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Cere won’t be letting Cal out of her sight anytime soon. He’s been awake for all of ten minutes after hours of unconsciousness and it’s clear he isn’t ready to be out of bed. He isn’t even ready to be upright. Cal is barely cognisant of BD-1 chattering to him. Concerned, BD-1 nudges Cere, and she quells the droid’s concern with a hand. She knows. She’ll manage it.
She just also understands the need to not be alone right now. Nur was a nightmare, and it was a hell of a journey getting there.
Merrin, in her no-nonsense manner, convinces Cal to lie down on the lounge couch. Cal’s too tired and uncomfortable to argue, and he lets Merrin guide him into a comfortable position.
“I will be in the cockpit,” she announces shortly afterwards. “I will not allow all our hard work to be undone by the Empire tracking us.”
“Thanks,” Cal says.
“Rest,” Merrin orders. “You are far from healed.”
“No more blood on the decking please!” Greez calls from his chair in the cockpit. He’s taking them as far from the Empire as he possibly can, somewhere remote and unpopulated. “It’s a pain to clean up.”
“No blood, you got it,” Cal says, sounding faint at the thought.
Cere blanches at the memory. Coming to on the Mantis, Greez grabbing supplies from a locker while Merrin tried to make Cal breathe again.
No. She doesn’t want to think about it. And she definitely doesn’t want to inadvertently leave an echo for Cal to pick up on.
Although it’s likely too late for that.
Greez was quite the hoarder, despite how tidy he kept the Mantis. They’ve got enough supplies to lay low for a while, except they can’t risk staying on Bogano. Not after Trilla found it.
Trilla.
Cere releases her anguish before it can choke her.
“Cere?” Cal’s voice is quiet. He’s half-asleep again. “You okay?”
“I’m alright, Cal. Just get some rest.” She glances up, sees BD-1 watching closely from his spot on the back of the couch. “We’ve got you.”
BD-1 chirps in agreement.
Cal’s laugh is faint, barely more than a breath. “That’s good.” He winces, moving carefully to avoid falling.
Cere frowns. “Do you want to stay here, or would you like to head back to your bed?”
“Uh…” She can hear his discomfort with almost every breath he takes. “Bed might be good.”
“We are going to take this slow. You’ve been seriously injured, and there’s only so much you can expect from a bacta patch.” In reality, Cal needs a dunk in a bacta tank. Unfortunately, there’s no way they can risk it. They’ll never be able to convince any medic worth their credits that his injury is anything other than a lightsaber wound, and that will just deliver him straight back into the Empire’s hands. He’s going to have to do this the slow, battlefield medicine way – ugly and basic. Still, the bacta patch was top end, and it was likely the reason he’d managed to be upright at all. That, and the painkillers they’d pumped him full of. Cere stands, ignoring her own aches and pains. “Let me help, and if you need to stop, try to tell me before you fall.”
BD-1 adds his vocal agreement to Cere’s conditions.
“Slowly, got it,” Cal says.
“Ready?” Cere asks.
Cal holds out his left arm. “Ready.”
Cere carefully levers him into a seated position. Even that is enough to leave him sweaty and pale. For a moment, she thinks he’s going to be sick, pass out, or both. Instead, he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and nods. “Let’s go.”
They get him to his feet. He leans heavily on Cere, apologising for it.
“You don’t need to apologise,” Cere tells him. “And you don’t need to do this alone.”
She sighs quietly, wondering how it is she’s let Cal become this way, only to realise it's probably inherent in every Jedi. They came to serve. They did not expect to be the ones in need of help. Five years away from Jedi training hadn’t snuffed out that particular lesson.
She wondered how many people he’d managed to help on Bracca, whether he meant to or not.
“Okay, help me please.” He chuckles faintly. “‘Cause I don’t think I can make it myself.”
BD-1 agrees.
Cere does too, and not just because Cal’s managed to go a few extra shades paler. It’s a short journey back to his bunk, but right now it feels like a marathon from one side of a planet to another. By the time they make it, Cal is breathless and sweating. Cere doesn’t like the distinct feeling of heat rolling from him. It’s more than exertion.
Fever.
She gets him into his bunk and makes quick work of stripping off unnecessary layers of clothing. She tugs off his boots and socks. Anything to make him more comfortable.
