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The Exile took a deep breath. The warmth of the universe came seeping in, and she felt at peace. She was more at one with the force than she had ever been. She could feel the pull of billions of lives on the moon below, frantic and hazy. And sad. Past the flares of euphoria and base urges, hunger and despair filled every empty space in Nar Shaddaa.
She could relate to that.
It welcomed her, echoed her presence. The moon ached for her. It needed her. She reached out—
“Hey, I was wondering if you want to—“
There was a crash as her ass hit the floor. She hadn’t realized she’d been floating.
“Oh shit! Are you okay?” Atton rushed into the room and tried to help her up. The Exile brushed him off and rose to her feet.
“Yeah, I’m fine. What did you want?” She shifted her weight, wincing as her tailbone cried out. She’d landed harder than she thought.
Atton raised his eyebrows. “Okay, medbay. Come on.” He nodded in the direction and took a few steps. The Exile did not move. “Oh, don’t give me that.”
She averted her eyes. “I’m fine. I was kind of busy, anyway.”
“Doing what? Looking for lost Jedi with your mind?”
“Yes,” she lied.
He looked at her warily. “Okay…” He flexed his hand, and looked back at her. “If you’re too busy to come to the medbay, can I give my new force affinity a spin? You keep on meditating, I’ll fix your…uh…”
The Exile cocked an eyebrow. “Ass?”
Atton grinned. “Your words, not mine.”
A smile slipped out. “Okay, sure. I’ll be your test dummy.” The Exile attempted to sit back down, wincing dramatically until Atton lent her support. They gripped each other’s forearms, his taut muscles flexed against her fingertips. She felt his breath on her neck, and realized their faces were inches apart. She was immensely grateful for the floor when it finally came, and Atton stepped away. Her face felt hotter than the Tatooine desert, so she stared at a spot on the floor and suppressed the physical reaction. She was above this. She had to be.
“You ready?” Atton sat in front of her, their knees mere centimeters apart. He extended his hands.
His hands were calloused, a reminder of multiple wars and the time he’d spent as a miner. The Exile took them cautiously, feeling a slight jolt of electricity. The discharge of energy amongst force users. She still wasn’t used to feeling it again after her years away from the Jedi.
“So I just… uh…” Atton looked at her questioningly. He’d only started opening himself up to the universe a few weeks ago, so he was understandably a little shaky on healing. He’d managed to heal a scratch from a laigrek the other day, but a small cut on your own body is very different from a bruise in someone else that you can’t even see. Harder to visualize.
“Close your eyes.” He did so. “Relax. Take a deep breath. Are you with me?”
He nodded. “Yeah.” She gently probed his consciousness, finding the familiar listing of hyperspace routes guarding his mind.
“Reach out, and find where I’m hurting. Should be a minor bruise on my tailbone.” She felt him cautiously reach out, searching for signs of distress. Being scanned like that almost reminded her of going through security at the Republic Senate, or being anywhere near Kreia. “Find it?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Good. Do you see what’s wrong with it?”
“Yeah.”
“Describe it to me.”
“It’s sending all kinds of pain signals, and I think it got tweaked out of alignment.”
“If it’s in the wrong place, fixing that is the first step.” She braced herself. “Go to.”
Atton’s face scrunched up like a kinrath pup, which would have been really funny if the Exile was not immediately wrenched with pain way worse than the actual injury had been. She clenched her teeth and squeezed his hands, stiffening a little. Atton snapped out of his meditative state.
“Shit! Are you okay?” Distress. Exactly what you want in a healer.
“Yes, I’m fine. Try again.”
“Fine in the actual way or fine like you were a few minutes ago when I was trying to get you to go to medbay because you didn’t want to be anywhere near the Jedi fan boy?”
“Where did you get that idea?”
He glanced away. “Just figured that was the only logical reason to not go get patched up by a professional.” Professional ass-kisser.
Atton, you must really hate the guy for you to project that thought so loudly.
His eyes widened. “I don’t—he’s fine. It’s fine.”
“You’re right, he probably didn’t hear you anyway.”
I did.
Atton’s face turned red, and the Exile let out a short laugh. She called out to him. “Good job, Mical! You’re really improving your connection to the force!”
“Good job, Mical,” Atton mumbled bitterly.
“Hey,” she chided gently. “Come on. Try again?”
“No, I think I’ve done enough. I’ll leave you alone.” He started to get up, but the Exile pulled him back down with a thump. He gasped lightly. Ooh, she felt that one.
“Okay, I’ll lead by example. Sorry about that, but looks like this is a teachable moment now. Relax.” She found his (very minor) bruise quickly, and started to gently apply pressure. “Do you feel what I’m doing?
