bedard truther.

- for sure an og from hockey tumblr back in the day (i feel old lol) - 25, feburary girlie - chicago gal - midwestern af. - deep dish pizza lover - lover of books & poetry - olivia rodrigo stan

✧ requests are always open!

The singer had taken an interest in the Chicago girl, as she stepped forward during the first few rehearsals to give her opinion. And then showed a revision she had thought of, without waiting for a go-ahead from him or Kenny. Michael liked her. He was amused by her. From that point on, whispers here and there turned into secret dinners after rehearsal before he went to the studio or would try to sleep. Then it turned into nights locked away with Michael.

Before they both knew it, they couldn't go a day without seeing each other. From holding one another after a long day, before she would part.

He had said from the beginning that he didn't want anything. He couldn't afford anything. Besides, he had just recently divorced, and Tatum was also exiting her way out of a six-year-long relationship that went nowhere.

Maybe that's why it was intoxicating. Maybe the fun was in the sneaking. The hiding. The moments in front of the world that meant more to each other than words could ever justify or begin to explain.

Night after night, on stage -- after each dance solo she was given -- she'd make her way towards him; and the night would be over. But not before, she scurried back to her room.

Besides. It was just fun, right?

It's not like either of them had actually fallen for one another, right?

It's not like one of them was in love, right?

They weren't falling into the cliche, right?

Right.

___

May 1997.

Tatum stepped onto the stage for the interlude between Heal the World and Earth Song.

The opening chords alongside birds chirping surrounded the crowd and, most importantly, Tatum.

Her white silk and flowy dress moved with her as she reached towards the crowd, her arm pulling back behind her before turning 4 times, falling to the floor.

The interlude moved her through the minute break, her eyes closed the whole time. She allowed the music and atmosphere to overtake her; everyone watching was entranced.

Michael's voice began to carry through the crowd as he opened the song with a melody. Tatum did her last pirouette before Michael stepped onto the stage. She took a half step towards him before turning and walking off.

The next song Tatum was on for was HIStory, which included, They Don't Care About Us, and this mashup was one of her favorites to perform. It didn't help that she and Michael were paired next to each other the whole song.

Wherever he went, she followed.

Michael finished off the last lyric, staring down at Tatum as she ended across from him, mirroring his stance, their palms pressed to the crowd.

And then the stage went dark.

Tatum quickly moved off the stage with the rest of the dance crew, falling into step with the only two other girls: Malika and Toni.

The three of them were in the middle of getting changed out of their costumes when there was a knock on the door, with Toni running to grab it.

Outside the door stood Michael's security guard, Brad, holding a piece of paper.

The two other girls grinned in amusement once the door shut, and they whispered, shouted at the dancer.

Then one of them got serious as they teased the girl.

"Hey, Tate...can I ask you something?," she questioned seriously, and Tatum froze and looked at her friend.

"What happens when the tour ends...? Have either of you talked about that? Like-- look at you, you're smitten. You have been for almost a year now. Since rehearsals started...Like I love you, you know that. But what are we doing?" She questioned truthfully, but filled with love.

Toni was right. They had just started the second leg, and as soon as everyone got back together, she and Michael were inseparable.

But during break?

Silence.

Excruiating silence.

Tatum swallowed back her tears, but her eyes betrayed her. She nodded, taking the hairbrush to the hair that had just been released from pins.

She set down the brush, "Yeah, I know..." She trailed off as her voice betrayed her.

"Im sure he'll bring it up!" Malika encouraged, and Tate shrugged with a small smile.

Maybe.

__

A month later, Tatum got sick mid-song, The Way You Make Me Feel.

During that particular song, the three female dancers danced with all the guys, switching every few beats while in sync with one another. Michael walked around the trio, every few beats he would directly dance with one -- and then the next, and so on.

Michael was mid-twirl with Malika when she turned her back towards the crowd and hunched over.

Michael, from out of the corner of his eye, saw the girl step back, hunch over, and then one of the dancers wrapped an arm around her and led her off stage.

