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They'd gotten away with it.
He trudged to a stop, breath burning in his lungs and the Imperial Fighter's engine howling in his ears. As it streaked away, shrinking into a pinprick on the horizon, Cal Kestis turned back the way he came. Pinching the skin above his runner's stitch, he shook his head at BD's chirps.
"No... I don't... think so," he managed between gasps. "If they had any more... they'd have started digging already." Talking stung. Gingerly, he felt around his lip and sucked a breath in through his teeth, grimacing at the red on his fingers. Another scar for the collection.
"Cal? Cal!" The urgency in Cere's voice had him scrambling to answer the line.
"We're fine," he said, still breathing hard. "We're alright. He got it, though."
"Okay. How far out are you?"
"Uh..." Mountains, hazy and blue, filled his vision. It was hard to tell. One tight outcropping cut into the rock looked a lot like every other around here. The bottomless chasm below looked pretty regular, too.
"Not... far?"
"This doesn't feel right," she said. Now that she mentioned it, a slimy, cold feeling was twisting around in his guts. Something was off.
"Is Merrin back?" he asked.
"Just now."
"Kid, you gotta get back here," Greez’s voice cut in. "Every ship in this whole place just took off!"
Cal threw himself into a run, ignoring the burning at the back of his throat.
"Hit your beacon!"
He opened his mouth to answer, but something out of the corner of his eye seized all attention. In the distance, one of the mountains moved. It leaned, then split, crumbling in on itself. Then, the one next to it. And the next.
Mountains shouldn't do that. Stunned silence reigned over the heartbeat his body forgot. Then, deafening sound as the rock all around him shook loose. Somehow over the din, Cere cried, "we're coming to get you!"
It was all he could do to keep his leaden limbs tumbling forward. He skittered over gaps in the path, leaping from boulder to boulder, trying to gain any distance at all.
The Stinger Mantis shot into view, hatch open and landing gear extended like so many claws – something to grab onto. His chest heaved with effort, hurling himself ahead. Cal hit a jutting crag, flipping over and over, straight onto a path that wasn't there anymore. He flailed, his scrabbling hands raking empty air.
Cere's arms thrust over the side of the ramp. Time slowed to a crawl and Cal's bones vibrated from within. He didn't plummet, but hung suspended in the air instead. He reached out beyond himself for the durasteel in that ramp, willing every molecule within it to become a part of him. The Force ripped his whole body upwards. Metal in his hands never felt so good. Cere and Merrin both latched onto his vest, throwing him aboard.
Cal just lay where he fell, panting, heart hammering. "That... close!" he gasped.
Cere and Merrin stared down in concern. Squinting back, he asked, "What... just happened!?"
"Close isn’t the half of it," said Cere. "The entire mountain range has just been flattened."
He blinked. "The whole... thing?"
"They want you dead, Cal."
He put his hands over his face, stealing the focus to slow his shaky breaths. "They got it. They got the stone," he groaned.
"Yes, you said before. We'll think of something."
Cal peeked through his fingers. "How'd you do?" he asked Merrin. He accepted her proffered hand and sat up. As adrenaline drained away, pain blossomed all over his body. He winced, pressing his hand tight to his aching ribs.
"I retrieved mine." She held up a small rectangular stone, crystalline and inlaid with some kind of precious metal. "Once you started, all those near me left. I believe it was you they were expecting, Cal Kestis."
"Yeah, I think so, too. I don't think I've ever seen that many Purge Troopers in one place before."
"Your reputation begins to precede you," she said, unsettled, her brows coming together.
"I guess it's sort of a compliment..." Cal paused, checking his palm for blood. "The Empire thinks I'm worth blowing up mountains for."
"You are," Cere agreed, turning to head for the cockpit. "They got lucky this time."
"I guess we'll just have to step up our game, huh, BD?"
But the little droid wasn't listening; hopping around examining something crumpled on the floor instead. Merrin knelt down to pick it up.
A frayed mess was all that remained of his poncho. The other half hung around his back like a badly cut cape.
Looking at her, the ache of all those forming bruises was eclipsed by warmth welling up from deep in his chest. "I'm glad you're here, Merrin. The Empire would've got both Stones of Kadam today, if not for you."
Absorbed by the scrap of cloth, she barely glanced up at him. "I do not require such praise for doing what is expected of me."
"I know," he said. "But I like telling you anyway."
"Hmm," she murmured, her gaze flicking up and down, clearly sizing him up for something. His cheeks, still rosy from running, warmed even more.
"I should go get some rest," he said, poking around the graze on his side.
