Private Candleflames in the Dark

[William Thule]

"Not Master anymore. Nor is there an Order to oversee strictures. So, just William if you like," he replied with a smile tinged by the sadness that this marked the end of their training and by the greater weight of all that had transpired, "I have no doubt you will do great things."

His blade shrank into nothing and he clasped her cheek with his other hand, his thumb wiping away her tear. "I hope this is a happy moment for you, in spite of what's happened to the Alliance. We will have to learn what it is to be Jedi in this new era together."

Thule's hand slid off her cheek and down to the scarf she wore. His scarf. So, she'd gone through his things? The idea made his heart hammer. A peculiar expression stole across his face.

"As for this," he fingered the fabric around her neck, "Keep it. I think you'll find a better use of it."

The ache in his bones had not left. He felt as if he might crumble with a good shove.

"We will celebrate your knighting tonight, I think. Maybe another documentary. And better snacks. I think I might wander the ship for a bit, Knight Demir."

He inclined his head, then left before she could see the wetness in his eyes turn to silent tears sliding down his face at the loss of everything he'd ever known. The destruction of the Order, of the Alliance. He needed a moment to himself. So, he headed to the place he'd dared not go all this time aboard the ship, the place where he feared he might be consumed by his own thoughts. There was no point in avoiding these thoughts now. There was nothing left to consume in the ashes of what he'd known.

Despite any protest from the ship and otherwise, he hurried out of the medbay and down the hallways until he arrived outside of the sensory deprivation chamber. He palmed the access panel and it slid open. Within was only darkness and a waiting pod full of highly salinated water. Thule stripped off his clothes and each discarded item felt as though he were shedding another weight, then he climbed into the pod with nothing on but the bandages and settled into the water. The concentrated saline left his body floating easily. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. The water was slightly warm.

His pain slipped away and he let the Force flow through him then as he thought about everything that had happened. Who was he without the Alliance? Without the Order? He could still carry on the torch of the Jedi, but he did not know what that might look like without the tenets of the Order. Perhaps it was time to forge a new path. One that would not so easily disintegrate if the government failed. One where Jedi might have a more prominent role instead of petty bureaucrats and foolish admirals. Or worse, Dark Jedi masquerading as "Gray" Jedi while they committed heinous acts with the Dark Side.

All of the friends he'd lost and all of the suffering they'd endured in the name of the Light... it had to mean something. It could not all be for nothing.

And what of Andromeda? He'd knighted her, but untangling the knot of his feelings for her with him still a Jedi Master felt wrong. Yet, how could it still be forbidden when the Order no longer existed.

His senses quested out. He felt the sapling she'd brought on board, shining with life in the Force. And her as well. His mind brushed against hers, the barest of whispers, then retreated.

Devoid of any other senses, he continued to meditate.

Andromeda Demir

 

[Andromeda Demir]

​

Andromeda got back to her feet, took a deep breath. She felt the same -- tired, achy, uncertain, a little afraid. Ands he felt completely different. Like the title of Jedi Knight had allowed her to shed the vestiges of her childhood. Nothing could wash Irvulix V from her. It was in her blood and in her bones. She would carry what she had done to Tiny for the rest of her days. And yet -- could she now regard it as the tragic results of a childish mistake? Something she could reflect on -- learn from -- like a lesson from girlhood?

She put it away for now. It was more complicated than she had the capacity for in this moment. And yet she couldn't deny that she felt changed, somehow. She had knelt, feeling like a child. She rose an adult. Responsible. Capable. Strong.

Andromeda didn't know what to feel about the admonishment that she should call him William now. She still regarded him as a mentor. Whatever he said about her achievements, she knew better. He had taken a damaged, insecure Padawan and given her the tools to regain her confidence. That was more than just polish, more than just finishing up. The gratitude she felt toward him was clouded by something more, something she hadn't wanted to acknowledge since that evening in the theater.

Since probably before.

"Yes -- Mas -- that is: thank you, William. I'd like that." She was loathe to watch him wander off without so much as another jab of bacta or a soak in the tank, but regardless of whether he wanted her to refer to him as Master Thule, this was still his ship and his domain. She followed him to the door. "I'm... around. Just use the intercom if you need -- " she almost said help but instead settled awkwardly on " -- anything."

Even once she could no longer see him, she could feel the turmoil he was experiencing. The foundations of their lives had been shaken, maybe even shattered. They would need time to process that. She had put it off, thinking that the pair of them would be -- well, just that. A pair. A team. Master and Padawan. Now she didn't know what to call them. So she set it aside. There was much to do.

Andromeda took a shower, dressed in clean clothes, then cleared her mind and meditated until she was distracted by hunger pangs. She had forgotten breakfast in all the hubub, the Knighting. She glanced at the clock on her datapad. It was past lunchtime, even, and Master Thule -- William, she reminded herself, then stifled a giggle at the absurdity of it all -- hadn't eaten in days. Was it her imagination that she could almost sense his presence in her mind, a subtle sensation, just when she thought about him then? She reached out into the Force, and she could feel his presence, but -- almost dully. Was he unwell? Was he trying to reach out for help, unable to get to the intercom?

That same thing -- that icy claw -- clutched within her chest, a stab of rising panic.

Her pulse quickened. She followed the sensation of him to a room she had never entered before. "Master Thule?" she asked, quite forgetting herself. "Are you all right?" But in a sensory deprivation chamber, of course, he mightn't have heard. She tried the door control, and it opened. She fumbled for the light controls and, once they flickered to life, turned back to the room to search for Thule, finding only a peculiar oblong... thing.

It's looks like a coffin, Andromeda thought darkly as she approached it. The thought made the icy claw squeeze harder around her chest.

