Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

7 BBY

“There is something strange within this place,” Merrin murmured at his side.

Cal had felt it too. The job was shaking out just like they’d predicted it would; the former mining station turned black market auction site was expectedly dingey with few means for a quick exit, and filled with a well-armed mix of mercenaries, smugglers, and bounty hunters, several that he was certain he’d seen on wanted posters around the Galaxy. The faint buzz of decrepit machinery and the electric scent of ozone mixed with old oil wafted over the whispered conversations of the guests as everyone waited for the show to begin. It all seemed to be exactly what they were anticipating, but something still scratched uneasily at Cal’s mind.

“Do we scrap the plan?” he asked quietly.

“I never thought I’d see the day that my Jedi did not wish to start a fight,” Merrin whispered against his ear. “Not yet. Let us see what exactly is being sold today.”

Word of the sale had shot throughout the Outer Rim - a small collection of Jedi artifacts had supposedly been found in an abandoned vessel, now to be auctioned off to whichever warlord or pirate was willing to risk the threat of the Empire to add the illegal items to their horde.

Seeing the pieces of his past, everything that Cere worked for years to gather and protect before she died, used as mere status symbols for a mess of murders, Cal had to bite back the anger that kept trying to swell within him. Hopefully this place would hold at least something to add to the meager collection of texts Merrin had been able to salvage from the destroyed archive.

“When can we expect to actually see what we'll be bidding on?” a man asked, his deep voice booming off the durasteel-paneled walls and dragging Cal’s focus to him. He was a dark-haired human and taller than most of those gathered, his posture and presence more suggestive of a warlord than a common criminal or smuggler. On a chain at his side was a collared, green Twi’lek woman. It was a common enough sight in the galaxy, but never a welcome one for Cal.

He made a mental note to take care of the woman’s situation before they made their likely hasty exit.

“Soon,” the auctioneer promised with the cloying voice that so many smugglers seemed to adopt. “We are still waiting for all of our potential buyers to arrive.”

“This is a trap,” Merrin muttered under her breath. “Look at their weapons.”

She was right. The scattered crowd may have all fit the part for sketchy backroom dealings, but the visible guns and armor were cheap and in poor repair, much of it repurposed from old surplus Clone War era shielding and blasters. Clothing likewise was patched and well beyond lived-in. Not at all the sort of people who would have the money needed for an auction advertising such rarities.

It was definitely a trap.

Before Cal could act, the hangar bay door slid shut behind a pair of cloaked figures, lock spinning to engage on a mechanism that made it clear there would be no escape.

Sithspit.

The Devaronian auctioneer released a triumphant laugh. “Now that all of our guests are here, we can get to business.” He pulled out a heavily modified Mandalorian ripper, pointing the blaster towards the crowd. “Collecting my bounty.”

“You put in all of this work and expense just to try for a bounty?” one of the cloaked figures rasped, her voice low yet slithering through the room. “Clearly an amateur.”

The auctioneer tilted his head, leering at the woman. “Perhaps our guests didn't realize just how much trouble they've been causing, and the price such trouble can bring. The reward is more than enough to afford the firepower to catch and contain the human Jedi and his little alien whore.”

Merrin merely snorted in derision beside him, but before Cal could speak up, the Twi’lek woman loudly tsked and drew both of their attention.

“That was not a smart choice of words,” she said, looking amused rather than threatened as she unclipped a latch on the collar, neatly freeing herself from the glittering chain that had run from her neck to her master's hand.

“Little? Maybe you’ll be more polite if I cut you off at the knees,” the cloaked woman from before spoke up from Cal’s other side. As she stepped closer, her hood slipped back to reveal tattooed pale skin that drew a sharp and shocked inhale from Merrin.

“And all these years you’ve been telling me you were the last one,” Cal said in a whisper, even with his hand hovering over the lightsaber concealed beneath his tunic as he prepared for what promised to be an ugly fight if there was another Nightsister involved.

The human warlord seemed far less shocked by the presence of a living witch of Dathomir. “Asajj,” he greeted with a grin and a demeanor that clashed with the lethal weapon currently pointed at them both. “Never a dull time when I run into you.”

“Surprised to see you here, Kanan. Feeling a little nostalgic, are we?” she asked, sauntering up to face the auctioneer at the human’s side, the two subtly slipping into a flanking position against the Devaronian.

“Something like that,” the human, Kanan, replied. “You don’t need this guy alive for anything, do you?”

“These people are far too calm,” Merrin muttered. “Ready yourself for a fight, Cal.”

The auctioneer seemed to agree, the careless response clearly not at all what he'd anticipated. He waved the weapon between the two of them, attempting to regain the attention of those he’d gathered to collect his prized bounty. “You’ll surrender now, or the woman gets it, Jedi.”

Kanan merely chuckled. “She’ll get something, alright. Both of them will.”

The second cloaked figure who had entered with the other Nightsister had been slowly working his way around the crowd without anyone’s notice, Cal’s included, but now spoke from behind the auctioneer, making the Devaronian jump.

“Who's your friend, Asajj?” he drawled.

The voice was gruff, but faintly familiar. When the man's hood slipped away, the tattooed gold band over his nose and cheeks made it easy for Cal to identify the Kiffar man, despite the years that had passed since he had seen him last.

“Master Vos?”

The words had left Cal’s lips in shock, made more confusing by the same phrase coming from the warlord as well.

Asajj turned to stare at Cal. “I know why Kanan might know him, but who the fuck are you?”

“Cal?” The human’s voice was deeper now, but something in the timbre momentarily took Cal back to nights at the Temple, studying with his friends in the library.

“Caleb?”

The Twi’lek woman looked absolutely delighted despite both her chain and the fact that they were in a situation where they could quite possibly die. “Friend of yours, love?”

“Yeah,” he answered, looking as gobsmacked as Cal felt. “From a long time ago.”

“Well isn't this fun,” Asajj said with syrupy snark. “You three can have your little reunion after we...” her voice trailed off as her eyes landed on Merrin next to him. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

“I doubt it,” Merrin said. “In my experience, Jedi have very poor humor and do not kid.”

“Wait. Merrin?” Master Quinlan Vos asked incredulously.

“Pilot,” Merrin answered with a nod and an only partially sour expression.

The sound of the blaster rifle firing into the ceiling and chunks of duracrete crashing to the floor was the only way the auctioneer, who was as rightfully confused by the exchange as everyone else in the room, could regain his grip on their attention. “Everyone, shut it or we start opening fire!”

Caleb, or Kanan now it seemed, laughed, a still familiar sound but darker now than in Cal’s memories. “You really still want to do this?” he asked the auctioneer, looking entirely unimpressed despite holding no visible weapons. “It's not going to go well for you.”

Cal turned to the others scattered around the bay. The smugglers, mercenaries, and pirates were watching cautiously, their hands all determinedly fixed on their still-holstered weapons for the inevitable fight. “No need to turn this into a bloodbath,” he told them. “Everyone, just stay down. This is between us and him.”

The auctioneer sneered. “You think I’m alone? You may have thought you hid yourself with your various disguises, but all the stories agree - the Jedi of the Outer Rim is a human male with his nonhuman female. I simply had to turn away anyone who didn't fit the description. Every last person on this station is working for me.”

Simultaneously, the gathered crowd drew their weapons, the fellow “guests” shifting about the room to encircle the six of them completely.

“Whichever one of you three is the Jedi,” the auctioneer continued, “surrender now. If you do, perhaps I will even show mercy to the women.”

Master Quinlan chuckled, amusement sparkling in his dark eyes. “You might, but they sure as hell won't.” A moment later, that corner of the room was ablaze in a brilliant green glow. It was all the excuse that Cal need to bring out his own double-bladed weapon and ignite it, two bright blades blazing into existence.

“You do know me, lover,” Asajj replied with a terrifying grin before she produced her own lightsaber to ignite at the same moment Caleb, no Kanan, did his.

Both of the blades shone in the unsettling shade of crimson red.

“After this is over, you’re going to have to explain to me exactly how you know Master Vos,” Cal hissed at Merrin without turning his eyes from the attackers that slowly edged towards them.

“He is a pilot. A poor one, but a pilot nonetheless,” Merrin answered bluntly, pulling her dagger from the scabbard at the small of her back, wrapped in the emerald glow of her magick. “He helped transport people along the Hidden Path. I did not know he was like you.”

“I heard that!” Master Vos called out, sounding more offended over Merrin’s assessment of his skills as a pilot than by their current situation.

