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dathomirs | for all the ghosts that are never gonna catch me
The directive was a simple one. Routine even. For the Inquisitorious' most loyal hound, it was a test of his extensive conditioning. He wasn't a normal Inquisitor - where there was some level of free will with them, with this one, most, if not all of it had been snuffed out He had one order, and one order only: obey.
Often, obey meant kill. Destroy. Terminate a target, eliminate a base or a threat by wiping it off the map and vanishing as if he'd never been there. No evidence. Typically, he was sent alone, where an Inquisitor would have an entire squadron of troopers to lead. There wasn't much else. He was a blank slate, a sum of what they made him into, a ghost. He didn't think of himself as anything because his thoughts were all programmed by someone else.
As was his training.
Whoever he'd once been had been washed away under months of torture and conditioning until he truly was nothing but a weapon of the Empire.
(It wasn't foolproof - on more than one occasion a hint of something would slip through his shields, causing him to question... but they'd take him back and start fresh, wipe the slate all over again).
The pilot did not let up once they landed on the nearly empty ruins of the planet Dathomir. A nightsister, his target, there had been a knowing smile on Grand's face but he did not know what it meant nor did he care enough to ask as he gathered his gear and boarded the ship. The chip in his hand revealed a woman, zabrak by the look of it - according to the information, one of the last of her kind. He said nothing, or felt nothing as he stared at the holographic image for a moment longer than normal, before stashing it once again. Adjusting his helmet, he drew his saber and stepped lightly over the rust red terrain to where he believed he would find her.
When he found the woman in question, he engaged, red blade flashing as he ducked, dodged, and struck against her. She was powerful; the report had said as much - not to underestimate her and do not come back until the job was complete. For a while it seemed like they were both on even ground and fairly matched well. Neither had the upper hand.
Not until she slipped past his defenses once, for only a second. The strike was strong enough to throw him back off his feel, the blank mask flying off his face as he hit the ground.
Get. Up. Do not fail. Or else.
Head still bowed, he climbed awkwardly back to his feet before meeting his opponents eyes, wiping blood from his mouth. Green eyes stared back from a face that might be all too familiar, if not slightly different - pale and thinner, but unmistakably the face of someone long since dead and gone stares back, eyes full of hate and rage, pain screaming into the force.
Often, obey meant kill. Destroy. Terminate a target, eliminate a base or a threat by wiping it off the map and vanishing as if he'd never been there. No evidence. Typically, he was sent alone, where an Inquisitor would have an entire squadron of troopers to lead. There wasn't much else. He was a blank slate, a sum of what they made him into, a ghost. He didn't think of himself as anything because his thoughts were all programmed by someone else.
As was his training.
Whoever he'd once been had been washed away under months of torture and conditioning until he truly was nothing but a weapon of the Empire.
(It wasn't foolproof - on more than one occasion a hint of something would slip through his shields, causing him to question... but they'd take him back and start fresh, wipe the slate all over again).
The pilot did not let up once they landed on the nearly empty ruins of the planet Dathomir. A nightsister, his target, there had been a knowing smile on Grand's face but he did not know what it meant nor did he care enough to ask as he gathered his gear and boarded the ship. The chip in his hand revealed a woman, zabrak by the look of it - according to the information, one of the last of her kind. He said nothing, or felt nothing as he stared at the holographic image for a moment longer than normal, before stashing it once again. Adjusting his helmet, he drew his saber and stepped lightly over the rust red terrain to where he believed he would find her.
When he found the woman in question, he engaged, red blade flashing as he ducked, dodged, and struck against her. She was powerful; the report had said as much - not to underestimate her and do not come back until the job was complete. For a while it seemed like they were both on even ground and fairly matched well. Neither had the upper hand.
Not until she slipped past his defenses once, for only a second. The strike was strong enough to throw him back off his feel, the blank mask flying off his face as he hit the ground.
Get. Up. Do not fail. Or else.
Head still bowed, he climbed awkwardly back to his feet before meeting his opponents eyes, wiping blood from his mouth. Green eyes stared back from a face that might be all too familiar, if not slightly different - pale and thinner, but unmistakably the face of someone long since dead and gone stares back, eyes full of hate and rage, pain screaming into the force.