“Cere? What’re you doin’?”
“Making sure you don’t cook yourself from the inside out,” she says.
“‘m not in an oven.”
She needs to get a fever reducer into him quickly.
“Get some sleep,” Cere tells him, the back of her hand resting on his forehead. Fever, definitely, and it’s worryingly high. She curses under her breath.
“Credit in the jar,” he mumbles.
“What?” The comment is so unexpected, she has no idea what to make of it.
“When I swore, ‘s what Prauf made me do so you gotta too.”
She doesn’t want him to launch into an explanation because she needs him asleep and healing, so she simply agrees to do it. He drifts off after that, giving her a chance to find the fever reducer, inject it into him, and get a cold compress for his head. After that, she turns to BD-1. “Stay with him. I won’t be long but come and find me if he gets any worse.”
BD-1 gives a quiet affirmative and settles down beside Cal.
Cere heads off to the cockpit. She can hear Greez and Merrin talking quietly. They appear to be discussing food, with Greez promising to do his best to recreate some Dathomirian cuisine. Cere steps in and finds Merrin at her usual spot. She doesn’t mind. Someone needs to keep an ear out for Imperial communications, and right now Cal is her priority.
“There is nothing to be heard,” Merrin says. “The Empire does not appear to be following us.” She shrugs. “They do not appear to be talking about us either.”
“Yeah, and I said it’s ‘cause they won’t wanna admit to screwing up so badly,” Greez chuckles. “They gotta know all kindsa people listen to their chatter. If it got out that you and Cal got into that fortress and escaped with the holocron, the Empire would look pretty stupid.”
“You may be right,” Cere said. The Force, though she didn’t reach for it, seemed to agree that they were safe.
For now. It never, ever, paid to underestimate the Empire. Just because it wasn’t all over the airwaves that the Fortress Inquisitorius had been infiltrated, didn’t mean they wouldn’t seek to hunt down herself and Cal.
Never mind that now. She needed to focus on what she could do, not what might be. “Where are we headed?”
“To a little world with the inspired name of Forest Planet 1138, because the Republic’s science corps were super original like that,” Greez says. “There wasn’t ever much there. From what we can tell, it’s been abandoned since before the Clone Wars. It’s in a system on the outer rim, so I doubt anyone’s gonna bother looking. Plus, I made a couple of extra jumps here and there to make sure no one can track us.”
“Good,” Cere says.
Conversation peters out. Greez and Merrin share a look. Cere feels her eyebrow twitch. These two seem to be getting on better than before. That, and it’s obvious what they both want to ask. Cere puts the pair out of their misery. “He’s resting, but he has a fever. A high one. I’m going to sit with him.” It was the least she could do, considering he was the reason she hadn’t succumbed to the dark side’s sibilant call.
“You should rest as well,” Merrin says. “We shall take it in turns.”
“It’s gonna take all of us to make sure he doesn’t do anything crazy,” Greez adds.
Cere agreed. “How long until we make planetfall?”
Greez consulted his instruments. “About four standard hours.”
“Alright, let me know if there are any issues,” Cere says.
“And you’ll let us know if we can help?” Merrin asks.
“I’ll send BD-1,” Cere replies.
Merrin nods, apparently satisfied.
Cere turns to leave before remembering something. “Oh, Greez, I need a jar.”
He looks over his shoulder at her. “A jar?” he asks, confused.
“Yes, an empty one. Leave it on the galley table.”
“Alright, I’ll do my best.”
“Thank you.”
Cere retreats to the rear of the ship, stopping only to grab something comfortable to sit on and two water bottles – one for her, and one for Cal if he should awaken. She hopes he doesn’t. He needs sleep more than anything else right now.
Returning to his small space at the back of the ship, the engine’s pulse becomes background noise as Cere keeps watch. Cal is resting on his back, one hand still held protectively over the stab wound. He looks peaceful, and the Force doesn’t disagree with her assessment. BD-1 beeps a greeting and returns to his monitoring. After their initial return to the ship, once Cal was breathing again and his wounds treated, Merrin had cleaned the small droid as best she could, given that BD-1 didn’t want to be parted from Cal for long. He has returned from Nur unscathed, although his concern for Cal is as obvious as anyone else’s. Cere would never forget coming around on the Mantis to the sound of BD’s loud and demanding shrieks as Merrin performed CPR on Cal, forcing air into his lungs until he managed to breathe for himself again. Until that moment, Cere hadn’t known a droid could slump in relief, and yet that’s what BD-1 did. He hadn’t abandoned Cal after that, not when Greez unpacked the well-stocked medical kit, not when they’d carried him back to his bunk, and not now as he slept.
