#greyfics ✰°.• ➸ [ canon + canon ]

[greyfics]

title: a first for sincerity.

- °•. ✦ .•° -

characters: the ghoul (cooper howard) + lucy maclean

fic type: enemies turned friends, optimist/cynic friends, fluffy, fair bit of dialogue, bit of angsty reflection 

word count: 1.4K

inspo: just my brain wanting to see how coops and lucy lu would interact on more positive terms, but still being very hilariously different characters, also a meme I saw about lucy recognising cooper howard on tv.

cw: first season of fallout spoilers

summary: on their way to an all too well known city in the distance, pursuing lucy's father, the duo take rest for the night, and have their first proper conversation on more friendly terms- though their differences soon show through. 

- °•. ✦ .•° -

A fire is ignited, comfortably tucked a fair few metres inside the mouth of what ten minutes ago had been a nest of radscorpions- and now, was a cosy little den for the two travellers, with a neat supply of crispy, bulging tails to keep their stomachs sated. Two heavy travel packs fell onto the sharp, black assortment of stones lining the floor of the cave- much comfier cushions to rest on after day after day of ceaseless striding. She adjusted the bag and carefully plopped herself down, hands falling askew in her lap with a carelessness she lacked but a few weeks ago. He wouldn't have even stopped in the first place, had he not adapted to the needs of his human travel companion.

Yet as his focus drifted away into the sting of light before them, long adjusted to quiet, wordless nights, she found herself unable to maintain the same still reserve; it started with a leg thumping. He did not move. Then with an innocuous whistling of some patriotic dweller song- he lifted his eyes for a moment, but they soon fell back to their starting position.

Clearing her throat, Lucy decided after a whole five minutes that this silent inaction was too unbearable to continue one moment longer, and finally words burst from her mouth, "So! Las Vegas. Seems like your kind of town." He groaned, scoffed, and waved away her attempt at communication, saying "Just 'cos we're going in the same direction don't mean you gotta try and get all pally with me, sweetie. Sweet jesus...- you vault dwellers are so polite- it's insufferable, you know that?" the words were sharp, but the tone was playful. He had to admit, however much it drove him up the wall at times, the bright-eyed sparky pip in the vault-dweller's step was amusing at the very least, and endearingly hopeful at a push. With a stiff lip and one hand planted against her hip, the girl tried to shrug off the comment with her own retort, "Fine, have it your way. I was just trying to get to know you, since we're going to be together for a while."

"Alright, alright- if it'll stop your lecturing for five fuckin' minutes- what exactly do you wanna know?"

She found herself stumped at this rejoinder- shamefully, she realised that her initial attempt at conversation was a selfish and insincere attempt to broach a silence in the name of social norms- social norms for a vault full of useless sheltered pacifists. She'd learned to try her hardest to find a balance between that vaulted delusion, and the cynical realities of the world above. Taking a minute to actually think back on their ... mixed past interactions, she thought of his recoiling at the site of the vault-tec's icon, the vault boy. He wasn't one to waste his bullets, she knew that for sure. So, losing the chipper persona, her pitch lowered slightly and her stature relaxed, as she once again asked him a question- with sincere intrigue, this time: "How'd your whole vendetta with Vault-Tec start? I mean, clearly you're no Cooper Howard fan." This comment received an abrupt raucous round of laughter from the gunslinger, that she did not quite understand, "Honey, you can't begin to understand how right you are there. As for Vault-tec... well, I'd rather not talk about it."

She made a quick cry of protest, before flinging a radscorpion tail at him in frustration- he wove to the side in time for it to skip across the ground and exit the cave behind, smoothly returning to his former hunched-up position on his travel pack. Before he could begin to argue, she piped up to cut him off, "You just said you'd answer my questions." He barked back, louder, "Well you just opened a can of worms I don't wanna contend with while I'm tryna catch a little break and forget everything for a while. How about we start talkin' bout what you're gonna do when we catch up to your daddy?"

She was the one to remain silent, then. Flashes of a decaying woman reaching out so tenderly to the daughter she hardly got to know, because of Vault-Tec. Bloodied knights in bone-crushing steel-plated power armours, raiders, hunters, her own father- hundreds of people slitting each others throats and putting holes through each other, for the sake of a tiny blue chip with the potential to bring an end to the false necessity for war- she felt as if the man that raised her was but the dying shadow in the horrifying light revealing the man who wrought the destruction of what could've been a peaceful life for her- and stapled open her eyes to the truths of the world without sticking around to help her live in it. Her eyes were brimmed with glitter, glass- but she could not let herself cry right now. She wasn't in the mood for taunting.

Though he tried to fight it, that alien, long-forgotten gnawing of guilt began to creep into his chest- she didn't know. She hardly knew anything at all. Yet, even when he left her to be torn asunder for her parts in exchange for a little bit more time in his 200+ year lifespan, she refused to back down to his level- she chose redemption over retribution. She had been the first person he'd met in these wastelands to bother giving anyone else a second chance- and it was stupid, and it was naive-

but damn it, wasn't it a change?- and, how rare was that in this god-forsaken place?

Now he was the one to awkwardly shuffle his weight from one leg to the other, and after ten minutes of silent preparation and thirty seconds of an inaudible string of curses under his breath, he finally initiated a conversation himself, "I didn't used to be a big, bad meanie you know. I was just a man with a family, before the nukes dropped. Hell, I didn't just buy into the vault-tec gimmick- I lost jobs promoting those fuckers as their front man-" He left, at that moment, a dramatic pause to bask in the slow realisation that dawned upon her as to his identity, "Yep. Not that my career was my biggest worry when the bombs dropped." She doesn't even know where to begin in questioning him with that small snippet of insight- but once again, her mind comes back to his disdain of the vault-tec organisation- and how paradoxical it seemed to her for cooper howard himself from the commercials to have turned against the company she had assumed he worked for, "Not to circle back to the can of worms I opened earlier but- what changed your mind about the vaults?"