William Thule​

 

[William Thule]

All at once a surge of sudden light blasted through his eyelids and Thule threw up a hand in front of his face. He lurched to a sitting position, felt a stab of pain at the movement, then pushed through it.

What the blazes was going on?

He got to his feet, warm water sheeting off his body and dripping into the pod and then his eyes adjusted and he saw Andromeda standing before him. Thule froze for a moment, breath hitching, then he flicked a finger and clicked the lights back off with a telekinetic push on the control panel.

Slowly, he got out of the pod, one foot after the other slapping on the floor. He padded closer to her where she stood, just inside the doorway. The room was completely dark but the for the running lights outside. Thule grimaced and gestured again. The door hissed shut with pressure from the Force, plunging them both into absolute darkness that he deepened, draining away the light from every artificial glow of lights and dials in the room until they stood there completely deprived of sight.

"What are you doing?" he rasped into the darkness, a hint of frustration tinging his words.

Without sight, the other senses came alive. He could hear her breathing. Smell the subtle scent of jasmine. And William felt the coldness of the floor beneath his feet and the slight chill of the air as he stood there wearing nothing but the bandages on his stomach. In the Force, he could feel her standing just two paces away from him.

He took another step closer.

"Andromeda?"

Andromeda Demir

 

[Andromeda Demir]

​

"I felt -- something -- " Andy stammered, distracted by that flashed image of Thule emerging from the water like whatever the Star Wars equivalent of Aphrodite was. " -- I thought you needed me." Her Padawan self would have tripped over herself to make apologies, but Knight Demir saw nothing wrong in it. He was vulnerable. He had almost died. Forget friend and student -- some Jedi she would be if she hadn't investigated.

In the pitch darkness, Andromeda's hand reached out. When Thule stepped closer, his chest would contact her hand, making her flinch. Her eyes widened in the black, her breath caught. What had seemed so complicated over the last weeks, so intricate, with so many moving parts, suddenly felt so simple. Two people, pushed together metaphorically by circumstance and physically by good intentions. That was all they were, then. The darkness felt equalizing, somehow. Not Master and Knight. Not Baron and dirt-poor miner's daughter. Just two souls who had had the rug pulled from beneath their feet.

Andromeda thought she might run a mile, but she surprised herself. The flinch had been her only movement. Her hand settled on the warmth of William's chest, fingers curling against a contour. Shoulder, she identified. Her other hand went to the same spot on his other side, then both moved together, pushing further up, then together, behind the solid column of his neck.

Here in the blackness, she could not see his face, could not know if he was appalled or amused, intrigued or confused. It made things easier, somehow, and allowed her to acknowledge what she had suspected in herself for some weeks now. That her gratitude and admiration for Thule for committing to take on her training, while well deserved and genuine, did not tell the whole story, and in fact served to obfuscate something less convenient, less appropriate for Jedi.

Andy shifted closer, feeling his breath on her cheek. Her arms circled William's neck, and with his voice echoing in her mind -- don't think, feel -- she succumbed to her instincts. Turning her head up, she once more moved her hands, along his neck, down to cradle his jaw, her forearms resting comfortably against the straight plane of his chest. Her thumb brushed along his beard until it met his bottom lip, only to be replaced then by what could only have been described as a rather clumsy but heartfelt kiss.

William Thule​

 

[William Thule]

The sudden pressure of her fingers against his shoulder made him halt in place. That hand was joined by another, tracing the contour of his body up to his neck. Then further. A shiver ran through him at the touch and it had nothing to do with the water dripping from his frame. She leaned her forearms against him, hands holding his jaw, and the brush of her thumb against his lip made all the air rush from his lungs.

Then, in the darkness, she kissed him.

The smoldering embers of desire he'd sought to suppress for so long ignited at the touch of her lips against his, as soft as he imagined they might be. A tremor of want wracked his body and his hands lurched up, gripping her by the hip and back, pulling her closer as he leaned into the kiss. Eyes closed and in the absolute absence of light his hands wandered seeking the heat of skin.

He should protest. He should say this wasn't right. That they should stop. Instead he wrapped her up and pulled her to him, heedless of the water soaking her clothes. His kiss became feverish. Something desperate. Something full of unleashed need. His teeth found her lower lip and tugged, all pretense of this being a mild foolish encounter flying out the window.

Some part of him, still seeking to do the right thing, gave voice as he pulled away long enough to hear the panting of her breath in the darkness. Her arms still pressed against his bare chest. His body rigid with an ache and heart slamming inside his chest.

"We shouldn't," he rasped, but in the dark every syllable proved the lie, husky with an incendiary need to devour her that consumed every bit of his protest to damnation.

And then his lips crashed against her again, trailing down her cheek and to her neck where teeth and tongue sought to explore every bit of her away from the judgment of the light.

Andromeda Demir

 

[Andromeda Demir]

​

Andromeda had been steeling herself for a stiffening, a push, or some other way of declining. Some murmured excuse about being sorry you misunderstood or something. It didn't come. William kissed her like a flame kissed oxygen: all-consuming. Her skin burned beneath his hands and his lips, and she settled close to him, uncaring about her her clothes or her hair, and only mildly concerned about the fact that she had more or less pounced on a disoriented, disrobed man without so much as a how d'you do,

And his only complaint -- that "we shouldn't" -- he negated moments later as his lips found hers again, then trailed down her jaw, which he nudged with his nose. She turned her head as if to invite the incursion, and giggled at the way his beard tickled against her neck as his lips charted it. Andromeda was not so bold -- nor, she suspected, as experienced -- and instead allowed her lips and nose to press to his shoulder, the woody, subtly spiced scent of him all but intoxicating.

