#had to add a boone easter egg b/c who knows how many names this man has had

[animatedjen]

17 BBY - Zorşa Edan, City of Zelvahn, Inner Rim

“Do I know you?”

The man froze. Tayala often ran into friends while out on errands– Abla joked that she was on a first-name basis with half the town. But this man, towering over the market in a maroon coat and threadbare hat, was both familiar and foreign. She shouldered her groceries and joined him at the stall, trying to place his dark hair and furrowed brow.

The man shook his head. “I’m really sorry. You’re thinking of someone else,” he said, dismissing her with a wave.

She was thinking of someone else. Embarrassment flushed across Tayala’s face. She mumbled an apology and stepped back into the midday crowd as the stranger moved on, rounding Qurna’s place at the end of the street. Tayala adjusted her headscarf and collected the wayward topato that had fallen from her bag. It’d be a good story for the clinic tomorrow, Doctor Akuna finally meeting someone she didn’t know.

She let herself glance once more at the man. He had stepped off the road to avoid a passing speeder, and paused only to roll out his shoulder, reaching a hand to where the Separatist had stabbed–

Tayala did know him. The Jedi.

“Boone.”

His gaze snapped up, and in a breath the man disappeared. Tayala darted forward, skirting the customers and idling hovercraft scattered around the city inn. Someone yelled, and she knew she’d get an earful from RN-8T after this; the droid prided itself on keeping the establishment free from “riff-raff” and “excitement.”

The streets narrowed here, ancient stone walls covered with generations of dirt and memory. New Imperial signage had been drilled into their crumbling foundations: updated trade regulations, identichip requirements, directions to the nearby recruitment office. Tayala passed a group of vagrant Neimodians and cut through a side street, then paused at the next intersection. How far could he have gone?

Something cold pressed against her back. “I don’t want to do this,” the Jedi said softly. “But you’re making it very difficult.”

A blaster. Tayala’s heartbeat thundered over the hum of the charged weapon. “There was an insurgent group based here during the war,” she whispered. “You were sent by the council to flush them out.”

Boone (she was sure of it now) adjusted the blaster slightly, his eyes scanning the nearby alley. “I was one of the local informants,” Tayala continued, “feeding them false leads. I gave you a cheffa cake the night you left.”

“With dewberries,” Boone murmured. He stepped forward, moving both of them further into the alleyway. “Did you also bake cakes for the Imperial patrol heading this way?”

“Their garrison is behind the old city,” Tayala said, panic rising in her throat. She twisted in his grasp but couldn’t see any patrols. “They’ve been clearing out the area over the last few days. Preparing for something.”

Her sandal caught the edge of a drainage grate, and dust drifted into the empty tunnel below them. The system hadn’t been used in years– either the Empire hadn’t noticed or hadn’t bothered to close it off yet. Tayala dropped her bag and carefully raised both hands, then turned to face the Jedi. 

“But I know a way out. Somewhere safe.” She gestured down at their feet.

Boone stared at her for a long moment. Then he swore, holstered his blaster, and ripped the grate from the ground.

—

“They’re saying the old city is ‘structurally unsafe’ and have restricted all non-Imperial use. Qurna is giving them hell about it, for good reason. Most of his customers only stay at that inn because of its backdoor access.” 

“Everyone needs a way to disappear these days.”

The rooftop of the Akuna home boasted a small patio designed for water tank maintenance. Any hope of a view was obscured by the surrounding buildings, but hazy daylight filtered through the open space above. Tayala found room for two cups of tea amidst the half-built equipment and weaponry scattered across the table. “You’ve been busy,” she noted.

“Haven’t had time to do much repair work lately,” Boone replied. He had stripped to an undershirt, his coat piled into a makeshift bed in the corner, and chimney soot had settled across his bare shoulders. A vibroblade scar cut across the base of his neck.

“...and salvaged material is never as reliable as stolen. But I can’t risk anything with a locator on it,” Boone was saying. Tayala pulled her eyes away and dropped into the other chair.

“That’s not how you normally operate, I assume,” she said.

“It wasn’t,” he sighed. “But it is now.”

The local spaceport shuttle rumbled overhead and temporarily blocked the light. When it returned, the Jedi was staring at her, his dark eyes stained by sleepless nights.

“Do you believe what they say about us?”

Tayala hummed softly. The reports had been scattered at first, disparate accounts of the traitorous Jedi Order. An attempted assassination. The end of the war. Zorşa Edan had known peace for the first time in years, and neither Republic nor Empire could change that relief.

“I heard that Jedi can sense a person’s emotions,” she said. “Know your every thought, even before you think it.”

“Not every.” Boone sipped his tea.

Tayala smirked. “Then you tell me.”

Boone rubbed his thumb against the rim of the cup. From above, the evening call of Zelvahn echoed faintly from the city center. 

“Everyone has a presence in the Force,” he finally said. “Like an invisible tapestry. All the different threads, connecting all living things. Those who wield the Force can recognize patterns in the tapestry, sense individual people and their intentions. Some patterns are filled with light, others with darkness.”

The components on the table rumbled, as if summoned by an unspoken command. Tayala watched them rise into the air, swirling around in a pattern beyond her understanding, until the familiar shape of a blaster appeared. It lowered itself into her shaking hands.

“So you tell me,” Boone said. “Is this worth the risk?”

Tayala swallowed. She hadn’t held a blaster since the war, and had hoped she never would again. The Jedi set his cup on the emptied table, leaned back in the chair, and waited.

Another shuttle passed overhead. In the moment of shadow, Tayala saw a crack of light pouring from the doorway behind her.

The blaster was in hand and aimed at the door by the time the sky returned. There Abla stood, slack jawed, with a roll of bread tucked under one arm. Tayala choked out a sob and dropped the weapon, rushing to her sister’s side.

—

“The ship leaves in an hour.”

“I know.”

Boone had spent most of the last two weeks on that windowless patio. Imperial presence in Zorşa Edan was only growing, now that a training facility had been built over the old city. One night he’d risked a dinner with the Akuna family, a small affair with pulled curtains and quiet voices. Still, he admitted to her later, it was the best meal he’d had in years.

Tayala wrapped the last of the provisions (dried meiloorun, and a small piece of cheffa cake) in a thick cloth and added it to the knapsack. The Jedi’s former clothes had been replaced, and she’d trimmed his overgrown beard the night before. Still, it didn’t feel like enough.

“Is this everything?” she asked, heaving the bag onto the table. Boone whistled at the show of strength, and Tayala laughed, flexing. He smiled and took her hand.

“Can you practice for me, once more?”

She scrunched her face, eyes bright, then relaxed and let her thoughts settle into a sort of stillness. It didn’t come naturally– there was no tapestry or patterns she could discern. But she softened her breaths anyway, letting her eyes close and emotions fade into some unknown space, like waves on a distant shore.

“Good,” Boone whispered. “That’s really good.” He slid his thumb over her knuckles, and she matched her breathing to his movement. “I can still sense you, but your presence is much quieter. I- I hope this helps keep you safe.”

Tayala met his gaze. The Jedi was staring at her with those same deep eyes, framed by dark hair and a constellation of freckles. “Boone,” she said. “You can’t stay.”

“Sure I can,” he murmured, leaning closer. “I won’t be Boone. I’ll be someone else.”

“Who else would you be, Jedi?” she whispered.

And Tayala Akuna didn’t need the Force to understand his answer.

–

“Tayala met someone,” her sister would later say. “While visiting our cousins on Birrin. Some tall, handsome man. I think he’s a teacher.”

Then, much later, Abla would receive a hologram of a tiny, round-faced baby. Kata’s portrait was given a place of honor on the mantle, framed by other keepsakes of the Akuna family, where it remains to this day.