Cere reaches out, patting the small droid. “You’re a good friend to him, BD,” she says, keeping her voice low.
BD-1 leans into her touch.
“I know, it’s scary to see him this way. Remember, you know he’s strong. It might be a little rough, but we’ll see him through.”
BD-1 beeps out a question.
Cere nods. “You may have to sit on him to keep him still, although shocking him should be a last resort.”
BD-1 titters and bops his head from side to side. Cere can’t help smiling. “I can see why Eno took you all around the galaxy with him. And Cal too.”
The pair of them fall silent again. Cere enters a light meditation. She isn’t sure yet what she or the Force want or need from each other, she isn’t even sure she can trust herself with it, so she only allows herself into its shallower tides. Here, she senses Cal, his light dimmed by injury and pain, yet still unmistakably him. Beyond him, she senses Greez and his focus on getting them to their destination unharmed. Beside him, Merrin shimmers with her own unique Force-signature. If Cere has learned anything since following her old master’s journey, it is that the Force does not belong solely to the Jedi and the Sith. It is experienced in countless ways. She wishes, for the first time in a very long time, that she could speak with Eno about all that he came to understand regarding the Jedi.
Their arrogance.
Their doom.
She turns her focus away from the past, focuses instead on herself. Her body aches in a way she hasn’t experienced in many years. It is a good ache, one that says she has put skills to good use. Cal is alive because she fought a Sith. She does not allow her mind to turn in on itself, to tear her apart with self-recrimination or guilt. The past does not need to eat her alive.
She also can’t drop her guard.
Maybe the real reason she longs for her old master is because she feels like a Padawan, one who went out of her depth and can’t find the way back alone.
Maybe she can find the way forward.
The Force holds her steady, its power sliding through her, reminding her of the lives around her, the lives she will do anything for.
Including turning her back on the darkness. Yes, it reached for her. Yes, she reached back. But when the moment of choice came, she chose the light.
She and Cal are alive because of that.
She holds onto that for all she is worth.
Cere loses track of time bathing in the currents and eddies of the Force until something burns through her mind.
Lightsaber.
Can’t stop it!
Cere, no!
Bouncing out of her meditation, she finds Cal stirring, mumbling in his sleep fretfully. BD-1’s scanning him, and he reports his results with a worried beep. Cere nods: she feels it too. The nightmare he is trapped in, one he can’t hold in. She senses Merrin’s approach before she can turn to meet her. No Force user could avoid picking up on it.
Merrin looks from Cere to Cal. Cere moves, grabbing the now hot and dry compress from Cal’s head and handing it over. “Cool that down for me and see what painkillers we have left. He’s due for another dose.”
Merrin nods, taking the compress. “Greez says we are coming up on this 1138 moon.”
“Good,” Cere says. “We’ll all be able to relax a little better once we’re there.”
Merrin steps out. Cere turns back to Cal, only to find that BD-1 is trying to nudge his friend awake. Cal, however, is deep within his nightmare, projecting images of the terrifying figure that had very nearly been the death of both of them. Whoever that was, the thought that he had once been a Jedi horrifies Cere.
Pushing her own horror aside to avoid passing it on, Cere places her hand against Cal’s head. The fever reducer has brought his temperature down, although he is still running far too hot to be healthy. She needs to bring him out without frightening him. It isn’t easy, her touch far from deft, but Cere manages to project a sense of wellbeing, of safety.
“Come on, Cal,” she says, louder now because she wants him to wake up. “Open your eyes.”
He twists away from her, and she feels his pain flare bright in the Force. He’s going to hurt himself if she doesn’t bring him around.
BD-1 whistles loudly, nudging Cal with one foot. Cal’s hand comes up to bat the offending appendage away. He frowns in his sleep.
The Force gathers.
“Come away, BD,” Cere advises. “He might lash out accidentally.” Even if she’s sure Cal lacks the necessary control, she’d hate for him to wake up and find he’d shoved BD-1 against a bulkhead.
