself."

"Thanks, flyboy," she whispered.

"It's what all of us should be doing for you," he opined.

"Yeah, but you're the one who is doing it, Carth."

He pulled back, stroking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "I love you," he said quietly. "You know that, right?"

She pressed her lips together. "I love you, too," she echoed, "but not…"

Not enough, he understood, and couldn't keep from adding, "Not yet."

"Yet," she agreed, kissing him softly on the cheek before he could pull away. Without warning, he pulled her tightly against his chest again. For the first time, it seemed to sink in that he might never see her again.

"You have to come back."

"I don't know how soon I can promise," she whispered. "I'm going all the way to—"

"Don't!" he hissed, pulling back to cut her off. Ashi flinched at the burst of panic in his aura, startled. "I can't know," he continued, more calmly. "Ashi, they're going to know I had something to do with this, even if they can't prove anything. You can't tell anyone. They can't find you."

She bit her lip. I won't let them find you, said his aura, if it kills me. The honesty of it was bittersweet, tearing at her. She wanted to stay here with him, and he could keep her safe; there'd be no obligations, and maybe she really could get over Alek soon if she did…

But she had a job to do.

"I should go," he said, standing up and starting across the room, only to hesitate again. "Your operation's in eight days, so—"

"A week," she finished. "I got it."

"Right." He nodded, hand tightening on the bedframe. "So… good luck."

"Thanks," she murmured, half-smiling. "See you, Carth."

"You'd better," he muttered, suddenly fierce as he looked back at her. "Ashi, you have to come back."

She watched his aura glow a darker blue, sadness and maybe even loneliness. Frack, he was so good, she thought miserably, wishing she could say anything to make him feel better. I'm sorry I'm crazy and that's pulling us apart… I'm sorry I'm screwed up over my first love, who I just killed… "I promise," she said softly, at last.

She meant it.

He nodded once, turned, and walked out the door.

Ashi let herself into the apartment, but stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with crossed arms. "Ready?" she called. Her voice was quiet, but didn't need to be loud. He'd known she was coming. Onasi's instructions had been extremely clear.

"If you are," he replied gruffly, standing and stowing the blaster he'd been idly tinkering with. "Said goodbye to everyone yet?"

"None of them I want to say goodbye to."

He raised an eyebrow. "Can't lie to a Mandalorian, sweetheart."

"I'm not lying," she replied calmly. "I'm already taking HK with me."

Fleetingly, the corners of his mouth twitched upwards, but he wasn't convinced. "The Twi'lek?" he prompted. "Onasi's kid? Said anything to them?"

She shifted uncomfortably. "Sort of."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I left them a letter. Well, one for each of them, and one for Jolee. And I talked to Carth. But just them."

He laughed, not entertained so much by the action as by how he knew everyone would react to it. "And you expect the Jedi to take this lying down?"

She took a deep breath, and for a moment he wondered why he'd asked. It wasn't a question to poke fun or to irritate—bringing up what that schutta had done might be crossing a line. "Actually," she replied finally, "since you asked, I hope Bastila takes all the heat for it. She fracking deserves it."

Canderous smirked crookedly. That was better—he could hear from her voice how she'd enjoyed saying that. "But I also expect," Ashi added, quirking an eyebrow, "that she won't be able to do anything about it, because we'll be off-world, cloaked, and in hyperspace before they even find out. If you're ever ready. Or, you know, we can just wait until tomorrow. Just so long as Mandalore doesn't feel rushed."

"Udesii." Calm down. "You've made your point," Canderous muttered, slipping a bag across his shoulder. She didn't miss the little river of gold that ran through his aura at the name, though—he couldn't have been prouder of the title, even if he regarded it as his right. "But we can wait until tomorrow if you want," he threw in, unable to help it. "Anything so the Dark Lord won't miss her operation."

It came out softly, but by far loud enough for her to hear. Ashi's jaw tightened, enough of a warning for him to continue quickly, "Do you have the droids?"

"Picking them up before the ship," she replied. "HK's thrilled, as you can imagine. He doesn't like not being able to shoot things here."