His eyes closed, Atton nodded. “Mhm.” The Exile concentrated on his spine, fixing the small tweaks he’d accumulated from months of sleeping in the cockpit like an idiot and various battles. She found a couple pinched nerves, which she alleviated the stress on, and found a small subluxation in his middle back that she carefully eased back into place. Atton’s breath hitched, so she soothed his pain.
“How do you feel?”
His breathing was steady and deep, and his posture was better than ever. His eyes fluttered open. “Good. Tingly, but good.”
“That tingling is your nerves waking up after being under stress for a while. I gave your whole spine a boost. Fun fact, sleeping in the pilots chair isn’t good for your back! Who’d have thought.”
Atton rolled his eyes, smiling. “Where else would I sleep? We’re running out of beds with all the strays you keep picking up.”
She grinned. “You could always bunk up with Bao-Dur. I’m sure he gets lonely.”
“All those horns, and the constant threat of his arm singing my eyebrows off? Sounds like a dream.”
“Unless you have a better idea—“
“I might.”
Her breath caught in her throat. Between the direct eye contact and the mischievous look on his face, she could feel the heat rising to her cheeks once again. Dammit.
“You know, uh, you’re right. Maybe you take my bed—“ Atton’s smirk turned into a grin. “—and I’ll go see if Mira wants some company,” she finished.
“Oh really?”
“Yeah, we’ve actually been getting really close lately. She gets me, you know?”
“Surprising, considering she threatened to jab you with a Bothan Stunner the last time you spoke.”
“That’s how Mandalorians flirt,” she deadpanned.
“Oh, okay. That old fart we picked up on Dxun must be really into, uh, everyone, then.”
“Oh, yeah. Mandalore’s a real kath hound. I heard he once propositioned an HK-50.”
“No shit!” Atton laughed, and the Exile couldn’t help but join him. It felt nice to laugh, for once. Her diaphragm was finally getting some exercise outside of weaponized screaming. It was all fun and good to break enemies’ eardrums with a force-enhanced scream, but now she felt a tear streaming down her cheek. She hadn’t felt this good in a long time. It was a foreign word to her. Happy.
Her belly aching, she looked back at Atton. His usual stormy presence was radiating calm, and he looked about five years younger than he had when she first picked him up in a Peragus prison in her skivvies. How long had it been since then? Almost forever, it felt like.
He’d been a near constant fixture in her life for months, and she had a sinking feeling it would be coming to an end soon. He could be gunned down at any time, and there was always the possibility that he would cut and run just like he did in the last two wars. He wouldn’t leave, would he? They had a bond. She was important to him, and vice versa. If he split, or worse, she would be left with yet another gaping hole. It was already so hard to keep everything from tumbling out, and if—
“Hey, are you okay?” He took her hand again and gently squeezed it. “Come back to me.”
She clenched her jaw and slowly exhaled through her nose. She hadn’t realized how tight her chest was. Not good. A Jedi is supposed to be in tune with and in control of their body, not letting physiological responses dictate their mental state. She felt like she had every single time she thought about the atrocities she committed on Malachor V, and the people she lost that day. Who was she kidding, she didn’t lose them. She extinguished them. Every friend she had on that moon was dead by her hands, and it was only a matter of time before it happened again. Any time she got too close to somebody, they ended up dead.
“You should head back to the cockpit. Make sure we’re not falling out of orbit or something.” She stared at the ground, refusing the meet his eyes.
“We’re not falling out of orbit. The ship is fine. Are you?”
She pulled her hand out of his and turned away, hugging her knees. “Yes, I’m fine. Just… please leave me alone.”
Atton sighed. “You never were any good at keeping your thoughts guarded. It’s rolling off of you. Fear, and guilt. Are you thinking about Malachor again?”
Tears welled. She blinked them back. “…maybe.”
He put a warm hand on her upper back. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Didn’t I just tell you to leave?” she snapped.
He withdrew. “Alright, no talking. Fine. I can do no talking. Can I at least take another crack at your tailbone? It does still hurt, right?”
She sniffled. “Maybe.”
“Do you want to lie down?”
She nodded. He walked over to her bunk and smoothed the covers. “Take your time.” She slowly crawled over from her spot on the floor, and climbed into the bunk. She buried her face in the pillow and tried to steady her breathing. She could feel Atton watching her, waiting for her to settle and relax a little.
“Can you close the door?” she asked through the pillow. The words barely made sense, garbled by the faux-nerf down, but the door slid shut anyway. “Thank you,” she said to the pillow.
Atton settled beside her on the floor. He was radiating calm, tinged with concern and… not sure what that was. The Exile did her best to ignore him and focus on her own breathing and heart rate. Too fast, on both counts. The pillow helped to slow down her breathing, and soon her heart followed. She mumbled to let him know she was ready.