A phantom heartache burned into the ghoul's chest at that moment, as that venomous conversation played once more on a loop in his mind ( "a nuclear event would be a tragedy… but also, an opportunity." )-

-it took him longer than he would have liked to be able to compose himself, and go back to playing the loveable rogue, "They wouldn't let me bring my dog into the vault." ("perhaps the greatest opportunity in history.")

Her heart just about burst, unable to contain the unexpected gem of redeemability she had dug out from her former adversary ("because when we are the only ones left, there will be no one to fight.")-

"Awww, you do have a heart under all that... you !-" ("this is our chance to make war obsolete.")-

"-It might not be beating, but now I know it exists at least!" ("because in our current societal configuration, ... we have friction.") He chuckled half-heartedly at the vault dweller's attempt at a witty barb, but his mind had already flown elsewhere as their conversation continued, autonomous hums of interest stepping in to account for his attention disappearing.

 ("We have conflict and we have war.") After a few minutes of rambling, she realised that the conversation had ended a while ago- the genuine sliver of human empathy they shared once again shying away. This time, she found herself content with the silence. She realised, in fact, that she was losing precious time thinking about her future predicament with words that had lost their purpose- She thought she could understand the wastelander's silence ("and war, well... war never changes.").

She couldn't begin to- not quite. Not yet.

Perhaps soon.

[greyias]

3. Things you say too quietly - - Grey/Theron

I know you didn't ask for a Jedi!Theron AU with this prompt... but the muses spoke, and well...

“I’m sorry that you couldn’t become a Jedi, Theron. You would have been a great one.” - Jedi Player Character, Shadow of Revan

Theron had grown accustomed to a few not-so-subtle glances in his direction and the echo of whispers as he passed. His surname, as well as the apparent family resemblance between him and Grandmaster Satele Shan of the Jedi Order, ensured that his ancestry would never be hidden in the long run. But usually the whispers began after he stepped off the shuttle.

He tried to smother a frown as he strode through the temple, weaving through the crowds milling on the landing pad. If the persistent whispers and exchanged glances between Jedi were any sign, something out of the ordinary was going on. Tython was typically a much more reserved place than this, and the atmosphere set him on edge.

When something was amiss in his environment, the reassuring, yet almost insignificant weight of the lightsaber at his hip was always a comfort. The comfort and familiarity of the hilt, of the bright green blade that shone when he activated it, was one of the few constants in his life. Despite what some in the temple may have claimed, he wasn’t quick to draw it — the legacy of Revan followed all of his descendants in pernicious ways.

The murmurs continued with each step, and he caught only snatches of information as he worked his way through the crowd. Perhaps a different Jedi would have stretched out their feelings and tapped into the Force to figure out what was causing the uproar. However, he and the Force had a unique relationship. What came naturally to most of his peers, Theron had to work twice as hard to master. Communing with that mystic energy never came easily to him, and he preferred not to waste his time and energy on petty pursuits when he could more easily use his normal senses. He preferred to be grounded in the physical, to touch something and confirm its reality.

Theron finally emerged from the crowd swarming around the platform and entered the temple’s great map room — and spotted the source of the uproar. He wasn’t able to smother the shock of surprise that ran through him when he saw the motley crew gathered around a table in the far corner of the room. He’d had little interaction with everyone on the Defender’s crew, but he could still recognize them from a distance. Sergeant Fideltin Rusk appeared irritated, the Chagrian’s lethorns twitching as he attempted to disappear into his seat. Doc, as he insisted on being addressed, was leaning back in his chair, attempting to smooth talk a nearby Padawan who was attempting to ignore him. The little astromech T7-01 emitted shrill beeps at his flirtatious crew-mate. If Theron’s mental translation was correct, it was a stern warning to the medic to stop clowning around.

Of course, the biggest mystery wasn’t what the astromech was saying, but why it or the rest of the crew were here at all. The last anyone had seen of the Defender, its crew, or commander was six months ago, when they and several other members of a covert strike team infiltrated a secret fortress and capture the Sith Emperor himself.

Theron’s gaze narrowed on the group, lips pursing together. The busybodies here didn’t know about that part, though. All they knew was that a member of the Jedi High Council and a rising star in the Jedi Order had vanished almost completely without a trace.

Rumors of new, powerful Sith cropped up, whose descriptions seemed disconcertingly similar to the missing Jedi. That was where Theron had been, gathering intelligence on these rumors at the behest of his former master, Gnost-Dural, and why he had come to Tython to deliver reports to the Council directly.

He was supposed to deliver the report alongside Jomar Chul, with whom he’d teamed up when the rumors started. During their investigation, however, it became clear that Jomar’s interest in the mission was very singular, centered on the fate of just one of the missing Jedi. They’d eventually split up. Jomar focused on his obsession, leaving Theron to chase the remaining leads on his own.

He had a feeling Jomar was going to get into trouble again. Just like when he’d crash-landed on Tatooine while scouting the Dromund Kaas system for Tol Braga’s strike team and needed to be rescued by the Order’s resident overachiever. Since “The Force” allegedly intervened and brought Little Miss Perfect in, they had kicked Theron off the strike team. Never mind that he’d already done extensive legwork on the scope of the entire mission.

The story of his life.

Theron’s talents in the Force had always paled compared to the alleged legacy he’d inherited, and the two most prominent rising stars in the Jedi Order had always outshined him. First there was the Barsen’thor, with their raw talent and diplomatic savvy. And, of course, the woman who had nearly saved the entire Order and the planet of Tython from Darth Angral’s wrath. Theron was off world in the Vesla system at the time, and when he’d returned, the temple seemed unable to talk about anything else.

He could have approached the Defender’s crew and asked for precise details of their whereabouts for the past six months, or inquire about the conspicuously absent members of their crew. But he suspected that if he just kept walking, more would reveal itself. So, with only an arched brow at the strange ensemble, he made his way out of the chamber.