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What is there to talk about? He stares at her from behind hair that's fallen into his eyes, with a snarl. Spits a mouthful of blood on the ground. That should answer her question.
And then he's rushing her, leaping with almost inhuman momentum to throw his saber.
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"You have forgotten yourself. I will help you remember."
Another green blast, this one lesser in power -- not enough to kill, but enough to stun him perhaps to unconsciousness if it hits while he's distracted by the first. She just needs time, before one of them grows sloppy enough to make a fatal mistake.
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Remember... remember what?
There's no time to give the prickle of unease in the back of his mind any thought, she's trying to distract and it won't work.
Except that it has. For everything he's never come across someone who was so matched to him... as if she expected every move he's made before he did it. She's thrown him off guard. And it shouldn't be this easy.
The second blast hits him just as he straightens up, knocking him off his feet and into the dust. His head cracks into the ground with a dull thud and this time he does not get up, hilt flying from his hand.
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Breathing hard, finally taking note of all the small hurts he'd managed to inflict upon her before this moment, she nonetheless manages to snap the restraints she carried for just this purpose around his wrists. They're not Force-blocking, unfortunately, but she doesn't want him cut off from the thing that might help him remember. She just wants him to be still.
With that done, she dares to reach out and run a faintly trembling hand down the side of his face. It's him -- there's no doubt about it. He's her Cal; the man she watched die a few years ago. She'd been there, but not soon enough to save him. She'd felt him disappear from the Force as strongly as she can feel him returned to it now, against all the rules she knew.
"You don't know how many times I asked the Force to give you back. Wake up, Cal Kestis. You aren't dead yet."
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The force still answers to him at his call but it feels different. Wrong. It's wrong, something is wrong. He's confused and can't make sense of it, of what he's feeling - because his shields are cracking, fracturing. Even as he reaches for the certainty of his programming, he finds it lacking in it's effectiveness.
It shouldn't be so easy. The Grand Inquisitor. He will be furious at his failure, punishing him severely.
He stirs back to consciousness as the woman touches his face. Nobody has touched him with this kind of gentleness in years - maybe ever? He can only stare at her, breathing heavily.
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She should probably be more cautious, but she can't bring herself to pull her hand away from where it rests against his cheek. She never thought she'd see his face again, and to her horror she'd begun to forget the nuances of it. Were his eyes always this green? Holovids were a poor substitute for the reality of him, and she finds herself blinking away a sting in her own eyes before tears can do more than threaten.
There will be time for that later. For now, she calls out without turning, raising her voice so that her companion can hear.
"It's all right, BD. You can come out now."
The words are scarcely out of her mouth before the overexcited beeping of a tiny droid pierces the air. A few moments later the droid in question appears, skittering frantically over and looking from Merrin to Cal in concern and beeping a flurry of questions.
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Then she calls for someone and it's... a droid? Small, just slightly larger than a cleaning droid - certainly not a make he knows, with it's large visual receptors and two spindly legs.
His stare goes from it, back to her and back again.
He pulls himself up straighter.
I believe in you too, buddy. Cal (the name he tries on for size doesn't feel right in his head, it's someone else, anyone else - and if it did ever belong to him, he's no longer that person) jolts back slightly.
"I..." He shakes his head, ignoring the sudden pounding behind his skull. What are they doing to him?
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She gives BD a small nod of permission, and the droid instantly starts up a holovid taken sometime a few years into their travels together; before they'd gone their separate ways for a time. Cal and Merrin are seated on one of the sofas, laughing at something while Greez and Cere are voicing some manner of objections while also trying not to lose the battle between their good sense and the humor of the situation. It goes on for a while, eventually devolving into an entirely ridiculous argument which culminates in tears of laughter and Merrin resting her head on Cal's shoulder in contentment at the end of it all.
She finds herself smiling in spite of the situation at hand, and is momentarily too transfixed by the memory she'd found too painful to revisit in years to notice when BD approaches one of Cal's still-bound hands to give it a gentle nudge of hopeful greeting.
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Can you long for a life that you didn't know you had?
