Futile

Three men, each broken by time, tormented by love, by endless waiting.

Nar Shaddaa at night, Atton thinks. These paths he has walked before throughout all seasons of his life, so much so that he could close his eyes and know exactly where he was based solely on smell. And yet all he can think of is each place she was. This is where she saved a man from being murdered by Exchange thugs. This is where she healed a refugee cast aside. This is where he lashed her with his hurt and words, in feeble defense of his own crimes. This is where she reached to him through the Force and her love; this is where he was redeemed.

He can still see her in his mind's eye, even after all these years. The husky music of her voice, the curve of her body. The light and pain juxtaposed in her eyes. He wonders how much she has changed, if she is still alive. He wonders if she would even recognize him now. His face is lined and grey flecks his hair. His hands are becoming aged; they tremble now, and are flecked. He is still Atton though, and he still loves the Exile.

"Atton! Wait!"

Atton feels a brief flicker of annoyance, replaced grudgingly by feelings of goodwill. He and the Disciple had learned to coexist if only for the shared desire that they would one day see the woman they love again, no matter whom she chose.

"I wouldn't have to wait if you kept up, pretty boy." Atton snarks, although the Disciple is hardly a boy anymore. Age has come to him as well, thinks Atton smugly. Mical likes to call it a trick of the light, but his hair is slowly turning white. His face is an oddity, for it maintains its youthful naivety despite the years.

"It's not my fault we're late. You're the one who insisted showing Padawan Tainer the exact subtleties of Shii-Cho." Mical asserts.

Atton grumbles under his breath. "It wouldn't have been necessary if you hadn't blundered through the demonstration."

Mical just smiles. This exchange is fairly commonplace between the two men, homage to the years of first acquaintance, of traveling with the Exile. Atton thinks this is just another way to remember her, hoping that maybe she'll pop out from behind this plasteel container and chastise them, urge them to get along.

The two men stride along now, in step, their Jedi robes rustling against the night air. Each is lost in his own thought, and there isn't much to say between them that hasn't been said before. The Exile has left in her wake a loss, a gaping maw in their hearts.

"Atton!" Her voice echoes in his mind.

"Something up?" He grins down at her in a well practiced movement.

Her return smile is coy and playful. "I wanted to see why you're hiding." she says, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

He isn't so sure he wants to let her into his thoughts, his fears. He feels a little disconcerted that she can read him so easily, not through the Force, but simply as a person despite his best efforts to mask himself. He runs his hands through his hair and decides to play their usual game. "Would never hide from you, gorgeous."

She doesn't bite. Her gaze becomes serious and her small hand touches his arm and for a second the world stops in its tracks. He can hear his heart beating faster in response to the piercing look that he she gives him. He swallows.

"I wanted to thank you for coming after me today...for rescuing me." She mirrors his own sly grin now, and his heart falters. He thinks of all the bloody droids and mines and turrets on Goto's yacht and then looks at her.

"Yeah well, I...I mean, we couldn't just leave you." Dammit Atton, get it together! he chastises himself.

She is coming close and closer to him, so much so that he could count each individual freckle on her nose, each fleck of green in her deep eyes. She reaches to touch his face, and suddenly he grabs her wrist roughly, almost in defense. He wants her, fear and longing have come together in his heart, and he has never felt such a desire to love her, and yet a small fear of letting her reach him in this way. His decision is made, and he lifts her wrist to his lips and savors the pulse there.

She breathes in slowly and then a fire in her eyes, he suddenly realizes that she wants him too. He takes her roughly in his arms and kisses her fiercely, desire burning through his body. He feels an answering pressure from her lips, and he almost cries. Her hands grasp the front of his jacket and her back arches against his encircling arms.

His passion urges him to tell her. "I was afraid...I mean, I know you can take care of yourself, we've all seen you with a lightsaber, but...” She silences his with a finger to his lips.

“I love you." he whispers. Her eyes fill with tears. "I never have felt loved before you loved me." she tells him. And he doesn't think anymore, his hands seem to be weightless as they remove her clothes, he is focused solely on the feel of her cool hands on his chest, her breasts pressed against his.

Afterwards, she sleeps curled into his embrace, her hand on his chest. He watches it rise and fall in time with his breathing, and nothing strikes him as more intimate.

Atton closes his eyes to the memory, his most precious memory. It has been close to 23 years since that day. She hasn't come back; he hasn't heard a word from her. For all he knows, she could be long dead.