Theron found his way to the large balcony in the main hall, which overlooked the Eye of Zallow hovering in the center of the vast room. The Chamber of the High Council was just to his right. The Council members were speaking to each other, their words indistinct but their concerned tones loud enough to be heard over the buzz of conversation in the hall. He couldn’t help but wonder if the return of the Defender’s crew was responsible for that, too.

That’s when he saw her, leaning against the balcony railing, gazing down at the first floor.

For a moment, Theron almost didn’t recognize her, and it was only that dim, electric hum that seemed to pass between only the two of them that revealed the woman’s identity. Gone were the squared shoulders that projected serenity and strength, as well as the ornate tunic she wore after earning the moniker “Hero of Tython.” Theron’s eyes narrowed as he took in the pale face, tight jaw, and dark circles that stood out beneath haunted eyes. She wore a plain, stained tunic that hung loosely around her. Her hair was still pulled back into a ponytail, but it hung limply around her shoulders. Possibly most alarmingly of all, her lightsaber hilts were conspicuously absent. It may have been six months since he’d last seen Greyias Highwind, but one look at her revealed she’d been through hell and back.

Theron could have walked into the Council Chambers — and probably should have — but found himself settling in next to her at the railing, as if drawn there by a gravitational force. With his gaze fixed on the Eye of Zallow, he simply rested his arms on the railing, making no attempt to speak. While he may not have felt like wasting energy attempting to connect to the Force in order to determine the source of some whispers, but the connection seemed easier here. He felt the raw emotions tumbling off of her almost effortlessly — although perhaps it was more her not shielding herself than any effort on his part — and he wasn’t sure what to make of what he was picking up. She was projecting a sense of loss and bitterness, but there was a fog over it, as if she was trying to conceal it from all those around her.

Theron kept his mouth shut, trying to push his own emotions to the side. The last words he’d exchanged with her hadn’t exactly been the kindest. He’d been frustrated by being sidelined yet again and took it out on her, calling her a glory hog, among other choice words. She’d even apologized later, as if she felt some remorse for his exclusion from the mission. But she also didn’t try to persuade Tol Braga or the Council to let him back in.

Of course, after six months of radio silence, the entire strike team presumed dead and now possibly turned traitor… in retrospect, it now almost seemed a blessing. At least for him, because it was clear from looking at her it had been anything but on her end.

“Sometimes I wonder,” she finally said, her voice so quiet he couldn’t hear it over the din of the temple, “if you should have gone instead of me.”

That drew his gaze up to her, and he studied her features closely. He didn’t need the Force to see the darkness that clung to her like a lingering stain. Her normally expressive face was masked in an expression he couldn’t quite decipher, but even despite that, her eyes still spoke much louder than her voice.

It took him a few moments to gather his thoughts (and stamp down his stubborn pride) before he spoke. “Look, I’ll deny it if you ever tell anyone, but we both know who the better Jedi is between the two of us.”

“I... I did not mean it in that way.”

He almost winced, but stopped himself. He was doing a fantastic job at... whatever this was, wasn’t he? “In any case, I doubt my presence would have made a difference.”

She took a deep breath and nodded, as if whatever he’d said was the most obvious and logical thing in the world. “I suppose not.”

He considered the report he was about to deliver, and the likely identities of the Emperor’s new dark enforcers wreaking havoc across the galaxy. If the rest of her strike team had fallen to the Dark Side — some of the Order’s best and brightest — it spoke of her resilience that she hadn’t joined them.

“You made it back, though,” he added cautiously. “That has to count for something.”

“Does it?” Her voice was little more than a whisper, but he could pick up the despair and resignation in it.

It was a far cry from the cheerful Padawan who’d fought alongside him against the Flesh Raiders in the Gnarls. Or the pompous and pious young Jedi who rescued Revan from the Maelstrom. Or the honest Knight who always seemed to land the toughest missions, earning her the Grandmaster’s favor. As much as he’d resented her outshining him throughout his Jedi career, seeing her in this state was much, much worse.

In all of his years as a Jedi, Theron had always been reaching. At first, for the Force — trying to establish a connection which eluded him repeatedly over and over until one day, suddenly, an intangible yet firm hand had grasped him like a lifesaver being thrown out into stormy waters. He’d been reaching ever since. For the respect of his peers. For his mother’s—er, the Grandmaster’s—acknowledgement. Trying to reach for some destiny which always seemed to be plucked out of his grasp every time his hand closed around it. Over and over, he kept trying, with a stupid persistence that would have a smarter person giving up and moving on.

The woman in front of him had once been the personification of everything he’d been striving for. He’d looked into her bright, shining future and compared it to his own. Who always came out on top? Who walked away with the fancy titles and the admiration of the whole Order? And who had to stand in the shadows, watching as she earned accolades for her bravery and skill? As he looked at this shell of a once great Jedi, he wondered if maybe all this time, he’d been reaching for the wrong thing.

And yet he reached out again — but this time, to rest a hand on her shoulder.

When she looked at him, he could see surprise mingling with something softer. As if he’d plucked some cosmic string, the surrounding air seemed to shift, and a silent symphony filled the empty spaces between them. A familiar warmth rose up, melting the fog that shrouded her. He pretended not to notice when she blinked once, twice, a curious shimmer almost clinging to her lashes.

Neither of them moved for a few beats. Then she extended her hand, barely brushing his before pulling back, a faint blush creeping up on her cheeks. The minor emotion rippled through the Force, and for a second, Theron thought he heard a tune that sounded familiar but couldn’t quite place it.

“Every moment is what we make of it, right?” he said, trying to move past any awkwardness he’d created.

The corners of her mouth twitched slightly upwards, the closest thing to a smile he’d seen since he’d last seen her. “When did you become so wise?”

“Well, you know — I’m a Jedi. Comes with the territory.”