He lets his gaze wander to the woman again, watching her smile - it's important to her.
The sound of small footfalls has him turning back towards the tiny droid. Freezing as it's metal head brushes his bare skin and it's like getting struck by electricity. Since... since everything, he's had to reconstruct his mental shields that had been torn down by the Empire. Already they're weakened with what's transpired here today, it only takes the brief nudge to knock him back as the memories and feelings assault his senses.
More powerful than seeing something he may or may not have been a part of it.
"I'm waiting for someone too--" Curiosity, who left this droid here, and is it possible that they're waiting for the same person?
"We are not doing that again!" He would be lying if he said it wasn't fun, and from the answering beep, he's not the only to feel that way.
"Do you know how hard it is to get oil out of patcholi weave?" He rolls his eyes, grinning as BD-1 bounces back onto his shoulder and out of the way of the pilot's annoyance.
These emotions are his own, his memories. Breaking forth like a damn in his mind... knocking past the wall that had been solidly built around his old life. He doesn't notice the tears that trail hotly down his face, a cry bursting from his chest.
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She's a moment too late to stop him, and she reaches out to steady Cal while the echo takes hold. It isn't how she'd wanted to do this, not yet -- but at least the memories that BD holds are happy ones. She hopes. In the two years since Cal Kestis had very publicly died, she's kept the droid with her as often as she dares, being perhaps overly careful to keep him from the worst dangers and the worst of her own grief. She couldn't bear for Cal to absorb any of that now, not when he's been through whatever unimaginable hell it had taken to bury Cal beneath the mask of the nameless Inquisitor.
She wants nothing so much as to hold him when the first tears fall; his cry tears at her until she's near to tears herself. She forces herself to caution, wills herself just a little more composure. He's almost there. He's almost home. She settles for keeping a hand on his shoulder as a physical anchor to lead him back to now.
"It's all right. You are safe with me now."
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The woman -- her name is Merrin, there are gaps where she is concerned but the feelings for her are present even if he couldn't tell her or anyone how they'd met or if they were anything more than friends. BD-1 is the droid he'd met that fateful day on Bogano, he'd been with him every step of the way.
He slumps forward, even with her support, vision slightly greyed out around the edges as he continues to wrestle with his emotions. His chest feels tight, making it difficult to draw a full breath - were Grand or Vader present he would spend a week in solitary for this weakness but they're not. He'd feel if they were.
"I'm so sorry..."
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Her relief is so great that for a moment she forgets all else and pulls him into a fierce, awkward hug that mirrors the first time she'd done the same in that she forgets for a moment that his hands are bound and they're both bruised, singed and filthy from the fight that had brought them here.
She realizes her mistake instantly, when her arm screams at her where it had been grazed by his saber blade, and releases him with a short hiss.
"Do not apologize to me for what was done to you," she says sternly, though her voice shakes with pure emotional overwhelm as she sets about releasing him from his restraints. As soon as his hands are free, she clasps both of them in her own and speaks again through tears she cannot quite stop from falling.
"I saw you die. I felt you die. It is not an excuse, but I never would have given up on you if I thought there was a chance you lived. I am sorry I did not find you sooner."
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Everything that he's done... he'd been so lost, for what seems like a century. Had she really managed to find him and drag him out of the hell that had been his existence?
Cal shakes his head. "Not your fault. T--they were convincing." He swallows past the bile rising in his throat.
A beat.
"Is this any of this real... ?" Panic and fear threatens to take hold as he grasps her hands - looking around as if he expects it all to disappear, to be surrounded by metal walls and horrible equipment. And that dark shadow of a man, always there. The Grand Inquisitor could be awful, but he had nothing on Lord Vader, who'd watch so impassively - barely ever moved by his struggles or screams. The torture, the loneliness. It had been hell. "I don't want to go back there, please don't let them take me again..."
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Her reply is instant, biting in its vehemence. She will not stop until those who would hurt Cal are dead, preferably torn slowly limb from limb -- but she'll settle for simply removed from this plane of existence.
She reaches out to brush some of Cal's messy hair from where it's fallen into his eyes and speaks more gently once the intial desperate burst of protectiveness calms into something quieter, but no less fierce.