The fact that Master Vos was still working to help the galaxy was at least a little comforting to Cal, a welcome relief given the glowing red blades from two of his alleged allies within the room. This was most definitely not turning out to be the sort of reunion Cal would have expected with his childhood friend.

“What?” The auctioneer looked around with wide eyes to the blaze of sabers and magick now surrounding him. “Kriff it, kill ‘em all, we'll sort the bodies out after!”

A rain of blaster fire slicing through the room cut off any further moral debate over who Cal should place his trust in, and he went into action. Letting the whispers of the Force guide his movements, he began rapidly deflecting the blaster fire that came at him from countless angles while Merrin vanished from his side in an explosion of emerald smoke and fire.

“Why can't you do that?” Master Vos asked, far too casually in Cal’s opinion.

“If I could do that, I would have quit putting up with you years ago,” Asajj bit back between parries.

While the dozens of thoroughly armed mercenaries surrounding them would have been a challenge for Cal and Merrin alone, the fighters were quickly learning a painful lesson of how unstoppable an entire team of Jedi and Nightsisters could be.

Quinlan and Asajj worked with practiced ease, circling and cutting down groups of mercenaries in their deadly dance between the other’s blades to land rapid strikes, each taking openings the other provided with brutal precision.

Kanan meanwhile was sending waves of power to knock aside their foes, using the Force to send those attempting to flank them flying over each other and into the reinforced ferrocrete wall with a gut-twisting sound of bones being crushed. The Twi’lek woman was crouched low at his feet, speaking rapidly into a comm, though the words were lost to Cal in the noise of blaster fire.

An attacker wearing Mandalorian armor attempted to jump Cal from behind, but just as he turned Cal saw the mercenary lifted into the air. His would-be killer began sputtering and gasping as he clutched at his throat. Cal turned to see Kanan’s outstretched hand, holding the man in place. A moment later, the man he once knew to be the inquisitive Caleb Dume gave a dismissive wave of his hand, sending Cal’s would-be attacker to join the steadily growing heap of bodies across the room.

Not that long ago, Cal might have been horrified at the sight, but he had seen and done too much himself to blanche at the display now. If it hadn’t been for Merrin, his own blades might have turned as red as Kanan’s.

Merrin rematerialized at his side after taking out a not-inconsiderable amount of her own mercenaries, allowing the unexpected team to form a circle and keep any of the remaining attackers from successfully flanking.

“Chopper's wiping the security system,” the Twi’lek woman shouted over the fray, “but he says the doors are magnetically sealed. I’ll need to open it manually.”

“On it,” Kanan answered, reaching forward with an outstretched hand, pushing aside the group of fighters blocking the door like he was swatting an annoying swarm of flies. His other hand tossed the woman his lightsaber as she sprinted past him down the path towards the door he’d made, throwing him her vibroblade in exchange.

What had seemed like countless enemies only a minute before now looked far less impressive. The only ones still standing were those who’d had the sense to fire from behind crates or stay mostly out of range from what was possibly the most Jedi gathered in a single room since the rise of the Empire. The auctioneer’s custom blaster had already been carved to molten scrap as Asajj and Quinlan Vos took him out, along with those who had tried to come to their boss' aid.

Presumably thinking the Twi’lek focused on cutting through the thick durasteel door seemed a safer choice of target, one pair of mercenaries skirted along the far wall to close in, but Merrin burst into existence behind her, catching the mercenaries off guard. They had no time to react before Merrin drove her dagger through both in rapid succession, blood dripping from the blade as they fell.

Kanan moved towards Cal, dropping into the back-to-back position they had been trained in as younglings, and they began to move towards the door, muscles recalling the lessons that allowed them to move as a singular being rather than two. Lightsaber and vibroblade worked together to make quick work of the few fighters still stupid enough to attempt an attack, the mercenaries ill-equipped to fight a pair of former Jedi padawans with just enough training to be dangerous. Quinlan and Asajj clearly took notice of their plan and moved to join them, leaving a score of fighters on the ground in their wake until all six of them were finally gathered around the door.

“Door’s all yours, love. Our ship is in the next bay if anyone wants a lift,” the Twi’lek woman unceremoniously announced before flicking off the lightsaber and tossing it back to Kanan. He caught it and motioned towards the door with a flick of his wrist, the glowing outline of a circle she had cut out falling back with the motion, the chunk of door clanging loudly against the metal deck.

“Perfect. We were in a shitty stolen shuttle, trying to lay low,” Asajj said flatly.

“I’m starting to think that our trip here was only smooth because these jokers planned it that way,” Cal added.

While several more pairs of guards had been stationed in the corridors, they were quickly dispatched by the group - the greater fight with this unexpected team was over who called dibs on their next victim first. Cal decided not to say anything to alert his friends, old and new alike, but he was pretty sure that at least a couple of the mercenaries hadn't even been hit before dropping to the floor; a smart call when facing three lightsabers, a Nightsister of Dathomir with a blade alight in green flames, and a Twi’lek who was surprisingly good with a blaster. Only after the woman clipped a Mandalorian through the small slit in his visor did Kanan excitedly introduce his Twi’lek companion as Hera.

At the sort of dreamy way that his friend said her name, he suddenly understood the teasing he sometimes got from their friends when he said Merrin’s.

For three men raised in an Order that warned against romantic entanglements, it was plain to Cal that Jedi had a type - deadly.

As promised, the next hangar bay held a VCX light freighter, guarded by an orange-topped near-antiquated astromech droid, brandishing what Cal was certain was a highly illegal flamethrower attachment. The rude droid didn’t even wait before engaging the ramp’s controls to seal up the ship, leaving them all to rush for their ride.

The unexpected team jumped aboard the quickly rising boarding ramp and Hera pointed out the first gun turret as they ran by. Quinlan immediately slipped into it, presumably to drive back any mercenaries that might be stupid enough to try and follow them into the hangar.

Merrin kept pace with Cal as they followed the other three to the cockpit. Given the collar and chain he'd seen before, he was slightly confused to see that Hera was the one to take the pilot's chair as Kanan grabbed the copilot's, following her calls as he helped her rush through the take-off protocols to get them up into the air, copying back and confirming her checks in what Cal could see was a well-practiced flow.

A whomping string of mechanical sounds came over the comm, but even Cal couldn't parse the strange variation of binary.

Hera however seemed to be fluent, even over the sounds of rapid fire from the aft turret and blaster fire from some very brave (or foolish, given the situation) survivors. “Looks like our host didn't want to take any chances on our escape. Chopper says he's picking up two squadrons of fighters out there, plus possibly more taking off now from the other bay.”

“Good, I can't let Quin have all the fun,” Asajj declared, squeezing between the pair to take a ladder down into the nose gun below the cockpit.

After exchanging a brief glance, Merrin and Cal immediately took the remaining two seats and strapped in. Tight.

“Less fun considering the asteroid field we need to get through,” Kanan called down to her, his words accompanied by an exaggerated sigh. “But when did the risk of death ever bother you?”

One of the “benefits” of the former mining station turned questionably legal auction house was the large debris field around the station, making it impossible to operate the sort of quick smash and grab job that one might worry about with these kind of events. Navigating a larger vessel through the field would have been a challenge for even the most skilled of pilots. But a freighter, with a stack of smaller and sleeker gun ships trying to take them out?

Cal wasn’t exactly thrilled by their odds.

Another series of whistles and beeps came through the speakers, making both Hera and Kanan groan.

“What's wrong?” Cal asked.

“Chop was only able to scrub part of the security feed,” Kanan answered without turning away from the controls as the ship lifted into the air, the acceleration pushing all of them into their seats as they headed with rather more speed towards the bay shield than Cal was comfortable with. “Whoever checks the backup files to investigate is going to see a lot more than any of us want them to.”

A low, rasping laugh that could be called a cackle, just probably not to the woman's face, echoed up from the nose gun. “Give me a half roll to port,” Asajj said, “I’ve got it.”

The pull of gravity against the freighter was strong but no match for Hera, the pilot spinning the ship with surprising ease. Through the viewport, Cal watched as a blaze of rapid-fire orange shots bore down on a seemingly unimportant section of the station. Moments later, fire blossomed out from all sides, deadly tendrils spreading outward from the core and consuming every corner that remained of the abandoned mining facility.

“The fun thing about retrofitted mining stations,” Asajj said smugly, “is they never think to shield the exhaust vents. Idiots.”

