Work Text:
10 ABY
As the red-skinned Devaronian with the broken horn stood in line at the bar at Landing Lights, the hot new nightclub he had agreed to meet what Sera had named the Zombie Survivors Support Group, he looked and felt absolutely miserable. It still hurt to think of her.
He had been such an idiot to have worried so much about everything - what others would think of their unspoken relationship, what they'd gone through on the Purge, on Storinal, with those damn Jedi, with Trig, and now he'd lost her forever.
Gat didn't even know why he'd come to 'celebrate' another anniversary of them all escaping the floating hellhole, the Imperial prison barge Purge and the flesh-eating monsters the Empire had created; but here he was because Zahara and Trig had pestered him mercilessly and had even stooped to recruiting Anzhu the Squib, his chief mechanic (to the role she used to play), to make his life hell on wheels when he stopped accepting their holo calls.
He took the tray of drinks from the droid server behind the bar and started to weave his way back to the booth where the others were sitting watching the dance floor and its more enthusiastic inhabitants.
In the end he let them think they'd worn him down, but really it was the thought of Sera that had prodded him to leave his self-imposed exile and briefly rejoin the land of the living.
Gat settled down into his space on the end of the curved seat, "Doc," he handed Zahara some sort of fruity girly drink with what seemed like half a fruit bowl in the glass.
He picked up a foaming mug of lomin ale and handed it to Trig, "Doc." He smiled, immensely proud of the young man in front of him. Gat tousled Trig's dark red hair, "Congrats on passing the corpsman exam. Now I know where to go next time I need patching up."
"Pfft!" Trig batted the older man's hand away, "You couldn't afford my rates."
Zahara leaned forward, "How are you doing Gat? I've asked Azhu, but he's drunk already and I can't understand a word he's saying. It's been almost 2 years since-"
"I'm fine." Gat tersely cut her off mid-sentence and took a large drink from his own mug of bitter brew. In order to avoid the looks the two human meddlers were giving him, Gat looked out over the dance floor.
The thumping beat of the electronic music pulsed over and around him. It was a familiar cheesy pop song that Sera had played to death shortly before That Day.
When darkness falls, leaving shadows in the night, don't be afraid, wipe that fear from your eyes.
There. In the middle of the packed throng of bodies. Gat thought he saw someone he recognised; or should recognise.
"Do you think we should?" Trig whisper shouted to Zahara.
The olive-skinned woman shook her head. "Let them sort themselves out."
If a desperate love, keeps on driving you wrong, don't be afraid, you're not alone.
A short and slender human woman was dancing in the very centre of the room, in the middle of the crowd, yet somehow managed to keep an unseen bubble of space around her.
Gat wasn't sure why he couldn't bring himself to look away. Force knew he didn't have a thing for humans like the kid and doc used to tease him about. But there was something about her.
She had short brown hair, falling just past her jawline, a pair of frankly indecently tight black leather trousers and knee-high heeled boots. When she spun, the sides of her loose cream top flared out like a pair of wings.
You can run with us, we've got everything you need, run with us, we are free. Come with us, I see passion in your eyes, run with us.
'Sithspit.'
he had to be more drunk than he thought. There was no way in hell it was her. They'd found bits and pieces of her ship spread across two square miles of Imp-controlled planet. No one could have survived that. Not even his lucky little girl.
Gat ground his teeth together, it wasn't fair.
She had been so full of life and passion for what she had thought she wanted. Throwing herself into everything she did wholeheartedly. Even when he should have known better than to let her.
When the cold wind blows, turn your collar to the cold, don't be ashamed, if you need someone to hold.
If you're sinking in quicksand and it's dragging you down and you feel you're going under, we'll be around.
Unbidden, his treacherous mind dragged up one of his last memories of her. It was after the incident on the Freebird 2 when Sera had taken it into her head to start repairing one of the rooms on the ship that was way down on the list; the sensory deprivation chamber that even the Imps had left alone.
The foolish kid had gotten trapped inside until he'd come back from delivering cargo to see her menagerie of tiny, useless droids in a state.
She'd been as cold as ice and terrified. He hadn't a clue what to do so he'd popped her into his bunk and wrapped her up as best he could. She refused to relax her death grip on his arm, so he'd laid down beside her, trying to get that terrible, haunted look to fade from her eyes.
He couldn't resist when she'd begged in such a tiny, unSera-like voice for him not to leave, that he'd given in an slipped under the covers with her.
Gat had never figured out which one of them had made the first move; but one moment he'd been stroking her hair like he'd done whenever she'd had a bad dream as a child; the next, they were so closely entwined, he couldn't tell where he ended and she began.
You can run with us, we've got everything you need, run with us, we are free. Come with us, I see passion in your eyes, run with us.
The young redhead scooted closer to Zahara Cody and leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Are you definitely sure this is the right thing for him? I mean, it seems a little unorthodox."
The older woman looked up fondly at her surrogate son, he'd always been sensitive to the feelings of others.
"Sometimes you need to be delicate like a scalpel; but sometimes if that hasn't worked; a vibro axe may get the job done just as well," Dr Cody leaned forward, across Trig and poked Gat in the side, "Go say hello to her at least. You've been staring holes in that poor girl ever since you sat down."
Gat flinched and shook his head in denial. Trig sighed, so much for the scalpel, time for the heavy artillery, he turned as best he could; still being pinned into place by Zahara, "Gat; it's Sera. She's alive and right there."
The devaronian's head snapped around so fast, Trig genuinely feared he'd given himself whiplash. "That is not funny." He growled, shocked that his friends would say such things, considering they knew how he felt.
Zahara rested a calming hand on Gat's tightly clenched fist, "It is true Gat. She didn't want us to tell you, because she hoped you'd forget her."
She shook her head when Gat opened his mouth to argue, "No! You listen to me now Gat Targon! Sera was very badly hurt and there are some things that she didn't remember when she found her way out of the military hospital she'd been taken to and back to us. She didn't know who we were, but knew we had been important to her. She doesn't remember the Purge, her life on Nar Shadaar," Zahara looked away, unable to meet Gat's tortured gaze any longer, "Gat, she doesn't remember you."
When you're behind closed doors, all alone by yourself and you're longing inside, to be somebody else. You pick up the holophone, and there's no one on the line, don't be afraid, 'cause there's still time.
Gat stood and strode into the thick of the dancers; still not daring to believe that the others had been telling the truth. He wanted to so badly, but hope had been in short supply these last few years.
As he wove his way through the other dancers, he realised he felt sick with nerves and anticipation. He suddenly wished he'd made more of an effort with his clothes.
'Don't be dumb Gat, it's not her. They just made a mistake, or are playing some sick game.'
Of course, he couldn't really think the latter; they weren't bad people. Even if they had made a mistake; Force knew that they missed her too; he knew that Jeffers, her damn pet akk-dog he'd been saddled with since she'd been gone, would be able to tell in an instant if she really was his Sera.
There she was, the mystery dancer, carefree and enjoying herself. Gat almost bolted, but when she bumped into him, her eyes flew up to meet to his, a smiling apology on her lips, he realised he couldn't move if he wanted to.
Her delicate cheekbones were pink, from a combination of embarrassment and alcohol most likely. Her plasspecs were long gone, and her hair was no longer in waist-length unruly waves, but it was her. Those eyes. They seemed to stare straight into his soul.
Gat's grip on her elbows tightened reflexively and he had to force himself to let her go when he was sure she was steady on those dangerous heels again.
"I'm so sorry; I hadn't realised you were there!" Her smile slipped a little when he didn't move away. There was something indescribably intense and familiar about the way he'd looked at her; the way he'd so naturally caught her when she'd stumbled. It felt natural and right to not step away.
Gat felt woefully underprepared for this moment. Sure, he'd had endless imaginary conversations with her in the time since she'd been listed as KIA. He'd been much more suave in those endless talks; not some over the hill ex-con turned smuggler. Now she was actually here, he had no idea what to say apart from a cracked and broken, "Sera?"
You can run with us, we've got everything you need, run with us, we are free. Come with us, I see passion in your eyes, run with us.
Sera trembled; the doctors said someone else from her past would be here tonight; but they hadn't given her any other details - not wanting to influence any returning memories.
Bits and pieces of what she referred to as 'before Sera' would sometimes pop up; like this date. She hadn't known why it was important to be remembered, only that it was remembered. She'd gone around and added it to all of the calendars she could find in the Doctors' house and at the room she still had on Coruscant in case her previous master needed to get hold of her.
The accident hadn't severed her connection to the force; just changed it somehow, it was easier to read peoples intentions but that was about it.
Right now, she could feel waves of uncertainty and grief, mixed with hope and a wild clash of emotions that were so tightly bound, she couldn't identify them all.
Instinctively, she reached out, hating to see someone suffer because she didn't remember them.
As she did, the Devaronian was bumped from behind by a small alien, Sera wasn't sure, but she could have sworn the blue-furred squib winked at her.
Knocked off balance in more ways than one, he tripped and ended up with his arms around her, holding him up. He buried his face in her shoulder and his scent washed over her. Warm and spicy and brain hurtingly familiar. Something that meant safety and comfort...and home.
"G-gat?"
Gat was vaguely aware that the songs playing too loudly had changed to a slower, less frantic pace. But it could have been a cathedral for when he heard that tiny questioning whisper from her lips, everything else simply vanished.
His hands trailed up to her shoulders as he met her gaze again, Force he felt like he could drown in those murky green pools. He barely managed to nod, not trusting himself not to make a fool out of himself again.
Sera stood on tiptoes and rested her forehead against his, "Didn't I tell you not to wait for me?" She muttered, head pounding under an onslaught of fragmented memories.
Gat's hands tenderly cupped the sides of her face and tipped her chin up, "I will probably get a massive lecture from the Doc for this, but kriff Sera, I'm not going to lose you again."
He kissed her, softly at first, tentative and unsure. Sera whimpered and pulled him closer; hands fisting in the collar of his shirt.
Back in the booth the Zombie Survivors club, and honorary member Anzhu, congratulated themselves on a job well done.
"It's about damn time!" Solo grumbled as he and the wookiee Chewbacca, fashionably late as always, squeezed in beside them.