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Caldis asked nearly every person in her life what she should wear.
Vette spent an entire day gathering outfit ideas. Caldis would take a break from training to find a dozen unopened messages, attachments so large they slowed down her datapad. What do you think? Flirty, but not desperate, and I can tell you right now the color will do wonders for your complexion. Or, ooh, what about this? Slim-fitting, comfortable…
Hylo offered to take her shopping. Lana snapped a training staff in half. Rhyss sighed over the comm, hunching her shoulders against the brisk Hoth air. You know what I always say. Low-cut, show a bit of thigh—
Rhyss, whined Caldis, cradling her head in her hands.
You asked for my opinion.
Min’s texts were marginally more helpful. idk babe! w/e u feel most comfortable in!! the stars are SUPER into authenticity rn!!!! it’s like i always say: u kno yrself better than anyone!!! ::star:: ::flower:: ::powered-up lightsaber:: ::thumbs up:: ::fire:: ::heart::
Caldis went with a dress, rose blush and simple, lace on the sleeves. She tried it on every day for a week, staring at herself in the mirror, hands on her hips. T7 beeped behind her, twirling in a circle. Jedi = beautiful // Theron Shan = luckiest organic alive
It’s just a date, she told Min, typing the sentence out, only to delete it, only to type it again. I don’t know why I’m so nervous.
bc u’ve changed!!! u both have!! and ALSO u guys r ENGAGED now!!!! lean into the growth! the stars r making each n every one of us into new creations!! ::moon:: ::star:: ::heart:: ::heart:: ::heart::
Caldis doesn’t feel different. Most days she barely sees him, so it feels like it did a month ago, two months, three, when it was her and Rhyss, Min on the comms, sparring with Lana in the early-morning hours. But then she passes him in the hall and doesn’t know what to do with herself. Theron stands beside her at a briefing and her body comes to life, pulse ticking, his Force signature a throb. When she says his name, it feels like a question, one she doesn’t know the answer to.
She doesn’t feel different. But they do. They’ve kissed once since he got back, teeth knocking together, quick and wet and aching. Even his laugh feels fragile, like something they might break if they’re not careful.
She was the one who suggested the date. It was something they used to do: picnics in the cockpit of the Defender, her feet in his lap. T7 would stand guard, warding off anyone who might interrupt them. Sometimes, if Caldis was tipsy enough, she’d pull up the star charts, walk Theron through her days as a Jedi. The heat of Belsavis; footsteps echoing down the halls of the Endar Spire. Kira’s laugh, bright and full, lighting their path in falls of green.
We don’t have to, she said quickly, words running into one another. I was just thinking that, y’know, we both have gaps in our schedules, and it’s been forever since we—
Callie.
—had a night to ourselves. I mean, not that I’m expecting something to happen, I just—
Callie. A kiss to her brow. His hands on her shoulders, warm and heavy, exactly like she remembered. It’s a date.
It’s a date. Nothing they haven’t done before. But then Lana called an emergency briefing and Oggurobb wanted her opinion on the ethics of genetic testing and her dress, the one she spent a week agonizing over, got misplaced when someone she’s never met decided the Commander’s quarters needed to be cleaned. She’s an hour late and T7’s going on about the state of her uniform—
“I know, Tee, I know, but I don’t have time to change, he’s been waiting for an hour and—” A door opens in front of her. Caldis steps deftly to one side, slipping between an analyst and one of the Jedi initiates, throwing an apology over her shoulder. “—I’ll never forgive myself if he ends up bailing because I had to curl my hair.”
Jedi = still beautiful // Theron Shan = forgive Jedi’s tardiness
“You think?”
Theron Shan = in love with Jedi // Theron Shan = forgive anything
She stops outside the hangar bay, peering down at herself. She’s looked better. Her sleeves are worn thin, hems fraying around the holes she cut for her thumbs; her boots are splattered with mud, evidence of yesterday’s trek through the undergrowth. Her cheeks are warm, hands shaking when she reaches up to palm the skin. Is she really that nervous?