“I like your friends, love,” Hera laughed as she deftly brought the ship back around and away from the now thoroughly-destroyed station.

“Violent and deadly,” Kanan replied, affection and warmth in every word even as he shook his head. “Of course you do.”

Asajj scoffed, carrying on their banter as though they didn’t still have the starfighters to worry about. “Friend? Try his mentor. He was just a scared kid before I took him under my wing.”

“I was fifteen and you outed me as a Force-user to my then-boss halfway through a job,” Kanan replied with a huff. “The only advice you gave me was that I ‘might want to consider stabbing him before he stabbed me’ when the guy, who by the way was twice my size, immediately tried to turn me in for the reward.”

“Given that you’re breathing and bitching right now, clearly my advice was sound,” she countered, loosing another barrage of shots on their targets in conjunction with her deadly counterpart at the back of the ship.

“I was fifteen,” Kanan repeated, his tone still jovial.

“And that man was an idiot who would have gotten you both killed within a year if I hadn't intervened.” Asajj paused her mocking for only a moment as Hera took them through a dizzying spin between two asteroids, and then the Nightsister fired another round of shots, resulting in another two explosions from their rapidly decreasing number of pursuers. “And I set you up with the Pykes out of the goodness of my heart.”

“I’m calling banthashit on that,” Quinlan's voice came over the comm. “I’m also offended that you’re calling some other guy an idiot. Is there something you want to tell me?”

“Such poor faith in me, lover,” Asajj sighed. “Don’t worry, you’re always the galaxy’s biggest idiot to me.”

Something that sounded like a contented sigh came through the comm.

“These people are crazy,” Cal muttered under his breath to Merrin.

“They are not so bad. You are just jealous because they are funnier than you, Cal Kestis,” she said with a smile, making no effort to conceal her response, though he doubted she could be heard over their continued bickering.

“....connected me with the Pykes for a ten percent commission! Which one of your two hearts was that kindness out of because you might want to look into a transplant,” Kanan corrected, though his words with Asajj lacked the bite of real anger. The two seemed strangely less aggressive towards each other than Cal would have expected for a pair of Force users that wielded red blades.

“Pity you lived so I’ll never stop hearing the end of it,” Asajj replied dryly.

“And you knew another survivor was running around out here?” Master Vos finally spoke up again, his voice crackling slightly as Hera took them through another stomach-turning maneuver that had Cal gripping his seat for dear life. “For the last fucking decade, you just didn’t think to mention it?”

“What, and disrupt your attempts at disturbing the Imperial supply line of liquor? Maybe I would have thought about it if you’d left me a comlink before dumping me on a practically deserted planet,” she bit back. “And when were you planning on telling me that you knew another Nightsister?”

“For the last time, woman, you were literally dead when I left!” he shouted as the ship rocked with a hard hit from the side.

At Kanan's sudden look of confusion, Merrin explained, “Death for a Nightsister of Dathomir is less....permanent than it may be for others.”

“And I only spoke with Merrin over comms,” Quinlan added. “How the fuck was I supposed to know that Nightsisters have an accent? You don’t have an accent!”

“As great as it is watching you two put the romance in necromancy, maybe focus on taking out the last of these ships first?” Kanan interrupted, clearly more amused at his own joke than concerned over the ships whose shots still occasionally rocked the freighter. “I’m rerouting power with each strike, but we're running low on options if we take many more hits.”

A sound of derision echoed through Cal’s ears from both the overhead comms and the woman’s raspy voice wafting up to the cockpit from below, followed by one final explosion and words that dripped with sarcasm. “I would ask if you’re happy now but I already know you’re impossible to please.”

“Perfect timing, Asajj. We're almost clear of the field,” Hera spoke, her tone calm and collected as she took them up over a large, slowly turning asteroid to reveal a mostly empty field of stars in the viewport.

Cal wanted to breathe a sigh of relief. They just might make it out of this in one piece; though he doubted the same could be said for his sanity. Unfortunately, more trouble found them before he ever had the chance to release even an ounce of the tension he’d been holding onto throughout this whole experience.

“We’ve got bigger problems,” Kanan said, all teasing dropped from his voice as he pointed to the far left edge of the viewport. “Literally.”

While their newest problem was still a long distance away, the shape of an Imperial Interdictor was impossible to mistake. The ship was infamous for its ability to disrupt hyperspace with gravity wells that could rip a ship off its course at the leisure of the Empire.

No chance of jumping away to safety.

“Seems like our dearly departed host was in a hurry to get his paycheck,” Asajj quipped, sounding almost bored despite their new predicament.

“I hope you’re ready to stop firing off at the mouth and start pulling the trigger,” Kanan snapped back at her, “they’re already launching the TIE fighters.”

Hera’s eyes were locked onto the pinpricks of white spilling from the gigantic ship. “Only option I’m seeing is to loop back to hide in the asteroid field and let their poorly-trained pilots take themselves out until we can get an opening.”

“Oh, we’ll get an opening. A cruiser that size? They have plenty of openings…in the brig,” Master Vos commented sourly over the comm. “I’d rather go out in a blaze of glory than down in an Imperial Interdictor with a mouthful of protein paste. Have you ever tasted that crap?”

“I don’t suppose you have a better idea?” Hera replied.

Merrin jumped from the seat beside Cal, seemingly more confident in the ship’s artificial grav than he was, and she stepped forward to grip the backs of Kanan and Hera’s seats. “I have an idea. Drop your power to low and keep your speed even. This is the heading you were taking for your jump, yes?”

“It was,” Hera said slowly and then cast her gaze back out the viewport. “I don’t know if you were listening but—”

“But nothing,” Merrin cut her off. “Maintain this heading and calculate your jump.”

Hera shook her head sharply, her lekku flicking inward at the ends. “They’re already onto us if they’re sending TIEs to scout things out. If I stay this course, the crew on the Interdictor will get visual confirmation and they’ll blow us to stardust or pull us aboard to get the Imperial bastard on the bridge of that ship a big promotion.”

“No,” Merrin said, flames of green beginning to move in wisps at the tip of her fingers, setting the cockpit alight in an emerald glow. “They will not.”

Hera looked to Kanan for confirmation, who turned back to look to Cal.

Even after a decade apart, after the Force had clearly guided them down two drastically different paths, it seemed his friend still planned to trust him.

“It’ll work,” Cal promised. “She can do this.”

Kanan gave Hera a nod.

“Cutting nonessential power,” she announced warily, even as she and Kanan set about flicking switches and toggles until the powerful thrum of the ship grew quiet.

Although the cockpit should have gone dark in the absence of the overhead lighting, they were bathed in a beautiful green glow. The fire of the ichor that burned at Dathomir’s core spread throughout the ship, running along every millimeter of the impressively fast freighter. Cal knew that they would disappear before the very eyes of the Imperial pilots that were closing in on them, just like Merrin had vanished from his sight on the day he first met her on Dathomir.

Wearing an expression that could only be described as one of shock, Asajj climbed up into the cockpit, her icy blue eyes fixed on Merrin. Her sadistic sense of humor and disturbing relationships aside, he couldn’t help but feel a fleeting sense of joy at seeing the same wonder in her face that Cal had felt, finding somebody else like you in this cold, too-big galaxy. Especially as it meant that Merrin would finally be able to shed the unwelcome role of sole survivor of Dathomir.

Kanan opened his mouth, clearly intending some sort of snark or quip towards the woman’s blatant awe, but Asajj pointed one long, pale finger in his face.

“Not now,” she rasped. “Let her focus.”

Once the freighter had sailed uneventfully past the squadron of searching TIE fighters and then finally cleared the Interdictor’s reach, Hera reached for the hyperspace lever and the stars turned to streaks. While the ship itself might not have been under cover of Merrin’s magick any longer, it was clear that she still had the other occupants in the cockpit spellbound.

Taking notice of their reaction, she raised her eyebrows as though nothing had happened. “What? They did not teach you that in your fancy Jedi school?”

Kanan’s look of astonishment gave way to amusement, his always insightful mind already picking up on her brand of humor.

Hera swiveled her seat around until she was facing the two of them, her eyes just as wide as Asajj’s had been. “That was quite the…trick? Spell?”

“Ritual,” Asajj corrected with what Cal suspected was the closest thing to reverence that the woman had ever mustered. “And it’s a powerful one.”

