Before She Wakes

"Rise and shine, lover."

Urela Toral's eyes opened slowly.

"Klaas?" she murmured softly.

She looked in the direction of his voice and was surprised to find him standing in the doorway.

"I thought you were going to sleep all day," he said.

Urela smiled. She attempted a lazy stretch, but found the action quite impossible as both her hands and feet had been tightly bound with thick restraints.

Urela studied her lover's face. Klaas was still handsome, but now, she saw cruelty in his eyes. And madness. The Corellian whiskey must have been more potent than she realized, because last night she didn't see his madness. Panic wrestled for control of her emotions. Despite this, she summoned her most demure smile.

"I'd fix us something to eat, but I seem to be tied up," she said.

Klaas took a measured step towards her, his feral eyes fixed upon her.

"That's okay. I'm not hungry, General."

Urela froze. It had been nearly ten years since anyone had called her 'General.'    

As she struggled against the restraints that held her wrists, she made a mental note to herself for the future: No more Corellian whiskey. Ever.

   

---

Eight hours earlier...

Urela gingerly stepped off the windpipe of the drunken mercenary who had accosted Lute. The pretty Twi'lek let out a muffled sob as she ran backstage and Urela wondered which of them had upset Lute more: the merc with the roaming hands or the crazy woman who jumped across six tables to teach him some manners.

A heavy silence echoed through the packed cantina. Three hundred pairs of eyes were pinned to her back.

Urela silently cursed her misfortune. The part of her that once lived to protect and serve others was dead-- or so she thought. Lute's cry for help ignited some dormant thing within her-- and that dormant thing had just brought her presence to the attention of every two-credit bounty hunter on Corellia.

"You're Urela Toral. You served in the Mandalorian Wars."

Urela's heart sank. She quickly scanned the features of the man who stood before her: dark hair, gray eyes, a slightly crooked nose. She guessed his nose had been broken at some point and from the looks of his confident swagger-- probably more than once. It wasn't a flaw; on the contrary, his nose gave his face strength. Character.

"I'm Klaas Okeeda. I served under you. Well, not directly under you, unfortunately."

His wolfish grin made it hard to think. Urela grew up on Coruscant. The men she felt comfortable with were poets and scholars-- Jedi. Klaas Okeeda, on the other hand, was a coarse, presumptuous rogue. He was exactly the kind of man who made her nervous.

An attractive Twi'lek sidled between the Exile and the ex-soldier.

"Who's your friend, Banthafeet?"

It was a terrible nickname-- one Urela despised because she was sensitive about her shoe size-- but she was grateful for an alias in this case if it meant her identity might remain a secret from him.

"Klaas? This is my dance partner, Maar'la."

"Nice to meet you," he said, turning his magnetic smile on the pretty Twi'lek.

The Exile locked eyes with her partner before turning her gaze back to Klaas.

"Maar'la and I have been dancing together forever."

It was a lie. Unless Klaas considered four standard months somehow equal to an eternity. Maar'la smiled weakly.

"Yup. Seems like forever," she echoed.

Urela stepped past him and waved to the bartender.

"So-- I guess you must have me confused with someone else," she said.

Klaas considered her briefly before breaking into a grin.

"I guess it is a little hard to believe a Jedi war hero might end up in a place like this."

His comment stung, but Urela managed a smile.

"Jedi," Maar'la said, oozing contempt.

Mentioning the word "Jedi" in front of Maar'la was like walking into a Mynock's nest.

From what Urela was able to piece together, Maar'la was either madly in love with a Jedi padawan named Clay Feershaw-- or she wanted him dead. It depended on the hour. And her mood. And whether or not she was sober.

"You aren't a fan of the Jedi?" Klaas asked.

The question was directed at Maar'la, but Klaas never took his eyes off Urela. The Twi'lek's lips curled in a feminine pout.

"Jedi leave more problems than they solve," she said.

Maar'la was a slave to a creepy Hutt on Nal Hutta before Clay Feershaw won her freedom. She fell in love with her Jedi rescuer, but duty and the code he lived by separated them. Maar'la promised to wait for Clay, but seven long years had passed since they parted and watching the sky-- waiting for his return-- it didn't get any easier.

Klaas leaned over the bar to order a drink and Maar'la's eyes raked over him like he was on the cantina menu.

"He's cute, Banthafeet. A little damaged, but very cute."

"He's not my type. I like courteous, respectful men," Urela answered evenly.

Maar'la snorted.

"Then stop staring at him. You might give him the wrong idea."

Urela's face flushed crimson and the Twi'lek gave her dance partner a gentle nudge.

"Look-- whatever it is you did-- I think you've suffered enough," Maar'la said.

Maar'la was wrong. Urela knew this inherently-- but as she watched Klaas engaged in conversation with the bartender, the Exile did feel something oddly familiar pulling at her.

He bought her a drink and then another. The whiskey made her feel free enough to admit the truth about serving in the war. Klaas was curious about that part of her life and Urela was embarrassed by how little of it she was able to recall.

When they finally left the cantina, the night air was damp. They huddled together as they walked. Klaas smelled of sweat and danger, and for a moment, Urela was aware she was behaving recklessly. She briefly entertained the thought of leaving when he suddenly removed his jacket.

Before she could protest-- his arms were around her. His hands lingered at her waist as he secured the jacket around her tiny frame. Urela shuddered and Klaas grinned, enjoying the fact that he made her uncomfortable.

Away from the distractions of the cantina, Urela found herself taken in by his intense, gray eyes. They were familiar to her somehow. Maybe it was because he had also seen the horrors of war. It was strange. Klaas knew her past and accepted her. He was aware of her sins and did not judge her. Maybe Maar'la was right. Maybe she had suffered enough. Urela touched his face. His eyes questioned this unexpected act of intimacy, but he responded by pulling her close and kissing her fiercely, almost angrily.

I like courteous, respectful men.

Her words echoed back to her even as she returned his aggressive affection. His passion filling her with a quiet peace she did not know in sleep, a stillness she did not know in dreams.

   

---

   

He sat next to her, admiring his handiwork.

"I've spent years planning for this moment, Urela. Of course-- you jumping in to bed with me was a bit of a shock." An even smile spread across his lips. "And they say Jedi females are frigid."

She inched away from him, tugging at the restraints that cinched her wrists.

"I'm not a Jedi," she muttered under her breath.

Klaas cracked her across the face with a stiff backhand.

"You've forgotten what you are, but I can help you remember."

He grabbed her face to inspect the damage he'd inflicted and Urela became painfully aware there was no kindness in the way he touched her. She felt her skin heat with shame. The dawning realization of what last night had really been, hit her like Force lightning.

"Why?" she asked.

Klaas sat at the edge of the bed watching her.

"Why, indeed? Are you sure you don't know?"

"I snore in bed?" she asked. A defiant smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Klaas snatched a vibroblade and pressed the tip between her ankles. She flinched when she felt the heat and hum of the blade against her skin.

"This is for someone you killed," he said.

Urela's mind raced back to their conversation in the cantina. The soldier he asked about... what was her name? Kayta?

"This is for Kayta?" Urela asked.

As if to reward her answer, Klaas sawed through Urela's ankle restraints and she kicked free of the rope.

"Kayta trusted you and you sent her to Malachor V," he said.

Urela stood on the bed and scanned the room for anything resembling a weapon. She needed time to think.

"I'm sorry about Kayta. I never..."

Before she could finish her thought, Klaas lunged at her and knocked her to the floor.

"You think an apology will cover what you did to her? What you did to me? Next you're going to tell me you were just following orders?"

He kicked her hard in the stomach. The taste of iron bubbled up from the back of her mouth. She was bleeding. Urela tried to stand, but her legs buckled underneath her weight.

"How does it feel when someone you trust--someone you like-- betrays you?" he asked.

Urela swallowed hard. She wouldn't indulge any of his questions until she had answers of her own.

"Why didn't you just kill me when you learned who I was?" she asked him.

Klaas studied her as though he were trying to gauge whether or not she deserved the answer to her query. She noticed a small shift in his mood. His gaze softened almost imperceptibly.

"Honestly, when I saw Kayta's murderer working as a cheap dancer in a cantina without even the Force to protect her, I didn't think I could take my revenge."

Did he pity her? That was worse. Worse than his hatred. Worse than the beatings. Her upper arms shook as she pushed herself up to standing.

"I'm glad you didn't let a little thing like that stop you."

She spat out the words with all the venom she could muster. She wanted to provoke him. His wrath was preferable to his pity. But, he laughed. And worse-- he smiled-- the same magnetic smile he'd given her when they first met and Urela felt a new ache manifest itself; an ache far worse than any he had inflicted thus far.

"I needed to kill the Jedi who killed Kayta, but you're not exactly that person anymore. I mean-- the Council cast you out-- even the Force abandoned you."

"The Force didn't abandon me. It was taken," she corrected.

Klaas flew at her. He grabbed her by her arms and spun her back on to the bed.

"There are rumors the Jedi didn't sever your tie to the Force," he sneered. "There are some who whisper the Force left you when you gave the order to destroy Malachor V."

Urela kicked her legs at him trying to defend herself, but he overpowered her quickly.

"When I saw you rescue that Twi'lek girl in the cantina, I saw a glimmer of the woman you used to be and I knew-- I could finally make you pay for what you did."

Klaas spoke slowly and deliberately, as a teacher might speak to a stubborn child.

"But, I'm not that person anymore," she pleaded.

He pulled her up by her hair until her face was just inches from his.

"Remember who you are, Urela."

He pressed the tip of his blade just below her right eye.

"This pretty face led soldiers into battle."

He pierced the skin and slowly cut her cheek with the vibroblade.

"It gave courage to the weak."

She felt the blood spill out of her. That's when her tears started. Urela felt them form, and for a moment, she surrendered to a dangerous, desperate thought: If the Force had been with me, if the Council had not severed my connection to it, none of this would be happening. Klaas brushed a stray lock of hair from her face.

"Don't cry, Urela," he said as he kissed her gently on the forehead.

Urela bit down on her cheek. Hard.

"I just thought seeing a little blood might jog your memory. Blood. Battle. It's who you are," Klaas said.

His voice was almost kind. He placed the hilt of his vibroblade in her hands, but the restraints that held her wrists made it difficult to hold the blade aloft. She watched as Klaas walked into the next room.

"I brought you a gift," he called to her. "A little incentive to reclaim your fighting spirit."

Urela followed him with the vibroblade still shaky in her grasp. In the next room, she saw Lute. Bound and gagged, the young Twi'lek lay in a heap on the couch. The fear in her green eyes was unmistakable. Urela looked at their captor.

"Please, let her go, Klaas."

"Please?" His eyebrows arched in surprise.

He was amused by this-- that she would think to appeal to him with politeness, as if manners and reason were still somehow admissible. Klaas sat next to Lute on the couch.

"The ends justify the means for you, Urela. That's how you could live with yourself after Malachor V."

Lute flinched when he placed his hand on her shoulder.

"So-- protect this girl with your life. If you refuse, I'm going to kill her and I'm going to let you watch. Do you understand?"

Urela flipped the blade up and cut her wrist restraints.

"I understand."

She had forgotten the weight of a weapon in her hand. It was heavy. It felt like she might bend under the sheer heft of the blade, but she managed to raise her weapon and point it squarely at him. He answered her by grabbing a vibrosword and lunging at her with a powerful overhead slash. Urela parried his attack, but the force of his blow knocked her back into a wall. He advanced, thrusting the tip of his blade at her heart. Using her foot to propel herself off the wall, she leapt sideways, but his flurry left her open. Klaas smashed the hilt of his blade across her face and Urela fell backwards on to the floor. He looked at her with disappointed eyes. The same eyes Vrook, Atris and Kavar regarded her with when she returned from the war.

"You'll never save that girl if you don't attack me," he said.

He was right. Lute would suffer if she continued to merely evade his attacks.

Eyes closed, Urela blocked out the frightened whimpers she heard coming from the direction of the couch and forced her mind to be silent. She heard him exhale as he burst forward. Without thinking, Urela stepped out of his path and cut him across the chest with her blade. It was only a superficial wound, but the sight of his blood weakened her resolve. Her hands began to shake. She dropped her weapon.

"Forgive me." Urela said.

Klaas howled like an animal. Even without the Force, she could feel the emptiness that Kayta's death created in him.

And suddenly it hit her: a vision of a pretty brunette in Republic fatigues.

An artillery specialist. A skilled soldier. Kayta. Urela enjoyed her company. Kayta was shy-- until she had a few drinks. She wrote letters to her boyfriend. She carried his picture with her. Always. His name was Klaas Okeeda. Kayta wanted kids. That was her reason for joining the fleet. To protect Klaas. To make the galaxy safe for their children. A wave of grief washed over the Exile. How could she have forgotten Kayta?

Back then, she was almost envious of Kayta's simple dreams: a husband, children, a place to call home.

Even then, Urela knew her own life would never involve such quiet happiness. She was a Jedi. She had chosen a life of service. If she could not have those humble dreams, then she swore she would always protect the dreams of others. When did she forget that?

Klaas looked at her with dark, far-away eyes. His shirt was soaked with the blood of his wound. He took a step towards her.

"I won't know peace until I kill the person who took her from me. Please. Pick up your weapon."

Urela picked up her weapon. She was surprised it felt more natural in her hand. The blade seemed lighter than it had only moments ago.

"I remember her-- Kayta. I guess I made myself forget her. I certainly forgot who I was," Urela admitted.

He gazed at her with no emotion. She bowed her head.

"I won't let you hurt Lute because of me," Urela said, gripping the hilt of her blade. "If this will bring you peace-- then I won't run anymore."

Klaas nodded, grateful she finally understood. He took up his sword and for a moment they stood together, watching each other.

She wouldn't be able to match his strength. Speed was her only advantage. She would have to make full use of it.