“You think?” she asks again, serious this time.
T7 = incapable of subjective opinion // T7 = incapable of thinking
Caldis wheezes a laugh. “So what you’re saying is you’re sure.”
T7 beeps in affirmation.
On the opposite side of the hangar, nestled between Rhyss’ freighter and a speeder, is the Defender. She can just make out the ramp, door lost in shadow.
“It’s just a date,” Caldis says, half to herself, throwing her hair in a bun. Her palms are sweaty, toes curling in her boots. What if he kisses her and she bites his lip on accident? What if she touches him and they both think of Umbara? Suddenly it’s all she can think about, Theron and this date and all the ways it could go wrong. What if Vaylin comes back from the dead and shoots Theron in the head? What if she has to hold the love of her life in her arms as he bleeds out? What if she says something stupid and then he bleeds out, and Theron dies thinking she hasn’t forgiven him for the things he said on—
Jedi + Theron Shan = in love // Jedi + Theron Shan’s date = perfect
She thinks of Theron’s hands. His mouth against hers, teeth colliding, laughter in the air. I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you how much I love you.
“You’re right.” Caldis swallows. Smooths her palms down her front. Thinks of Orgus, grass beneath her feet, the sky stretching forever. There is no emotion, there is peace. “We’ve gone up against Flesh Raiders. A date is nothing.”
T7 twirls, rocking back and forth. T7 + Jedi = best team ever // T7 + Jedi = conquer anything
Her nose wrinkles. “I don’t really know if I want to conquer Theron, but I appreciate the sentiment.”
Jedi = invincible // Date = nothing
“Thanks, bud.” She rests her hand on T7’s chassis, a brief touch, but grounding. “See you on the other side.”
With a quiet breath, Caldis crosses the bay, darting up the ramp and into the Defender. The ship is dark, still, but for the cockpit. Light gathers at the top of the stairs, thick and golden, shot through with blue.
“Theron?” She takes the steps two at a time. “I’m sorry I’m late, Lana called a briefing and Oggurobb snatched me up before I got a chance to say no, you know how hard it is to escape when he’s got his heart set on something—”
Caldis stops short. Theron is in the copilot’s chair, arms around his middle, feet propped on the console. The cockpit smells of Nar Shaddaa, spice and neon, citrus popping on her tongue. An unopened bottle of wine sits in the pilot’s seat, bubbles catching the light.
“Theron?”
He shifts. Murmurs something, her name maybe, tucking his chin against his chest.
“Theron.” She moves soundlessly over the grates. “Theron,” she says again, softly this time, coming up behind him.
He’s asleep. The sight of him—cybernetics blinking at his temple, lips parting with a snore—has her unraveling, a spool of thread in the middle of the cockpit, red as the leather of his jacket. A year ago, she would’ve done anything to watch him sleep. Would’ve risked everything to curl beside him, small against his side.
Her vision blurs. Caldis blinks hard.
“Theron.” She cups his cheek, thumbing the scar there, one he acquired his year away. Still that ache in her, making the world spin, everything sharp and new. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”
Theron stirs. “Callie,” he mumbles, half a question.
“Got it in one.” She sighs, dropping a kiss to his brow. “Your terrible, no good, awful fiancée who may have accidentally stood you up through no fault of her own.”
He hums, lashes fluttering. “I waited for you.”
Caldis glances at the wine, bottle slick with sweat. “I’m sorry I was late.”
“S’okay.” Theron stretches, tipping his head back, curling his fingers around her wrist. Her pulse stutters, just like it always does. “Did Lana catch you?”
“Her and Oggurobb.”
He grunts in sympathy.