“Another reason to be glad that we ran into so many of Kanan’s old friends,” Hera said, a genuine smile across her face. Turning back to her console, she glanced over her navicomputers as she spoke, her gentle tone still warm. “I’ve got us on course for Ryloth, if that’s good for everyone. The jumps were already mostly programmed into the system and I didn’t think it would be a good idea to waste time trying to calculate a new route.”

By the way that she turned her back to them before discussing their destination, Cal figured there was more to it than the Twi’lek system being a convenient destination on a pre-plotted course, but he didn’t question it. They could find a shuttle back to Koboh from anywhere, including Ryloth.

“Ryloth? Good music, passable food, and terrible liquor. What more could a girl with a seven-figure bounty on her head ask for?” Asajj groused. “I suppose its as good of a place as any to hide out with,” she paused to look pointedly between Merrin and Cal before eyeing Kanan, “old friends.”

Cal turned to Merrin, but it was clear that she was finally indulging her own curiosity, letting her deep brown eyes flick up to steal glances at the older Nightsister. Knowing that this would probably be the only time in her life that she ever crossed paths with another survivor of her people, Cal caught her hand and gave a gentle squeeze. There was a silent question in her gaze when she looked at him, although he knew better than to think for a moment that she’d ever actually put words to her request.

She didn’t need to.

“Yeah,” Cal finally answered Hera, “Ryloth sounds good. Though we may need to ditch this ship and find a new one if they caught your transponder codes before she started.”

“No need,” Kanan reassured him, leaning back in his seat and looking proudly at Hera. “She learned how to scramble those years ago. Comes in pretty handy for keeping a low profile.”

“At least someone here is sensible.” Asajj gave Cal a pointed look. “Hasn't anybody told you that the Empire doesn’t pay attention to red blades in the Outer Rim? Or are you too precious to steal a kyber crystal when you drive those pretty little blades of yours through an Inquisitor?”

Despite the barb, Cal looked up at the idea, turning to his childhood friend. “Is that where you got yours?”

Kanan averted his gaze. Cal wouldn’t have called the look on his face shame but he wouldn’t have exactly called it pride, either. “No. It wasn't.”

He didn’t elaborate any further.

When they had been on the station in battle with the Force flowing through his senses, Cal hadn't felt either the blankness that Bode had hidden behind or the raging ambition and anger of Dagan Gera. If Kanan had submitted himself to the dark side, he was certainly skilled at disguising the fact. Even Asajj, the scary story often told by the older initiates and padawans at night, felt nothing like the darkness that had attempted to encroach on Cal.

Cal reached out and nudged his friend’s shoulder. “You got taller after all. Pretty sure we had a pool going that you’d never make it past five feet.”

The slight upturned lip as Kanan pondered his words, and probably their past, wasn't the carefree grin Cal remembered from their childhood, but was still close enough to make him smile in return. “Looks to me like you passed five but couldn’t quite hit six.”

Before Cal could respond to that low, and unfortunately true, blow, heavy boots on durasteel decking caused him to turn his eyes back toward the cockpit hatch as Master Vos strolled in.

“Didn't Ryloth get taken over by a pirate or something?” he asked, apparently unimpressed by the terrifying mix of Force users and Nightsisters now crammed into the cockpit.

“Oh yes,” Hera said with a smirk, letting that peculiar lilt of the Twi’leki people slip into her voice. She leaned over and poked Kanan gently in the shoulder. “A cruel, merciless monster has taken control over all of my people. He’s a bitter mercenary who rules the entirety of the planet and several of the surrounding systems with an iron fist.”

Asajj made gagging sounds. “You’re not that special, kid, and you’re most definitely not the first man willing to kill for a girl’s attention.”

“Actually,” Kanan corrected, grabbing Hera and tugging her into his lap as she fought to contain her laughter, “she did most of the slaughtering herself. I just handed her the weapons.” He wrapped his arms around her as she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.“You should see her when she gets to actually fight with a lightsaber instead of just using it on doors.”

“The first time he admitted he loved me was just after watching me slice one of the Hutts to shreds with it,” Hera preened as she wrapped her arms around Kanan.

Quinlan shook his head. “Sure, just toss it around to anyone. It's not like we told you to treat your lightsaber as an extension of yourself or anything.”

“That must be why he’s always so eager for me to put my hands on it,” Hera countered, making Kanan grin wider.

The cackle from Asajj echoed through the small space. “Oh, she is perfect! I knew there was a reason I never stabbed you, Jarrus.”

Apparently as unnerved by the conversation as he was, Merrin attempted to redirect the conversation. “How long is the trip to Ryloth?”

Hera leaned over to check the navicomputer display. “Just under five hours. Which is good, as we don't usually keep the galley stocked enough to cobble together any large meals. We have plenty of caf and snacks, though.”

“Anything harder than caf?” Quinlan asked gruffly.

A wry grin played at Hera’s lips. “Maybe a bottle or two.”

Whatever demand the Kiffar man had been about to speak was interrupted by a sharp, electric hiss, followed by half of the lights overhead fizzling out.

The unfamiliar binary of the astromech came over the comm again, making Hera and Kanan swear in unison. Hera stood up from his lap, flipping a few switches across several control panels. When nothing responded, she gave a defeated sigh. “I’m afraid Kanan will have to show you the booze. Chopper says that the last hit fried part of the power relay. I’ll need to patch in a replacement if we want to make Ryloth in time for a proper meal.”

“I can help,” Cal offered. “I’ve picked apart a few Corellian freighters before.”

The silent conversation that passed between Hera and Kanan at Cal’s offer was fascinating to watch. It was no more than a rapid mix of glances between them and the others, a subtle tilt of a head and flick of a lek, and the two apparently finished their discussion in barely a few seconds. It was both similar to the same way he conversed with Merrin when words couldn’t be used and yet so very different.

“Why don't you help your friend with the ship,” Hera said to Kanan, announcing the outcome of their joint decision. “I’ll show everyone else the lounge and make sure this one doesn’t drink up all of the good stuff.”

“You sure?” Kanan asked with a tenderness in his gaze that made Cal believe his willingness to trust his old friend wasn't completely misguided.

“Oh, absolutely,” Hera said with a smirk. “I’m sure the stories Asajj has about you will be much more interesting if you're not around.”

“I have dozens,” Asajj volunteered with a conspiratorial grin. “Though I can’t promise that you’ll want to keep him by the time I’m done telling them. He’s always been as stupid as he looks.”

“Don't believe anything she says because all of it is lies,” Kanan sighed, scrubbing his face with his hands. “Twelve years since the Purge without crossing another soul from the Jedi Temple or anyone else Force-sensitive that wasn’t a damned Inquisitor before today, but the one person that I keep running into out of billions and billions of people in the galaxy has to be that one.”

“To paraphrase an old fool, the Force does weird shit,” Asajj retorted.

“I am not old,” Master Vos said with a scowl.

“Strange that you believe the word old to be more insulting than that of the assertion that you’re a fool,” Merrin commented.

Cal caught the way Asajj abruptly shifted her demeanor from aggressive mocking to dryly reserved as she turned to Merrin. “Feel like joining us?”

Merrin replied with an equally casual shrug, as though running into another Nightsister in the galaxy was a common occurrence for her. “I would not mind a cup of caf, so long as our hosts are capable of creating a proper brew.”

While Cal’s experience with Nightsisters was limited to his interactions with Merrin and her dead sisters, he couldn’t help but think that the two women were in the same dance that he was with Kanan. After spending years thinking you were the last of your kind and the various betrayals they had faced, all of this was thrilling but seemed too good to be true.

For Merrin’s sake more than his own, he desperately wanted to be wrong.

Hera began motioning everyone towards the hatch, ushering them into the corridor and out of the cramped cockpit, leaving Kanan and Cal behind with Hera.

On the run in, Cal had been focusing too much on not dying to observe the space thoroughly, but now he found it an interesting choice. It was clear the ship had been heavily modified and upgraded with extra weapons, high-powered engines, and a unique electronic system with a dataport that looked to be meant for a droid. Everything except for the opulence or luxuriousness that one would expect of a high profile warlord that had allegedly conquered multiple systems.

His attention on the ship didn’t stop him from catching the whisper that passed between Hera and Kanan. “If you need to know where anything is, just comm me, love.”

Cal turned just in time to see Kanan press a quick press to her cheek and hear his whispered thanks. There was no way that Cal was anything but obvious, but that didn’t stop him from jerking his head away when Kanan caught him staring.

“Head down the ladder behind you,” Kanan said, still smirking.

Cal did, then stood aside so Kanan could lead the way into a small engine room. He glanced around, no visible storage closet in sight. “Where's the toolbox?”

