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“What about this one?”
Atton watched her come alive on Peragus. Felt the Force coalesce around her on Citadel Station, breathtaking in its brilliance. Every time he turns his back these days, Halo is there, glowing softly in the center of his mind—a homing beacon, lighting his way, guiding him through the darkness of his own damn mind. But now?
Now, with the Force licking through him, he feels her absence more than anything. He’s antsy. Restless. There’s a throbbing behind his temples, reminiscent of spice, intoxication, the drunkenness of Nar Shaddaa. He tried to leave it behind—Jaq went with Revan, leaving Atton, pazaak, blasters and rum—but here he is, back where he started, a snake eating its own damn tail. It’s like the war never ended.
Atton swallows. His throat burns, tasting of char and neon.
Kreia stops in front of a door, staring into space, giving him the creeps. He wonders, dimly, what she sees. If it’s anything like his own vision, blinded by the memory of Halo. She walked these halls. He can feel her, taste her even, a collection of echoes, and bittersweet.
Kreia shakes her head, and Atton curses.
“She is close.” Not for the first time, Atton feels envious of their bond. “This way,” Kreia adds, moving with surety, a lightness that betrays the state of her body.
Atton follows. Entertains himself, briefly, with the thought of skewering Kreia on his lightsabers. He could feed Halo some bullshit—she sacrificed herself to save you, blah blah blah, she died at peace, blah blah blah, now we’re free to—
Free to what? There are so many things he wants. To hold her, yes, of course. To hear her laugh again, lodging between his ribs. But also just to feel her, the subtle pulse of her Force signature, how every muscle in his body seems to give way in her presence.
“We’re running out of time,” Atton snaps. “Sooner or later these droids are gonna band together and—”
“Enact a coup?” asks Kreia dryly.
He shrugs a shoulder. “They’d be unstoppable.”
Kreia falls silent. Atton watches the threads of the Force—how they stretch, fray, just to make room for her. Not for the first time, he wonders if maybe there’s something he’s doing wrong. He can feel Halo everywhere, that quiet winter light of hers, butting up against him. She’s just out of reach. If he were stronger, maybe, more learned in the Force, he could tear the veil of this place; leave it bare and oozing, a pile of rubble and bodies, leading him straight to—
If he were stronger, he wouldn’t need Kreia, or their damn Force bond.
“Here,” Kreia says, palming a door. It looks the same as the others, gray and nondescript, but even Atton can—
“Halo,” he gasps. She’s just out of reach. He can feel her, bright and beautiful, stars blurring to spokes of light in the moments before hyperspace.
“She’s alive.”
“No shit,” Atton mutters, reaching for his lightsabers. Maybe he can melt the durasteel. It’ll be messy, but he’s not in the mood to hack security again. “Let me—”
“No.” Kreia is cool, calm, collected. Atton has never hated her more. “Reach out with the Force.”
“This isn’t some teachable moment.” His body is aching, rippling with tension. He can’t think straight. All he knows is Halo, faint but real, bleeding through the walls. If he stills, makes contact with his breath, Atton can feel her heartbeat, twinning his own.
“Only a fool would look wisdom in the eye—”
“Get out of the way,” he growls.
The corridor floods with purple light. Atton feels her breathlessness, the taut line of Halo’s body, quivering with—
Switch the face of the +1/-1 card, the totals are nine-ten.
“Atton?”
The door crumbles, a pile of embers at his feet. The steam parts and Halo is there, pacing the length of the chamber, fists bunched in her tunic.
“Halo!”
They meet in the middle. His hands flit over her, as if checking for injuries. Halo laughs, a musical sound, the one spark of life on the whole damn planet. It’s like the refugee sector all over again, the Force blooming, edging his darkness from view.
And at last, Atton… awaken.
“What are you—” She reaches up, touching his jaw. He fights the urge to nuzzle into her palm. “How did you—”
“Pretty heroic, huh?”
Halo presses her lips together. “And the others?”
“Lost without their leader.” He can’t stop shaking. “Did they hurt you?” he asks, thumbing a mark at her hairline, the beginnings of a bruise.
“I’m fine.” She can’t stop shaking. Her hands slip down his chest, curling in the fabric of his robes, knuckles pale and gaunt. “The Ubese didn’t stand a chance.”
Atton snorts. “You’re damn right they didn’t.”
If he were stronger, more learned in the Force, maybe he could heal her. He’s seen her do it—a pulse of light, followed by warmth, trickling through his body. His fingers trail up the side of her face, mapping her brow, the creases at the corners of her eyes. If only he were stronger. If only there were some sort of ritual, a pact or promise.
Revan would know. The thought leaves as quickly as it came.
“Atton.” His eyes flick from her brow to her mouth, swollen pink. She must’ve been chewing her lip. It doesn’t take him long to imagine her mouth against his, his teeth flashing out, their bodies flush and—
Switch the face of the +2/-2 card, the totals are eight-eleven.
“Atton,” she says again, firmer this time. Her hands frame his face, warm and familiar. “You did good.”
He feels his lips quirk. “Did I impress you, Master?”
Halo rolls her eyes. “We’ll critique your performance later,” she says, “Padawan.”
“Ooh,” Atton teases. “I’m a padawan now, huh?”
Kreia clears her throat. Halo startles, stepping away from him, reaching for the hilt at her belt. “We mustn’t tarry.”
“Kreia.” Is she flushed? Atton can’t tell. “Thank you for coming.”
“I would be remiss to trust the fool with your rescue,” says Kreia evenly. He can feel her eyes on him, the steady barrage of her gaze. Atton shivers, drawing his robes around him, tightening his grip on his lightsabers. “Come.”
Halo averts her eyes. Nods, acquiescent as always. His jaw ticks. “Of course.”
As they leave, her hand lingers on his shoulder, the space between his shoulder blades, buzzing with light.