Malika and Toni were true performers -- seasoned pros from theater, seamlessly improvising until Michael danced with Toni and then Malika before Michael stepped out of the circle.

Offstage, Tatum hurled a few times before leaning into Ryan, who had become a close friend during the tour. "It's ok.." he said softly as she quietly sobbed into his shoulder.

"Ryan! Get your ass back on stage!" They heard the stagehand scream across the wings.

"Go...," she said softly, her hands growing limp as she tried to push him away.

He kissed her temple before running back to the stage.

The song finished, and instead of the Jackson 5 Medley beginning, Michael's band began to play an interlude.

Tatum was currently being attended to by a doctor as well as one of the producers. A cold rag was on her neck as her vitals were being checked. A Gatorade was being brought to her with saltines.

Michael stepped between the dancers, who basically parted like the Red Sea to let him through to see his dancer.

His dancer.

Toni and Malika made their way to her before Michael did, kneeling next to her as she sat on the chair.

Michael did not like what he was seeing. He didn't like seeing her pale. Weak. Limp. And certainly did not like how quiet she was.

One of the things he loved most about her was her personality. She was truly a firecracker. She lit up every dormant fiber in his body when she laughed, teased, joked, and had a way of lighting up his mind.

She made him feel truly, truly alive.

Something he hadn't felt for so long.

She walked in one day, lit his world on fire, and hasn't extinguished it since.

Michael kneeled in front of the girl as the doctor said she was cleared medically, but that she should sit out the rest of the night, so she doesn't throw up again. The girl was already protesting.

"No. Tatum- I don't want you getting sicker out there-," she cut him off, "No! But dangerous-," he now cut her off. His hand softly found hers in reassurance before he pulled it back, her skin blazing. "We'll do it next tour stop, ok? Rest. We've got it-." She went to speak, but he held a hand up, "That's final, O'Connor." Oh. That one was new. She swallowed back her pride and rebuttal before Michael stood up and walked back towards the stage. Her fellow dance troupe gave her supportive smiles, and she gave a weak one in return.

Toni and Malika stayed a few seconds more, "Rest, Tate. I know, I know," Toni began, and Malike finished, "We'll talk about whatever the hell that was." She said quieter.

To be quite honest, Michael was off the rest of the show. A beat or two late on each step. The lyrics falling from his mind. His mind was clearly not on stage but with the girl who found herself sitting alone on the tour bus.

As Tatum said alone on the tour bus, waiting for the show to end, her mind began to connect the dots. Her eyebrows creased as her heart began to pound. She heard it in her temple.

No.

That couldn't be.

She had to be wrong, very wrong.

__

Tatum was late meeting Michael in his hotel room.

An hour late.

Which was very unusual for the girl.

2:05 was on the clock when he heard a knock on his door. His mind instantly focused on it. He prayed it was Tate. He had to know she was okay.

He opened the door quickly, and she stood there, her hands clasped at her center, unsure. Very unsure. It didn't look like her.

He took in the girl. Her hair was somewhat messy. Her makeup had been stripped. Face visibly exhausted. Her grey sweatshirt and sweatpants set hung loosely on her.

He pulled her hand, pulling her in, and as soon as he shut the door behind them - his hands cupped her face, pulling her in for a deep kiss. Michael pulled back after a few seconds, before resting their forwards against each other. He wrapped his arms around the quiet girl, kissing her temple. "You ok, Tate?" He questioned softly, hoping to not spook her.

She pushed back gently, and he released instantly. Michael searched her face for answers, "It's Tate? Not O'Connor?," she paused, allowing him to put the pieces together. Her tone finalized his suspicions.

"Lovey-," she cut him off, turning on her heel towards the living room area of the suite. "No!," she paused, her back facing him as he his way towards her. He hesitated but ultimately wrapped his arms around her from behind.

She molded into him, his chin finding the crook of her neck. She hated how easy she folded for this man.

Her voice croaked out, "You humiliated me Micheal..," she sniffled, "The way you spoke at me...not with me. Your tone-," he cut her off as she softly cooed her, turning her in his arms.