"Can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered. "Going headlong off the Rim with you, your would-be Basilisk, and the scrap heap?"

"It's an adventure," she grinned. "You used to love those. Besides"—and here, just the slightest hint of bitterness, if nothing she wasn't justified to have—"I can't exactly captain a ship on my own," she reminded him, waving a spread-fingered hand in front of her eyes.

He snorted, giving the room a once-over to make sure nothing important would be left. They wouldn't going back for anything. "Droids could do it," he pointed out.

"And when it breaks? You're going to let me fly a ship while trying to fix HK, blind." She shook her head in reproach. "Did I mention there's fighting?"

"I'm in, I'm in." He glanced back from the room, satisfied, and grinned. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," she replied. "The droids are waiting at the ship." She paused, frowning, before wondering anxiously, "It's not light yet, is it?"

There were subtle differences in the Force depending on the time of day—the general aura fluctuated depending on the amount of life in the air around her, or the position of the sun and resultant echo of heat and warmth—but she hadn't learnt it well enough to judge time. Of all the trials blindness brought, she'd never have thought she'd miss light so much—or, more specifically, the orientation it gave. There was nothing more frightening than bring lost for reference not only to where she was but for when it was.

But it didn't matter. Not like you needed to know what time of day it was in hyperspace, anyway.

"It's nearly dawn," he replied. "Are you ready to go?'

"The hell I am," she replied, grinning. He watched her face intently, characteristically indifferent as to whether he was obviously staring. Though he would have shot anyone on the spot who dared say he waxed poetic, she looked beautiful right now, her face glowing with the prospect of their journey. She'd missed this, whether or not she'd admit it, and the thought made him smile as he followed her out of the apartment, kicking the door shut behind him.

At 5:08 Standard Galactic Time, the Ebon Hawk exited its hangar with full security clearance. There were four passengers on board, two mechanical and two human. One was clutching a blaster rifle in one hand and modifier flamethrower in the other; one was running system checks; one sat in the pilot seat, jaw set in a grin as he navigated the liftoff; and one lounged in the copilot seat, watching through her companion's eyes. She knew he hated her going in his head, but he'd grudgingly accepted that there were some things she deserved to see. Her arms were crossed as she stared—in a roundabout way—at the stars in front of them, but her face, though previously masklike, was now split by an unwilling smile.

At precisely 5:16:27 G.S.T., the Ebon Hawk entered hyperspace, and the Republic lost any chance in hell they might have had at catching its passengers.

In other words: by 5:16 that morning, the ex-Dark Lord Revan had disappeared completely.

Sightings of Revan Confirmed To Be False…

The supposed sightings of the ex-Sith Lord which have occupied the Republic for the last couple days have been proven to be false. The previous Sith Lord Revan, now traveling under the alias 'Ashi Lucas', was supposedly sighted in a cantina brawl on Nar Shaddaa, but the source, proven inebriated at the time the fight took place, has been shown to have been mistaken in his allegations—

He stopped reading right there, shoving the holo-net screen away. Of course he'd let himself hope too much, but he hadn't been able to help it. Nar Shaddaa was just the kind of place she'd like, and a cantina brawl… well, with Canderous and HK-47 with her, it'd be little wonder.

He cut off the train of thought—which unfailingly led to a stabbing, futile regret—in its track, heaving a sigh that bit through the office air like gunfire. Of course it had been a stupid hope to think she was back, but it had been a hope nonetheless, and he didn't have a lot of those lately. The public had, after all, proven itself time and time again to have the attention span of a brain-dead tach—he'd had no good reason but optimism to assume they'd care about any single person, even the ex-lord Revan, for more than five weeks…

Let alone five months…

Let alone five years.

There was a separate branch of the Republic entirely to concern itself with missing people, the nearest category they could fit her into. Possibly Ashi should have been on the wanted list instead—something about disappearing while presumed insane, right before a Force-induced lobotomy—but the Jedi had stepped in, tactfully drawing one of their inarguable veils over the whole mess, and he'd got a little weight to throw around himself… and, moreover, no bounty hunter wanted to go after her.

So Missing Persons was where, unglamorously enough, the file titled "Revan, a.k.a. Ashi Lucas" had wound up. Oh, the department had certainly been interested in her at first, but first cross-species girls had started going missing in Motta the Hutt's cantinas, and then a senator's kid had run away in a fit of independence assertion. Shit happened, just like usual, and her file had just been shoved away. The Republic had a war to end, and better things to do than chase a crazy Grey Jedi who posed a likely minimal threat and didn't want to be found.

Which was why he kept a holo-screen by his desk, streaming a constant news-search of anything containing "Ashi Lucas" or "Revan". Most of his friends, he knew, thought it was verging on sad, and Jordo had tried to set him up with plenty of Telosian widows, but to no avail. Carth kept the holo-screen on his desk, re-running searches across the galaxy 24/7.

It was mostly bantha fodder, which was why he'd been so excited when this whole Nar Shaddaa mess had erupted. But naturally he hadn't had any luck—naturally the whole damn story would prove to be a dead end, just like the last one, and the one before it. Space, there were days when he wondered if she'd just disappeared from the face of the fracking galaxy—

"Carth?" came a voice from the doorway.

He glanced up in surprise. A tall, leggy Twi'lek stood there, leaning on the doorframe with an ease that proved she was a common visitor to the office. "Ca-arth," she sang again, clearly liking the sound of it. "You're ignoring me."

"Impossible," he replied calmly, attempting a smile that had no effort behind it. The Twi'lek shook her head.

"Workaholic," she lamented, rolling her eyes. Carth raised an eyebrow, unable to help thinking that she was one to talk. Though naturally blue, her cheeks were flushed lavender from the summer heat and a little sunburn she'd insisted she was immune to. Her hat, backwards and slung loosely over her lekku, read 'Telos Project—It's Up To Us' in block print. She'd been outside all day, clearly, and the wiry muscle that wound up and down her limbs was a hard-won testament to the work she'd done over the past year-and-then-some.

He didn't respond, and she frowned after a moment. "Hey, you okay, geezer?" she wondered, folding her arms over her chest.

Carth shoved the holoscreen away quickly. "Mission," he muttered, by way of greeting. "Your shift can't be over yet, can it?"

The girls raised an eyebrow, shooting him a look of vague, sideways concern. "Lovely to see you too. And it kind of is over—it's, uh, night," she pointed out, nodding towards the window.

"I… what?" he murmured, but a glance to the outside told him she wasn't joking. Dusk was beginning to blanket the surface of the planet, replacing the splattered sunlight that usually slanted across his floor. "Didn't realize," he admitted lamely, looking down at the paperwork on his desk.

Mission bit her lip. There were dark circles looping under her eyes, and she was covered head to foot in a thin film of reddish construction dust, but neither was the reason she suddenly looked achingly tired. "The Nar Shaddaa thing?" she guessed quietly.

"Dead end," he answered gruffly. "Just some spicehead getting excited over nothing."

"I'm sorry," she offered sincerely, reaching up awkwardly to tug at her hat. Twi'leks, frankly, weren't meant to wear baseball caps, but damned if she didn't jam it on somehow every morning. Carth never would have expected her to be the outdoorsy, construction-work type, but she'd taken to the Telos restoration project like a fish to water. He suspected much of it, though she'd never admit, had to do with Taris, and how she would have liked to do the same there.

"Stupid to have expected anything anyway," he declared, with a halfhearted attempt to shuffle the paperwork into a neater pile. "Like she'd even come back by now, let alone to Nar Shaddaa."

"Hey," Mission interrupted fiercely, raising a hand to cut him off as she started into the room. "No. Stop. She's coming back, okay? Why wouldn't she, Carth?"

"Oh, let's think. Arrest, maybe? That mindwipe waiting for her if she does?"

"She's Ash," Mission snapped. "She's not going to leave us." Carth didn't contradict her; he'd learned it was best not to argue with Mission logic. She's Ashi, therefore… was the girl's justification for just about everything. "You think she was scared of a stinking mindwipe?" Mission demanded. "Of all the things she's got to worry about, you really think she'd stay gone because she's scared of what the Jedi want?"

"Fine," he replied. "She's gone now for the same higher purpose she eloped for to begin with. Happy, kid?"

"She didn't elope at all," Mission corrected. "Really? Ashi eloping with Canderous? That's just gross, Carth."

He sighed, covering his face with a hand. It wasn't his faith in Ashi that faltered—and, frack, she could have been screwing Malak and he'd still wait for her—but… ah, damn it. He'd just never trust Mandalorians, and the thought of one alone with Ashi, her only companion, sometimes kept him awake at night wanting to shoot something. "She's with him," he said flatly. "She's spent the last five years with him instead of me, Mission. Think about it."

"We are so not having this conversation," Mission muttered to herself, slumping into one of the stiff-backed chairs by the door. "Look, I'm thinking that the grand almighty Admiral suffers from paranoia and chronic O.C.D. Have a little faith, would ya? Jeez." She shook her head pityingly, lekku flopping across her shoulders.

"Fine. She didn't abandon us solely because of the operation, and Canderous clearly wouldn't jump her if he could. Better, Mission?"

"She didn't abandon us at all," Mission insisted, eyes narrowing. "She's doing something important, Carth, she told us. And she's coming back, okay? That's not abandoning—she'd only do that if she was scared, and Ashi ain't scared of anything here." She glanced towards the window, adding, "Ain't nothing to be scared of on Telos, anyway."

He sighed, giving the paperwork one last, dubious glance. "I conceded you the point, Mission, not the battle."

"So it's Mission one, Carth zero?"

"Don't you have a date tonight?" he wondered, abandoning subtlety entirely to escape the argument. Despite being part of the Restoration Project—or maybe because of it—Mission had lost neither her idealism nor her confidence, and a large portion of each was reserved entirely for Ashi. It wasn't a fight Carth was ever likely to win, regardless of whether rationality and the last five years were on his side.

Mission raised an eyebrow. "Nice segue," she observed. "But yes, actually, I do. One of the locals, actually—I believe you've met him?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of, maybe you should leave to get ready?"

"He's meeting me here," she shrugged. "So I thought I'd grace you with my presence. You know, so you don't stay here all night pretending to read those forms." She waved offhandedly at the mountain of paper on Carth's desk, making a face. "Man, I never want a desk job."

Carth gave a weary but genuine laugh, glancing up at her. "Do you think I did, ten years ago?"

"Yeah, but see, here's the thing," Mission explained, looking pleased to have coaxed a smile out of him. "You're all faithful to the Republic, so you'll totally do this if they ask you to. Me, I'm a free spirit. No obligations. Also, I can't pull off orange."

She was lying, and he knew it, despite the joke thrown in at the end. The truth was, she had all the obligations in the world, because she was Mission: she'd never give up on Telos if they needed her, and she'd always drop everything for any of her friends. But he didn't say that. "Well, if you ever changed your mind," he replied, "I know the Republic recruitment office would be happy to have you."

"Eew," she snorted—they'd had this conversation before. "Do I look like I was made for a life of push-ups?"

"No," he muttered, "I'm sure a life of working in construction zones is much more suited to you. I understand completely."

Her hands flew protectively to her hat. "I like the Telos Project," she sulked, slouching sideways in the chair. "It's cool, okay? All this… fixing? It's like, I know I'm making a difference."

This time, the smile he shot her wasn't weary at all—a flash of sunlight breaking through the clouds for a split second as he looked up. "I understand," he assured her. "I'm happy for you, Mission."

She grinned back, before starting, a moment later, at the sound of footsteps padding down the hall. "Hello?"

The voice that came back was deep and happy, touched with traces of a hard-lost accent. "Hey, babe."