His shoulder stifled a breathless gasp and her fingers curled into the muscles of his back. Her eyes closed, irrelevant in the darkness except to allow her to give herself over to this feeling of blossoming warmth within her. "William," she whispered, for no other reason than she felt moved to name him. He was right, of course. They shouldn't be doing this. He was in a vulnerable position, literally and figuratively, and for the first time she felt like she was in slightly more stable a position. Was she breaching his trust, now? Would they both come to regret it?

Andy's head half-turned, inhaling, and let her lips find his pulse-point, the pounding there matching the hammering of her own heart, loud enough to drown out the little voice in her head that whispered, half-heartedly, don't.

William Thule​

 

[William Thule]

A few hours later, William adjusted the fold of his overtunic in the mirror of his quarters. The dark gray overtunic he wore over a black under tunic, with loose pants of a similar shade and calf length boots. It was the apparel of a Jedi but after everything that just happened, he did not feel like the Jedi he should be. A maze of emotions whirled within his heart like a hurricane and all of it tinged with a deep and dangerous grief.

Beneath the folds of his clothing, he could still feel the bacta pad pressed against his skin. The wound would need more time to heal, but eventually it would become just another scar. It was a wonder the blade had missed his spine, but the autodoc had had its hands full trying to repair where it passed, stitching seared organs back together. Small wonder that he felt so drained.

Well, that and…

Thule frowned, then grabbed a small wooden case from the bedside table and departed his quarters for the dining room. He wore the frown all the way there, boots clicking on the durasteel floor of the yacht’s corridor.

When he arrived he busied himself setting out a pair of plates, glasses, and utensils. He set the wooden case beside one of the places at the table. The table itself was cloud white, long, sleek, and oval. After getting the autochef to print out her favorite meal, he set it at the table along with his own, then rummaged in a cabinet until he found a bottle of Corellian whiskey and set that on the table too.

William paused, clearing his throat, “Ship, please let Andromeda know dinner is ready…”

Andromeda Demir

 

[Andromeda Demir]

​

In the cabin that had been assigned to Andromeda Demir, there was a small desk built into the bulkhead. The presence of a mirror behind it made for a makeshift vanity. A ridge at the back of the desk provided some small storage, upon which sat, in a row: moisturizer, lip balm, lip stick, eyeliner pencil, mascara, a small eyeshadow palette, a small compact containing blush, a bottle of mild painkillers, and a roller stick of bacta-infused burn ointment, and a small bottle of parfum, headlined by the white floral scent of jasmine. To the end of this litany of things, Andromeda placed a small metallic disc, not unlike the compact, still faintly warm from the autodoc's fabricator.

A last item -- a small white paper cup containing a large white pill -- Andromeda kept in her hand for a moment.

She looked at it for a moment, and it seemed to look back at her, a pupil-less white eye.

After a moment, she set the cup down to the side and pulled the small metal stool out so she could sit. Her damp hair was coiled up in a towel, giving her the look of something topped with whipped cream. After studying the lineup, Andromeda picked up an eyeliner pencil and tugged off its lid, carefully sketching a line across her eyeline, adding just a tiny tail at the outside end, then set about to replicate the other side. She didn't normally bother; the cosmetics were for when she was going into civilization, not when she was training.

It helped to distract her from what had happened. For the moment, that was all Andy could think of it as: A Thing That Had Happened. And merely by acknowledging to herself that she was seeking to distract herself from it, it became impossible. She capped the pencil and picked up the mascara, unscrewing the wand. Sometimes she tried adjectives: a wonderful thing, an interesting thing, a confusing thing. She fixed herself with a dull, cool gaze in the mirror as she swiped at one lash, then the other. An uncomfortable thing. An inappropriate thing. "A stupid thing," she broke the silence to chastise her reflection. "A stupid thing that you did."

She jabbed the newly-capped mascara wand back at her reflection in the style of a wagged finger.

It was surely an odd sensation, to be so of two so completely different minds about something. Yes, she had been foolish. She had stepped over a line -- maybe by mistake, maybe out of good intentions, but it had been her foot that had stepped over the line. The result had been one of the most exhilarating moments of her life, not unlike the first time she had learned to touch and call on the Force consciously. Andromeda could not force herself to regret the result, but even still she had to confess that the timing could have been better. Master Thule had been though so much -- the ordeal with the Dark Side Elite nearly cleaving him in two not least of which. But the loss of the Organa and the Tython, and with them at least one close friend, the collapse of the Alliance, the scattering of the Order...

Yes, the timing could have been better, she admitted to herself. "Next time," she said, her eyes slipping toward the little metal compact she had just added to her repertoire, heat creeping up her neck and into her cheeks. "Next time, I'll -- " But then she fell silent, even as something hot and wriggling clutched within her.

"Awfully presumptuous," she said primly to her reflection, though her discipline could not disguise or prevent a little smile there. Of course, it would all depend on Master Thule. One couldn't plan a luncheon around Master Thule's moods these days, let alone -- well, whatever this would be.

She decided against a lipstick in favor of balm. Her bottom lip felt vaguely bruised and she thought the lip balm would help. She thought it was unlikely that she would need blush, either, given the current state of her cheeks. She skipped the painkillers and burn-roller and picked up the parfum, spraying a bit at her pulse points. Andromeda looked at herself in the mirror, and when she lifted her arms to uncoil her hair from the towel, she was able to enjoy the heady fragrance. She gave her hair a spritz as she tossed it, then put the parfum back in its spot.

That left the little paper cup and the pill within.

Andy shook the pill out of the cup onto her palm. Their purpose was simple: to prevent any unintended consequences from the thing that had happened. It would, the medical droid had assured her, be painless and harmless. without unpleasant side effects. Andromeda looked at herself int he mirror again, then closed her eyes. For a moment, manifesting out of the darkness, she saw a little girl, no more than two years old, with skin like cream and glossy black hair, being helped to walk by a boy a few years older, clutching both raised hands to guide her, with pale golden skin and eyes like dark opals.