"I know, I know, Tate...Im sorry. As soon as I saw your face drop, I knew it came out harsher than I had planned. And your name-- I didn't even think." He said, trying to comfort her. She sniffled again, and he tilted her chin towards him; his eyes said what he couldn't say.

The way he looked at her made her feel as though she mattered more than so. More than most. There was this unexplainable feeling deep within her.

Her stomach stilled at the daunting realization. She knew why he looked at her as if she hung the moon, the planets, and the stars. As if she could do no wrong.

But it was the proximity, her mind argued. Without that, they wouldn't be whatever this thing was.

Tate pulled Michael in for a long, molten kiss. They broke apart, his hands helping her pull off her grey sweater, her white bralette becoming visible now. His hands found the top of her ribs, his thumb softly toying with the band of the bralette. His thumb found his way underneath one side, before the other followed suit.

Soon her bralette was thrown, her chest bare. The soft lightning illuminated her tanned skin.

His gaze lit ablaze as she stepped backwards towards the bed. Her knees hit the end of the bed.

She sat down upon it, her leg atop the other one. Her head tilted to the side, daring him to follow. He grinned, throwing off his t-shirt and what was left across his chest, a gold chain.

She pulled him in by the chain as he was a mere foot away.

His giggle filled her ears like music.

__

June 1997.

Two nights passed, and now here she was performing on, Dangerous.

It was not originally a part of the setlist. However, one night somewhere between Adelaide and Sydney, he had her dance for him. No music. She threw herself across the floor, her legs flying higher than he'd seen them before, her tilts and splits -- and gravity-defying turns mesmerized him.

Later that same night, as the two had twisted and turned in the sheets a few times, he questioned, "What song or melody were you thinking of?" She was silent for a few seconds before grinning, "Dangerous." She hummed.

Now here she was, doing the same version he saw all those months ago.

Her body adorned a black, tight, sheer leotard, her soft brown locks free from pins, and her feet bare, so she could grip the floor.

She started at the back corner before she walked, turned, and then did a front aerial onto her bottom. She turned on the floor, her legs bending behind her, and her long hair whipping across her face.

Michael stood in the center aisle watching her, his back towards the crowd.

Then she sauntered towards him, and when he reached out to grab her, she turned and moved away from him, her foot carrying her a few feet away after a leap.

Her eyes found Michaels, and for the rest of the song, they didn't leave.

His brown eyes and hers danced across that stage with one another.

Her soul and his were on fire that night. Their chemistry electric.

Yet, her heart was filled with remorse and sadness.

This would be her last show with the tour.

With Michael.

She planned to leave after the show and head back to Chicago.

No one knew. Besides Malika and Toni. They knew the truth. They would guard with their lives.

Her final move was a front aerial onto her back and she froze, her arms and legs bent into a star like position.

The crowd went absolutely wild. Michael stared across towards her from the same position he started in, with his back towards the crowd once more, and his smile. Man, if anyone was really paying attention -- they'd see just how smitten he was with the dancer.

His gaze said it all, before he could.

___

The news came a few hours later. Michael had just settled into his hotel suite for the night. He had just finished showering and was drying off his hair when Brad walked in, and the singer slowed in his walk towards the couch as Brad had a sad gaze.

"What's up, Brad?" Michael questioned, setting the towel down. Brad sighed softly, "Tate's gone.." Brad trailed off. Michael's forehead creased, his heart ceasing to work for a few seconds, his breath stalling in his chest.

No.

That couldn't be right.

"What do you mean, gone?" He questioned, his tone coming out angry. Angrier than he intended. Brad began to speak but Michael spoke over him, "Brad, what do you mean by ' gone? Gone to the next city? Went out-," Brad cut him off, "No. She left the tour.....She went home." Brad explained. The singer took a step back in shock. In surprise, in disbelief.

His hands found his uncovered hips, as he had yet to put a shirt on after his shower.