His hands hovered above her back. Not quit touching, but she felt the warmth even through her robes. He expanded his consciousness, meeting her with a gentle caress. One hand hovered over her lower back, as close to the offending injury as he could get without accidentally groping her. She felt warmth seeping in, radiating from his hand and finding its way into every inch of her body. Her muscles relaxed, releasing tension in places she hadn’t even known she’d been tense. She felt her tailbone gently nudged back into alignment, and any pain was replaced with warmth and pleasurable sensations. She stretched like a happy Loth-cat, hugging the pillow and curling her toes. Atton pulled away at the movement, leaving her back cold where his hands had been.
“How’s that?”
She turned onto her side, curling up a little to face him. “Much better.” She smiled softly. “You’re getting good at this.”
“All thanks to you,” he said, smiling. “Now, why don’t you get some rest? I’ll put us on course for Korriban, and by the time we drop out of hyperspace you’ll be in fighting shape again.” He started towards the door.
“Wait,” the Exile whispered. Atton looked at her inquisitively. She wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted, but to be alone right now sounded like death. “Can you stay here?” Her face burned. She must have sounded like a small child, asking for help like that. “Nevermind, it’s fine. Go do pilot stuff.”
His face softened. “I’m sure T3 can get us into hyperspace by himself.” He pulled out his comlink and sent a quick message to the droid. It immediately beeped in response. “Perfect.” He put it away and sat back down on the floor next to the bunk, on arm resting on it.
“I thought you didn’t trust droids?”
“Only as far as I can throw them.” He smirked. “Thanks to you, though, I can pick up the little bastard with my mind and toss him across the cargo hold if he drops us into another asteroid field.”
She snorted. “You know, he’s actually pretty good at navigating those. He got the ship to Peragus on a single engine, remember?”
“A fluke.” He brushed his hand through his soft-looking hair. “It takes a human touch to really pilot this hunk of junk.”
“Oh yeah?”
“The Ebon Hawk’s been through a lot. The controls are finicky and the switches stick and sometimes she just refuses to go in the direction you want. She needs a pilot with steady, adaptable hands.”
“And that’s you?”
He smiled sardonically. “Have I ever crashed this thing?”
“Yes. Multiple times.”
“Dxun doesn’t count!” he protested. “We were under fire! That crash landing was perfect. And the Telos shuttle wasn’t my fault either.”
The Exile grinned. “Alright, whatever you say. You’ve got the touch of a master pilot.”
“Damn straight.” Atton yawned. “Man, healing really takes the juice out of your engine, huh. Maybe I will steal a nap in Bao-Dur’s bunk.” He glanced over at it, and made no attempt to move.
The Exile stared at him. Her heart rate jumped, and she felt the heat rising to her face again. “There’s no need to put him out. I mean, he’s probably had a long day keeping the ship running. What if he wants to go to bed?”
“You’re right, that would be rude of me. I guess I’ll just stay here.” He rested his head on his arm and closes his eyes. It still felt like he was burning into her soul, though.
“That’s even worse than the pilot’s chair! What, do you want to make more work for me fixing your back later? Come on.” She shifted back a little, closer to the wall and leaving a roughly Atton-sized space on the bunk beside her.
He looked at her. “You sure?”
She rolled her eyes. “Come on, dummy. Before I change my mind.” She yawned and settled down on her side, lazily closing her eyes.
Hesitantly, Atton lifted himself up to sit on the side of the bed. He took off his boots and signature jacket, leaving them neatly on the floor, and laid down on his back. He looked at the Exile, her eyes closed and one arm tucked under the pillow. The air between them seemed to buzz.
He hoped Mical was minding his own fucking business.
The Exile shifted, eliminating what little space had been between them and draping her free arm across his stomach. Atton’s heart began to race. Could she feel his excitement? Did she know what she was doing to him? She must have. She knew everything about him, his worst secrets and his technique for guarding his mind. It would be nearly effortless for her to slip through his defenses, but she never did. Atton respected her for it. Admired her. Maybe even…
Regardless, now was time for rest. Atton closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. His heart rate began to slow, and he felt the embrace of sleep slowly curling its way around him. The Exile, however, sleepily pulled him closer, entwined her leg with his, and nuzzled her face into his neck. Atton cursed under his breath. How was he supposed to sleep? He hadn’t slept this close to a person since his last time in the Nar Shaddaa Red Sector, and all that had landed him was a stolen wallet and a (now cured) venereal disease.
He sighed, and took her hand in his. It was smaller than his own, and rough from years of warfare and survival. He felt scars on her knuckles, and the remnant structure of a fracture from years ago. He wondered why she never got that fixed properly. If he had to guess, it was from the war, and she carried it as a reminder of the lives lost and the pain inflicted. The horror that she carried around with her every day.
He would heal her if he could. If only it were possible to heal that kind of wound. Because it was all he could do, he gently kissed her forehead, closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep.