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There is no emotion, there is peace.
She grew up hearing the stories surrounding her mother, grew up knowing that her existence was through a breach in the Jedi Code. Grew up to find that her mother’s stance on the Code, on attachments, drove Tasiele into exile, was the reason she had never even had a chance to meet her mother.
When Masters Nanoc'lik and Zaktho returned from Miupra with nothing but a packet of bound papers, which they delivered to her in private, she almost threw them away. What use were papers when, at one point, she could have had the real woman? Only the knowledge that it was the first she has ever heard from her mother in over ten years stayed her hand, forcing her to read.
Even after, she could only wonder at the kind of person who could drive a Jedi to act out against everything the Code stood for, could only wonder whether it was worth it, in the end.
She had not expected to find an answer on Korriban, had thought nothing of the troopers guarding them until the Sith Empire’s attack leaves them fleeing haphazardly on a smuggler’s ship.
Until one, helmet-less but still unflinching in the chaos around them, risks the dangers to wait on the ramp of the ship for her, to catch her mid-jump and pull her on board. His hand is firm around hers, fingers as warm as the compassion in his eyes when he sees her falter as Master Darach’s death ripples through the Force.
Once they enter hyperspace, he says nothing, only watches her with sympathy and understanding as she slips away into a quiet room to meditate.
It is not until they make it back to the Republic that she learns his name: Jace Malcom. It is a good name, she thinks. A strong name.
Like him.
He proves himself to be a capable and confident soldier, climbing the ranks from the corporal she met on Korriban in short order as the Republic responds to the Empire's attacks.
Her own promotion to a full-fledged Jedi Knight means she is no longer on the sidelines, but instead in the thick of things, spearheading the resistance to the Empire’s fierce invasion.
With him. Jace Malcom. The man whose face has been in the forefront of her thoughts more times than she cares to admit to herself.
She takes a deep breath, seeing him from the corner of her eye. He has been watching her for days, weeks, as they navigate the hastily constructed base of operations, and she cannot deny doing the same.
She wonders if he still remembers Master Darach and his own comforting expression at her master’s death.
It is startling to realize that she hopes so.
The realization that he has been in her dreams is almost cause for concern.
She trusts him. That much is simple enough, after the many battles at his side. He is a loyal man to the Republic and an honorable one. That she has seen time and time again. But now, her attention has spilled over into her sleeping hours, and she flees, retreating to investigating spies on Alderaan, away from the front lines and, she hopes, away from him.
She wakes, panicked, shaking, the cruel intention of the Sith in her vision still cutting clear across her memory, their darkness pressing on her spirit.
But it is not the faces of the tormentors and Malgus that drive her to action, nor the strewn bodies of fallen Republic soldiers.
It is the strong, handsome face of the man still alive, his expression that of a soldier resigned to his fate. Of all hope lost.
An expression that does not belong, will never belong, on Jace Malcom’s face.
An execution that must not occur.
And she springs to action, barely arriving in time to knock the Sith back, away from him. Recognition flits across his face as he leaps into action beside her, but she hardly recognizes herself in her ferocity, in her determination to save him, to save them both.
It occurs to her for the first time that perhaps her mother is not wrong after all.
“There is no emotion, there is peace,” the Code says but she cannot find it in herself to care about anything other than him when she is in his arms, alive, together.
He seems to recognize her hesitation and pauses, his lips maddeningly close, near enough that she can feel the air moving as he breathes, “Do you want this?”
Her fingers, light and hesitant, explore the planes of his face, gently trace the scars from his confrontation with Malgus and she remembers the fear that choked her when he was thrown back by the explosion and didn’t move. Her breath catches as he leans, ever so slightly, into her touch, his eyes full of something she doesn’t dare name.
Does she want this?
Yes. More than anything.
She takes a deep breath and lets herself fall.