Kanan looked around for a moment before the orange astromech, currently welding a board giving off small intermittent sparks, seemed to laugh in a mix of beeps and whomps, and pointed one pincer towards the workbench against the far wall.

At Cal’s questioning look, Kanan gave a rueful sigh as he walked over to grab the case. “Hera’s a vastly more skilled mechanic than I am,” he admitted. “The Ghost is her ship. She's done just about all the upgrades and repairs on it by herself. Usually I’m not allowed to touch anything in here without her supervision.”

“She seems pretty special,” Cal replied as he lay down on the metal floor to access the panel to disconnect the fried wiring and perform the patch job. “You two made quite the impression at first. I didn't even recognize you…I actually thought we’d be fighting you based off of that chain of hers.” Though thinking back to how it had unclipped from her end rather than his, maybe Kanan was the one being kept on the chain.

Kanan just laughed. “Brutal mercenary warlord and his captured Twi’lek pet draws a lot less attention in these parts of the Outer Rim. If you fit the roles people expect to see, they never notice the details.”

“Makes sense when you say it like that,” Cal said as he shuffled through the toolbox. “Merrin says I’m not the best at keeping a low profile.”

“Keeping your name was a bold choice,” Kanan chuckled. “Deciding to wave your lightsaber around all over the galaxy is too.” The cadence and warmth in the man’s voice almost sounded like the one that Cal remembered. “Still, It's....I’m glad to see you made it,” Kanan finally admitted quietly.

Neither time nor the galaxy had been kind to either of them, but they managed to survive.

Is that all that really mattered?

“Thanks,” Cal answered, not sure of what else he was supposed to say. With his hands steadily working through the mess of overloaded wiring and wondering about what had happened to his old friend in all of their years apart, it was hard for him to focus. As an afterthought, he managed to work out at least one thing he knew to be true. “It’s good to see you, too.”

The awkward chuckle from Kanan made Cal glance up to see him staring, though with a relaxed grin on his face. “You're a lot less freaked out by all of this than I would've thought. The boy I used to know would have been doing ten recitations of the Jedi Code and asking for extra credit to make sure he still had the highest marks in the class.”

“Okay with the Force choking and red blade, or the collared Twi’lek on a leash?” Cal asked, focused on his work. “You're not the only one who's been around the galaxy all these years, you know. I’ve seen stranger than that.” He avoided mentioning that he’d done several things that were arguably worse than that. Instead, he kept on with his work, flicking on the relay to assess for the warm glow that indicated energy was safely running through the first patch.

“You seem to have done ok for yourself. Mechanic?” Kanan asked, motioning towards the splicing job and seemingly trying to keep up the somewhat stilted conversation.

“After everything, our ship crashed on Bracca. I spent five years scrapping ships. Got pretty good at it. What about you?”

“Turns out classes in Ancient Republic art and anthropology didn’t have much street value when it came to finding money for food,” Kanan said, a faint emotion coloring the words, something between bitterness and regret that Cal couldn't fully grasp. “By the time the roaring in my mind quieted down after…everything happened, it seemed the mercenary route was the only option.”

Even a decade later, the memory of that day was visceral, forever buried in Cal’s bones and woven through the fibers of his being. “That day, feeling what happened to everyone, I think it did a number on all of us.”

“I wasn't even fully awake for most of it,” Kanan said, his voice holding a hollowness Cal knew all too well. “I’d taken a hit on Kaller when the fighting broke out. Woke up in the bacta tank to two men I considered my brothers with their blasters trained on me. Turning the weapons in their hands towards each other was pure instinct.” A decade later yet the pain still seared through every one of Kanan’s words as he spoke. “The rest of our battalion, I found laughing and drinking over my Master’s body. By the time it was over-” he stopped suddenly, silence hanging heavy in the warm air, the red-orange glow of the engine making Kanan’s face appear darker than before, his expression somehow mournful yet sinister. “After what happened to my saber, it seemed like my path had already been set and I didn’t bother looking back.”

“You're not the only one who went that way.” Cal swallowed thickly as memories of his own began flickering through his mind, thoughts of the others he had met who’d lost themselves. It didn’t take long for those streams of consciousness to lead him back toward his own simmering struggle against the draw of the dark. If Merrin hadn't been there, hadn't stopped him from crushing the ISB Commander, would his saber look the same as Kanan’s now?

Cal had to stop himself, recognizing the spiral he was in. He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “With everything against us all we could do was fight. Makes it hard to find the line between bending to the will of the Empire or surrendering to the rage of the dark side, and it’s a journey we were left to make on our own.”

Kanan ran his fingers through his hair like he used to as a kid when he was uncomfortable, despite the tie that kept it pulled tightly back now. “Yeah,” he agreed in a voice that Cal thought sounded shaken. “Things were....not great with me, for a long time. I didn't realize how much I was just running from it all, until I met Hera.”

A vision of Merrin drifted into Cal’s mind, how she seemed to always be able to help him find his way, how he could ground her like no other.

“It was like finally being able to breathe for the first time in years,” Kanan continued, warmth and love in his words far beyond what a true darksider could hold. “After I met her, I even started hearing those little whispers from the Force again that had been drowned out by all the chaos and fighting and need for strength.”

“I’m glad you found her,” Cal said softly.

Kanan flicked a finger against Cal’s shoulder, a knowing expression against his angular features. “I’m glad you found yours too.”

Cal brought his focus back to the panel before him. Rerouting the power through different parts of the system without having to cut it off mid-flight was doable for a few mechanics or engineers, but a challenge still. As the work progressed into the parts that took more focus and finesse, the two men fell into silence for several minutes, save for requests to pass a specific hydrospanner or replacement wire. But there was an easier comfort to it now, something akin to those late nights sitting with Merrin under the stars, of quiet downtime during hyperspace with his crew aboard the Mantis.

Like studying in the temple as a youngling, surrounded by friends.

With the worst panel finally replaced, Cal looked over to Kanan and gave him a nudge. “I have to know, how did you end up as whatever-you-are with Ahsoka’s old nemesis?”

“Fuck if I know,” Kanan sighed. “The woman is psychotic and has a talent for getting me into a mess of trouble. But she is ridiculously good in a fight, which tend to happen around her a lot. And-” he paused a moment. “It was kind of nice, having someone else connected to the past. Even if she was mostly a story used to scare the younglings. She sort of grows on you, if you're desperate enough. Just don’t tell her that because she’ll never let you hear the end of it.”

The door to the hallway swished open as clanking boots strode rapidly in. “I am not staying in a room with those three alone,” Master Vos announced, dropping to sit against the far wall with an open bottle in his hand. “They're comparing notes on their favorite ways to stab a man, and they looked at me like I’d make a great demonstration.”

“Brutal and terrifying is the best thing a woman can be,” Kanan said fondly, eyes softening and words dreamy.

“No argument there,” Cal seconded, although a little sheepishly given the presence of a Jedi Master among them. “Master Vos–”

“I would have told you it’s just Vos but Asajj will tell you to call me Quinlan anyway.” He drew a long swig from the bottle. “Just do what she says and you’ll live. Probably.”

Quinlan, apparently feeling no pressure as a onetime Jedi Master to stick to formalities with two former padawans, took another deep drink from the expensive-looking bottle. “We’re masochists, you know that? Me letting Asajj tell me what my name is and your girlfriend driving you all over the galaxy.”

Kanan did not look particularly impressed by the insinuation. “Hera is the best pilot in the galaxy and you're damned lucky she was willing to give you a lift. And she's not my girlfriend.”

“Seriously?” Quinlan snorted, liquor dribbling down his stubbled chin. “You really went red blade and took to Force choking those sorry bastards, but decided to keep the no-attachments or family rule? Let it go, kid.”

With the repairs mostly finished, Kanan dragged himself up from Cal’s side and spun around to give the man an unimpressed look. “You’d think a Jedi Master would know those were two different rules. The requirement to leave the Order upon marriage or taking over care of a child was because it was considered unfair to a spouse or child when Jedi were expected to go and do whatever kark they were needed for-”

Cal couldn't help but grin. This was the boy he remembered, always with his hand up asking questions, bringing up facts from other classes when they didn't line up with the simplified version being taught to the younglings that day, always to the frustration of their teachers.

“No attachments,” Kanan continued, though with far less respect now than he had as a kid, “is that you don't treat people you care for like objects to own or control. That one is usually pretty easy if you're not a self-centered dick, but I can see why it might be a struggle for you.”