Saddened, BD-1 does as he’s told just as Merrin returns. She holds out the compress wordlessly with one hand, a small hypo clutched in the other. “You cannot wake him?” she asks.
“No, and I need to,” Cere says. “I just…” And then it hits her. “Stay with him. You too, BD.”
She slides around Merrin and BD-1, heading to her cabin. Entering, she grabs her hallikset and hurries back to Cal. She sees that Merrin has placed the compress on Cal’s head and dosed him. Neither has done much to settle him. Merrin’s magick washes over her hands, the green light trailing over Cal. She shakes her head. “I cannot reach him. It is as though he is still under an ocean.”
Cere sits down. “Don’t worry. This might help.”
“Music?” Merrin asks.
“A memory too,” Cere says. “A better one, I hope.”
“I will tell Greez to keep his landing gentle,” Merrin says. And then she motions to BD-1. “Come. It will take both of us to monitor this.”
Both take one last look at Cal before heading off, BD-1 racing after Merrin after a final hesitation in the doorway. Cere settles herself, her hands finding the strings, and begins to play. She closes her eyes, the notes flowing, the tune she’d written long ago singing out. She lets go of any urge for perfection, for accuracy, and simply makes music. It soars from her and through the hallikset, drowning out the engine’s beat even though she matches her tempo to its bassline.
“Cere?”
She opens her eyes and keeps playing as she sees Cal awake. “There you are,” she says. He’s flushed with fever and glassy-eyed. “Stay here a little while.”
“I don’t feel so good,” he admits.
“I know you don’t,” she says. “That’s why I need you to stay awake.”
He may be drowsy, but Cal isn’t stupid. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to project.” He raises his left hand and rubs at his eyes. “I just couldn’t get away. In the nightmare.” He shivers, staring at the ceiling. “Was he… was he a Jedi once too?”
“I don’t know,” Cere says. “I never met anyone that powerful in all my years. And from what I recall of the Sith, there were always two. A master and an apprentice. Perhaps that creature, whoever he truly is, was only ever a Sith.”
Cal laughs, the sound too close to unhinged for Cere’s liking. Once he’s able, he’ll have to meditate, release this experience before it can really get its teeth into him. “He threw the building at me and BD…” He startles, looks around, levering himself upright as best he can even though it causes him visible pain to do so. “BD?” he gasps.
“Easy, easy,” Cere says. “He’s with Merrin, overseeing our landing. I’m sure Greez is delighted.”
Cal sinks back against his bunk. “Okay.” He closes his eyes, swallowing with a wince. Cere realises they may have overlooked an injury. She hadn’t seen everything that had happened after all. “Everyone’s okay? You’re okay?”
“We’re all fine,” Cere says, slowing her music down into a lullaby she remembers from her Seeker days. She used to play it to the babies when they couldn’t settle, unused to being away from their parents. She hopes it will have the same effect on Cal now. “You have our collective permission to think only of yourself. You had a building thrown at you, after all.”
“Got stabbed too.”
“Yes, you did,” Cere says, refusing to allow the emotion of such a callous act impact her music. They had survived. That was what mattered.
She chose the light.
“You and BD saved me from him,” Cal says quietly.
“And you saved me,” she says. From the Sith. From herself. “I think we’re even.”
Cal offers no response. Not right away. She looks at him, expecting to find him asleep. Instead, she finds him staring in a way that can only be described as trying not to cry. She waits him out, giving him time. She doesn’t want to push. She wants him to come to her, to feel like he can be honest. She keeps playing, the lullaby soft and lilting. Cal’s misery is palpable, a harsh note clashing against her soothing music.
“Cere?” Cal’s voice cracks.
“Yes?”
“I… I just –” He breaks off, blinking hard, mouth pulling at the corners as he tries not to sob.
“There is no shame in what you’re feeling,” she tells him, hand shifting to change chords. “You’re hurting, you’re sick, and you’ve been through more than most can imagine. You don’t have to be fine right now. You don’t have to be strong. It’s alright to stop holding it together for a while.”
“Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve seen and I can’t bring anyone back.” And as though her words were permission, Cal breaks. “Prauf’s gone because of me.”
