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is it too late to come on home?

Summary:

A woman who wanted to be lost and the man unfortunate enough to find her make the journey home. At her core, Revan is terrified. The Exile tries to help, as always.

Notes:

once again i have legends canon by the throat. i turn these two over in my head constantly can you tell. anyways enjoy!

Work Text:

There was nowhere on the Ebon Hawk that felt comfortable anymore. What was once Revan’s ship, her home, now it felt like someone else’s. Given everything that had happened, it may very well be someone else’s ship by now. Even odder was the emptiness. A handful of times on the journey, Revan had dared to cross the threshold of the medical bay and stood in the dim corridor, listening to the near silence. There was the hum of the engines, consoles idly beeping and, of course, T3 patrolling the ship. Revan studied the main hold without leaving the corridor. The whole vessel echoed feelings, remnants of thoughts that had crossed through crew member’s minds, and dotted around that central console was enough to deafen her. She was sure that, once upon a time, she would have been able to discern more of each echo. It was too much for her here.

 

She shuffled back to the bed. There were traces here too, though more subdued and less grinding against her senses. With Doran keeping the ship on track, there was little for Revan to do other than pick at her battle scars and reflect. Her fingers traced over the rippled flesh on her cheeks, marking her with the joints of her mask forever. It was an irony she couldn’t appreciate. Upwards, her hand started to tremble through her hair, but gave up when it was met with knots and tangles. She remained ever thankful that the Ebon Hawk did not have any mirrors. The thought of her loved ones seeing her in such a state made her wince. The thought of seeing her loved ones at all made her stomach turn. She dropped her head to her knees, hoping that if she made herself small enough that the Force would finally take pity on her and swallow her whole. She ignored approaching footsteps coming portside, even as they stopped in the doorway.

 

“Good news,” Doran offered, “we’ve reached known space, so we can shoot through hyperspace the rest of the way to Telos.”

 

Revan remained silent. Doran was quite used to this and continued anyway.

 

“We should be there in a few rotations.” He said. After that, he turned to leave. A few rotations was nothing at all, time had blended together into mush. The thought of breathing fresh air again, hearing the voices of people she cared about. Revan felt more terror than she had in the face of the Sith.

 

“Don’t go.” She croaked. “Stay here.”

 

Doran didn’t hide his surprise, but did as she said. He clasped his hands together in front of him, approaching her bedside. Revan could barely look him in the face. There was too much she knew he’d be able to read off her from just a single glance and she wasn’t sure she was ready to share, especially with someone who logically should hate her. As far as she recalled, that applied to a lot of people in her life. Instead of hatred behind Doran’s eyes, it was something she could not place. It wasn’t compassion, it wasn’t pity.

 

“Are you nervous?” He asked. It was a simple question, yet Revan’s throat closed and kept her from answering. She nodded. “What do you think you have to fear?”

 

Many of the fears Revan left the Unknown Regions with had since been quashed. A majority of her friends had survived what Doran called a Jedi purge. They all awaited her return eagerly, and with questions. Questions Revan could not answer, for their sake.

 

“I’m not the same as they remember.” She said, “What if they have a change of heart?”

 

“Why would they?”

 

Revan couldn’t find an answer to that. Was it because Doran was right, or because she was simply too exhausted to argue? Probably both. She shifted where she sat, dangling her legs off the side of the bed. Doran inclined his head, clearly watching her every move. She didn’t remember much about him from the Mandalorian Wars, but she certainly remembered him being more subtle.

 

“Do you want me to get T3 to play Onasi’s message again?”

 

Her stomach twisted with dread at the mere mention of his name. It was everything she’d been waiting for, everything she’d dreamed of for goodness knows how long. So why did it make her feel sick?

 

“Maybe I’d prefer the real thing.” She said.

 

“So would he. Even if you look like a rancor chewed you up and spat you back out.” Doran held his hands up as Revan frowned at him. “Respectfully.”

 

Granted, she knew she didn’t look great. She could barely comb her fingers through her hair without them getting stuck in a tangle. Pulling a long clump over her shoulder, she sighed.