With that much decided, Urela swung her blade overhead and sprinted towards him. Klaas grunted as he braced for her attack. When his attention moved upwards to block, she hooked his ankle with her foot and smashed it against his upper thigh. He doubled over, but refused to go down. In fact, the pain seemed to embolden him. He lurched forward and Urela saw her opening: using his own knee for momentum, she walked up the length of his body and launched her foot against his chin. Klaas fell back and Urela kicked the vibrosword from his hand.

"You better kill me," he said. "If you don't-- I'll come after you again."

There was a hint of concern in his voice. A hidden apology embedded in his threat. Urela said nothing as she started towards the couch to untie Lute.

"I mean it. I won't rest until you're dead," he advised her.

She looked back at him. His voice was strong, but he looked beaten. Broken.

Urela understood broken things. Her time in exile gave her an appreciation for them. She knew if allowed to heal, a broken thing might become more powerful-- more beautiful-- than it was before it was damaged.

"Then I promise to be stronger the next time," she vowed.

Klaas flashed her a dangerous grin.

"Me too."

Urela stepped into the bright Corellian sun. Her fingers grazed the cut on her cheek and the wound reopened. The blood on her fingers brought Urela's thoughts back to Klaas. She knew he would come for her again. Their connection, forged by tragedy and regret, would have them pursue each other throughout the Galaxy. Each tortured by the other's existence. Both of them knowing as long as the other still lived, it was imperative to become stronger than they were yesterday. Better than they were today.

"Banthafeet!"

Urela turned in time to see Maar'la shrieking towards her at top speed.

"Lesca saw Lute talking to that guy you were with last night-- and when Lute didn't show up..."

Maar'la stopped as soon as she got a good look at Urela.

"You look terrible," Maar'la admonished.

Urela laughed until she felt a sharp pain in her chest. With her adrenaline exhausted, she was acutely aware of a cracked rib-- maybe two.

"What happened?" Maar'la asked, scrutinizing the monster gash on Urela's cheek.

"I got in a fight," Urela admitted with a half smile.

The Twi'lek placed the Exile's arm over her shoulder so she could better support her weight as they walked.

"I'll stitch you up back at the cantina," Maar'la said, taking a small step forward.

But, Urela didn't move.

"I can't go back there," Urela whispered.

Maar'la eyed Urela as she waited for an explanation. Urela hesitated.

"Before this morning, I could have gone back with you. I could have danced in that cantina every night for the next ten years, but I can't do that anymore."

Urela winced, clutching her right side and Maar'la helped her lean against a nearby railing to catch her breath.

"I was a Jedi, Maar'la. I fought in the Mandalorian wars and because of that, I was exiled from the Order and cut off from the Force. I did my best to forget that part of myself, but now, it's like I'm awake again and I remember. Everything."

The Twi'lek nodded. She didn't appear surprised to hear this revelation.

"In a lot of ways you remind me of him-- of Clay."

"Except, I'm not a Jedi anymore."

The frustration in the Exile's voice was tangible. Maar'la chewed on this a moment before she spoke.

"Don't get hung up on labels," the Twi'lek said with a devious smile. "There's no shortage of people who could use your help. You can do the work of a Jedi. You don't need the title."

Could it be that simple? Urela's eyes burned with purpose as an idea began to take shape.

"Come with me, Maar'la. We're a good team. If we looked for Clay together-- we could find him."

The Twi'lek chuckled at the giddy Exile who was bruised, covered in blood and who never looked more alive. Maar'la's blue eyes drifted towards the horizon.

"There are two kinds of people in this Galaxy, Banthafeet: those who go off to battle, and those who wait for them to return." Maar'la smiled sheepishly before admitting: "I know which kind I am."

Urela nodded. She understood.

"May the Force bring him back to you."

The words were out of her mouth before she realized it. She hadn't thought to ask the Force for anything in years because that privilege was no longer hers. However, she hoped an exception could be made in this case because she wasn't asking for herself.

Maar'la hugged Urela tightly. A gesture which surprised the Exile. She stood frozen with her hands at her sides before awkwardly returning the hug. Maar'la leaned in close and whispered:

"I've heard rumors about bounties being placed on Jedi. Be careful."

When the Twi'lek pulled away, Urela saw that Maar'la's pretty blue face was now an odd shade of purple.

"I'm not crying," Maar'la snapped as she dabbed at her eyes. "You're just so naive and trusting. I swear-- you're going to end up surrounded by Mandalorians and Sith assassins."

"You're just going to miss my big feet," Urela said.

Maar'la laughed in spite of her tears.

"Yes, I will."

Unlike Klaas, the Exile couldn't be sure she would see her Twi'lek dance partner again. She couldn't bring herself to say goodbye.

"Good luck, Maar'la," Urela said finally, after a lengthy pause.

The Twi'lek squeezed the Exile's hand gently and whispered:

"May the Force be with you, Urela Toral."