A laugh. A sharp, clean laugh, as if it had been trapped in her chest and only now had a way of escape. For a moment, she was almost herself again. Almost. The gray pallor remained, as did a haunted look in her eyes, a tension she’d not yet released. But he could see a spark now, a flash of the past’s brilliance. He wondered what it would take to restore that light to its former radiance.

Probably time.

“That you are,” she said, her smile still on her face. “And a pretty great one too.”

“I think you and I both know who has done the most good.”

“It is not great deeds that makes a Jedi,” she sobered slightly, tilting her head at him, “but this.”

She reached out, placing her hand over his heart. Her eyes crinkled as she gave him a half-smile, and the air between them practically crackled. A divine warmth radiated from her fingertips, through his shirt, and deep into a forgotten part of himself and lighting a fire in him. Not the type that left a searing mark, but almost cleansing — as if something was drawing him out of himself and connecting with her, making another part of them both more whole. The moment hung there, the rest of the world reduced to background noise. That strange energy filled the air between them and seemed as natural to both of them as breathing. Perhaps it was the Force; perhaps it was something else. He’d figure it out... later.

Her hand dropped, and she took a step back, bringing the surreal moment to an end. It was as if the room suddenly reappeared, drowning out the strange music that filled the space between them.

For lack of anything else to do, he rubbed the back of his neck. “I should… report to the Council.”

“It is probably wise to not keep them waiting,” she agreed, tucking her hands behind her back.

They exchanged a glance, and he was caught off guard by the softness in her expression. She didn’t move as he walked away from her, but her gaze followed him as he approached doors to the Council Chamber.

He took a brief pause just before entering to glance back. She was still there, leaning against the railing, her gaze distant. Perhaps he was imagining things, but she still seemed to radiate the warmth that had filled the distance between them. He reached out through the Force, and was met by a familiar light. Then it was gone, as if tamped back down.

He turned away and was about to slip through the door when he heard her voice drifting to him, soft but somehow louder than the wind. “Thank you, Theron.”

That was the only thing she said. But it was enough.

He smiled — and walked on.

[greyias]

Shimmer

And now for something completely different.

To organics, the wait on Ilum would have seemed to last a lifetime. Slowly, but surely the rock grew. Ordered. Structured. Like all of its kind that surrounded it, the crystal patiently waited, adding one prism at a time in the darkness of the caves. Nearly perfectly in sync with its twin not even a meter away, they both grew. And they waited. For three hundred years. Softly humming a song only one bearer could hear.

In the Force, everything was connected, and so too were the crystals. To each other, to the wider galaxy, and to those young pilgrims who came to their caves. Some seeking power — but most seeking guidance. Connection. Only when they both found it would the crystals glow and shimmer and finally be seen as more than the ice surrounding it. And when the seeker and the crystal sang in harmony, they would show their true color, and finally shine and sing.

And after three hundred years, of waiting, growing — watching countless younglings come and go, the crystal finally heard its harmony in a young child. Glowed brightly with its twin until they were pulled from their waiting place, ready to take their place in the louder song that was the Force.

But when they were brought out of the darkness of the cave and into the light, the child stared at them aghast. Stared in horror at the dark, purple hue that now streaked the once white crystals. Because even rock could be changed by the power of the Force, and the road ahead for the crystal, its twin, and its bearer was balanced on a knife’s edge — just as those who had walked the path before her had.

And so the crystal and its twin were locked away as its bearer tried to ignore their shared song. Tried to forge a different path than the one laid out before her — and the twin crystals waited again. Waited in the darkness of a box, their soft hum muffled and neglected. Unable to shine. Unable to sing.

However the future was always in motion, and the darkest paths somehow always had a way of winding through every branch and tributary of those surrounding it. And years down the line, the box was finally opened. The hands that grasped them were much larger now — but the bearer still the same. Older. Wiser. And also sadder. Touched by a different darkness that had caused her to hide them away during her youth.

And as she knelt on the floor in meditation, the crystal and its twin floated into the air, swiftly surrounded by metal and wires — decorative shielding to focus their power. Many of the other parts around them had seen battle before, and whispered their deeds through the Force. Darkness sheathed the crystal and its twin again, but this time was different. They were not waiting in a cave. Nor being hidden away in a box. After their long wait, they had finally found their home.

Some said that the strongest stars had a heart like the crystals — bright, blazing, and focused, raw power. The bearer rose from the floor, reaching up into the air to grasp the newly crafted lightsabers. She hefted the ever patient crystal into the air, thumb flicking the switch on the casing of its new home, and after so long, it finally surged forth. For the first time ever it was free.

And the crystal sang.

Microstory Prompts

[greyias]

Fictober -- Day 12: History

Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Gen/Pre-Canon Prompt: “You shouldn’t have come here.” Warnings: none

The glimmering towers of her youth are gone now. They used to stand tall, visible for miles upon miles on the ecumenopolis. Now reduced to nothing but rubble. The Jedi Temple had always been Satele’s home, and now it is nothing but ruins.

In some ways, it feels like the Jedi Order itself is in ruins.

Their children and elders, Padawans and Masters and Knights alike, all lie together under and amongst wreckage. The Senate, maybe even the whole Republic, now without faith that their sworn protectors can be taken at their word. Considering the events that unfolded here on Coruscant, and everything that came to light on Dantooine with Master Dar’Nala, perhaps that is fair. Just.

It doesn’t feel it though. None of this feels just or right. It just makes her feel empty and lost. Set adrift and forced to forge a new path. The Republic will not rebuild the temple as there is only so much funding to go around, and the Jedi are at the bottom of the list. It is amongst their principals to not wont, for the Force will provide. One cannot be homeless, for if you are one with the Force then you are always at home.

Nice words, a nice ideal. Not as easy a practice as it should be. There is a difference between materialism and realism, and at the end of the day even Jedi need somewhere to rest their head. And it has been made abundantly clear that Coruscant is no longer that place.

