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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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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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She wanders back over to the side of the pool, where she's left the soap and some cloths to wash and dry with, and perches on a small ledge there.
"Come here; your hair is a disaster. You may ask whatever you like, and I will answer if I can."
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"There's still a lot of... gaps in places, in my memory. Not everything is there yet." A beat. He's not sure how to phrase this, he doesn't want to presume anything, but he has to know. "I know I have feelings for you, strong ones. But I... what were we to one another?"
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"It is not so easy to say. We were never just one thing in the five years after you found me on this world. We were -- not enemies, never enemies -- but I saw you as an invader to begin. I had been told lies about the Jedi, but it was not long before your actions forced me to reconsider what I thought I knew."
She rubs the bar of soap between her hands as she talks, and once she's gotten enough lather she starts working her fingers into Cal's tangled hair, scratching lightly along his scalp as she goes and sorting the tangles out as gently as she can. It's clear the Empire hadn't given him an excess of time to look after himself, but she's grateful for the time it affords her now. She can choose her words carefully, letting the care she takes with him speak when she cannot.
"You became my family, and my dearest friend, over the years that followed, but we spent some time apart. I needed to see the galaxy on my own terms, and you did not wish to put down your fight even for an instant. We had just found one another again before you were taken."
She hesitates, takes a breath. Works out another nonexistent tangle, because she doesn't want to stop touching Cal and she doesn't want to say anything that will make him feel the loss of his memory more acutely.
She owes him honesty, though. She drops her hands with a small sigh only to rest them on his shoulders as she delivers the words that break her heart all over again.
"We were -- together, the night before you were betrayed, but we never got the chance to learn what that relationship would have looked like. I would never expect you to pick back up where we stopped, if you cannot remember. My feelings for you are what they are, and they have remained unchanged even in your absence. We can start over again."
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He holds his head back, listening to Merrin speak. She keeps her breath steady and words don't betray the storm of emotion he feels radiating from her. It's not easy for her to talk about this. Even if she didn't say the words, there's love in how gentle she is with him, the obvious care behind her actions.
Something warm prickles behind his eyes that he doesn't think has to do with the hot water or soap getting into his eyes. Grief for what they had and lost and remains lost to him, for her to get him back - but incomplete. Taken away from someone he'd considered a friend.
But she loves him. All things considered, even after he'd become unrecognizable and tried to kill her.
With a sigh, he pushes himself away from the wall to turn and lean facing against it, glancing up at her.
"I don't know how any of this will go from here, I really don't --" Neither of them are the same people anymore.
"But I still feel... a lot for you, and I think I want to. Start over again, I mean."
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"It was never going to be simple between us. You were a Jedi; I had long come to terms with what I thought that meant for us. I never expected there was room for me alongside your duty to the galaxy, not in the way I wanted."
She has to stop and breathe through a sudden pang of grief; even with him here it's difficult to put aside the past two years, and the time in between when she'd roamed the galaxy without him -- time she couldn't bring herself to regret until she'd lost him completely, at which point she'd begun to bitterly regret every moment that had been stolen.
"And then you were gone. Anything we build for ourselves now is a gift I never expected to see."
Her eyes shine too bright with unshed tears, and she looks away before they can become more. It's too hard to look at him without wanting to fall to pieces. He can't know how often she'd pleaded with the Force, with her sisters, to find her a way to say a real goodbye. Having him back is unfathomable; to hope that the love between them was untouched by everything that'd been stripped from him is too much.
She busies herself with scrubbing some invisible dirt off her injured arm until she's more certain she isn't about to weep. If he touches her now she might shatter into a million pieces, and they don't have time to put two of them back together.
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But right now, it's the woman in front of him he's currently focused on. He lets his mouth quirk gently up on the corners, just the barest hint of a smile and even that feels like a workout for muscles that haven't moved that way in years.
She loved him. No, loves him. And he... he thinks he could fall for her. After all, he'd done it once before.
He doesn't need to have the force to feel the regret rolling off of her in waves, the grief. Even without having a complete reference for it, Cal feels it too. They could've been happy. All this time. The Empire tears apart everything it touches, but he doesn't have the energy for anger right now. Perhaps it will come later. Swallowing thickly, he reaches out to touch her face and gently guide her gaze back to him.
And then, uncaring of the fact that he's still covered in soap dripping down his neck and back, he pulls her into a hug, her body flush against his own, holding the back of her head to his shoulder.
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It was too much to feel, and so she'd never allowed herself to feel all of it at once.
Some of that long-suppressed grief crashes into her now, carried by the wave of sheer relief that comes when Cal's arms go around her. She clings back instinctively, heedless, a stifled sob breaking free of her after a moment in which he doesn't simply disappear. He's real. This is happening, her dearest wish, the impossible prayer she thought would go forever unanswered. He may not remember, but he's alive and he's here and she can stop holding on so tightly for fear of shattering completely.
She hadn't wanted to do this here, but once the dam has broken she isn't given the choice, and she finds herself shaking with quiet sobs against his shoulder as two years' worth of buried hurt demands its release.
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But they have a chance now.
He might not remember; his memories still a confusing jumble in many places but he will get them back. However he has to... he can consult with Cere once they reunite about it if they're not by then. Maybe there was a way...
His hand strokes the back of her head.
"I'm here now..."
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"I am sorry. This is not like me."
She gathers her composure enough to step back, to let go -- with great reluctance -- of the man to whom she was still nearly a stranger. She hadn't wanted to place any of this upon him now, not when he still had a whole life to piece back together. She reaches out one last time to wipe away a bit of suds that have trickled down onto his cheek, and the ridiculousness of the scene brings a genuine smile to her features again.
"Rinse the rest of that soap out of your hair and let's get somewhere more secure before nightfall. You do not want to know what goes on out here after dark."
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Grinning slightly, he ducks his head under the water and letting it flow over him. It's so peaceful down here - the force beckons to him to reconnect with it, here under the water but... it's been years since he's done it, and it's probably unwise to try it around others or surrounded by water or other things he can do damage with. So he pushes the call away as he resurfaces.
His hair falls in a curtain over his eyes, and he can't help the laughter that escapes him as he brushes it away. He was going to need to cut it and definitely shave later on.
"So uh, I don't suppose you've got anything I can wear for the time being, do you?" Because no, he is burning the armor first chance that he gets.
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The desire to hide him away from the rest of the galaxy forever is strong, and Merrin pushes it aside now in favor of more immediate practicalities. She hops up onto the side of the pool and starts drying off with one of the towels while she considers Cal's question.
"You are lucky in that regard; my sentimentality would not allow me to be rid of all of your old things."
She dries her own underclothes with a quick sweep of her magick before she begins dressing, and will do the same for Cal once he's on dry land again. As for his armor... Merrin pauses a moment, considering the options.
"Do you think there is anything to be gained by deception? We could leave your armor, damage it such that it appears you met with some misfortune here."
The absence of a body would raise doubts, but he had been a Jedi; becoming fully one with the Force was not out of the question. It would delay those who sought to follow them, in any case.
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