He curls up and sobs, turning his back to Cere. Putting the hallikset aside, she reaches for him, her hand resting on his back and rubbing gentle circles. He reaches over and clings to her. She grips his hand, thumb brushing back and forth across his knuckles. If she could without hurting him, she’d pull him into her arms and let him weep. Instead, this is all she can do. Cere lets him cling to her like she’s the only lifeline left to keep him from drowning in his sorrow and grief. And Cere, knowing she has nothing left to hide from him allows her tears for the Jedi, for Trilla, to fall silently.
She moves so she can perch on the edge of his bunk. “There,” she says when she’s confident she can speak without her voice breaking. “Let it out.”
“I’m sorry,” he weeps. He’s not apologising to her, so she doesn’t hush him. He says it again and again until his voice completely gives out.
She runs a hand through his hair, brushing it away from his face. He cries himself into a feverish stupor. When he calms, sobs downshifting to little shudders and sighs, she manages to get some water into him, the heat of his fever leaving his cheeks as red as his hair. His eyes are barely open, caught somewhere in-between sleep and consciousness. The engine goes quiet at some point, telling her they’ve landed. It’s BD-1 who comes back to tell them, and he takes one look at Cal before launching himself back onto the bunk, carefully setting himself down at Cal’s side. He beeps and whistles at Cal, who responds with an exhausted smile and not much more. It’s impossible to tell if he knows his friend is with him or if he thinks this is all a dream. Unfazed by Cal’s disconnect from reality, BD-1 works his way under Cal’s hand, lowering himself down and somehow scooping Cal’s hand up in such a way that it lands atop BD-1’s head.
BD-1 snuggles down. Cal’s eyes grow heavier, his blinks slower, eyelids taking longer each time to reopen. Cere takes the opportunity to slide off the bunk, reach for her hallikset and resume the lullaby.
“Pretty,” Cal breathes, eyes barely open.
“Thank you,” Cere says.
“Good.” He says it like there’s more to the sentence than he manages to get out. “You’re good.”
Cere smiles. “I practice,” she says.
Cal’s asleep shortly after, curled up on his good side. Greez pokes his head in a few minutes’ later. “How’s he doing?” He keeps his voice low.
“He’s resting again now,” Cere says. “I think he’s out for good this time.” She can sense his mind’s plunge into a deep, senseless sleep. The ship could explode around him, and he wouldn’t wake up to hear it.
Cere purposefully pushes that grim imagining out of her head.
“He needs it,” Greez says. He steps closer, giving Cal the once over. “You did good, kid. Real good.”
Cal doesn’t answer.
Greez steps back. “Merrin and I are gonna poke around the old Republic base here, see what they left behind. You need anything before we head out?”
“Just for you two to take it slow and stay safe,” Cere tells Greez. She looks over, sees Merrin poking her head through the doorway. “Do not take any chances, and if something feels wrong, you leave it alone.” She realises just how intense her voice has become. “Come back in one piece each, please.”
“I will see to it that no pieces are lost,” Merrin says, completely serious.
“I feel safer already,” Greez says, and he doesn’t appear to be joking.
The pair take their leave. Cere stands, stretching her aching limbs. Cal shivers in his sleep. Cere reaches for his blanket and raises it over him, watching in amusement as one foot immediately sticks back out.
“Sleep well, young one,” she says. “You’ve earned it.”
Hours go by, during which time Greez and Merrin return from their exploration with news that the abandoned base still has power and will suit their needs, and there’s nothing scarier in their region than a tree shaped like the Emperor that Greez as already decided to take an axe to for firewood because who says they can’t have themselves a proper campfire just because they also have an old scientific outpost to spend the night in. With BD-1 keeping watch over Cal, Cere steps outside to a bright green landscape, the sky overhead pink and orange with the oncoming twilight. She fills her lungs with fresh air. Looking at the outpost, she sees several units, single storey each, gathered around the Mantis’ landing zone. She imagines the people who worked here had expected to return, only for the Clone Wars to break out, redirecting most of the Republic’s resources into its military budget. She wonders how much of their past Cal will experience.
He'll need to stay on the ship until he’s ready for that.
Watching Greez and Merrin hard at work Cere suggests they should take turns to set up the old base and watch over Cal. Merrin has other ideas. She points to the ship’s ramp. “Go. Stay with him. You too should rest. Greez and I can handle this. He enjoys these domestic chores.”