"Cal Kestis. Do not go and sleep in garbage like a beast," she said gently, gesturing to his sad little cape situation. "Give me that."
He hesitated, feeling the coarse fabric with his thumb.
"What is wrong?"
"It's not important," he said, smiling and shaking his head. But, a memory lived in that drab weave; one he liked to revisit. "It's... lucky," he added, pulling the tattered thing up over his head.
"Lucky?"
"Yeah. Good things happen when I wear it."
Her eyes narrowed in confusion. "You had a mountain dropped on you. That is not lucky."
He chuckled, but pain shooting up his side cut the mirth short. "Ugh... maybe," he conceded. "But I'm here... and I'm going to take back that stone."
"You have strange ideas of luck," she said with a bemused tilt of her head. "I did not think you Jedi believed in it."
"Most don't." he nodded, turning to the doorway.
"But you do?"
"Um, I... don't always believe in coincidence. I'll say that." Cal summoned the strength to move once more, thinking only of his cot.
Rounding the corner into the little back room, he unfastened his leather vest. It clunked to the floor, and he nudged it under his bed, attempting to at least try being tidy. The thin frame creaked as he collapsed onto it in a tangle of limbs, pressing his forehead against the cool metal wall.
It was good to close his eyes.
Light footsteps accompanied the quiet rapping of a knuckle on the metal divider in the hall. Cal decided he wouldn't move, but he would listen.
"Mmhmm," he mumbled.
"I thought so," said Merrin, gentle disapproval in her tone. "Then, you will let that fester?"
"Mmm, it just grazed me. It's fine for now if I don’t lie on it."
"No," she said, her feet clicking across the grating towards him, "... not that."
With tremendous effort, Cal flopped onto his back, letting his head loll in her direction. "Hm?"
She carried a bowl and a cup in her hands. "For your lip, and where it bleeds," she said. His noise of protest was interrupted by her chiding, "Cal Kestis, do not sleep like a beast."
"I'll do it tomorrow. I will. It's just a cut."
"You will do it now," she said, handing him a cup. "Do not swallow this. Spit."
As much as he didn't want to admit it, Merrin making a fuss over him had happy little creatures fluttering about in his stomach. Her expectant look was motivation enough to prop himself up and swish the salt water around in his mouth a few times before spitting into the empty bowl.
Without a word, she flicked on the reading light above his head, making him wince. The cut throbbed.
She sat on the edge of the cot, her hand pressed to his cheek. Cal froze. Her skin looked so smooth, the edges of the tattoos adorning her cheeks so crisp, even from this close up. He lived for the tenderness in her eyes as she studied his face, the feel of her breath against his neck. He swallowed, focusing on her dark lips. Cal had envisioned this moment a thousand times, but never in his life had he imagined it might be like this, with his mouth all salty and sore. Still, he breathed deep, letting his eyes close.
"Hmm. What got you?" she asked, pushing a little harder against his jaw; she was only aiming his face towards the light, he realised. His sheepish grin hurt, so he cut it out.
"Oh, um... I don't know. Somebody's fist, probably."
"There is dirt in it."
"Yeah."
She pulled back and wrung out one of the rags. "If you slept like this, it would become much worse." The cloth was warm and something in the water smelled nice, whatever it was. It didn't sting like he expected, even when she brushed the cut firmly. A pebble fell free.
"Hey, I can do this," he said, reaching up to stop her hand.
"You will let me finish, it is almost done."
"Okay, but it's kind of gross, you really don't have to–"
"Oh, you will not talk as I do this, paijik!" she said, giving him an infectious smile; one he fought not to share.
"Sorry," he said from the back of his mouth. Between clenched teeth and without moving his lips at all, he asked, "... what's that you said, though?"
"Paijik," she repeated, and deposited the used cloth.
"What's it mean?" he asked, letting his head drop back against the wall, appreciating the way her eyes shone when she laughed.
"I do not know what the word is in your tongue, but you are one, Cal Kestis."
"Oh," he said with a lopsided grin. "Does it mean something like idiot, maybe?" he offered. "It sounds like it does."
"No, no. It is... much softer in meaning than that. It means more than one thing... if I can think of how to describe it, I will." She looked down at the spot on his side he was favouring. "Take that off, too. Then, I will let you be."
Cal cleared his throat. "Um, I can do that one myself."
"As you like. I do not mind helping."
Thinking of Merrin's soothing touch all over his bare skin, he swallowed again, his pulse quickening. But it really wasn't that kind of thing, and she could see his wound better, too, he reasoned; but all the reasoning didn't stop the blush creeping across his cheeks.