"You're here!" Mission chirped, leaping to her feet as a man turned into the doorway. Suddenly oblivious to Carth, she threw herself at him, and he caught hold of her, spinning her around in a circle before setting her down, laughing. Mission leant up for a kiss, and an instant later they were welded together, her lekku tangled around his neck. Carth, feeling strangely unwelcome in his own office, averted his eyes pointedly to the paperwork. You'd think the two of them had been apart for months, he speculated dryly, not just a few hours.

Finally the two of them unlocked lips, Mission shooting a pointed look towards Carth at his desk. The boy straightened, a flush creeping over his cheeks. It was mostly hidden by dark stubble though, a five o'clock shadow that simply refused to be gotten rid of. He slipped an arm around his girlfriend, and Carth felt a flood of paternal protectiveness for her despite everything. Mission couldn't have grown up better, and he wondered if the boy knows how lucky he really was.

At the moment, her date just looked nervous, eyeing the admiral for signs of reproach. Seemed almost funny that he'd be cowed by a forty-something sitting behind a stack of paperwork—he stood about six feet and some inches now, topped with dark, shaggy hair that fell in his eyes. Jedi robes and lightsaber aside, he'd grown up to look a lot like his father.

"Good day?" Carth asked, tactfully not mentioning the kiss, and his son gave a worn grin.

"Exhausting. I worked with the Sith rehabs some more," he explained. "Space, these kids have been brainwashed. Was I really ever that annoying?"

Carth and Mission exchanged a conspiratorial glance. "Yes," they both informed him, the latter with a smirk.

He rolled his eyes. "At least I've grown out of it," he replied. The jab, directly pointed at his girlfriend, made her shoot him a look from the corner of her eye.

"Did you want to go on a date tonight? Because we don't have to if you don't."

"Depends. You won't be up past your bedtime, will you?"

"You're so annoying," she muttered, scowling. "I think it runs in the family."

"Ah, spending a little quality time with my dad?" he wondered, raising an eyebrow. Eyes darting towards the admiral, he wondered, "Which one am I supposed to feel sorry for?"

"Oh, okay. One more time," she warned, shooting him a sideways glance and holding up a finger for emphasis. "Go on, Dustil, just keep digging."

"All right, all right." He stopped, placing a hand under her chin to catch her gaze. "I'm sorry. Mission, you are an angel. I have never loved anyone more in my life—"

"And never will."

"And never will," he agreed instantly. "And you are by far the single most mature person I know." He paused, allowing himself a smile he clearly considered well-earned. "Good?"

"You're improving," she conceded, but the wide grin on her face belied her nonchalance. "All right, but I've got to go swing by my apartment and shower, k? We laid foundations all day today, and I am gross." She pulled a face on the last word, gesturing down at the reddish dust that coated her from mid-thigh to the soles of her thick construction boots.

Dustil let his mouth drop open in mock-disbelief. "Are you kidding? Red is your color."

Mission rolled her eyes. "You're obligated to tell me that," she replied. "Just meet me at my place in, like, ten minutes, okay?"

"Whatever you say," he nodded, giving her one final squeeze before letting her go. Mission paused, and then, to Carth's surprise, approached him instead of the door, wrapping her arms around him as he sat there, looking about as surprised as he was.

"I'm sorry about Nar Shaddaa," she murmured, and he understood, hugging her back with a grip made strong by gruff affection. She blinked hard as she pulled away, before turning from the door. Dustil, looking puzzled, murmured something too quiet for Carth to catch as she brushed past him. Momentarily, Mission's eyes darted to Carth, and then she gave a soft but rapid response where Carth caught only the words Ash and Nar Shaddaa.

Dustil's mouth opened slightly, maybe in surprise and maybe sadness, and Mission eased past to the door. "Ten minutes," she said brightly. "Got it?"

"Got it," affirmed Dustil, who knew from experience that that meant at least twenty minutes until they even left the apartment, and she turned down the hall. They heard her padding away, and then the muted chime of an elevator. Dustil turned back to Carth, the smile melting off his face as he met his father's eyes.

"It dead-ended?" he asked, and Carth knew exactly what he meant.

"It's nothing," he replied tetchily, glancing sullenly away. "Stupid to hope."

