Too Stubborn To Die

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"But I'm always alone." Gatz spoke very softly.
There was no gut punch that went along with that admission. The empty chasm in his chest didn't widen at all. As miserable as he was, Gatz had long since accepted that solitude was his penance for all that he had done. It was... normal now. But it also meant that what Valery was talking about was out of reach for him. There weren't people for him to share his life with.
Hell, he was going to spend Life Day alone this year. The one time that everyone got together, and he would still be on his own. His first holiday season without his family, and unfortunately, it wouldn't be the last. So ideas like 'fun' and 'sharing' were no longer obtainable for him. The wisdom that Valery was trying to impart to him—wisdom that he desperately wanted to abide by—offered him nothing.
"I have no one."
Better that way, he told himself. Less people to poison with his presence. And it meant that when he inevitably got himself killed, he wasn't leaving anyone behind to grieve for his loss. It wasn't a happy thought, per se, but it did make it a whole lot easier for him to be selfless. He didn't have to worry about the consequences of his death, because there weren't any.
Maybe that made him a better man, in the end. The Jedi of old had denied themselves attachment. And sure, that Order had fallen to shambles, but it had also endured for thousands of years. Maybe there was wisdom in that: in being devoid. The idea didn't bring him any sort of comfort, but Gatz was quickly learning that few things did these days.
Maybe comfort wasn't what he ought to be seeking. Maybe a life lived in the service of others was all that mattered, regardless of what it did to him.