 

“Then could we do something about it?” She asked, the edge fading from her voice as she spoke again. “I don’t need to look my best for him, but I’d like to look alive.”

 

Doran smiled wider than Revan had seen for ages. Cautiously, he reached out to inspect her hair, vaguely pulling at the matted clumps and wondering what he could do with it.

 

“We might need to cut a lot of it off, are you sure?” He said.

 

“It’s just hair. It’ll grow back.”

 

It wouldn’t lift the weight on her shoulders, sure, but it was a step into becoming a person again. Doran whistled and called T3, asking the little droid to bring some scissors. T3 chirped something about not being a protocol droid that made Revan giggle, a familiar lightness in her chest.

 

“Come on, little man, it’s for me.” She said gently, which was enough to send T3 away faster than his wheels could carry him. Doran watched the exchange with folded arms and pursed lips.

 

“He never does what I say that fast.”

 

“Because he prefers me.”

 

“Clearly.” Doran said. The astromech returned quickly, waving a pair of rusted scissors around and beeping excitedly. “Hey– Give those here!”

 

It was pretty obvious T3 was winding Doran up just to make Revan laugh, but it was almost impossible not to when Doran was trying to keep the droid still long enough to swipe the scissors from his tiny robotic arm. When Doran managed to get the scissors free, T3 made a series of joyful beeps before wheeling out of the room.

 

“What a nightmare.” Doran said, shaking his head. “Right, turn around, I’ll…try my best.”

 

“I’ve had you do worse things than give a haircut, Doran, just get on with it.” Revan swivelled around on the bed, her hair flopping unceremoniously on her back. There was a long moment of hesitation behind her, as she felt Doran considering which knots to tackle first. Then, she heard the scissors snipping at her locks, careful not to remove too much. She closed her eyes, releasing herself to the feeling of letting go.

 

“I used to have it short. During the Mandalorian Wars.” She muttered without thinking. Doran hummed under his breath.

 

“Do you often think about back then?” The question seemed so obvious when it left his mouth, but also as casual and conversational as can be. “I mean the little things. The things we didn’t think about much when they happened.”

 

She turned her head slightly to look at Doran. “Why are you asking me this?”

 

Doran turned his eyes downwards, very focused on Revan’s matted hair. Her eyes softened as she realised her tone might have been a little too harsh.

 

“You are the only person still alive in the galaxy who was there. Who understands.”

 

That should have been more comforting. It was anything but. Revan sorely missed the years after the Jedi Civil War when nobody remembered her face anymore. When the holonet stopped playing her smiling face during victory celebrations, when she could disappear to Telos IV and pretend that she and Carth were not still mending the broken parts of themselves. Perhaps the galaxy would not be better off without her in it, but it would be better off forgetting that she ever existed once her time was up.

 

“There will always be someone who remembers.” She mumbled, defeated. “You don’t have to fear being misunderstood.”

 

Doran didn’t seem to have an answer to that. They dropped into silence again as more hair fell on the bed and on the floor. Revan’s fingers traced the dark tangles by her side. What she had seen and felt, it was a part of her no longer. She didn’t hold all of her pain in her hand, but it was enough that her skin could finally breathe. Little by little, her neck was free of the prickling sensation that reminded her what she was. She glanced back at Doran, who was so determined not to ruin something that would be so superficial to anyone else.

 

“What will you do once you’ve dropped me off?” She asked.

 

“Hm? Oh, uh…” He trailed off. He’d clearly thought about it, but actually getting to carry out those plans was a surprise. “I need to go to Telos’ surface. There’s…someone I have to see.”

 

Revan opened her mouth, ready to ask him to elaborate or offer her assistance, but she knew the answer to both. No, she would rest and leave the Jedi to their business once and for all. What a refreshing and terrifying thought indeed.

 

“I think that’s all of it, but you could still do with a wash.” Doran finally said as he ruffled her hair. Most of it had completely gone, Revan felt the back of her neck and the ends of her hair. She smiled with her teeth.

 

“But I look better?”

 

Doran nodded. “Like a person.”

 

Though the comment was lighthearted, that was all Revan could ask for. Maybe if she looked something close to okay, she could feel something close to it too.