The rubble hovering in the air around her settles on the ground gently as she releases it through the Force. She wishes to focus on the physical, hoping to find some calm in it instead of letting her mind wander to all that has been lost. She finds what she’s looking for beneath it, and, to her shame and relief, nothing else. No bodies of a friend or brother or sister in the Force to bring reality back into sharp focus.

“Satele.” The voice behind her doesn’t startle her so much, as she had sensed his approach. “You shouldn’t have come here — this area is condemned. What are you doing?”

She turns around to see Gnost-Dural regarding her. Between the respirators they wear in oxygen-rich atmospheres and their unusual facial structure, many find Kel Dor expressions inscrutable. For Satele, though, she can read the concern plain on his face.

“I could ask the same to you, my friend,” she replies simply.

“I am here hoping to preserve history,” he said after a moment. “The thought of all of the knowledge collected here being destroyed is… troubling.”

There are Jedi libraries and archives on many other worlds. All of their knowledge is not lost — but the temple on Coruscant was their hub, and it contained so much of their past and history. Now lost like their brethren. Jedi are not meant to horde knowledge, not supposed to covet what has been lost. Another ideal that is difficult to achieve.

“I can sympathize,” Satele says. “I am also searching for remnants.”

She is also trying to preserve history, in a sense. If her own past could be considered that. The chest she had uncovered in the rubble is covered with a fine layer of soot, ash, and crumbled duracrete. It is a miracle it is intact at all, much less only dented and bent at a few odd angles. Her quarters had been stationed near the exterior walls, so at least there had been a chance something had survived. Jedi are not supposed to cling to material possessions. They should shun attachments. More ideals. Some times it’s too many.

And maybe more than just some of the time. It is difficult to maintain that image of perfection, to always strive to be more. Never falter. Never misstep. For one mistake is all it takes bring down condemnation. For them to whisper, to wonder, if there’s “another Revan” about to show herself. She knows where that road leads when the whispers grow too loud, and so she keeps walking the tightrope of everyone’s expectations.

It is exhausting.

“Have you found anything?” Gnost-Dural asks, a paragon of politeness. He saw her pull the chest from the rubble, but he’s allowing her an out. She almost takes it, but then decides, if this is her future and path that she must forge, she will do so on her own terms.

“Yes,” she says, a hint of defiance leaking through her calm veneer. “These were my quarters. Once.”

Understanding dawns on the Kel Dor’s face, and his gaze briefly flickers to the chest. “I did not mean to intrude.”

The defiance flickers, and then dies away. Her time under Master Dar’Nala’s tutelage had been meant to help Satele understand and control her temper. In a way, it had succeeded. Thanks to Dar’Nala, she has seen firsthand the dangers of becoming too attached to one person, to an ideal, to a cause. It means she should leave that crate in the rubble and walk away, to follow the Force’s insistent tug out to the dark of space. To find a new home for herself and the Order.

The Force is Satele’s guide, it is her true master. As it is of any Jedi. But she is also human, and maybe it is a failing of her lineage, of her teachings, or just something deep within herself, but wants to hold what’s in that chest just one more time. Just a brief, small touch before she steps back into the role that everyone expects of her.

“I do not wish to pull you from your search,” she says after a long moment, “but a second set of hands might be of use.”

Gnost-Dural dips his head in agreement, and the furrow in his expression eases. He has always been a scholar first, a warrior second. More than that, he is a good friend, and in times like these, Satele can appreciate that the most.

With his assistance, they are both able to get the crate righted and carefully remove the damaged lid. The contents inside have been covered with soot but seem to be intact. Gnost-Dural gently lifts out the leather bound journals, long fingers brushing away the ash to reveal the Aurabesh lettering carefully dug into the cover. She almost says something, perhaps an excuse for why she has such a strong need to find her mother’s journals, the only remnants of the woman who fought and was exiled for the right to raise her daughter. Except she is distracted when her hands brush over the sharp edges of the other objects she had been searching for -- had been dreading finding crushed into irreparable pieces.

The toy droids she’d carefully stowed at the bottom of the chest are whole. As she pulls both of them out an emotion wells up in her. It starts in her gut, climbs through her chest, until it gets stuck in the back of her throat like a hard lump she can’t swallow. There’s a stinging in her eyes that she could blame on the smoke, but it would be a lie. A grown woman should not be reduced to this at the mere sight of a child’s toys, and a Jedi definitely shouldn’t.

But a mother can. Especially when it is all she has of her son’s childhood. Even if that had happened as a result of her own decisions.

To be a Jedi is to always reach for the stars. Sometimes their fingers might even brush against them, but it is folly to think any of them can succeed and grasp them one-hundred percent of the time. All peoples in the galaxy are luminous beings, but they are also confined in the crude trappings of mortality with all of the limitations and burdens that come with it. To deny that reality is just as dangerous an idea as to throw their guiding principals away entirely.

Yet it is the burden Jedi must bear.

She feels a strong hand on her shoulder and looks up. She expects to see some sort of censure behind Gnost-Dural’s respirator. A reminder to throw all attachments away, to keep reaching for that pure perfection no one will ever attain. All she sees is compassion and understanding.

“All history is worth preserving, Satele,” he says gently. “Even yours.”

She can only nod, and with her mother’s journals and her sons’s old toys in hand, they continue to search through the rubble for more history.

[greyias]

FIC: Dance with the Devil (7/7)

Title: Dance with the Devil Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Genre: Angst, H/C, Action, Fluff Synopsis: Like everything in his life, Theron's biggest problems were somehow of his own creation. Warnings: See Part 1

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Crossposted to AO3

It was the scent of her close by that roused him.

Usually it was a faint clean smell of Trillium soap, a lingering scent of metal polish from the pristine maintenance of her lightsabers, combined with something fresh and sharp — almost like the fresh cut grass on an Alderaanian summer day. All of those were there, but the scent of the soap was hardly detectable, almost drowned out by the tang of sweat, grime, and the antiseptic and sterile smell of the medbay. The warmth of a body pressed close was almost enough to lull him back to sleep, but he found himself cracking his eyes open anyway.