Was this a vision from the Force, or something summoned by the unfocused emotional fracas of a frightened young woman? She opened her eyes and the scene vanished. Andromeda couldn't tell if she felt more relief or sadness. There will be time, if it is right, Andromeda reasoned with the girl in the mirror. If it is the will of the Force, there will be time. She shook the tablet on her palm and then threw it back, chasing it with a long drink of the water from her canteen.

The chime of the ship's alert gave her a start, and she instinctively looked up toward the speaker. "Miss Demir, dinner is served in the main dining saloon."

Andromeda touched a control to respond. "Thank you. I'll be there soon." She had intended to dry her hair, but it was too late for that now. She quickly plaited it, then pinned the plait into a sleek bun at the base of her skull before stripping off the towel she had wrapped around herself. Her eyes critically assessed her figure, noting a few small bruises that hadn't been there this morning. Nothing that time wouldn't heal. Other than a generalized ache -- and an impending sense of dread at once again having to apologize to William Thule for stepping in it -- she felt all right. She quickly dressed, finishing by shrugging into a dark green tunic, which felt fitting as a newly-minted Jedi Knight, then slipped on a pair of leggings and her soft boots.

"Is that spiced synthnerf skewers I smell?" Andromeda asked as she rounded stepped into the doorway. "That's my favorite. How did you know? Did the autochef tattle?" She had intended to keep things light at first -- you know, because of The Thing That Happened -- but this took no affectation at all. She was genuinely pleased and surprised.

William Thule​

 

[William Thule]

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth at her rush of excitement as she came around the corner, though it faded as suddenly as it came. He did not expect her to be so... happy. Perhaps a facade. But no. She still had much to be happy about. She was a knight now, after all.

"I simply know these things," he said mysteriously.

Though in truth, it was but a passing thing to look through the autochef and see which meals had been cooked and how many times.

"I thought you would wish to celebrate your knighthood with it and with this," he popped the bottle and poured a bubbling, light gold liquid into her glas, "20 year Tetan made with vine grown grapes in Cinnagar."

Obscenely expensive, but she did not need to know.

He paused there standing by the table, the bottle in his hand, and looked at her. The courage to find the right words eluded him, so he simply poured himself a glass of the Tetan as well and raised a glass.

"To your knighthood."

The liquid went down easily. Would it be shameful to admit he needed the strength right now?

"There is something in that box for you," he pointed at the small wood box in front of her, "Jedi are not supposed to have possessions but, as you can see, it's not a tenet I've adhered to very well."

Inside the wooden box sat a small necklace of aurodium, one of many such pieces William had in his collection, but he had added an amulet from their onboard printer - a small circular starmap with the coordinates of her home etched onto it.

Andromeda Demir

 

[Andromeda Demir]

​

It was true. Andromeda had printed the meal each night for dinner when William had been medically indisposed. "All right," she said accepting the Jedi Master's enigmatic response. "Keep your secrets. But thank you. It's very thoughtful." The meal had been just about the only thing that made her hungry by scent alone, to inspire an appetite when she thought she had none.

Maybe not the only thing, she amended as the Jedi Master approached with a fancy bottle of wine, and the subtly spiced, resiny scent of cedarwood settled there.

"I -- " she began, at the exact moment he began to speak. Andromeda demurred, insisting that he go first. Dark eyes watched his deft fingers maneuver the bottle's cork, carefully working it loose. She didn't realize until she felt a dull throb that she had taken her bottom lip between her teeth, and she let it free.

"Lovely," Andromeda declared upon his description of the bottle, even though she didn't know if it really was. She assumed that Master Thule -- William? -- wouldn't use the occasion of her knighthood to offload poor quality wine, even though he probably knew instinctively that Andromeda wouldn't know the difference. "As usual, you've thought of everything," the Knight said pleasantly. Leave it to William to provide a little liquid courage. Light knows I could definitely put that to good use. She lifted her glass in response to his toast and, as was tradition in the village hall on Irvulix V, offered her own in return: "And to my extraordinary teacher."

It was to her credit, she thought, that she would have said that regardless of whether she had to offer a groveling apology at any moment.

The wine was much smoother than the moonshine Antares, Tiny, and Jaska used to make in the broken laundry vat, which was a blessing. The first time she had tried it, she was sick for yours. It had tasted of the solvent used to scrub iron ore before processing, and she shuddered to think of what such a chemical might have done to her insides. "That's -- that's really quite nice," Andromeda said, trying to sound like the kind of sophisticate that knew about wine. Why does this feel so normal? she asked herself. If not for this bantha in the room, it would be natural. As easy as breathing...

Time to address the bantha in the room, then, Andy decided, but as she gathered the breath -- and the nerve -- to do just that, William had more up his sleeve. She hadn't noticed the box before -- nor, in fact, the color of the table, the shape of the plates, the glasses, or anything that wasn't William Thule. "For me?" she said, her eyebrows leaping in surprise. Her free hand went to her chest, where her heart was beginning to patter. "I -- should I open it now?"

At his assent, the Jedi Knight pulled the box closer to her. It was a lovely box, she thought, though anything wooden was deeply fascinating to her, given that Irvulix V hadn't had a healthy tree on it for two centuries before she was even born. Her thumb traced over the finish briefly before she lifted the lid and looked inside. A beautiful golden-hued necklace rested on the bed inside the box, at its center a small pendant or amulet. She stared at it for a few moments, speechless, a cruel lump in her throat silencing her.