Michael's thoughts ran a mile a minute. Frustration Anger. Grief. Sadness. All morphed into a wave that kept rolling into him. His head tilted back towards the ceiling, his eyes shutting softly, covering the tears that formed in them.

"Did she say why?" Michael asked after a minute of silence.

Brad was silent.

He reopened his eyes and stared at Brad.

"Brad." He called out in a slightly demanding tone.

Brad shook his head, "Toni and Malika wouldn't say." He explained. Michael began to walk towards and past him towards the door, but Brad grabbed hold of Michael's arm. "Don't, not tonight." But Michael didn't listen. Didn't care. Didn't pretend to hear him.

He needed to know why the girl of his dreams -- Jesus, he hadn't admitted that to himself before now. The girl that he was absolutely bespoken and smitten with -- had left without a trace.

The girl who stutted into his life, setting it ablaze, wouldn't have left without a word. She wouldn't have left quietly. Him.

She loved her job. She took it incredibly seriously. She took work, as a beauty of honor, that she always gave 110% with. It's a part of what he had come to love about her. Tate never took anything in this life for granted, especially not dance. The very thing that gave her her worth and purpose.

There was no way she'd leave without speaking to him, right?

No way she could leave without explaining herself, right?

Right?

__

November 1997.

Michael had just finished the tour in Africa when he jetted home to Los Angeles.

The day after Tatum left the tour, he took the night off. He told the tour, the press -- the world he was sick.

No.

It was just easier to say that than explain that he was heartbroken. That the girl he had fallen in love with before his divorce was finalized had waltzed out of his life without a single word.

Because that would be messy. Michael would have to fess up and own up to things that happened during rehearsals, and he didn't have a sheer fuck to do so.

But he went on. Painfully so. The tracklist was revamped because he could no longer have Dangerous on the tour, nor could he do any of the dance parts without her.

He struggled over the next four months, the months dragging along. No longer filled with laughter, warmth, and lightness.

The fire had gone out. Extinguished the moment she left.

And Tatum? She knew. She heard from afar. She saw the pictures in the magazines that just showed how miserable he was.

One night, Toni had explained that he was really feeling it and decided to perform, Let it be - by The Beatles. Tatum's favorite song without a doubt. He sang it as the finale, after Heal the World. Twice.

Michael came up with a fabricated story for the press; but Toni, Malika, and Tatum knew the truth.

One, it was her song. It was the one song she would hum and sing like a lullaby the nights he couldn't sleep. Secondly? It sounded like a plea. If that made any sense.

And as tears had fallen -- his heart broke open even more.

He missed the girl who sang it like a lullaby to him. He missed the girl whose giggles filled his ears like a melody. Missed the girl whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

And that was what terrified him, beyond belief.

The enigma of a woman came into his life during a time of angst and emotional deprivation. Who opened him up with one joke at a time and one opinion at a time. Even more so, her kindness. Her dedication- passion- her love for her closest friends and dance troupe. from top to bottom of the house (stage production), her love, kindness, and humility were ever present.

Tatum watched from afar, in between teaching classes at her old dance studio in Chicago, before being hand-selected for Shania Twain's debut tour: Come on Over.

Tatum flew to Toronto to live for four months before the tour began in Sudbury.

Tatu was also hand-selected to dance in the: You're Still the One I Want & Man, I feel like a woman.

Michael heard ofcourse, through the grapevine. Kenny Ortega, finding out from the choreographer for the tour.

Michael nor Tatum had heard from one another after she left.

Tatum was convinced that whatever was between them never meant anything. She was a fling. Situationship.

Michael believed that he wasn't enough for her. That he somehow fell short of what she either needed or wanted. Maybe it was both.

Furthermore, he was 38 by the time the two met. She was only 22. Tatum could have cared less, and so could have Michael. Age never mattered between them. Well. Nothing really mattered when all they were doing was tossing and turning in a hotel suite. The outside world didn't exist.

But still. Michael believed he didn't measure up to whatever it was. So, Michael did what he did best. He swallowed his feelings and moved on.