The sight that greeted him was not an unwelcome one. A smaller lithe body was firmly snuggled into him, with her blond head pillowed on his arms. So close he could feel every exhale of the heavy breaths of deep sleep combined with the uncomfortable sensation of a thin line of drool dripping down from her mouth onto his bicep.

Approaching a year in to their time on Odessen, it was an increasingly familiar sight for him to wake up to, but one that had yet to lose its charm completely. Although he did find the image a bit more adorable when the drool was puddling on a pillow rather than his arm, but considering the circumstances, it was a small price to pay. He wasn’t sure the last time he had seen her resting quite so comfortable, certainly not since Valkorion had made his reappearance. That she was doing so now, despite the events of the past few days, lit a fire deep within his belly.

Her pallor had improved some since the last time he was awake, a hint of her normal color starting to surface beneath the unhealthy gray that had taken up residence. Apparently her prediction about Valkorion’s dedication to preserving the health of the body he had taken up residence in was proving accurate. A fact he was both comforted and still very disconcerted by. He hated that the monster that had nearly broken her once before was free to continue poking at her mind on a daily basis — but Theron couldn’t help but find the smallest bit of relief in the fact that there was a power out there beyond himself trying to keep her on this plane of existence. At least for now. 

Theron had no delusions that the evil presence that had devoured every soul on Ziost had suddenly turned over a new leaf out in the depths of Wild Space. Whatever the malevolent spirit was up to, it definitely didn’t have the best intentions in mind for the woman that was resting peacefully in his arms. Every single thing that Theron had been able to unearth about the Sith once known as Vitiate had led him to believe that every action taken was to further his own goals. That, combined with Dirai’s mad ramblings about the spirit’s future plans for his current host, had Theron forcing himself to keep from pulling her tighter into his embrace.

Ever since he had first set foot on Odessen, there had been an almost queer sense of belonging for the former spy. Prior to his time with the Alliance, the SIS had been the closest that he’d ever felt like he had been a part of something bigger than himself, like he had been making a difference in the galaxy at large. If he didn’t quite have the words for how that simple act of acceptance from the odd collection of individuals that made up the organization they were both now leading, then the definition for what he felt for the woman next to him eclipsed even that. He’d never had the normal family life growing up, but ever since he’d found himself drawn into her orbit, he’d finally found something that started to resemble that stability that had always eluded him his entire life. 

He was content to watch for now, the slow rise and fall of her chest, the slight twitch under her eyelids that let him know she was dreaming. Hopefully it was one of the more pleasant dreams, if her neutral expression was anything to go by. The nightmares hadn’t revisited him since she had performed whatever Force mojo to pull the dark corruption out of his body and into her — and so far, it looked like she had been spared that at least.

It was still beyond him how he’d gotten someone quite like her to fall for him, and was still waiting for the day when he would wake up to realize that all of this had been some elaborate, cruel dream his mind had conjured up. The fact that he kept waking up to this reality was still something he was trying to get used to, something he wasn’t sure he would ever quite be able to wrap his mind around. They were nearing the one year mark and the novelty had yet to wear off. Surely it would at some point and reality would set in. Every day that this stretched on, even if it wasn’t completely perfect in every way, leant some credence to the fact that maybe he’d found something nearing permanent. Or at least it would be, if they could find some way to wrest her free from the devil from inside of her.  

Theron wanted to give a name to the feeling that bubbled up inside him in quiet moments such as these. Sometimes the thought of saying it aloud made him break out in a cold sweat while a numb sense of panic gnawed from some part of him that he couldn’t quite shut out. Other times it felt like a giant weight hanging from his shoulders, and if he could just get out that innocuously simple phrase, maybe everything would feel lighter. And all of that was just his own baggage, before he even factored in their unwanted third wheel. The one they couldn’t show any weakness to lest he pounce on the opportunity to snatch her away for good.

“You’re thinking too loud,” she murmured quietly into his arm, words muffled.

“What?”

Grey’s eyes cracked open a slit, sleep still obviously weighing her down. One hand lightly ran up his chest as she gingerly shifted her position on the cot. “I can practically hear you brooding. Makes it hard to sleep.”

“I do not brood.”

“Yeah, right.” She let out a small huff of laughter, the cracked eyes sliding back shut. “Pull the other one.”

“I’m just quietly contemplating.”

“There’s nothing quiet about that frown.” She murmured, hand sliding up his chest to wrap around his neck. “You don’t have to say anything aloud for me to see that you’re worrying about something.”

“Your eyes are literally shut right now.”

“Would you believe me if I said I used the Force to tell?”

“No.”

“How will you ever know if you don’t believe?” She murmured softly, looking like she might fall back to sleep as she settled against his chest.

He let one of his hands drift down to her hip, softly tracing the curve of it with his palm. “I’m more of a tactile guy.”

Her lips twitched, obviously suppressing a smile. “You are at that.”

Theron decided to lean into the moment, curling around her as much as their cramped position on the cot would allow. He buried his face into hair, still soft and silky despite the fact that she likely hadn’t seen a shower in about as long as he had. As heavenly as getting clean sounded, it was hard to justify moving from his current position. For a long time they just lay like that, and he might have thought she’d fallen back asleep if it wasn’t for her fingers idly playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Did you have any dreams?” His question was nearly lost to the quiet, but he felt her still for a moment, before her fingers resumed their rhythmic motions.

“No,” she said softly, “at least none that I can remember. I suppose I should be grateful. I know yours were not very pleasant.”

“How?”

“You were quite delirious. I tried talking, but I don’t think you heard me.”

“I don’t know… it’s all fuzzy.” Snatches of the nightmares came back, and he tightened his hold ever so slightly. “But I think maybe I did? A little at least.”

Pulled in so close, he couldn’t actually see her smile, but he felt the soft exhale of her breath on his chest, and felt her cheek twitch upwards where it was pressed against him. “I am glad.”