"Well... okay, if you're sure," he said, tugging his belt free. Pulling the whole thing over his head in one proved too much for his aching arms, and he sat there with his tunic stuck in a big lump. He sighed. Laughing, she tugged it the rest of the way.
Her laughter died the second his shirt hit the floor.
"What?" Cal stiffly twisted around, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Just a bunch of blotchy purple marks. A few more light burn spots than he expected, though.
She ran her fingers over his shoulder. The sensation was tingly, almost feather-light, and Cal blinked in surprise; touch. He couldn't remember the last time anything kinder than a kick met his back like that. Sure, a touch to the arm here or there in the course of conversation, but nothing like the way she was tracing down his side now. A thousand little mynockbumps raised all over his skin and he shuddered, grinning. It was nice.
Merrin's eyes were glistening. Any hint of a smile vanished as she looked him over.
"Zabrak do not... these do not show as they do on you," she said, covering one of his bruises with her hand, as if hiding it might somehow heal it.
"It looks a lot worse than it is," he said. "Don't worry."
Merrin daubed at all the angry red lines and dark shapes with a fragrant cloth. "Paijik," she said, muttering, "Someone must see to you." Whatever was in the water was melting the pain away. Without it shredding his nerves, Cal's head began nodding forward again and again, until at last he was supported from underneath by something soft and warm that he fit around perfectly. He buried himself in it.
—
"Cal Kestis." Merrin whispered in his ear. "I must move, now," she added. "You are heavy after such a time."
He was slumped over, curled up and impossibly comfortable.
"Oh... okay," he answered, disjointed images dancing on the backs of his eyelids.
"You will move."
"Okay," he mumbled, his head already sinking back down into the warmth of her shoulder. "Stay? Yes, okay."
"I would, but... I should not."
"Oh. But that's not what the poncho remembers?" he murmured, more than half asleep. "You want to come with me... I say yes, and you stay," he slurred.
"Cal Kestis," she repeated, a little louder this time. "Wake up." She tapped his head with her knuckles.
"Huh? What? Yes? Yes," he straightened up, rubbing his eyes. "Let's go."
"Not you. Sleep," she said, jostling him as she shifted around.
"Okay." The thin pillow scrunched under his head wasn't nearly as nice.
—
Flickering streaks of hyperspace drew countless glowing lines outside the skylight. Cal rolled his shoulders, pleasant tingles flooding all throughout his muscles. As he bent down to pick up his vest, he was struck by the realisation of just how easy it was. Not a single burn remained, and the dark patches were all faint, now. He tentatively prodded his lip but nothing hurt. He was just... whole.
He groped about for his tunic, but it was nowhere to be found. Strange.
Cal peeked around the divider, into the galley. On the table, next to a bowl of fruit, lay a pile of folded clothes, and a note on top. In hesitant, spidery Aurebesh script, the letters spelled:
'P-a-i-j-i-k, the foolish, the selfless, the dearest one, the welcome frustration.'
He grinned, folding the note into his pocket. His clothes were clean, and as he tugged the shirt on, he noticed something else lying beneath. A poncho unfurled in his hands, familiar, yet new. The stitching was immaculate. Its old frayed edges had been clipped and reinforced. Rich crimson fabric formed an arc running through the middle, restoring the torn section. A tasteful arrangement of small gold discs sewn into a dark grey trim completed the look. Cal sat on one of the stools and gathered it up in his arms. The red cloth spoke.
The Jedi held out his hand, his eyes full of gentle promise. No ritual words fell from his lips, however. For a man to offer his hand when accepting a journey together – did he know how sacred the gesture? How intimate? Then again, perhaps not – he was not a zabrak. Dathomir's breath blew past, a blessing of both truth and forgiveness. Ritual was not important. There was so much more to life than sadness and rot. There was light, like that living in his eyes – and, words or none, he was offering to share in it somehow. Merrin reached out, clasping Cal Kestis' hand tight.
His fingers reached the end of the seam. He ran up it again, all along where the grey met red. She must've spent all night putting this together.
Cal stood up and craned his neck. A box of tools sat out on the table in the common area. She lay on the couch, the cuttings from her cloak tucked under her head. Stealing back to his bunk, he grabbed the pillow, fishing around for the spare case.
Merrin stirred at his approach. He stroked her shoulder.
"I brought something for you," he said. When she lifted her head to look at him, he swapped the balled-up scraps for his pillow. "There... don't sleep like a beast, paijik," he said through a smile, just barely above a whisper. Merrin’s only answer was a sleepy, voiceless laugh. She buried her face in his pillow, took a deep breath, and settled back down with a sigh.