“Did you know the Alliance has, like, cleaners? I didn’t. I feel like I should’ve ‘cause I’m the commander and all, but—” She shrugs. “You learn something new every day. Anyway, Tee made up some excuse to get me away from Oggurobb, so I went back to our quarters to change, only nothing was where it was supposed to be, it was like someone came in and—” she throws her hands up in an approximation of chaos— “tossed a salad or something. I couldn’t find anything, and I was already an hour late at that point, so I figured even my stinky Alliance uniform was better than a no-show…”
Theron is looking at her, lips quirked in a smile, half a smirk. His fingers trail down her forearm, resting against her elbow, and it reminds Caldis so much of how things were—the gold-green light of Yavin; the salty air of Manaan, waves crashing against her eardrums, his laugh in her skull—that it nearly takes her breath away.
Caldis feels her cheeks warm. “What?”
“You’re rambling.” His palm settles against the small of her back, tugging her against him. Her stomach swoops, embarrassing in its novelty, how strange it is to be with him like this again. “It’s cute.”
“Cute?” Her legs part, knees settling on either side of his hips. “Really?”
“I’ve always thought you were cute.”
She thinks, dimly, of Carrick Station, Kira standing next to her, Twi’lek holos at the edge of her vision. She wore robes back then. Months ago, before Nathema, she showed Vette a picture of them—heavy fabric, scratchy, cinched around her waist. Lana laughed in recognition; Vette wrinkled her nose.
“Always?”
Theron nods, squeezing her waist.
“Even in my pirate costume?” She’d refused to go along with the ruse on Rishi, but once it was all said and done, she couldn’t resist nabbing herself one of those hats.
“Especially in your pirate costume.”
A memory: Alderaan beneath her, snow-capped mountains, the subtle wend of rivers. Theron sits next to her, fingers in her hair. You look beautiful, Callie. Behind them, a golden sky, casting the taxi in runny floods of light. It’s probably selfish of me, but I wouldn’t mind seeing you like this more often.
“I was going to wear a dress,” she hears herself say. “I had it all picked out. Pink, because you like me in pink, and lace, like the one I wore to my mom’s party. Rhyss thought I should wear something, like, risque, and I’m happy to say I entertained the idea for exactly zero point two seconds, which we both know is a record. I love you, Theron, but I have limits, and while arguably some of them have to do with socialization processes and, like, the cult-like entity that is the Order—”
“Callie.”
“—some of them are just plain old hang-ups. Which is fine! Ideally, we’d be able to do all sorts of sexy things, but when it comes right down to it—”
“Callie.”
“—I just don’t think I’m ready yet. Which is—”
Theron surges up, finding her mouth with his own. It’s a brief kiss, chaste, but Caldis still hums, parting her lips against his. When he laughs, it travels through her body, a single spark of heat.
“Callie,” he murmurs, pulling away. Caldis chases him, whining a little when his teeth catch on her lower lip. “You’re rambling.”
“Am I?”
He hums in affirmation.
“Well,” she huffs, cheeks red. “Only because you made me ramble.”
“Are you really suggesting I have that kind of power over you?”
She thinks of Vitiate. That shrine of hers, dust and body counts, eyes in the underbrush. “It’s the good kind of power.”
“Yeah?” His hand curls about her jaw, tilting her head to one side, exposing her throat.
“You make me—” His mouth on her pulse-point. Her breath hitches, lashes fluttering. “—nervous. Always have. I like to think I kept it under wraps when we first met, but it’s only gotten worse now that I love you and everything.” Is she rambling? She should really pay more attention to the words coming out of her mouth. “Not that loving you isn’t great, because it is. I love loving you. Loving you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. It’s just—”
His mouth on her collarbone; his hand at her waist, kneading the small of her back, tracing the outline of her cybernetics through her shirt. She can’t think.
“I love you,” says Caldis finally, squeezing his hips with her knees. She only takes a minute amount of pride in the noise he makes. “I said that already, I know, but it’s true. I love you so much, and for the longest time I thought we’d never have this again, and you’ve always made me nervous, but now it’s like everything is magnified, you know? It was so easy before. Simple. But now there’s the Alliance and the Republic and—” The train. Theron’s face, smudged red. Umbara. “—I hate what it’s done to us. I hate how difficult things are now. Not that loving you isn’t worth it, because it is, but—”
Theron pants her name, pulling back just enough to look at her.