But did he truly move on? ___

June 1998. Anaheim, California. Arrowhead Pond of Anaheim.

It was now the 7th stop of the USA leg, the 12th stop overall. Tatum had yet to return to the Los Angeles area, following the final rehearsals for the HIStory tour. So, after the show, as they were leaving the night, she'd be meeting up with some friends. Which included Toni and Malika. Both of whom had been training for the Backstreet Boys' 1999 tour.

Tatum did her pre-show ritual of flicking her hands to the side 12 times, along with shaking her legs out, going from 12 to 1, on each.

She said a small intention for the show before the opening of, "Man I feel like a woman." Her breath was centered, and her mind was focused.

But then she heard the whispers.

He was here.

The dancer had no second to think about it before she strutted out.

Michael's attention found the familiar strut and stage presence of Tatum. His breath was taken from him, that opening number.

She looked alive. No, she was alive. She was mesmerizing. She was magnetic. She was the very same enigma, the day he selected her for the tour.

His eyes never once left the dancer. Nothing else mattered in the world during that opening number. And quite frankly, for the whole damn show.

Then, You're still the one I want, and she had a duet with another male dancer.

Again, his eyes couldn't leave her. His eyes traced every curve of her body, his shoulders slightly swaying as if he was hitting certain notes or beats during the choreography.

The dance ended with the male dancer holding her, chest ot chest, his lips pressed upon the peak of her neck when the stage went dark.

Tatum came back on two songs later, before the final few songs.

She danced as if this were the last time she'd ever dance.

She danced as if no one was watching.

Yes, very much a cliche. But that's something that Michael loved about her. Something they connected over beyond just dance.

At the end of the show, Shania pulled Tatum out of the bows the dancers did, to hand her a bouquet of pink roses.

Shania explained to the crowd that it was her 25th birthday, and everyone in the arena sang "Happy Birthday " to her.

Michael sang along with the crowd, watching as she squirmed and had a hand over her mouth to keep her lip from quivering. The singer watched in adoration, and his heart warmed seeing the girl so moved. Shania pulled her in for a side hug before the lights went out a final time.

Michael looked towards Brad, as well as his personal assistant, who sat on the other side. He whispered to him, and the assistant was moving quickly to make his request --happen.

___

Tatum was showered with love as she exited the stage. Stagehands were telling her happy birthday, and the whole troupe was talking about drinks that apparently were on them that evening, at some local country bar. The dancer had yet to clear her mind before the whispers began again. She made her way to one of the dressing rooms that she shared with six other dancers, and began to undress and slip into her tracksuit. She threw on her very worn sambas from Paris, her tour tracksuit from Puma, and took her pins down from her hair before brushing it with her hands.

Tatum felt like it was a calm before the storm.

She took a few minutes to look at herself in the mirror. The lightbulbs illuminated her tanned skin.

Truth be told? She had avoided mirrors for months at this point. After the very unplanned pregnancy she had back on tour, she couldn't look at herself in the mirror. Because when she did, her mind rewinded the past two years almost. the different versions of herself. All of which, probably, weren't close to who she actually is.

And the baby? Very much not who she is or was. She never wanted kids. She always wanted to be a dancer, a career woman stepping into the world of music, at some point. Sure, she wanted the husband at some point -- but no offspring was apart of her future.

She was more than okay with that. It was something decided long, long ago.

But she couldn't bear to look at herself in the mirror.

She didn't like who she had come to be.

That relationship -- whatever it was, she later came to realize took so much from her. The secrecy. Running around. The stolen looks. Their shared laughs and many, many stolen nights exhausted her beyond belief. Tatum realized that at some point, she had gotten tired of it all. Yet, she couldn't break it. She, too, had fallen for the singer.

Which made her 1 in a billion.

It was such a cliché, and she despised it.

A younger girl falling for the older man. A dancer and a singer. A recent divorcee and a heartbroken girl who had just left a relationship.

It was quite apparent that neither one of them could be alone. Especially at night.