She swallowed audibly and forced the words around the lump. "I -- I don't know what to say." Andromeda's dark eyes, shining significantly, went to his and held for a few seconds before she looked down at the necklace again, lifting it out of the box. In the light, she recognized the design at once. It was the very first thing she had looked up on the holonet, desperate to see where her home, the place she thought was the extent of the universe, really fit into the larger universe. "William," she croaked around that damned lump in her throat. Her thumb smoothed across the texture of the starmap wrought onto the metal. It reminded her how far she was from home, and from that dusty, battered miner's daughter she had once been. She had seen dozens of worlds, been on ships, had adventures, made friends, and --

And then there was William Thule.

She thought briefly of asking him to help her put it on; she longed to feel the delicate chain on her neck, the cool metal of the amulet on her chest, and she knew she'd fiddle endlessly with the clasp if she tried to put it on herself. That would be sending mixed signals, she admonished herself. "Thank you," she said genuinely, looking up to him again. The lump was still there, but manageable now, somehow. "Whatever the Order says -- said -- I will treasure this. Always."

Carefully, as if handling spun glass, Andromeda replaced the neckalce in the box and gave the starmap one more loving brush with her fingertips before shutting the lid. When she looked up at William again, her eyes poured out a mixture of something more than embarrassment: shame. "You're so thoughtful," she said quietly. "And the more thoughtful you are, the clearer it becomes what a -- what a clod I am. I owe you an apology, William."

It was true. Her favorite meal. The lovely wine. The necklace. Everything so thoughtful and so generous after she behaved so badly. Her shame, her guilt, ate at her from the inside.

He looked like he might try to interject, but Andy had come this far and she needed to rip the synthflesh patch off. The pain would be sharp, Andromeda reasoned, but hopefully shorter lived. "Please, let me get through this. It's... not easy." She took a shaking breath. "I don't know what I was thinking. You were barely hours out of a three-day coma, you had received a string of terrible reports from the Core, and you clearly wanted to be alone to recover. I shouldn't have -- that is -- the timing -- "

Andromeda swallowed, then groped for the wine glass and took a drink to steady herself. "I suppose what I mean to say is: I should have been more mindful of -- everything that happened and everything you were going through. I'm -- I'm so sorry for that." She paused a moment and covered her eyes briefly with her free hand as she set the glass down. "Not -- the rest. I could never regret that. But how -- and when -- I shouldn't have -- ambushed you like that, in the dark."

Another shaky breath, and then Andy settled back lightly against the chair's back and exhaled. "That's... I guess that's all I wanted to say. I'm sorry and I understand if you felt -- if you feel -- however you feel. However you feel is justified and if I took advantage of your -- position -- or the circumstances -- I apologize. William, I apologize unreservedly. And I understand if it means that you want me to leave when we arrive at the next port. I won't make things difficult. More difficult."

The Jedi Knight looked at him like a penitent waiting for the priest to assign a particularly unpleasant penance.

William Thule​

 

[William Thule]

Dark brows rose fractionally higher with every passing sentence, until she uttered the word "ambush" and then they reversed course, lowering progressively until a frown knit them together.

His fingers curled around the stem of his glass until the knuckles bled white and he had to exercise a measure of control to make sure he didn't snap the fragile thing in half.

"You would leave?" he uttered into the air between them, the stark white table somehow adding volumes of distance in the room.

Thule had not really considered it. That she might simply depart at the next port of call. The thought of being completely alone on the ship, without her company, filled him with sudden dread.

"Don't."

Not a command. Not exactly. Too much of the imploring in the undertone.

"You have nothing to apologize for," the words came out calm, despite the sudden rising torrent within him. His chin tilted up, "No ambush. You know now how I felt. How I feel. The fault is mine. I should not have placed you in such a position. It's barely been hours since you were my pupil."

His gaze dropped to the table's surface, looking back and forth as if it might hold answers, "I should not have."

Desperate for any distraction, he picked up fork and knife, cut into some synth steak and placed a morsel in his mouth to chew. He wished he hadn't. It tasted like so much ash with all the emotions swirling within him and he suddenly found he'd lost all appetite.

Thule swallowed and shook his head minutely from side to side.

"And I should not have said what I did after... Perhaps the truth is that I have never been so close to anyone before," and it frightened him, "And that if the Order knew they would..."

What order?

Andromeda Demir

 

[Andromeda Demir]

Andromeda felt her stomach unclench at the word 'don't' and she took a breath that might have been a sob if it had gone the other way. She almost laughed with relief or maybe even at the absurdity of it all. Both of them so wound up with expectations and responsibilities and a guilt that had nothing to do with the present circumstances that they were willing to claim the status of villain -- or at least heel -- before the other could raise an objection. She sat in silence, considering what he'd said as relieved tears streamed unbidden down her face, simply looking at William Thule. She has learned much about him over the weeks of their training together and it was clearer than ever that she still had much to learn.

She hoped that she could. That she would. He was a puzzle that Andromeda longest to piece together; at last she could admit it to herself.

"We are a pair," Andy said after a moment. "Do you know, if we got out of our own way, I think we could really make something spectacular of this. If we assumed the best intentions in ourselves as we seem to do in each other. It seems like most people see the worst in other people and the best in themselves, but not us. We're built differently." She said this last bit in a tone of triumph , as if it were an accomplishment, as she wiped her face with her sleeve and smiled at him. "Perhaps neither one of us behaved as we should have. But the galaxy is not as it should be. I can hardly expect all the old rules to apply when it seems the laws of nature have become negotiable."

A hand hesitantly reached across the table and settled on his, fingertips gently tucking under his palm, as much because she needed the comfort and warmth of contact as that she thought he might.

"If I owe you nothing in the way of apology, the reverse is just as true," she said quietly. She had not felt pressured, cajoled, coerced, or in any way pressured. And the truth was, when it came right down to brass tacks, it had been the most terrific fun. "You were entirely above reproach. When we were training, I never had the first idea of what... what else there might have been. And I know your intentions in taking me on as an apprentice were correct. The order would have no cause to complain."