They both look over to where Greez is attacking the so-called ‘Palpa-tree’ with an axe.
Merrin’s hand rests on Cere’s arm. “You are the one he needs. And maybe he is the one you need.”
Cere rests her hand atop Merrin’s. “Thank you,” she says.
“Go. Rest,” Merrin orders. “I will make sure Greez does not lose any of his hands.” And with that, she heads over to monitor Greez’s progress.
Cere retreats aboard the Mantis. Cal and BD-1 are both exactly as she left them; Cal in a sleep so deep he’s hard to sense in the Force, and BD-1 scanning periodically. Her own exhaustion clings to her, and so she drags her mattress, pillows and blankets into Cal’s space and sets herself up for the night.
“BD-1?” she calls.
The droid answers with an eager beep. There’s no need to stay quiet. Cal won’t be waking up anytime soon.
“If you need me, wake me,” Cere orders.
BD-1 whistles in acknowledgement.
Cere closes her eyes. Sleep finds her quickly. She doesn’t dream. Not tonight. She’s too tired, worn out by using the Force for the first time in so long and by her own aches and pains. When she awakens, it is to the smell of freshly brewed caf. She sits up, finds Cal still out and BD-1 tucked up by his side. Reaching over, Cere rests the back of her hand against Cal’s forehead. He stirs briefly and BD-1’s antennae pop up, standing down when he sees Cere.
Even though Cal’s fever is still present, he’s distinctly cooler than before.
“Rest easy,” she tells him.
Stretching, limbs and joints popping, Cere heads out to the galley where Greez is making breakfast and Merrin is staring at the caf pot like it might bite her.
And in the middle of the table is an empty jar. Cere smiles. Trust Greez to come through.
“Hey, good morning!” Greez says. “How you feeling?”
“Like I could use a shower and a good meal,” Cere admits. “Are you both alright?”
“We are fine,” Merrin says. “This planet is very quiet.”
“And the Palpa-tree made for a good bonfire,” Greez says. “You’ve got a little while ‘til breakfast. Why not take the shower now?”
Cere pours herself a cup of caf first, ignoring the look Merrin gives her as she knocks it back. “It’s an acquired taste,” she tells her.
Merrin doesn’t buy it.
One shower, and one cooked breakfast later, Cere’s feeling like herself again. She even dug up a credit from her cabin to stick in the jar. She listens to Greez chatter about how they could afford to spend some serious time here regrouping and figuring out their next move, until the Force stirs. She and Merrin share a look. Greez is sharp enough to know something’s up and stops talking. Then BD-1 patters down the corridor, bouncing and whooping. Cere gets up, grabs a water bottle, and follows the excitable droid back to Cal, who has rolled onto his back and is blinking at the ceiling panels like he doesn’t know how they got there.
“Good morning,” she says.
“Good… morning?” he echoes, frowning at her.
She helps him to sit and hands over the water bottle, reminding him to drink slowly because throwing up with a hole in his chest will be deeply unpleasant. Cal does as he’s told, leaning back against the bulkhead as Cere checks the wound. The bacta patch is still in place. It will likely need replacing soon. He’s clearly in pain, but she’d rather he eat something before she lets him have any more painkillers.
“Hungry?” she asks.
He shrugs, indifferent.
“Feel like getting up?”
He blinks at her like she’s talking in another language. “Uh… what?”
Cere can’t help chuckling. With his hair sticking up in several directions, and his clothes rumpled, he looks like an overtired youngling. She sits down next to him. “Maybe you should go back to sleep.”
Sat on Cal’s other side, BD-1 beeps his own thoughts.
“I suppose I do need maintenance,” Cal agrees.
And then, without warning, he tips over until his head comes to rest on Cere’s shoulder. She doesn’t resist or push him away, instead raising her arm to support him and maybe, just maybe, hug him a little bit closer.
Finding him on Bracca hadn’t been a happy accident or good timing. It had been the will of the Force, for both of them.
“I’m proud of you, Cal,” she tells him, her voice thick. She squeezes his hand. “So proud.”
He squeezes back. “I’m proud of you too.” And then he adds, “Did you put a credit in the jar?”
The sound of her laughter fills the ship.