She didn't like that. Did not like that version of herself. Bending over backwards for someone who could probably never be able to claim her, publicly & show her off to the world.

But this version, at this very moment? She did like her. She was enough. She was calm. She was accomplished. And she belonged to herself.

Tatum licked her lips once before taking a deep breath, and the door flung open.

Toni and Malika.

"AHH!" The trio screamed at one another as the two fellow dancers piled into the room, engulfing her with a hug.

Tatum cried. Tears poured from her hazel eyes. Her tired, exhausted eyes.

The two girls pulled back instantly, wiping the girl's tears.

Tatum then saw the bouquet of flowers Malika held, lilies.

"Guys!" She said, her voice giving out with disbelief and emotion.

"You were absolutely amazing, Tate, out of this world!" Toni encouraged, and Malika followed suit, "GIRL!!!! You were HOT! No one could take their eyes off of you -- your extensions, your emotions-- your presence, oh my god!" Malike gushed.

Tatum gave them a small smile.

"Thank you, guys! You guys didn't have ot travel from LA for me." Tatum said, and the two girls shook their heads.

"We would fly across the world to see you, honey," Toni exclaimed, as if it were an indisputable fact. Malika mirrored her sentiment.

There was a knock on the open door behind them, and the two girls parted so Tatum could see who it was. It was Shania, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

"We're taking pics and then heading out, ok?" She mused, and Tatum nodded before Shania disappeared down the hall.

"God, that woman..she's so hot..." Malika trailed off, and the two other girls giggled, agreeing with her.

"Im gonna head towards pics, and then we'll head out?" She questioned, turning as she stopped at the door. The two girls nodded, with Toni giving her a playful salute.

Tatum walked towards the largest green room on the floor above, and her breath caught in her throat. She froze upon entering the room.

Her eyes saw Brad almost immediately. The one who kept their secret from the world. The entirety of rehearsals and throughout the time you were with her before she left.

And then she heard him.

His voice brought a surge of familiarity and comfort.

Damnit, she cursed herself.

Brad smiled fondly down at her, and she gave him a polite one in return. She sighed softly, walking up next to Eric - her duet partner, and Hannah, another dancer, both of whom she had grown close to over the course of a year.

Michael instantly noticed the almost 5'8 dancer come into view. She looked everywhere, but at him.

She also saw that Kenny was also in attendance and hanging casually to the side of him. She internally groaned.

"The woman of the hour!" Michael praised, his eyes lightening up as she looked at the girl.

Hannah grinned, pushing her shoulder slightly, and Eric chuckled as Tatum stayed quiet.

"You all did extraordinarily tonight, a real production. Kenny and I thoroughly enjoyed you all tonight." Michael praised, his eyes filtering to everyone around the room, before his gaze fell upon the dancer.

"You're actually just in time! We've got cake to celebrate her birthday!" Shania announced, and the room began to sing " Happy Birthday " once again.

Hannah looked at her good friend affectionately, grinning as Tatums eyes shut in shyness.

Michael watched with a small but very adoring smile.

Tatum's eyes reopened and saw the cake in front of her now, 25 pink candles adorned the white sheet cake with pink flowers and edible pearls.

Tatum's eyes shut, silently wishing for one thing before blowing out the candles.

The greenroom erupted in cheers and claps. Tatum's gaze betrayed her, and she looked up at Michael immediately, who clapped a few times with an amused grin now. She looked over towards Kenny, who was smiling, and then gave her a quick wink.

The cake was quickly cut, and conversation flowed naturally and with much zest.

Tatum was able to break away after about half an hour, quietly stepping out so as to not alert Michael or Brad.

__

She quickly went back to the dressing room to grab her bag before heading out to a local pizza spot with Toni and Malika.

As soon as the brunette entered the room, her eyes fell upon the peonies sitting on the makeup counter. Her breath hitched, stepping in front of the now.

Her favorite flowers.

Only one person knew which ones.

Tears swelled in her eyes as she stared down at them. She sniffled and cursed herself once more.