She almost added that there was no Order left to criticize them, but that felt too raw still. But the Order has seen lots of this sort of thing. Andy could have named half a dozen masters who were involved with other Jedi -- some were even married! It seemed hypocritical in the extreme for William to fall under their criticism for what was, ultimately, a minor transgression if it was any transgression at all.

"You -- it was sensible," Andy said delicately. "With all the chaos, the changes, it is only good advice to be... safe."

Her chest seized painfully when he spoke of the solitude he had experienced, because she saw it in herself as well. Andromeda ached to rest her head on his shoulder and put her arm around him. "I feel the same way," she said simply, softly, squeezing at his hand lightly. "Since Irvulix, I've never stayed anywhere long enough to make a friend, or anything more. I wasn't sure I ever could until I knew you." She took a breath, enjoying the subtle rhapsody in cedarwood that tickled at her senses. "I don't want to go back to going at it alone. I only thought -- the way you left -- that you might want me to."

"But I would hate it," Andy whispered. "To leave. To not know you. To not learn from you. Even if you are no longer my master, you are an exemplar Jedi. There is much for me to learn from your example." Her dark eyes looked into his and she reluctantly let her hand lift from his. "I don't know what it was. What it means to you or to me. But I would like the chance to see. Is that -- wrong?"

William Thule​

 

[William Thule]

The way she reached across the table closed that unspoken gap between them more than it did the physical one. The warmth of her hand on his felt a grasping hand seeking a lifeline, and he wondered which was which. If they let each other go would they both drown? Her words were imploring. Desperate, even.

Should he trust them? All others would say their relationship was charged, that not a word from her lips could be trusted. They would look askance on the pair. But then who would? Everyone else was dead or in hiding now.

He kept coming back to that simple fact: they were alone on this ship, just the two of them. And no one would give them missions, or judge them, or send them away.

Thule could marshal a thousand reasons not to, yet none of them mattered. Logic failed against the need of the heart.

The Jedi realized he’d been holding his breath.

He reached out, snatching her hand before she could fully withdraw it.

“It might be wrong. But we would just be continuing in a lie if we denied it,” his eyes studied her face, gaze intense and piercing, “I don’t want to go on with a lie.”

His lips twitched, a tinge of humor eking in, “Now I suppose we go on eating awkwardly in silence.”

Though he had lost all appetite.

Well.

For food, at least.

Andromeda Demir

 

[Andromeda Demir]

​

Andromeda was taken slightly aback when William caught her hand before she could pull away. It could have been anything -- the need to reciprocate a touch, or catching someone naughty with their hand in the cookie jar, or simply that he wanted her full attention. If the latter was his intent, he had succeeded; the young woman's deep brown eyes snapped to his, meeting his acute gaze with her own, which was more curious and a little soft. "No," she said quietly, licking her bottom lip lightly. She could taste the memory of the Tetan wine there. "I don't want to lie, either."

She shifted her hand, allowed her fingers to settle between his experimentally, her gaze inscrutable on his face. She was testing it out. Seeing if it fit -- for both of them. Andromeda rather liked it, but she was only half the equation.

"I'd really rather not," she answered his proposal to go on eating awkwardly in silence. "Not when there's so much to talk about. Like -- where we'll go. We'll need fuel at some point, right? And food for the autochef to turn into -- this." She gestured with her other hand toward her plate. "And more wine, probably." Andy paused a moment and gently unlaced her fingers from his; she was starving, and definitely for food, although she couldn't help but dwell with some part of her mind on a door left tantalizingly ajar for other pursuits...

"I'm sure we can't stay out here, just the two of us, forever. I suspect you would start climbing the walls after awhile. I'm not saying I'd send you off the deep end soon but..." Her eyes twinkled as she lifted her glass to her lips for another sip. "There must be somewhere we'll be needed? Do you think there's anyone from the Order, keeping track of who's where?" It felt a little like playing hooky, or maybe being on holiday -- she didn't quite know herself -- but she had an awful sense that reality would come calling for them sooner or later. "You should eat something. You'll need your strength."

Andromeda blanched at the phrasing of that suggestion, and she cleared her throat modestly. "I didn't mean it -- like that." A beat, as rose crept at the base of her neck. "All right -- not only like that. Do you want to try this?"

Following her own advice, Andy picked up her knife and fork and cut a bite of her dinner. It was delicious. Not quite as satisfying as real nerf, but very close. And, she thought to herself, the view and the company made up for the autochef's shortcomings. She set down her knife and fork to chew and subconsciously twisted a few strands of her raven hair around a finger as she regarded William. It felt good to have cleared the air. Their problems were far from over, but she felt better knowing that whatever her impulse control issues, she had not damaged their relationship. A weight off her shoulders, to be certain.

William Thule​

 

[William Thule]

“It’s good.”

Moving on autopilot, William mirrored her actions and began to eat despite everything. He suspected much of that had to do with the hole burned through his stomach and recently repaired than anything else.

“Yes, we will need fuel,” he confirmed after chewing for a moment in thought.

“There will likely be scattered Jedi. And even if there isn’t an Order anymore, we should still do what we can to help.”

He frowned.

“There’s a new government that planets have begin aligning with, a republic led by Naboo aristocracy. I’ve heard of their new King and he seems… unsavory. But they have a Jedi Order that they set up. Perhaps we go there.”

William took another sip from the glass, mulling over their options.

“I don’t know what their Council is like.”

His eyes shifted to her.

“I’ll think about it as I… regain my strength,” his mouth twitched, “Assuming it’s needed.”