It was small, but this was the first hint of true anger that Cal had seen in his old friend’s face. During the battle Kanan hadn't been happy about the trap being sprung, but he didn’t show even a glint of the rage or hatred that slipped into his voice at even a hint of disrespect towards Hera.

This was the downside Cal had discovered too, and it often made him worry that perhaps there had been more wisdom in the old ways than he wanted to believe. Merrin had unquestionably brought him back from the brink of darkness. But he couldn't ignore that it had been the sight of her, scraping at her throat before him and gasping for breath in Bode’s chokehold, that made him willing to embrace the dark long enough to gain the power he needed to save her.

“Hey,” Cal said gently, resting a solid hand on Kanan’s shoulder. It seemed the a simple gesture already helped to soothe the anger tensing his old friend’s muscles. “I get it too. Just because you don't put a specific label on a relationship doesn't mean they're not important to you. Merrin and I haven't–”

Based on the sudden burst of laughter, Kanan was definitely not struggling with the same worries and fears as Cal after all, but at least it made him relax again. “You two seriously need to get your heads on straight before your Nightsisters get sick of waiting and get violent.” He shrugged out of his jacket and pulled up his sleeve beneath it, revealing pale circles and lines running up his arm.

“Twi’lek clan tattoos?” Quinlan asked.

“She’s not my girlfriend, jackass,” Kanan explained. “Hera is my wife, and mother of our kid. I’d’ve married her the day we met if she’d been willing. With a galaxy as full of shit as ours, you don't let something amazing go by just because we've lost things before.”

“Kid?” Cal asked, trying not to let his eyes go wide.

Kanan’s gaze grew even softer, a peaceful look slipping over his face that made him look younger again. “Jacen. We don't bring him off-planet for obvious reasons, but either Hera stays back or her uncle and cousin take care of him when we both need to manage things. Keeping every Outer Rim scum from setting their sights on Ryloth takes a lot of work and time maintaining appearances.” There was longing now in his words, a mix of joy and worry. “It's the safest option for him, for obvious reasons as we saw today, but it doesn't make it any easier when we have to leave.”

Quinlan looked distinctly uncomfortable, rolling his shoulders uneasily as he watched Kanan over the bottle. “Kids don't exactly fit into a life like this. Can't drag them into shootouts and smuggling jobs.”

“Is he,” Cal started, but wasn't sure exactly the words to use. Jedi didn’t seem like the right title to define what Kanan had become. Sometimes Cal wondered if it really fit any of them anymore. “Is he like us?”

The short burst of wariness in Kanan’s face at the question eased when he looked to Cal, apparently reassured by whatever he found in Cal’s eyes. “I think so. We didn't exactly get taught how to identify kids or anything, but it feels like it.”

“Are you going to teach him?” Cal asked, knowing he was breaching a touchy subject.

“You're damming the kid either way,” Quinlan drawled, his dreadlocks swinging faintly as he dropped his head to stare at the scuffed metal floor beneath them. “Either they learn to draw on the Force and open themselves up to all the shit that goes with it, the dark side and the Empire. Or you keep them with one hand permanently tied behind their back, always cut off from something that could save them, maybe even save the galaxy.” He lifted his head just enough to take another heavy swig. “Shit choices. Not to mention if you’re as lucky as this little shit,” he paused to point at Cal, “then you have to keep everything out of hand’s reach or the kid is going to have nightmares for a week straight.”

“That's the dilemma, isn’t it?” Cal said, ignoring Quinlan’s reference to their psychometry. “It's one thing to be willing to sacrifice yourself for the sake of the galaxy, for a chance to stop the Empire and everything they do. But deciding that for someone else, for a kid?” He shook his head. “Like you said, it feels like every choice we have is wrong.”

Kanan’s eyebrows furrowed briefly, watching Cal with sudden curiosity. “What, you and your Nightsister expecting?”

Before Cal could speak, Quinlan’s dropped bottle clanked on the floor. “How the fuck did you-” he started, before apparently remembering there were now two Nightsisters on board that could potentially give birth to a Force-sensitive child.

Kanan’s raucous laughter filled the small room, any trace of anger now forgotten in his amusement as he rolled back to lean against the humming engine and face the evidently expectant father.

“It's not funny,” Quinlan snapped.

“I’ve been terrorized by Asajj for the last ten years,” Kanan choked out. “I can safely say you knocking her up is fucking hysterical.”

“Thanks,” Quinlan said bitterly, reaching for the mostly-spilled bottle of liquor. “Some of us don't exactly have a planet to take over. A couple of fugitives that are permanently on the run aren’t exactly the best candidates for parenthood.” He sighed heavily, shoulders dropping back. “Combine that with us not exactly having a great track record for avoiding the darkness and it's the perfect recipe for fucking up a kid.”

With that, he downed the rest of the bottle.

It seemed that all it took to make the mocking warlord change back into Cal’s old friend was a reminder of how terrifying it was to suddenly become responsible for a new life, for raising an actual person in this Forcedamned-galaxy.

“Look,” Kanan said, his voice lowering to a reassuring rumble. “It's absolutely terrifying before they get here. You spend the whole time freaking out over all the horrible things that could happen. All the ways your enemies could hurt them, and all the ways you could too, it keeps you up at night for months on end.”

“A new bottle of liquor would be more encouraging that your little speech,” Quinlan said, waving him off, though the bitterness in his expression had faded some.

“I heard the stories about you, back before everything happened,” Kanan forged on anyways. “I don't know what your life's been since then, but I do know that looking at the woman you love holding your child brings me the greatest sense of peace I’ve felt since leaving the Temple. I’m not going to pretend I have it all figured out, but being with Hera and Jacen? They're a damn good reason for me to keep fighting the darkness and anger, to focus on the serenity instead.”

The sharp laugh Quinlan gave had too many edges. “I don’t believe for a second that you buy into that banthashit you’re blithering. Nobody like us gets to play happy family and ignore the rest. Being connected to all living things means that we never get to stop hurting.”

“No,” Kanan acknowledged with a slight nod of his head. “I know exactly what I am, and how I got like this.” He took a breath, letting his shoulders relax. “But the first time you hold that kid in your arms, you’ll get it. And you’ll know what you have to do to keep them from knowing the life that we did.”

The sight of Denvik with his feet dangling in the air as Cal let his anger run free loomed in his memory. “People like us, like these kids will be, if they learn to draw on the Force they'll always end up facing the darkness eventually,” Cal said quietly. “No matter how much we want to protect them from it.”

“They will,” Kanan agreed. “But it thrives on pain and fear. I can't stop my son from facing it, but I can make sure he's never left alone to battle it like we were, and he will never doubt for a day in his life how much he is loved.”

“Kenobi always tried to convince me that it wasn't good for Jedi to be out and alone in the galaxy like I always preferred,” Quinlan finally volunteered, sounding surprisingly sober. “Pretty damn ironic since he's the one who told us all to scatter and hide.”

“What are you planning for Jacen then?” Cal asked.

Kanan smiled faintly. “Hera and I decided to let him choose his own path when he's old enough to understand. The old Order is gone. It’s time to figure out what works in the galaxy that was left to us.”

Master Kenobi also always said that only a Sith dealt in absolutes. Which had never entirely made sense to Cal, but seemed to fit with Kanan’s words. Perhaps his worries about Merrin, his reluctance to fully let go and allow himself to succumb to the fire that burned within him for her, had been focused on the extremes. Maybe if he could find the balance that Kanan seemed to have mastered, he might finally feel a modicum of peace with his choices. “How do you trust yourself not to lead them to a place that neither of you should be going? And what if something happens to you?”

“I don't trust myself, not entirely.” Kanan might not have the answer, but it still gave Cal a strange sense of comfort to hear he wasn't alone with the question. “And I’ve set up a bunch of bank accounts in Hera’s name and a few in her uncle’s. If something ever happens to me, Hera can take Jacen and disappear entirely, even from me. Our lives are not guaranteed but I have done everything I can to make sure they’re safe if I can’t protect them myself.”

“So optimistic,” Quinlan deadpanned. “Keep going, kid. You’re really selling me on this whole parenting thing.”

“Not his fault you didn’t wrap it before you tapped it,” Asajj said as she strode into the engine room. She headed straight towards Quinlan and gave him what Cal assumed was a mostly affectionate kick to his thigh. “Oh, and we’re moving to Ryloth.”

Merrin and Hera stood in the doorway, the small engine room not nearly large enough to accommodate the six of them. They already seemed to be as thick as thieves, sharing a brief conspiratorial glance in each other’s directions.

“And you,” Asajj said, turning to address Kanan. “You owe me for that favor I did you on Nar Shadaa. You’re going to pay me back with a house. Something big and far, far away from stupid people. That includes you.”

“You call that a favor?” Kanan crossed his arms in a way that was probably intended to be stern, but was undercut by the amusement in his face. “I nearly died trying to get off that moon.”

Cal couldn’t help but feel a slight swell in his chest at the whole ofd group. In the span of barely more than an hour, he felt like he had found a really strange, definitely dangerous, but bizarrely comforting family.

“You left me stranded,” Kanan huffed.

“I left you alive, despite the contract I was on,” Asajj countered with a dismissive wave. “And I even left you a ship!”

“A ship with a dead hyperdrive!”

“How was I supposed to know you're a shit mechanic? The point is, you two have an entire planet to yourself. If you can’t find something secluded, at least make sure the place has thick walls. This one sounds like a dying porg when he—”

“Now is definitely one of those times when I ask the Force why it decided to spare me,” Quinlan muttered to nobody in particular before turning his gaze up to the ceiling. “What did I do to deserve this?”

Asajj motioned to her abdomen. “Me. Idiot.”

Kanan started laughing again while Quinlan grabbed Asajj’s hand, tugging her down to join him on the ground. He whispered something in the woman’s ears that made her lips curl up into a grin and she softened, as much as Cal figured any Nightsister might with so many eyes on her, and she leaned back into Quinlan.

They were a strange pair, somehow alike and yet so different than what he shared with Merrin.

Nearly finished with the repair, Cal looked up to catch Merrin’s eye. “I take it that the three of you had fun?”

She nodded. “I like this collection of Jedi. They are much funnier than you.”

“Ew,” Asajj said with a grimace. “If I ever claim to be a Jedi, it’s only because I want a tax-exemption.”

Kanan looked to his wife, the two having another silent conversation of lekku twists and eyebrow raises that required no shared Force sensitivity, merely a deep awareness of the other.

“It's your call, love,” Hera blatantly lied, “but we do have that old estate we cleared that nest of slavers out of last month.”

Kanan stroked his goatee then nodded, like he had any say in the matter Hera had clearly already settled with the Nightsisters. “It's about as private and out-of-the-way as you get. The whole area was abandoned after the Hutts took it over and it's been too far away from the major cities for anyone to resettle it.” He turned his attention to Cal. “Honestly, it isn’t a bad place to lay low for a couple months, at least until some of the heat from the Empire and bounty hunters dies down.”

Cal knew exactly what Kanan was up to. The promise of settling Tanalorr was still a distant dream with the Empire’s presence lingering over Koboh, no matter how many Star Destroyers he and Merrin had taken out. Their small shack in Rambler’s Reach offered enough safety, but he could feel the Force tickling at the back of his mind, pushing him in this direction. Even without its guidance, he could see how Merrin kept sneaking glances towards Asajj, and the way that she let her eyes linger at the woman’s hand resting over her midsection.

“Might be a good idea, at least for a bit,” Cal said, intentionally weaving a hint that the arrangement might be merely temporary. There were still questions he needed to find the answers to, both about the others, and if he could still engage their shared enemy if he was busy hiding, whether it be on Ryloth, Koboh, or Tanalorr. The racing of his mind left him longing for a drink of whatever bottle that Hera was passing to Quinlan to at least slow the thoughts down.

Before he could ask for a sip, Cal was wearing the contents of the bottle instead.

Quinlan choked and coughed for a long moment efore he managed to work out a question in gasping breaths. “You're Bail Organa’s fucking smuggler contact?”

Kanan threw his head back and groaned. “I forgot about the psychometry. And where we got that bottle from.”

At Hera’s look of question, Merrin offered an explanation, “Some Jedi have a gift to see the history of an object when they touch it. Cal is one of them. It seems that this one is too.”

As usual, Asajj seemed unbothered even by the revelation that Kanan was a part of what Cal was starting to realize was a more widely organized effort against the Empire than he previously had thought.

Quinlan was still shaking his head, although his breathing had finally evened out. “Of course you are, stupid Force banthashit. How the fuck does an Outer Rim warlord end up working with the damn Viceroy of Alderaan?”

“Bail’s wife, Breha, was friends with my mother when I was young,” Hera explained on Kanan’s behalf. “My mother often traveled to Coruscant to request aid during the Clone War. When the Organas learned I had been 'captured’ by Kanan, they volunteered to send some much needed supplies to Ryloth to investigate.”

“You left out the part where he packed about twenty wannabe rebels with high powered blasters behind that cargo,” Kanan grumbled.

“It’s a good thing I was there when you unpacked it then, isn’t it?” Hera asked with a honeyed voice that nearly reminded Cal of Asajj.

Maybe staying on Ryloth wouldn’t be such a good idea if Asajj rubbed off on people that quickly.

“That meant explaining that I hadn’t actually been captured by him,” Hera continued. “We weren’t going to tell him the rest but–”

“But the man's annoyingly perceptive,” Kanan added. “Especially when it involves economic policies.”

“You have economic policies?” Asajj asked with raised eyebrow. “I’m surprised that you can even pronounce the word ‘economic.’”

“No, I have stabbing policies,” Kanan snarked back. “But trying to change the treatment a planet with literally thousands of years of constant slavery is a hell of a lot more complicated than it sounds, especially if you’re trying to do so right under the Hutt’s giant nostrils. Bail and I figured out a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“Those ships you provided might be fast but they're hell to fly,” Quinlan muttered sourly, then took a new swig from the wine bottle.

“Only if you don’t know what you’re doing,” Hera countered with a challenging eyebrow.

“I told you that he was a terrible pilot,” Merrin confirmed.

“They’re built to be maneuverable,” Hera continued on, her passion for taking to the skies obvious to Cal. “You just have to have a light hand.”

“It just so happens that I prefer his hand heavy,” Asajj purred, a rare look of warmth in her eyes as she grabbed his thigh behind her. “Besides, all those poor bastards made it to their destination in one piece, so who cares how he flies?”

“In one piece and traumatized,” Merrin replied flatly.

Asajj rolled her eyes. “They were already traumatized. A little extra trauma never hurt anyone.”

Hera turned her attention to Merrin and Cal. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, but whatever work you do can’t be traced back to Ryloth. Kanan and I have been able to fly below the radar, but our fighters are no match for the Empire in an open battle. All it would take is a handful of Star Destroyers to level everything we’ve worked to build.”

Asajj waved her hand. “Save your lecture for somebody who wants to listen.”

“It’s not a lecture, it’s a law,” Hera replied coolly, her gaze fixed on Asajj. “If you can’t follow it, you can forget the offer of hospitality.”

“Fine, fine,” Asajj groaned. “It’s not like we do anything besides smuggling obnoxious children and their families anyway. This one,” she said, jerking her head in Quinlan’s direction, “doesn’t do so well if he spends too much time fighting.”

Hera arched her brow and glanced to Quinlan and the weapon at his belt that had taken out dozens of lives only an hour before.

“Male Jedi don't handle constant aggression well, it's bad for their delicate constitution. It always ends up with them turning into the brutal murdering type if they do it too much,” she offered in a mock-whisper. “I blame the testosterone.”

Despite the teasing, it brought Merrin’s words on Jedha to mind, how she likened Cal’s need to keep fighting to a blaze that would consume all in its path. Did the old Jedi before him face these struggles, or was it merely a response to the overwhelming darkness they now faced in the galaxy?

“Thanks for the confidence,” Quinlan sighed with a shake of his head, but still kept his arms wrapped around Asajj, as if she were more delicate than deadly. “But it's not the worst plan. Could give it a shot, for a month or two. Maybe a bit longer.”

“What do you think, Sister?” Asajj asked, the epithet hanging in the air with a sort of warmth that Cal would have never imagined the woman capable of.

Merrin glanced towards Cal, a longing in her eyes. It was clear she felt the same pull to what they’d lost that he had. He gave a smile and shrug. They didn't have to make any permanent decisions now, and it couldn't hurt to give things a try.

“I do hear the weather on Ryloth is nicer than the planet we currently call home,” Merrin responded carefully. “A fancy house does not sound so bad either.”

Cal nodded. “We can try it out for a while, at least long enough to throw the Empire off our trail.”