They enter the cantina. Their practiced hands itch towards their lightsabers but there is no sign of trouble here. The Twi'leks dance, the Bith play, and a Trandoshan bartender urges a heavily inebriated Rodian towards the door. A smirk plays across Atton's features. It has been quite some time since he last visited the Nar Shaddaa cantina. It's a disconnected scene from another life, long ago.

Through the gloom, they find who they are looking for. A man sits at a table in the far corner, quite removed from the going-ons. His back is straight against the chair, giving testament to his military training. He is aged as well, in his mid sixties, but his eyes are as sharp and wary as they ever have been. This is Admiral Carth Onasi.

Carth spots the two Jedi Masters and grins. "Was wondering if you two stood me up," he says good-naturedly.

"It's his fault." grumbles Atton, as Mical shakes Carth's hand.

"Wouldn't dream of standing you up, Admiral." Mical says calmly. They take their seats and a waitress comes and inquires their beverage of choice. Atton, for old time's sake, decides upon juma juice.

The three men savor their drinks in silence for a moment, when Carth finally breaks the silence. "I think I'm going to retire now," he says conversationally, even though Mical can detect the smallest tremor of sadness in his voice.

Atton sputters his drink down his front in shock. Mical, however, looks calmly on, inquiring.

"Oh come now, Atton. We all know I’m an old man now. Dustil's kids are grown, there isn't much an old fart like me can do anymore." But Mical doesn't break the silence, he doesn't need to be a Jedi in order to see the reason at its core.

Atton, however, isn't as tactful. "It's because of Revan, isn't it?" he blurts. Carth eyes him shrewdly and says " You sure haven't changed much over the years." Atton knows this isn't true. He has changed. Simply, he isn't a fool anymore.

Atton forges ahead. "But you made a promise to her! To Revan. That you'd guide the rebuilding as best as you can! Why are you giving up now?" Mical flinches. "Atton, please," he admonishes.

Carth just stares off into the distance. " Did we really think it would take this long?" His eyes are sad. " It was so easy to hope in the beginning, ticking off the days. That invisible deadline when they would return seemed to grow closer back then. Now...with each passing day it just seems further away. All that hoping and waiting. It was futile."

He swirls his drink and now looks at the Jedi Masters full in the face. " I know we made promises to them to keep the home fires burning. But how do we ever know if they remember us? How do we know if they are even alive?"

Atton's face is a mix of bewilderment and fury. His strong emotion has made him incoherent, but Mical silences his companion with a pointed look. Turning to the Admiral, he urges him to continue.

Carth looks towards the window, towards the bright stars. "I guess I just want to start to mourn her. It's been so long.."

Carth looks towards the window, towards the stars. Revan approaches him, wraps her arms around his broad shoulders and kisses the hollow between his shoulder blades.

He smiles. "Hey beautiful."

"How is the most handsomest pilot in the galaxy?" she teases him, curling his brown hair in her long fingers. He turns around and pulls her to him, nuzzling her neck. She giggles and tries to wriggle out of his grasp, but he is too strong for her to resist. "He's much better now that you're here." he says in her hair.

She laughs out loud, a musical trill that warms him down to his toes. She may be devastatingly beautiful and skilled with a lightsaber, but her laugh makes these parts seem incomplete by themselves. Her laughter is the sound of her soul, he thinks.

"I'd hate to think what would become of me if I could never hear you laugh again," he says to her, kissing his way down her neck. He senses he's said the wrong thing even before the words finish leaving his lips. Her back stiffens and her laughter is stilled. She looks suddenly sad and for a second, the look in her eyes breaks his heart.

"Hey, beautiful, what’s wrong?" he says.

She smiles again, but it is a ghost of what it was. "Nothing, Carth." She grins devilishly. "Now where were we."

Carth shakes the memory from his mind and regards the two Jedi masters. Atton is struggling with his instinct and his Jedi training. He would like nothing more than to try and talk some sense into the older man, but he realizes that their long vigil has taken a very real toll on Carth.

Carth smiles faintly. "I've done the best I could for as long as I could. I doubt Revan, if she's still out there, would hold it against me for doing what all old men do-heading for the old hills."

Mical smiles graciously. " You have earned your retirement, Admiral. I agree, Revan would never hold this against you." Mical, charming optimist, refers to Revan as if she is still very much alive.