"It's not!" Dustil protested, jaw dropping. "Dad, she's going to come back."

Snowball's chance on Tatooine, she's still out there, Dustil, he thought.

"I'm sure you're right," he replied.

Dustil gave him a short, skeptical look, and then shook his head. "Well, I know I am."

"Good for you."

"Good."

A pause followed the statement, and Carth cleared his throat. "You should go," he pointed out. "Mission'll be waiting."

Dustil smiled slightly, despite himself. "You should head home too," he observed. "Don't think the junior officers like waking you up at your desk in the morning."

"I'll sleep wherever I want," he muttered, ignoring Dustil's snort. "I'm going," he assured his son. "Go on, go have fun."

"Night, Dad."

"Night, Dustil."

His son left the office.

Carth looked down at the screen again.

Sightings of Revan Confirmed To Be False…

And funnily enough, he smiled.

Of course she wouldn't be on Nar Shaddaa. She was somewhere out past even the Rim, doing whatever needed to be done. Even if she did have a snowball's chance, there was no way she wouldn't come back if she possibly could.

Oh, that's right, he remembered dazedly. That's why I'm waiting. Of course she'd come back—she was Ashi.

Or she could be crazy.

No, corrected his subconscious, which sat there eyeing Carth with a strange mixture of pity and amusement, you're the crazy one here.

Probably true.

Carth shoved the paperwork aside, and closed the article, letting the monitor flicker and go black.

"'Sightings of Revan Confirmed To Be False'," he read aloud, and then snorted. "Nice cover-up."

Beside him, the woman scrutinized the headline, tilting her head to the side and then grinning. On the digital page, a blurred video-clip of the cantina fight played, followed by a shot of the unfortunate man who'd been stupid enough to recognize the ex-Dark Lord. He was staring at the camera with a bleary gaze, ever so slightly cock-eyed. His jaw hung open slightly as he mumbled an apology. Looking up from the headline page, the woman tilted her head to the side, smirking. "Just can't believe everything you read in the news, I guess."

Her companion smirked, but it vanished as his eyes flicked to his comm, narrowing as he took in the time. "Hey, remind me," he muttered, "why are we in this stinkhole when there's a lovely juma-filled cantina twenty meters away?"

"I agreed we'd meet here," shrugged the woman. "It's near the hangar. She told me they'd meet us in the corner alley opposite the Jekk'Jekk Tarr Cantina."

"Right. And did they specify if that would be this century?"

The woman shrugged calmly. "She's got to keep a low profile, flyboy."

"Yeah, because clearly"—he snatched the newsprint, flourishing it—"that's going just peachy already, right?"

"You know I try, Rand."

The voice came from behind the man and his friend, spoken by a cloaked figure at the mouth of the alley. Atton Rand jumped, shoulders jerking in surprise, and then rolled his eyes. "Jeez," he muttered, "you practice sneaking up on people, or is it just talent?"

She stepped calmly towards them, shadows cast by the filthy buildings on either side swallowing her instantly. A tall, weathered figure followed her: he was wearing the helm of Mandalore, a well-deserved present he'd recently been given, and a massive repeating blaster was slung over his back. Canderous Ordo surveyed the ex-Jedi and pilot in front of him with a warrior's gaze, a look that said I could kill you, but I'm not interested enough yet.

Neither, to their credit, was intimidated. Both had fought in a war that had destroyed the Mandalorians—one more, even if it was Mandalore himself, couldn't scare them.

"Nice to see you, too," replied the newcomer who'd spoken, eyeing the two people in front of her—eyeing, of course, being used in the loosest of terms. "And I think it's just one of those things it's nice to be good at." There was a pause, as her head shook slightly. "Frack, it's been a while since I saw either of you," she muttered. "You two ready?"

Her voice—and the hint of curves, under the dark cloak and even blacker armor—indicated her to be a woman, but there were no clues in her face, except perhaps the slight fullness of her lips. A hood was pulled up over her head, casting an even deeper shadow over her face. Her eyes reminded Atton and his companion of Visas Marr for a moment. Usually they were heavily bandaged, the bindings crossing the bridge of her vaguely crooked nose to mask both eyes, but she'd left them off today. Instead, a wide scar striped her face like a cruel victory banner, all but hidden by the different layers of shadow. Peering out from the darkness under her hood, any ordinary person would be unable to see at such a point.