"You are not leaving me again; I do not care if I must fight the Force itself to give you back. We will get cleaned up and tend to our injuries, and I will take you somewhere you can rest in the knowledge that you will not be found. We will be gone before anyone knows to begin looking for you here."
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"I have a tracker. Right under, it's in my neck - you might have to disable or have it removed so they can't follow us... it was how they kept track while on missions." It would be a few days until he was due to be picked up, the need wasn't pressing yet but the sooner it was dealt with the better.
BD-1 chirps a reply from next to him, he'd almost forgotten the droid's presence but he'd given them space for their reunion... now he was perhaps annoyed with being left out of the conversation. He hops, whirring out a reply. He was with Merrin; they'd have to go through him too!
"Thanks bud." Merrin, BD. They're looking out for him. It stirs something familiar in his chest, more long since forgotten memories of being cared for and protected. It eases the panic slightly.
"You mentioned... getting cleaned up?"
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"The ship I brought here has a sonic refresher, and there is a natural hot spring on the outskirts of the village if you'd rather have actual water. It's not far to either; I've been staying close to the ship in the event I had to leave in a hurry."
This likely qualifies as just such an event, but she wants to give them both space to breathe before immediately boarding a tiny spacecraft for the next day and a half. Cal hasn't historically done well with small enclosed spaces, and though there's just enough room to walk back and forth to the fresher and the pull-down bunk in the back, she doesn't want to risk being somewhere so closed in until she's more certain of Cal's mental state.
She gets to her feet and immediately offers her hand once more, both because he's still shaking badly enough that she thinks he could use it and because she's loath to give up the physical reassurance that he's here, not a ghost, not a hallucination brought on by two years of grief that had barely been touched by the passage of time. Merrin was no stranger to death, but Cal had simply been gone in a way that her sisters never were. She never imagined that he could be simply hidden by a powerful Sith, or changed such that he was a stranger to himself. It is difficult to trust even now, knowing how many times she'd had the fleeting thought that if she were to die it would not be so bad if it meant seeing him once more.
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Merrin was right to be cautious in that regard.
Cal nods and takes her hand and pulls himself up, still unsteady and unbalanced; grateful for the help. He feels weak, like a baby boggling - but the metaphor isn't completely far off given he's just been pulled out of a two year nightmare. Awake, the cool air on his skin, the crunch of dirt under his feet. Even the air in his lungs feel different than it did only a matter of minutes ago. He's seeing the red sky of Dathomir through new eyes, and Merrin... he swallows.
She's obviously important to him, and he recalls some of their adventures together and that he feels some kind of way, but what were they? Did they meet here? Should he ask her?
"Lead the way."
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"Do you want your lightsaber back? None of the Nightbrothers remain in this village, but the wildlife is no more welcoming than it was during your last visit, and you are very prone to stepping where you shouldn't."
She doesn't like the idea of giving him back the red-bladed saber, but his old one is tucked safely away on her ship, and she's not letting him touch that until he's feeling more stable.
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His back where his lightsaber is typically attached to his uniform seems empty and he feels a little bit naked without it but touching it - he's never got an echo of himself beffore and he doesn't want to start now. Or of the people he's killed.
Cal shakes his head. "No. Just hold onto it for me, for now. If we wind up needing it you can give it back to me, but I'd rather not." A beat. "Do you still have my actual saber? I don't know if I had it on me... when I got. Taken."
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"I was able to recover it afterward. Your betrayer had it."
She leaves the how unspoken; Cal doesn't need those details. Not yet, maybe not ever.
"He will not be returning to threaten you again. You can take it back when you are ready, but I do not know what you will see after so long away from it."
If it's like BD-1, she imagines he'll see a lot of fighting. A lot of killing. Perhaps not the best thing for him right this instant. But her ship is in sight, and the saber within it, so the option is there.
"I'll stop for medical supplies and soap; you can decide if you want to risk it now or later."
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He hadn't known the other man very long, but he does remember it was him who'd sold him out to the Empire. He took advantage of his kindness and trust and instead of trusting Cal to help him, practically gift wrapped him for Vader and the Inquisitorious.