Carth drains his Telosian ale and says gruffly "Well, in any case, I must be on my way. Just wanted to catch up with some old friends." They stand together and shake hands, and the Admiral exits the cantina, disappearing into the night air.

Atton watches him go, and Mical eyes him incredulously. "I think this is the first time since I've met you where you have been mostly at a loss for words."

He watches Atton intently, and Atton shakes his head, ignoring Mical's jab. "I can't believe he's completely giving up hope! What happens if they come back and he's moved on? How would they feel?"

"Carth didn't say he was moving on," Mical says gently.

"He mind as well be! Did you hear him? 'They're probably dead, they've probably forgotten about us.' I can't believe him!"

"Are you telling me, Atton, that you've NEVER had those very same thoughts all this time she's been gone? Be mindful of your feelings."

Atton glares at the Disciple. Of course he has. He would never act on them though, as the Admiral is doing.

Mical knows where Atton is going in his thoughts, only because they have known each other so long. "How is thought any different than action? Thought and action are both removed from duty and honor; you think you want to give up and you give up. The only thing separating them is guilt. Remorse. Love." Mical works to keep his voice from breaking at the last word.

Silence falls between the two Masters, and Atton slowly stands. "I guess I just need to be alone for awhile. To meditate...or something. I'll see you back at the Hawk." he stands and leaves. Mical watches him turn in the opposite direction of their ship and sighs, although he feels a bit that solitude from his friends is welcome. Mical shuts his eyes and can hide from her face no longer.

He finds her in the dormitory Kreia used to haunt, before her fall, before that horrible final battle. The Force swirls around the Exile in a furious tempest, and he can feel her agony and sorrow, he can hear her tears, taste her broken heart. He senses she finds no calm in meditation and he has to fight the urge to take her in his arms then and hold her until the world ends and no more harm can befall her. She is no wound in the Force, but she is wounded and if only he could reach out to her and heal her spirit they way she has healed his.

She finally turns around and her tear speckled eyes take his breath away. "Disciple.." she stammers, struggling. He comes towards her as if in a dream and can fight his desire no longer. He is to her in an instant, and before she can break the spell, he wraps his arms around her small body and holds her tight. He is aware that she is clutching the back of his tunic, and his heart seems to fly and fall simultaneously. Pulling away, he looks down at her and wipes the tears from her face with his two thumbs.

"Disciple...Mical." He starts..he had no idea that she knew his real name. "I must go. I have...I have to find Revan, find the true Sith." He looks at her and loves her then, loves her sense of honor and duty, for if it were his task, he would do the same.

"I know." he says. He knows this is goodbye, the last time he will see her for a very long time, if ever again. He fights against tears of his own as she turns to leave. "Wait." She looks at him, imploring. She wants to leave before she loses her nerve, he thinks. 'She needs you now, Mical. She needs you to let her go.' He takes her delicate hands in his and gathers his thoughts.

" I wish I could tell you that you mustn't go, Exile. I wish I could place my own personal wants in front of the needs of the galaxy, but I cannot. I am trying to be like you, my Master, because that is why you go. You go not because you want to but because it is your duty, your purpose, and you must fulfill that grand design. And while you are gone, I will ache for you and wish for you to return to me, to continue to show me to be the man that I never thought I could be, your devoted Disciple." He bends down on one knee and looks up into the Exile's beautiful, sad face. "I love you. And the thought of you will inspire me for the rest of my life, your teaching will echo in my head until I am old and grey, and I will carry you in my heart always. "

Tears pour down both of their faces as the Exile pulls Mical to his feet. She leans to him and kisses his lips, and this kiss is full of life and love and the Force. It is a kiss that transcends mere passion and becomes holy through their mutual sacrifice. It is the beginning and the end, the birth and death of the only real thing in the world. Long after she has gone, Mical feels her echo through the Force, and can sometimes hear her calling his name, so soft and faint, it could be lost as a sigh of the engine, the rustling of wind through the trees of Dantooine.

He is an old man now, and there is no rest, no peace from the sorrowful ghosts that are his memories. He is a calm, subtle, ineffable Jedi Master to the world around him, but sitting at this table alone, he is a broken man who hides his brokenness from the world, from his own heart. He is a little boy devoted to a hero, a man devoted to his love, a Disciple devoted to his Exile.

Three men, each broken by time, tormented by love, by endless waiting.