The hint of a smile that Merrin reserved for him barely curled the corners of her mouth but it reached her eyes in a way that only he could see. “And if Kanan has a fraction of the tales about you that Asajj has about him, I think I will like our time on Ryloth.”

“Oh, look,” Cal said abruptly, rubbing his hands on his already filthy pants. “Everything is fixed. Hera, you all should head up to the cockpit and make sure, though. I don’t want to put anything away until I’m sure it’s all working.”

With a mischievous grin Kanan said, “You should ask him about the time he was given a book from Master Yaddle to take to Master Yoda.”

Cal groaned, feeling disgust contort his features. “Of course I’d come across the only other person in the galaxy who remembers that.”

“Let’s just say that he got a very personal vision of who it had been under, and turned as red as his hair,” Kanan laughed. “It’s probably the only time that Master Yoda offered any sex-ed in the Jedi curriculum.”

As the others began to make their way back towards the lounge listening to Kanan carry on, Merrin hung back. Her hand wound into Cal’s with reassuring comfort, grounding him as she always did.

“You enjoyed your time with your friend.”

The words Kanan had said, about not holding back out of fear of losing people again, echoed in his head. He nodded but didn’t attempt to put into words what he was feeling.

Instead, he chose to show her.

Cal reached out to Merrin, brushing that stubborn silver lock away from her face that never wanted to stay in place, and then lowered his mouth to hers.

“If this is their influence I certainly approve,” Merrin whispered after the lingering kiss. “You look...” she began, then paused for a moment to study him more closely, like one committing something to memory. “You look like the foolish boy I met on Dathomir. Hopeful and full of life.”

“I needed this more than I realized, Mer,” he admitted with his forehead pressed against hers. “Talking to them, hearing what their lives have been like. It helped me figure some things out.”

“What sort of things?” Merrin asked, mischief alight in her eyes.

“I’ve been looking at everything as absolutes, thinking that I needed to be constantly fighting the Empire, or training Kata the exact same way I was trained, or hidden away on Tanalorr. Maybe there is more middle ground than I was thinking.” He smiled. “Besides, they reminded me that we Jedi tend to do better when we’re not left alone too long.”

“Cal Kestis, are you admitting that I was right?”

He tried to pull away to give her a sour look but Merrin wouldn’t let him, so he mustered the strength to ask her another question that had been nagging at him from talking to Quinlan and Kanan. “If Asajj has a daughter, does that mean their kid would be a Nightsister?”

“That is what happens when Nightsisters have children, Cal. They really did not teach you much at that fancy Temple at all, did they?”

“No, it’s just…” he swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “Maybe giving this a chance isn’t a bad idea. If you wanted to, I mean.”

Roaring laughter from above interrupted their little moment and Cal sighed.

Merrin slipped her arm around his waist. “Come, I wish to hear more of Kanan’s tales of you.”

“On second thought, we should leave these crazy people immediately,” he grumbled.

All it took was a soft brush of her lips against his cheek to pull him along. “Come, my Jedi. Let me hear my stories and later, we can talk about building something new together.”

As they walked up to join the others, for the first time in what felt like forever, Cal was looking forward to finding out what the future held.

5 BBY

“That's seriously what you call yourselves? Please tell me you’re joking.”

Cal chuckled as he guided the former youngling down the path from the flat plain Quinlan had declared to be the airstrip. It was a bit of a walk, one that could be uncomfortable during the harsh summer months on Ryloth, but the alternative was a handful of screaming children being woken up from their naps by the roar of ships as they landed or lifted off too close to the house.

“Actually, it started as a joke that I made, don’t listen to Asajj when she tells you that she’s the one who did because that’s a lie,” he explained. “It was during a meeting when we were discussing supply lines and Asajj decided to declare herself the ranking Master of the Order since Quinlan was taking too long to wander in. I was being sarcastic and used the name and it just sort of stuck.”

Cal couldn't help but grin at the memory, Kanan quickly seconding Asajj’s motion that she led their council so long as she voted in favor of officially allowing Hera and Merrin seats within their ranks as well.

An explosion of green smoke and fire blazed in the space before him before Merrin stepped forward to wrap her arms around him in a tight hug. “You took too long, Jedi. I half expected to hear word that you found a fight to start.”

He smiled, returning her hug without shame. “I’m sorry, Mer. I found another old friend while visiting one of the seven systems you three sent me to for your so-called supplies. This is Reva, she was a few years below us in the Temple,” he said as they turned together, arms wrapped comfortably around each other’s shoulders and hips. “Reva, this is Merrin, my wife.”

Reva looked both confused and amused by the display. “I'm starting to get the strange name.”

“We are a strange group,” Merrin explained as the three began walking again. “You will get used to it.”

As always, his Nightsister’s words left no room for argument.

The twisting path between the high red rock canyon walls finally opened up, revealing a towering old stone house with rows of open balconies looking out over a wide, flat courtyard filled with a mix of children’s toys and a shuttle that Cal had been in the middle of stripping down to repair when his wife decided to send him on a wild relter chase.

“This-” Cal waved his free hand towards it all proudly, “ is home.”

“No it is not!” barked Asajj from one of the upper balconies. “Rule numbers four, five, six, seven, eight, and nine of the Council: no more damn strays!”

“She's not a stray!” Cal shouted back, long used to Asajj’s affectionately abrasive behavior. “I used to watch her on crèche duty! She belongs with us.”

“Do not concern yourself with my older Sister,” Merrin reassured Reva, making no effort to lower her voice. “She is dangerous and prone to violence, but she only stabs people for good reason. Mostly.”

Quinlan stood up from the ship, attempting to put down his tools without disturbing the dark-skinned toddler whose face was hidden behind a curtain of dark locks as she napped beneath one wing. “I remember you,” he said, eyes narrowed slightly over his golden tattoo. “You were one of the Inquisitors who tried to kill me back on Mapuzo.”

Next to Cal, Reva obviously stiffened and then took one step backward. “This was a bad idea,” she told him. “I should go to that other place—”

“Ignore that one. He needs a nap more than his daughter. Attempted murder is practically a requirement to join our ranks,” Merrin said in her own endearing form of reassurance. “Just ask Cal, I tried to kill him when first we met too.”

“And honestly, attempts to kill that guy are encouraged here,” Cal grinned toothily. “What rule is that one, Asajj?”

“One. Idiot.”

Reva looked between all of them, her brown eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. It wasn’t the first time that Cal had seen someone stunned speechless by their antics, and certainly wouldn't be the last.

“It's like the code taught us,” Cal offered with a reassuring squeeze to her shoulder. “Find the harmony in the chaos.”

Leaping from the balcony that had to be at least twenty feet overhead, Asajj landed lightly on her feet in front of them. “Do I look like the kind of woman who gives a damn about murder?”

Reva still stood there frozen, like a blurrg in the floodlights.

“Have you counted how many bedrooms we have or is it hard after you run out of fingers, Kestis?” Asajj seethed, eyes shining brightly with something akin to happiness now that she was handed the opportunity to bemoan a new problem. “Somebody was supposed to be working on new housing units from these scrapped ships but he keeps fixing them instead.”

Cal shrugged. “She could always share a room with Omega since she’s not here that often?”

Asajj’s gaze shifted into one that was more lethal, something that happened often when somebody was dumb enough to use her own words or decisions against her.

For the sheer purpose of shutting her up, Cal shrank just enough for her to notice, and then she looked over to Reva. “Fine, but this is the last one, Kestis. You find any more orphans or younglings or whatever cutesy name you want to give them, or keep knocking your girl up, you’re the one that’s going to be explaining to Kanan and Hera why they need to pay for another addition.”

Cal gave Reva a reassuring smile but knew better than to say anything with Asajj still standing there.

“Can you keep it down, woman? I just got her to sleep and she’s going to be your problem if you wake her up,” Quinlan threatened emptily. Everybody knew that the little Nightsister already had her father completely wound around her tiny finger.

“Sabine is usually off with the Syndullas,” Merrin pointed out in a hushed voice not to wake the child. “She might be willing to share.”

Quinlan cracked a grin. “Inhaling paint fumes seems like a fitting punishment for the Inquisitor that tried to kill me.”

“Former,” Reva clarified.

“Yeah, yeah. We’re all former somethings,” Quinlan muttered, turning to roll back under the ship, Asajj moving to join him and their daughter, both still grumbling all the while.

Cal nodded in the direction of the large opened door of their home and smiled. “Reva, welcome home to the Not-Jedi Order.”