Andromeda Demir

 

[Andromeda Demir]

​

Andromeda listened intently, nodding occasionally. She took the wine bottle up and poured another little bit into his glass, set it down.

The question of the Council hung like exhaled smoke between them as they continued to eat. She thought she understood why. If they had rules -- prohibitions -- that would keep them separate, like the old Jedi would have had, it would be difficult to subvert them. Older, more established members who had proved their worth, their ability to handle the dangers that some Jedi thought were inherent in allowing emotional attachments, might be able to skirt by them. And though Master Thule was a Master and thus, by definition, someone who might be trusted more, Andromeda was barely a Knight. And if they knew her history, there would be cause to doubt.

Andromeda didn't think about whether it should give her cause to doubt. She couldn't shut that door now. She wouldn't, without a reason. A good reason. Not just 'a bunch of ancient Jedi, who never managed to accomplish their stated goals of safeguarding peace and justice in the galaxy, had a thought once.'

Her eyebrow lifted at his final statement. "I suppose whether it's needed might depend on your answer to the following question." Andromeda set her knife and fork down and dabbed her lips with her napkin before taking a sip of her wine. "Will you stay in my cabin tonight?" Her dark eyes touched his, not solemn exactly, but serious -- and shining with promise.

William Thule​

 

[William Thule]

The glass was halfway to his mouth again when she made that comment. William froze at her words, eyes meeting hers and all that those warm, umber eyes promised.

Should he stay in her cabin? As if it were a simple thing, as if they’d been this way for months.

A ravening hunger rose in him and he made the conscious effort to continue his action. He brought the glass to his lips, felt the coldness of the factory blown material against his mouth. A stream of the Tetan wine flowed from the cup and into his mouth. It tasted sweet and bubbly.

Yet he longed for a more sour taste, of musk and jasmine.

The glass clicked as he set it down. And he let the moment stretch between them.

“Yes,” he answered finally, “I will.”

Mirth glimmered in the depths of his onyx gaze.

“Perhaps there is more for you to study.”

Andromeda Demir

 

[Andromeda Demir]

​

Days passed, populated by training and meals and training and sometimes holovids.

They talked -- often. Not always. Andromeda got to know William better. She didn't pry -- much -- but she learned about the practicalities of the man. How he took his coffee. What he liked to eat. Sometimes more esoteric matters, like what it was like growing up on Empress Teta and in his family. She got a better feel for his sense of humor. Tried to learn when his silences invited filling and when they wished for more silence. Andromeda felt she would be learning that for awhile. She learned the outline of the man, found the edges of the puzzle pieces that made him up. Some of them she had and could slot into the idea of him in her head. Some pieces she had and couldn't yet find their place yet. And yet more of him was black space to her. No pieces. No outlines. Just mystery.

She shared, too. Mostly from her experiences, but he would have learned that she liked her coffee very sweet, that she liked her reconstituted eggs with a little vinegar hot sauce, when her silences meant she was overthinking and catastrophizing and when they meant she was thinking of how to ask him something and when they meant she was simply distracted by looking at him. She explained to him about Irvulix V and, minutely -- around the edges -- about Tiny. That he had been a dear friend, and the vague shape of a Tiny-Andromeda pairing off had been tacitly agreed by all parties -- not because of any passionate feelings. They were simply part of the same friend group, close in age, and got on well. Not that William asked. Not that he was probably interested. But that was him learning that sometimes Andromeda explained something because she needed to hear it herself.

Nights passed.

Andromeda found she could almost settle into a routine, except that William could be unpredictable. She liked that about him. And the trainings -- she found herself growing in control and focus. Despite no longer being her titular Jedi Master, William had much to teach her on that score, and she had much to learn. The trainings were as exhausting as ever -- occasionally they felt punishing, but always left her feeling more prepared, better equipped to do what was required of her.

She meditated. Sometimes all she felt were the pulses of energy put into the universe by the ship's engines and by William working nearby. Other times, the Force showed her things. Snippets, images, feelings. She was in the mine shaft on Irvulix V, the water keg ungainly and heavy on her back. She knew somehow it was the day of the collapse, but instead of descending into the mine, a hand took hers and guided her to the daylight, where she could at last look up and see who was rescuing her. William. Andromeda was in the darkness of the frigate's ruined command theater, and blood sprayed the walls. Her hand pulled the mask off the Elite. Antares. She was in her bed in her assigned stateroom, tangled in warmth and satisfaction and delight, and she rolled over to look into the face of the source of all those things. Perseus Kotar.

Most troubling of all: a foreign corridor. A ship she had never been on. A huddled mass of terrified people behind her. A malevolent figure in front of her. In the darkness, punctuated only by the flickering of electrical discharges, the face changed with every flash. William Antares Andromeda Tiny William Andromeda Perseus Antares William Antares Andromeda Antares Andromeda William Andromeda Andromeda Andromeda William William William William William.

Her meditation became about chasing the answer: was this a vision of the future? A warning? Metaphor?

She didn't raise it with him. Not until she could understand what she was seeing. She could almost hear the admonition about keeping control over her senses and emotions. Not allowing an attachment to cloud her mind, her judgment. It was easier said than done. Andromeda already felt herself pulling when they sparred. She had seen through his body after his ordeal on the frigate -- literally in one side and out the other. However good the bacta and kolto, she could sense the pain and trauma still bound up in the wound, even as it healed. The idea of opening him up again, even by accident, even during training, made her chest hurt. And yet, a Jedi must not hesitate. In the heat of battle, in the defense of the innocent...

She knew it was different. William reminded her that what one learned in training, one did in battle. Every time she flinched from the 'kill' with a training saber, every time she pulled a punch, or didn't go as hard as she could with a blast of the Force, she was training herself not to do that in the real world.

Maybe it was true. She didn't want to think it. But his experience was more valuable to her than her own conjecture.