"Not yet. I don't think I'm ready to see it." Given how his mind still feels like a raw wound, any echoes are likely to send him spiraling. Particularly coming into contact with something stronger, like that. Though it may fill in the blank spaces, he can feel it practically calling out to him like a beacon.
He scrubs a hand over his face, grimacing as he comes into contact with heavy scruff. "I'll wait here."
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For now she merely leads the way to the springs in question, the water a deep aqua-green whose depths faintly glow. It's a stark contrast to the deep reddish hue of the ground around it.
"It is not dangerous. Like most things here, it has its own magickal properties. It will make everything hurt less, at the very least."
She steps to the edge of the water and begins to take off her outer layers of clothing. Though she isn't particularly shy or prone to unnecessary modesty, she leaves her underclothes on for Cal's sake, as he's seemed unusually reserved given the way they had left things two years before. With that taken care of, she steps carefully into the water and wades out a little ways before turning to hold out a hand to Cal.
"It's a little slippery at the bottom, but there's a place to sit just a little further in."
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The droid, scampers back towards the front to give them privacy though Cal can tell he's reluctant to leave his side even for a short period of time. With a hopefully reassuring pat, he turns back to Merrin who's begun to strip down and he averts his eyes, but not before getting a glimpse of the pale expanse of her bare skin. Cal couldn't tell while she was covered, but while she didn't appear to be starving, she did look a bit skinny, like she'd been neglecting her own needs for a short time - he realizes with a pang.
Noticing that he's staring, he starts on his own armor.
Taking it off is a bit of an undertaking, Cal tosses the pieces unceremoniously to the ground - he'd like to burn it, bury it deep within the earth... but focuses on undressing down to only a pair of black shorts. Merrin, already partly submerged in the water hadn't completely stripped down, just to her underclothes.
Don't be weird, don't be weird --, of course his brain ignored that order already, feeling his cheeks warm slightly as he takes her hand to step into the water.
"Oh..." Cal can only describe the noise he makes as he steps his aching body into the water as a moan. A sonic had nothing on this, absolutely nothing. He clears his throat. "Sorry. I wasn't expecting that."
Less than an hour ago he was a feared killer for the Empire, now he's blushing like he's an initiate with a crush because he's bathing with a beautiful woman.
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There will be time now, though, she reminds herself as she sinks into the water with a small hiss as its intense heat hits the raw spot on her arm where his had only just burned through the fabric of her jacket. It's only a few seconds before the heat begins to soothe rather than sting, at which point she spares a smile for Cal and his unnecessary apology.
"Of course the Empire is unnecessarily stingy with its hot water. A pity we cannot remain here longer; there is much of Dathomir you would find fascinating, and there is no shortage of these pools in this part of the planet."
She ducks under the water briefly to wet her hair, which has grown out a bit in the time since she'd seen him last. She tends to wear it half-up now, or braids pieces of it to keep it out of her face. Today it was in the latter, though one of them has begun to come loose in the fight. She busies herself with undoing them and working the tangles out of the rest while she contemplates their next day's course of action.
"I am not sure where to take you, truthfully. The others do not know that I suspected you lived, and I do not want to spring them on you until you are feeling more yourself."
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And it's not like Cal looks all that much better - his cheekbones stand sharp under the deep hollows beneath his eyes, skin has taken on a pale and waxy appearance. His hair had grown out longer, and he hadn't shaved if the beard he'd grown was anything to go by, unkempt and scraggly.
And his body; there was hardly an inch of him that wasn't marked with a scar of some kind. A few new marks from their brief duel but nothing serious, nothing like thick lines of scar tissue down his chest from the probe.
He cups his hands and splashes water over his face with a sigh. It is a shame, he wouldn't mind staying here for a while longer... Dathomir is a fascinating place. Typically on missions he'd never been given free range to explore.
"That's... probably for the best. I feel alright now, but my memory isn't completely what it was before." There's a certain rawness to the edge of his mind, he fears what he will find if it's frayed, if he pulls on those bonds before he's ready to face them. "There's something I need to ask you."
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