Atton and his companion weren't looking at an ordinary person.

"We've been ready about an hour now, actually," he replied, unwilling to be outdone. "But, you know, it's fine, since we're in such a lovely place and all. Wonderful nightlife here," he added, waving a hand towards the dark, eerie alley around them.

"He's only being stupid because he's happy to see you," chimed in the blond beside Atton smoothly. "Hey, Rev—though I hear it's Ashi now?"

"I hear you're going by Exile," countered the hooded figure, grinning. "How very not dramatic at all."

"Whereas subtlety's your real strong suit, isn't it?" The Exile tugged the newsprint from Atton's hand to a slight squawk of protest, holding it out to Ashi. Under the hood's shadow, the latter's forehead creased.

"You're going to have to be a little more helpful than that."

The Exile's lips fell open in realization, but she nodded, taking back the paper. For all Ashi could do with her new sight, reading had eluded her for five years now. "It's about the cantina fight," she explained, and Ashi's face lit up slightly.

"Oh, yeah," she muttered. "That was fun. Might've been nice if you'd managed to show for our meeting, though."

"You blew up the cantina before we could get there."

"Well, it was necessary."

She sounded furiously righteous, but behind her, Canderous snickered. Ashi dug an elbow into his side. "Come on," she persisted. "It's Nar Shaddaa. They'll have a new one by tomorrow."

The Exile shrugged, conceding that particular point, but held up a hand. "Well, your stunt also landed you on every newsfeed on the holonet."

"I took care of it," Ashi scoffed, waving a hand. "Guy who recognized me'd never even been near the Force before—didn't know what hit him. He's not going to be giving interviews any time soon."

"You did a good job," offered Atton, now eyeing the newsprint's video clip. The man under the headline was not only cock-eyed, he noticed, but possibly drooling slightly. "Looks like he's just crashed off a month-long spice high."

"So there's really not a problem at all, is there?"

The Exile pursed her lips. "Well, you probably don't want to stay on the planet much longer."

"I think that's why you're here," Ashi observed. "If memory serves, you've got my ship."

"Ah, that. Beauty of a thing."

"Shut up, Atton."

From the Exile's tone, it was clear she wasn't really angry, more speaking from reflex. Ashi raised an eyebrow—the gesture was half-lost in the shadow, but the same wry humor colored her tone as her face.

"So whenever you're ready, if you'd like to show me where my ship is…?"

"Our ship, actually," corrected Atton under his breath. The other three ignored him.

Ashi hesitated, using her Force vision to extend her sight. The immediate street by the alley's mouth was devoid of auras, but there wasn't an inch of Nar Shaddaa that had ever heard of peace and quiet. They'd want to keep moving before another complication arose—two Revan sightings on the same planet, and within a week, would be a bad coincidence to maneuver around.

"We should get moving," she declared, suddenly startlingly serious. "Don't want another delay."

"We've got the ship in a hangar a few blocks away," the Exile declared. "We can start heading that way, if you want."

"Sounds good." Ashi paused, eyes narrowing instinctively as she gave the Exile and Atton a careful once-over. "You two think you can handle this?"

"Blasters, running, and drinking, Rev," replied Atton cheerfully. The Exile cocked an eyebrow.

"You even need to ask, Re—I mean, Ashi?"

"It's worse than you think out there," her friend said softly. For a moment, her face darkened, and the edge in her voice sent an unfamiliar chill running down the Exile's spine. "What's coming is going to be big. We are the backup forces, and this isn't like anything we've fought before."

"Worse than the Mandalorians?"

Ashi didn't smile, and the reply seemed even grimmer just from that. "Rand, compared to these ones, the Mandalorians are butterflies."

Canderous snorted. "I could resent that."

"Except it's true."