And every so often, sitting across from him at dinner in the galley, feeling the warmth of her pendant against her chest, or gathered into the hollow of his chest in the moments between sleep and wakefulness, or helping him up from the practice mat after a spar -- which did happen occasionally, these days -- she felt something hopeful welling within her. Maybe this time, a voice whispered in her ear, an attachment can be managed.

Sometimes, when Andromeda woke before the rest of the ship did, she went to the cockpit where she could see hyperspace. Still a marvel, after years away from Irvulix V. She thought about the Dark Side Elite that had mauled William. Thought about the way her blade cleaved through him, from shoulder to opposite hip. Thought about the way he came apart. Examined the feelings that surrounded her in those moments, when neither she nor William -- still Master Thule then -- were to preoccupied with survival to fully analyze them.

Triumph. Relief. Pleasure?

Still days and days later, Andromeda couldn't have sworn whether what motivated her blade was William's broken body, his diminishing presence in the Force, her own survival, or the knowledge that others would fall into the Elite's trap. The truth was it was all three of those things, and probably more besides. It was another thing that, alone under the mottle of hyperspace, Andromeda could admit she was too afraid to bring up to William. What kind of Jedi was she, if she couldn't accept that vanquishing a Dark Side Elite was an unalloyed good? What purpose did it serve to dwell on the whys and wherefores?

It was there, dwelling on the whys and wherefores, that Andromeda sat, stonyfaced and staring into the middle distance when an alarm chirped. Different from the usual message, this one was a priority system alert. Andromeda swiveled in William's pilot chair and touched the control, prepared to leave it if it was personal. But when the screen flickered to life, it showed one vivid crimson emergency alert.

MAYDAY MAYDAY MAYDAY
CIVILIAN SHIP DESTINY'S LIGHT IN DISTRESS
ILLEGAL INTERDICTION & PROBABLY BOARDING
SUSPECT PIRATE INVOLVEMENT
ASSUME ARMED AND DANGEROUS
THIS MESSAGE WILL REPEAT
MAYDAY MAYDAY MAYDAY

Andromeda's blood went cold and she checked the timestamp and coordinates against the map. Pegasus wasn't far. Taking a deep breath, she swiveled the chair back toward the door and stood, taking off at a run back toward her cabin where she had left William sleeping. He would know what to do.

William Thule​

 

[William Thule]

She awoke him from sleep and he hurriedly donned pants, tunic, and boots as she explained the situation. The last few days had been... well. Could he call them the best days of his life? The pallor of the Alliance's fall seemed to hang over it, refusing such a title. But it was a kind of happiness that took out the sting of all the loss they'd both suffered.

His wound had healed for the most part after so much care with the autodoc and bactapatches.

Now they dealt with another distress call, which left Thule increasingly wary. He clipped his lightsaber to his belt, the hilt curved and elegant, inlaid with designs. So out of place now, it felt, hanging there at his hip. Ah well.

His brow furrowed as he thought through the message Andromeda relayed. Pirates.

"It could be another trap," he said, voicing what lay on both their minds after the last distress call, which proved to be a beacon laid by a Dark Side Elite survivor from Atrisia.

As much as he suspected another ambush, they could not simply ignore the call. It would not be right. Moreover, he felt the Force pulling him in that direction, like an invisible current tugging him along.

"But we have to go."

The Pegasus did not have any weapons beyond a point defense laser turret on the topside. That would do scant little against pirates if they had anything more than a starfighter.

They reached the cockpit and Thule settled down into his chair.

"Do you concur?" he wouldn't make this decision without her.

Andromeda Demir

 

[Andromeda Demir]

​

Andromeda had thought the same things as William. They had been lured into a distress call before, a trap, with almost lethal consequences. Even then as they discussed it, her eyes trailed down to where a second puncture scar had formed on William's chest. If they weren't careful he'd be more scar than regular skin by the time they reached civilization.

"It could be. But -- look where we are," she said quietly, her eyes thoughtful as she nodded to the regional map on the screen. "Not exactly a heavily traveled hyperspace route. If they were trying to lure in easy pickings, they'd do better to go to a more target-rich environment, I'd think." She cupped her jaw, chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. But the law was clear, the moral obligation clearer.

"I do," she finally answered his ultimate question. "We should at least see if we can sense whether the signal is legit." She looked at him, dark eyes drinking him in in the brilliant hyperspace mottle. "And I am better prepared this time, thanks to you. I can't promise not to be caught off-guard, but I feel more confident that I'll be able to keep up."

Andromeda remembered the streaking light of William's lightsaber, the speed and elegance with which he moved, and with a slight flush she amended -- not defensively, but honestly -- to add: "Well, at least not embarrass myself."

* * * * *​

It might have been deja vu, as the pair waited near the airlock. Andromeda let her eyes wander. They had dressed the part, looking like proper Jedi. Her face colored as she glanced over his lightsaber, and her fingers went instinctively to check her own, hanging at her hip. To distract herself from the nervous energy, and from William's lightsaber hanging there like an instrument of judgment, she reached over to tug at his tunic a little. Trying to see if it was the one he had been stabbed through, the one that she had repaired -- amateurishly -- with the wrong-colored thread.

A faint smile. She put it aside, all of it, and drew on the Force. Closing her eyes to commune with it, she poured her awareness into it and opened herself up to its feedback. Force, be with us, she thought. Her presence in the Force washed over the airlock, over William and the ship beyond. She sensed danger, indeed, and avarice. Nothing so chilling as the frigate trap. But something niggling at the back of her mind: the knowledge that she had infinitely more to lose today than she did before.

The airlock cycle completed, and Andromeda glanced at William, offering him what she hoped was a reassuring nod. "Ready when you are, William."

William Thule​