“—I miss what we used to have. Like Nar Shaddaa. Do you remember when we met Rhyss at the Slopes that one time? We were trying to find Darok and Rhyss had some information and it was just the two of us, the first time we were ever actually alone together. You were so close, and the bar was hot and the music was loud and I could feel your heartbeat, Theron, through the Force, so fast I could barely keep up with it, and I kept wondering if I was making your heart beat fast…”
Theron touches her jaw, chest rising and falling with the force of his breaths. “You were wearing your robes.”
“Like an idiot,” mutters Caldis.
“I saw you across the Promenade and couldn’t believe how lucky I was.” He laughs, a breathy sound, half a wheeze. “I spent hours in your file, reading up on you and Rhyss, everything you did on Alderaan. I had this image of you in my head: your standard, no-nonsense Jedi, robes and all. But then we met on Carrick, and you were so…”
Her breath snags in her throat.
“Bright,” Theron finishes, laughing again. “You were so bright, and I thought, she can’t possibly be a Jedi. But you were. You had the robes, the lightsaber, the infuriating do-gooder attitude—”
It’s Caldis’ turn to laugh.
“But you weren’t like any Jedi I’d met before.” He reaches up, cupping her cheeks, thumbing the corner of her mouth. “You were… real, in all the ways my mom wasn’t. And you were right across the Promenade, nose in that old datapad of yours—”
She laughs again, curling her fingers around his wrists. It doesn’t take her long to find his pulse-point, straining against the skin.
“—and you looked up—”
She counts the beats like she used to count lightsaber forms. One, Shii-Cho. Two, Makashi. Three, Soresu. Four, Ataru…
“—and my heart stopped.”
Five, Djem So.
“That’s stupid.” Theron shakes his head. “I sound stupid, don’t I?”
“No.” The word leaves her in a breathy rush of air. Caldis leans down, peppering his face with kisses. The creases at the corners of his eyes. The tip of his nose. The curve of each brow. “No. It’s perfect. You’re perfect, Theron, don’t ever say that again.”
“Perfect?” He laughs, deep in his chest, winding his arms around her waist. “Really?”
“Really,” says Caldis fiercely. “You’re the most perfect man I’ve ever known.”
Theron blinks his eyes open. One, then the other, palming the dip of her waist. “I wanted to see you without your robes,” he says, only to flush. “Not… I just mean that I wanted to see you as Callie. Not Knight Caldis, Hero of Tython Caldis, Battlemaster Caldis. Just Callie.” He drums his fingers against the small of her back. “But then I looked at you. I mean really looked at you. And I realized that all the Jedi I’d met before were hiding behind their robes, trying to be something they weren’t. It was like an—an image they wanted to project. But you were your robes. You and those robes were one and the same.”
Six, Niman. Seven—
She doesn’t know what to say. She conjures the Promenade, with its glittery flashes of light. Conjures a datapad, the weight familiar; conjures fabric, rustling around her ankles. Theron stood on the opposite side of the plaza. She felt him first—a blossom of color, bleeding through the Force.
“Theron…” She doesn’t know what to say. Again she thinks how nervous she is. But beneath that, something warm, melting at the heart of her: gratitude.
His lips quirk in a smile. It reminds Caldis so much of how things were that it takes her breath away.
“Theron.” She laughs. Rubs her eyes, glassy now, wet. “Look what you did! I’m crying on our date like a sap.”
“But you’re also laughing.”
“At myself!”
“Doesn’t matter.” He smooths a hand down her side, tickling her ribs briefly. “I love your laugh.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Because it’s cute?”
“Because I love you.”
It comes easily, but Caldis remembers a time it didn’t. She blinks and Theron’s standing behind a force field, redder than all her nightmares. Did you ever love me, or was that all part of the act?
She sighs. Rubs her eyes, harder this time. His fingers trace the curve of her spine, teasing her cybernetics, gentle bumps of vertebrae. It’s so much like it used to be that Caldis leans into him, tucking her chin beneath his head, arching against his body.
Cinnamon, leather, citrus on her tongue. She smiles, humming when his arms settle around her middle.
“For the record, I’m nervous too.” Theron shifts, leaning back in the chair, propping his feet on the console again. The springs squeak beneath them, filling the cockpit with sound—obscuring, briefly, the rhythm of their breaths. “I never used to be. Nerves aren’t great for spycraft, believe it or not. But then I met you, and I was so painfully aware of how out of my league you were—”
“Out of your league?” she echoes.
“You were a full-fledged, heroic, savior-of-the-galaxy Jedi. Kind of difficult for a low-brow failure like me to catch up.”
Caldis frowns into his shoulder. “I said you were perfect, remember? And I’m pretty sure I meant it.”
“I know,” he chuckles. “I just meant that… it was a new experience for me. I like to think I nailed it, but we both know that’s not true. Anyway, it’s—I know you now, so I’m not as intimidated. But I still get nervous.” He sighs. Noses the shell of her ear, pulling a shiver from her, a breathy sigh. “I was nervous when you found me on Copero. Twice as nervous when we met on Nathema. I thought I was going to die when I asked you to marry me. And I’m still nervous, even now.”
Caldis reaches out. Pushes past the chaos, the vibrancy of the Force, to find his heartbeat. His body trembles with it, vibrating against her.
“Theron.” She pulls back, only for Theron to tighten his grip.
“I want to do right by you. Us,” he adds. “I didn’t have the best role models growing up. And the whole spycraft thing is less than great when it comes to—” he gestures at nothing in particular— “being in a relationship, especially when it’s a relationship you want to stay in for the rest of your natural life.” His brow furrows. “Do Jedi live longer than normal people? Is that a thing, or am I just making that up? What about people who have some of the Force but not enough to actually wield it? I don’t mind being the first to die, but I can’t imagine that’d be fun for you—”
Caldis laughs, finding his mouth with her own in a lingering slide. “You’re rambling.”
“Am I?”
She hums. “If anyone would know, it’d be me.”
“I guess,” he murmurs, craning his neck to nip her lower lip, “that’s fair.”
“I can see why you think it’s cute.”
Theron’s cheeks are an endearing shade of pink. He clears his throat. “I can see why you don’t like being called cute.”
“I don’t not like it,” she corrects. “I just think there are better adjectives.”
He quirks a brow. “Like what?”
“Adorable. Lovely. Delightful. Charming? Is that laying it on too thick? Ooh,” she says, bouncing in his lap. “Enchanting! I’ve always loved that word. Reminds me of the fairy tales Rhyss would read to me in the cockpit of the Hardluck. Like, I always thought Alderaan had the best fairy tales growing up, y’know? I was biased, obviously, but—”
“Callie.” His voice is soft, eyes softer still.
“What? I’m just saying, as biased I was, there are so many good fairy tales out there that I didn’t know about until Rhyss introduced me to—”
“Let’s get married on Narsh.”
His heartbeat an anchor, grounding her to the moment. His body against hers, warm, kindling. She exhales, a shaky thing, smoothing her palms down his chest, fingers curling at his navel. “Narsh?”
Theron nods. “I want to do right by us. And things were easy on Narsh, right? In the Slopes, when it was just the two of us. It was simple.” He swallows, wetting his lips, gaze flicking between her eyes. “I want it to be like that again. And I’m not saying getting married on the Smuggler’s Moon makes the bad stuff go away, but…”
Spice, neon, citrus on her tongue. Theron stands next to her, the Promenade flashing behind them. All she knows is his heartbeat, or hers, or theirs—the halting steps of an initiate, fluid in the Force.
“It’s a start,” he finishes. “Right?”
She doesn’t know what to say. But her kiss is all yes.