"They're good," he conceded to Ashi, before shooting the Exile and Atton a sharp look. "Damn good," he admitted grudgingly, the confession—from Mandalore, no less—enough to tell the pair exactly how frightening the True Sith were.

The Exile straightened proudly, tilting up her head. "We know what we're getting into," she replied. "I'm starting to like being good guys again."

"And I go where she goes," replied Atton firmly, earning a small grin from the Exile. Ashi rolled her eyes.

"If you two are done being fracking adorable…"

"Afraid I can't help that," broke in Atton, with a quirk of his lips.

Ashi shot the Exile a look, raising an eyebrow. You know how to pick them, don't you? she wondered, speaking directly into her friend's mind.

He makes me happy, answered the blond, giving Atton a sideways glance. That's more than I'd hoped for. She scrutinuzed Ashi's face for a moment, eyes like those of an artist as they studied their subject, and then murmured, I'm sorry, by the way.

Ashi stiffened faintly, fists tightening under the cloak. About?

Alek. Well, and Onasi, I suppose.

I'm fine. Five years is plenty of time to get over it.

No, contradicted the Exile, not really. She hesitated, scrounging for clues in Ashi's expression, before adding, He's waiting for you, you know. Onasi, I mean. Carth.

Ashi's lips tightened, pressing together. Her eyes in shadow, the Exile couldn't quite read if it was from frustration or something else. I know, she admitted. It's what I thought he would do.

Maybe it was the change in her otherwise-stony expression that put Atton on guard, but his eyes narrowed suddenly. "Are you two doing that Force-talking thing?" he demanded, suspicion filling his stare. A flood of color—bright, anxious orange—coursed through his aura, and Ashi smirked.

What, she wondered, like this?

…+1/-1 card down; that's fifteen, so draw again…

She laughed softly. I forgot you did that.

"Keeps creepy people outta my head," he replied gruffly. "Hey, didn't you want to see the ship or something?"

"He's got a point," conceded Canderous, surprising all but Ashi as he spoke up. "Ready, Lucas?"

Without pause, as he watched, she broke abruptly into a smile—not a smirk, and neither without an edge of irony, but by far her most vivid expression of the conversation. Through his night-vision goggles, he regarded her almost hungrily, her face lighting up like Coruscant at night. It wasn't desire, though, so much as admiration; not love of her so much as of what he saw in her. Her eyes, for just past five years now, had been the blue of fogged-over sea glass rather than crystal, but the same fire burnt behind them. And the scar—the scar, he knew, only improved it. Her scar was the mark of a warrior, a tattoo of the war she'd won. Marred or not, by all of Canderous's definitions, she was beautiful to watch.

But best was her grin itself. He savored it, watching her lips twist open: not a happy expression, but one of determination, of fierce, blazing intent.

The flame he saw in her face wasn't eagerness, but necessity, and he knew that. He understood it, too. Necessity kept her on her feet half the time, and it was necessity that kept him by her side almost his every waking moment. That wasn't optional. Being themselves simply came with duties.

But the glint of excitement there as well, the same one she could see reflected in his spirit, if not his eyes? That was all her own, and of all the traits in a leader, there couldn't have been one Canderous would rather have seen.

"Let's go," said Ashi, turning on her heel.

And before anyone noticed the strange set of four—a warrior, an exile, a murderer, and the most famous face in the galaxy—they had gone. After all, they had a job to do now. Whatever was out there was coming now, and soon.

So their job was to make damn sure that—whatever it was—it got what it came for.

I can't thank you guys enough for reading, whether you've been there since the beginning or only just found this story. Everyone who's reviewed, you've all inspired me. Yep, I'm getting corny, but I did just finish my first story—I feel it can be justified.

So. Thanks to everyone, especially the consistent reviewers (you know who you are). You guys are the best. Thanks for reading—and reviews are always, always appreciated! (Note: deleting the A/N a few chapters ago made this chapter 34, so people who reviewed last time may not be able to this time. Anonymous reviews still work, though!)

So. Thanks for everything, guys, and most of all for reading.

—skrybble o_O