What I Can't Tell You

I looked away, and then I looked back at you. You were staring (or glaring, either term will do) at me. You were annoyed. I was asking too many questions. To be honest, I was incredibly surprised that you were still with us. How little I knew back then. Had I known how you were being manipulated, I wouldn’t have stood for it. I would have made you leave. It’s probably what you wanted at that point. I never noticed the way you seemed to glance behind me at something beyond once I told reminded you of the fact that you were free to go. I appreciated your help, but you didn’t need to get involved further. I expected you to ask for passage to Nar Shaddaa or someplace similar, but no. You glanced away, then looked back and shook your head with an almost forced grin.

“Nah, I’m with you until things start getting better for you.”

I had thought it might have just been kindness on your part that made you stay. I had accepted your help and made an effort to remain silent, instead of continue to ask pressing questions. I was always curious. Nosey, even. It’s probably not good for a Jedi to be too curious. I made a concentrated effort to work on that. And then when we got to Nar Shaddaa, I had to break that promise.

“The one you travel with, ‘Atton’, is not who he seems to be.”

That startled me. At that point we had gone through so much together, we had come so far since Peragus, I thought I could trust you. I did trust you. And then all it took to destroy the trust was a couple of strangers and their seed of doubt. If you weren’t Atton, who were you? Then again, what right did I have to question you or your past? It couldn’t have been any worse than mine. But at least you knew who I was and the terrible things I had done. I deserved to know. So I asked you.

“I’m as ‘Atton’ as Atton will ever be!”

I’ll never forget how angry you were. How insulted and affronted and defensive you seemed to be, all at the same time. I had never seen you like that before. And then you just… came clean, told me everything. And I could tell it was everything. The hopelessness in your eyes, the need for redemption was too honest. You told me everything.

I wonder what she looked like. I wonder how she felt, sacrificing herself for you. And I found myself wondering if I would have been able to do the same thing. Whoever she was, she was stronger than either of us.

“And then I met you on Peragus, and I thought maybe, maybe she had saved me so that I could help you.”

I wasn’t mad. I wasn’t angry, or hateful. I was sad. But I forgave you right then and there. I couldn’t help it. I knew the things you had done were horrible, terrible, but I’d done things just as terrible, just as horrible. Who was I to judge? How I could I condemn you, without also condemning myself? Vrook once told me ‘Judge yourself before  you judge others." ... not hthat he was the best example to follow where that was concerned, however.

And it wasn’t just for that reason that I forgave you. You needed redemption from someone. You needed the chance to redeem yourself, and I was the only one who could give it to you. And if I didn’t… I knew you’d be miserable. I didn’t want you to be miserable. I wanted you to be happy. I still want you to be happy.

And as I pass quietly through the Main Hold, I stop by the cockpit. You’re sleeping, head resting against the chair, feet propped up on the co-pilot’s chair, a few pazaak cards scattered on the controls. Ever so quietly, ever so gently, I move a few strands of hair from your eyes.

And I wish I had the guts to deal with this head-on, instead of being a silly sneak. But I don’t have the strength. I can’t tell you where I’m going. I can’t tell you when I’ll come back. I can’t tell you why I have to go alone.

I can’t tell you I love you.