That strange warmth that only she could bring filled his chest, and he found himself speaking without even really realizing it. “You’re amazing, you know that, right?”

“Theron…”

“No, you are,” he continued, quietly, “what you did, I… how can I even begin to repay—”

“We are partners,” she said firmly, pushing against his chest until there was enough distance to catch his eye, “and we do not keep a tally on such things.”

“Probably for the best. Pretty sure I’d never catch up at this rate.”

“You are too hard on yourself.”

“Am I? How are you feeling right now?”

“I am,” she hesitated for a moment, “okay. It is nothing to worry about.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m incapable of that at this point,” he shot back. “This is my fault, I should be the one dealing with the fallout of that. Not you.”

“This is not all your fault, Theron. Please do not beat yourself up over it.”

“Pretty sure I skipped that day in SIS training.”

“I am not blameless either.” Her fingers twitched against his neck, tugging lightly at the hairs she had woven her fingers through. “I know I have been… distant lately.”

“Don’t take that on too.” He leveled her with a serious look. “I was the one who screwed up here. All of this is on me.”

“Your decision to go to Skeressa to try and find a way to help me was your own, yes. But why did you feel compelled to make it?”

He pressed his lips together tightly, looking away. His reasoning for this sidetrip into hell was a jumble of everything that had been building up, and at this point he wasn’t really sure where one excuse began and another ended. But each one had a common thread, and they all led back to the unwanted presence in her head. The one who had been conspicuously silent ever since Theron had woken up from his nightmares.

Out of habit, he loosened his tight hold on her so he could start slowly tracing the shell of his ear — their private little signal — but she seized his hand, stopping him before he could finish the motion.

“No,” she said firmly, “don’t.”

“But he’ll hear—”

“I don’t care.” Her eyes began to shimmer and she clamped them shut, trying to shove the emotion away. “I had time to think, Theron. I had nothing but that while you were slipping away.”

“I know, and I’m sorry—”

“No, you don’t know,” she insisted, “because I stopped talking. Ever since he came back, I’ve been so focused on trying to put up this front so he could not see any weakness to exploit.”

“Stars, I know that.” Even if it felt like a kick to the gut sometimes being cut out, he wouldn’t deny her any means to deal with that daily torture. “I understand why too.”

“Was it fair for me to ask that of you?”

“You never have to ask,” he insisted.

“As romantic as that is, it’s not very practical,” she whispered. “Did you feel like you were free to bring any concerns to me? Or did you feel like you too had to hide things for fear of him listening?”

“I…” He was glad that she wasn’t looking at him right now, because he was pretty sure that his face was showing how close she was hitting with that question. “I just want to help. And would never ask you to do anything to risk giving him control. I know what that monster did to you.”

“But am I not still hiding if I do that?”

He didn’t have an answer for that. At least, not one he wanted to say aloud.

“In trying to put up an invincible front and pushing away those that matter the most, am I not just letting fear of what he might do with that information isolate me? Am I not just letting him dictate my actions in a different way?” The shimmer gathered on her lashes, the collected moisture threatening to spill over on her cheeks.

Theron couldn’t stop himself from reaching out, brushing the unshed tears away. “What are you saying?”

She opened her eyes, still watery with intense emotion, but she graced him with a confident and bright smile that he had not seen in what felt like an eternity. “I refuse to let that monster control me any more.”

A fresh burst of pride swelled up in Theron’s chest, filling him until it almost felt like he might burst. He couldn’t stop himself as he surged forward, capturing her lips in a deep, heartfelt kiss that he hoped could express one-tenth of the emotions surging through him. Her fingers tangled further in his hair as she pulled him in, eagerly, almost clumsily, returning the action in kind. They were both nearly breathless, but unmistakably grinning by the time they came up for air, noses bumping as they tried to settle back into place.

His thumb brushed across her cheek, still slightly warm to the touch, but noticeably cooler and full of more color than earlier. Theron didn’t care if he looked like the biggest dope in the world, he couldn’t stop himself from marveling in wonder at the reappearance of the woman who he’d almost thought gone. “That’s my girl.”

Somehow that just made her beam brighter, although he wasn’t sure how it was possible.

And beyond that smile, he could see a much deeper, nearly unquantifiable emotion shining in her eyes. Something that made his throat constrict a little as three small words tried to bubble up from his chest.  It seemed like maybe this was a proper moment to actually give voice to them, but try as he might, he couldn’t seem to work them past the lump in his throat.

She seemed to sense his struggle, as the bright smile faded to something gentle and knowing, her breath catching a little. Sometimes he wondered if she could read his emotions through the Force, or if he had just gotten that bad at hiding his true feelings where she was concerned. It probably didn’t matter either way, as this wasn’t something he wanted to hold back on anymore.

“I…”

He trailed off as she looked at him expectantly, possibly even suspecting what the rest of that sentence was supposed to be. It should have been easy to finish, but it seemed like his tongue had grown thick again, his chest feeling suddenly tight as panic closed around him like a vice. Theron Shan had faced down countless horrors, routinely laughed in the face of danger, but when suddenly freed to utter three simple words he found himself frozen in terror.

Not to be deterred, he tried again, but he couldn’t even get the first word to form. The phrase was so innocuous when he’d heard other people utter it, usually in holos or in passing, but try as he might, he couldn’t get his tongue to wrap around it. He squeezed his eyes shut in frustration, the feelings of warmth and joy chased away by the bitterness of self loathing.

Damn it. How was he so bad at this?

Her expectant look faded, but the smile didn’t as her fingers untangled themselves from his hair so they could gently cup his cheek. He reluctantly cracked his eyes open, wishing he didn’t look so miserable for being unable to give voice to torrent of emotions rushing through him.

“You can tell me anything,” she whispered, “but only if you want to. And it’s always all right if you don’t.”

