Chapter Text
You really wished you had listened to the briefing before coming on this assignment. Maybe you would’ve had time to process your target before having to meet him if you did. It surely would’ve saved you the need to have a complete mental reevaluation before engaging in combat with him. Or maybe it wouldn’t have, you could never be sure. Truthfully, you couldn’t even be sure his name would’ve come up in your briefing anyways. There was the possibility that the name of your target was hidden from you purposefully due to you knowing him when you were a youngling— you never really knew what the Inquisitorious would hide from you in an effort to prevent you from trying to desert.
You had known Cal Kestis when you were both younglings in the Jedi Temple. Due to the nature of the Order, you couldn’t exactly call him a friend, despite your shared sense of camaraderie, but you were definitely more than just acquaintances. You had to keep a reasonable distance from him, as attachments were forbidden, but you still regarded the boy fondly, and you were almost certain he felt the same towards you.
When you were old enough to be assigned to masters, you still managed to see each other enough to foster a decent friendship. It helped that your masters were frequently assigned together, and this often resulted in joint training sessions between the four of you, with your master encouraging you and Cal to work with each other, highlighting the other’s strengths and working around your weaknesses. You and him made a decent team, enough that you knew how the other worked in combat, playing off of each other to ensure a victory against any opponents you faced. You were the closest thing to partners-in-crime that the order would allow.
That’s why it was difficult now to stand in front of him, a mask obstructing your clear vision of the boy you used to be so fond of, and your ignited lightsaber, burning an angry red, at your side.
It was so obviously him; there was no question. You could never mistake the bright red of his hair for anyone else, even tinted by your visor. Even his face hadn’t changed much, although his freckles were much less prominent now. You were standing in front of Cal Kestis; the boy you grew up with, the boy you trained with and fought with and grew close to. You were right in front of him, and you were meant to kill him.
You doubted he even knew it was you underneath the mask, and you had every intention to keep it that way. You couldn’t let him see what you were now, how much you had changed. The thought of his green eyes filling with disgust at you was too much to stomach, so you hid yourself from him, not even speaking in fear of him figuring you out. Unfortunately, it seemed he didn’t feel the same way, as he started running his mouth when he realized that you weren’t going to make the first move.
“So, how many of you guys is the Empire gonna send after me?” You couldn’t tell if it was a taunt or a genuine question through the nerves that writhed in your stomach upon hearing him talk. You circled each other, both waiting, searching for a reaction from the other that you were too mentally preoccupied to give. Ironically, your biggest enemy right now wasn’t Cal, but your own head, as you kept getting stuck in the past, reminiscing.
Everything reminded you too much of when you were young. The way you and Cal were circling each other was a twisted parallel to the duels you had in your youth, waiting for the other to initiate the combat while mentally assessing everything you could. Cal would always be the one to initiate, lunging forward and clashing your sabers together in a brilliant glow of blue and green. He often helped you after the sessions, running you through stances and discussing form in a way that made it easier to digest the information. He would sometimes take your hands, guiding you into the different stances while quizzing you on which form it was from. Cal had always been better at it than you, the combat coming easily where you found your own aptitude in the force. It was a bit ironic how you were the one to give in to the dark side when he was always the one more sensitive to emotion. Maybe it was his psychometry, but he always had more trouble regulating his feelings.
Maybe this was a test. Maybe the Inquisitorious was trying to figure out how well you could regulate yourself, avoid giving into past attachments and maintain your loyalty to the Empire. You figured that had to be the answer when Cal lunged forward, swinging his saber and forcing you to block, calm blue clashing against vibrant red.
“Three of you guys have already failed. What makes you different?” He asked, tone the same one that he used previously and sending a sick feeling to your gut when you still couldn’t tell if he was actually curious or just taunting you. You used to be able to read him so well, what happened to that?
You didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. Even the thought of responding had your heart clenching and throat tightening in anxiety, so you pushed against him, kicking out and knocking him a few feet away. When you were younger, he would’ve laughed at that, sheathed his saber and looked at you disapprovingly as he complained that wasn’t part of any of the forms you were working on. Now, he just got back into a defensive stance that you recognized from Form II, glaring at you without a hint of amusement on his face.
You wished, so badly, to sheath your own saber, rip off your mask, and run to him, crying for a second chance— to go back to the light. But you couldn’t. You were too afraid to. It’s how the Inquisitorious worked. They broke you down, reconditioned you until you were so deep into it that you couldn’t even fathom a way out. They kept you in a chokehold of fear and uncertainty that you couldn’t break out of, no matter how hard you kicked and writhed. More than anything, you wanted to cry out for Cal, to revert back to the little kid you used to be, laughing with him and letting him lead you through saber forms and just being there with you. You wanted to run into his arms, hold him close and let him loosen the grip around your throat and just tell you it would be okay. You just wanted it to be okay.
But you couldn’t do that. The grip was too tight and you were too weak to even choke out his name. So you fought, slashing at him and pushing him back; using the force to knock him down, but not having the guts to finish him while he was on the ground. You had every opportunity to kill him. Multiple times, he was knocked to the ground, stunned in front of you, but you only swung your saber menacingly, trying to look intimidating when you felt anything but.
When he finally put distance between you two, cutting off your exit with a large ship that a small droid nearly crashed into you with, you couldn’t be relieved. You were just conflicted, relief and anger fighting in your chest and mixing into an ugly monster that you had to tamp down, else your purge troopers would have found you sobbing in the middle of a broken down landing pad. You knew that your paths would have to cross again. There’s no telling what would happen to you if you failed this assignment. You would have to face Cal Kestis again soon, and this time only one of you would be walking away alive. The small part of you that was tucked away, barely touched by everything that happened after the purge, hoped that it would be Cal.