But he wanted to, that was the problem. He’d wanted to for a very long time, and he’d thought that the biggest obstacle in the way of that was their third wheel using that against her. Her bold declaration had removed that roadblock, and with it, his last excuse to cling to. There was only one thing preventing him from saying it now — the same thing that had always been. Like everything in his life, Theron's biggest problems were somehow of his own creation.

“I do,” he finally choked out, “I just… what I mean is… I want to. It’s not you, but I… I’m not good at this part.”

She silenced him with a gentle peck to his lips. “You’re better than you think.”

It was a nice gesture for his ego, but that had never needed any pampering. Unfortunately the moment had passed, chased away by his embarrassing fumbling. Maybe if he just changed the subject, the awkwardness he’d brought on would fade without any further comment.

“I stink.”

She let out a heavy sigh. “Theron, that’s a bit of an overreaction.”

“No, I mean I smell. I definitely wouldn’t say no to a shower.”

If she was disappointed in his obvious redirection, she didn’t show it. “Don’t you think you should attempt just standing and walking first?”

“Why crawl when you can run?”

“No running,” she said firmly.

“You could always join me in there.”

“Are you saying I stink?”

“Never. At least not to your face.”

“I’m not sure if I should feel insulted.”

“Hey, I’m just saying if you’re worried, you could always join me — make sure I don’t try anything too strenuous.”

“You’re incorrigible.” She rolled her eyes. “And my refresher is all the way on the other side of the ship. Unless you want to chance Guss walking in.”

“Fine, you win. We’ll just stink for a little while longer.”

“Small victories,” she muttered sarcastically. “But we probably should change your bandage before anything else.”

“Probably,” he admitted somewhat reluctantly, “although that does require moving.”

“I’ll move,” she protested, “in a second.”

He let his hand drift up and down her back, the warmth of her skin seeping through the thin material of her undershirt. “No need to rush on my account.”

“Theron…”

“Hmm?”

“You’re going to put me back to sleep if you keep that up.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing.”

“I should be taking care of you,” she mumbled, “not napping.”

“It can wait a little longer.”

His fingers drifted under the thin material of the shirt, gently kneading the taught muscles of her back. The feeble protests seemed to die away as she leaned into the motion, eyes drifting shut. It was a testament to how exhausted she was that she didn’t try to keep up her typical veneer of propriety. He was used to gently cajoling her a little more before the half-hearted protests dried up.

Her natural tendency to try and take care of everyone around her sometimes drowned out her own needs. That was where Theron usually had to step in. He might still have been tired and sore from his own ordeal, but he was more than happy to do his part to take care of his girl. Even if that was as simple as convincing her to take a well-earned rest.

Her breathing had just started to even out, when a sudden shout from the door had them both nearly jumping out of their skin.

“Commander, I know you said not to disturb—oh, is this some sort of new Force healing technique?”

Grey’s cheeks flamed bright red as she buried her face deep into Theron’s chest, unable to completely muffle her embarrassed groan. From his position on the cot, Theron could just catch Guss’s eye, and gave the Mon Calamari a withering glare that was promptly ignored.

“It seems very complicated if you ask me,” Guss continued on. “Don’t you think kolto would work better?”

Theron dropped his voice low to a conspiratorial whisper. “You give me back my blasters and I’ll shoot him for you.”

“Don’t you dare.” Her protest was muffled by the fact that she was still hiding her face in his chest.

“Not even a tiny blaster bolt?”

“No.” 

She let out a heavy sigh before reluctantly pulling herself out of his embrace and struggled to sit upright.

“I’m sorry, Guss,” she said tiredly, “what was it that you needed?”

“Darth Eyeliner is on the holo waiting for an update.”

“Lana better not hear you calling her that,” Grey cautioned.

Theron couldn’t help but arch an eyebrow at the moniker, unable to completely smother his mirth despite his lingering annoyance at the rude intrusion.

“She can’t Force Choke me over the holo.”

“Guss.” She gave him a stern look. 

“Fine, fine. I can tell Lord Beniko you’ll call her back.” The last bit he muttered under his breath. “Again.”

“No, I can talk to her.” She scrubbed a tired hand across her face. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

The Mon Cal looked skeptical, but reluctantly trudged back out towards the common area where the Defender’s main holo-comm lived. It was unclear if that was because of his teacher’s fatigue and shortness with him, or possibly just having to deal with an impatient Lana Beniko. Not that Theron blamed him on the latter part. When Lana reached the end of her patience, it was generally a good idea to find somewhere else to be. Not that he had extensive experience on that particular subject.

Grey took in several deep breaths to steady herself and gather her strength. Theron gently grasped her hand, feeling her stiffen for a moment before she relaxed again.

“You okay?”

She nodded. “Just a little tired.”

“You can call her back later.”

“She’s just worried,” Grey said quietly. “Last time we spoke, things weren’t… it wasn’t good. I should let her know everything is okay now.”

That seemed like a bit of a stretch of the truth, but they were probably closer to it than the last time the two had spoken. In her current state, the Jedi would probably raise a few concerns, or at the very least a few eyebrows. Almost half of her hair had fallen from the normally perfect ponytail, and several more stray hairs poked out from the leatheris wrap that usually held it all in place. Had he not been still on the mend, the sight might have lit a fire of completely different type inside of Theron.

As it was, he found himself giving her hand a soft squeeze, gaining a curious look.

“I just want you to know that I…” His throat still felt a little tight, so he swallowed, trying to force something—anything—out in the vicinity of what he wanted to say. “I’m glad it was you who came for me. You’re always there for me and… that means a lot.”

Her lips twitched up into the ghost of a smile.

“You mean a lot to me.” His voice sounded a bit hoarse, but he forced himself to continue on before they dried up again. “Hells… do you know what I’m trying to say?”

The words might not quite have been right, still clumsy and awkward as it always was for him when it came to this sort of thing. But at least the sentiment was there. And she’d heard it. 

“I know.” She dipped down, lips brushing against his forehead. “And I feel the same.”

In the end, that was all that really mattered.