"Lovey...," she heard the unmistakable soft voice of Michael. Her eyes found his almost instantly as he stood leaning on the door frame.

"Why the sad eyes?" He questioned stepping into the room now as he shut the door behind him.

She shook her head, more tears coming out.

He gently took hold of the sides of her face, delicately cupping her face as she cried softly.

The singer wiped her tears as they came out.

Her voice was weak. Pathetic. As she attempted to speak.

"You came," was all she was able to get out before her voice gave out completely.

He nodded, "I couldn't pass up the opportunity to see you, on stage, doing the one thing that you love most in this world..," He trailed off as she took in and digested his words.

"And," He paused, biting his lip softly, "I knew if I hadn't come and tried to speak with you..that there may not be another opportunity..again." Michael explained. She shook her head, not believing it, "But I left...I left the tour without a word. I left the troupe...I left you." She pushed back.

He shrugged, "People leave me all the time, lovey..," she cut him off, "that doesn't make it better, Mickey!" Tatum argued. He nodded, "No. But I know you had your reasons...You wouldn't have just left, right?" He questioned so softly. It was as if he was still trying to convince himself.

"Right..? Unless I wasn't enough." He said it so confidently, yet so brokenly.

That there really was a chance she saw all the flaws and shortcomings that he himself saw, each and every day.

Tatum immediately shook her head.

"No...oh god no, Michael, listen to me," She said so reverently, she now grabbed ahold of his face. "There were reasons why I left that had nothing to do with you. Well..what I mean is that, there was nothing shortcoming about you -- no deficits -- no insecurities that made me run, that..that was not it, at all. You have to believe me." The dancer practically pleaded.

His eyes were now glossy as he looked down at her. Their faces were mere inches away from one another.

The dancer searched his eyes, hoping he heard her enough, heard her enough to believe it.

Michael's response was, "Tell me then. Please..tell me." He now pleaded softly, hoping to break through whatever exterior she had built.

Tatum looked away at the flowers, and Michael pushed again, "Please, lovey, tell me.."

Tatum sniffled, "Not unless you tell me what I meant to you..," she trailed off as she returned eye contact.

"Tell me I wasn't some fling, some situationship for the time being...that I was enough...that I mattered more than some shitty cliche -- tell me that, Michael. Tell me I mattered more than just someone filling your bed." The dancer basically begged.

Michael was never good with peer pressure. He was also never good at actually confessing his feelings. Sure, he had a way with lyrics. But disclosing his deepest thoughts and feelings?

Apparently, a foreign language for him.

Michael's eyes pressed softly before reopening, and giving Tatum a soft smile.

Michael began, "You were the best part of tour for me....You were the one thing that lit my world up from the moment I saw you for the first time each day and until you'd leave my room...you became my solace, my refuge, and peace. You became the best part of me. You made me a better person." he confessed, his breath becoming shaky.

"And that..," Michael trailed off as he realized just how much Tatum had become to him.

He trailed off in fear that she never felt the same, but her eyes softening was enough for him to propel forward, "I realized that was how I fell in love... You lit my world, my mind, my soul up, and when you left? The lights went out. You woke me up, and I faltered once you left," He paused, bringing their foreheads to each other.

Their eyes are pouring into each other's souls. Their breath was hot. The tension thick.

"You were never a cliche; you were more than that. You were more than some woman to fill my bed for the night..I wanted you there with me more than that. And I realize now how selfish I was being, in wanting to keep things private, to protect my image, but you lovey...deserved to be loved and adored in public. Without question. Without question of where you stand...I was wrong to keep us a secret. I thought I was protecting you, as best I could..I was wrong to not ask more questions about why you left. But I knew you had left for good reason. And I thought it was because of something I'd done that had hurt you. And if it was...im sorry Tatum..Truly." He finished, biting back his own tears.

Tatum left out a soft cry before pulling away.

Her hands found her waist as she walked towards the other side of the dressing room, one hand covering her trembling mouth.

"You-," her voice gave out as she tried to console her emotions. She shook her head, sniffling.

Her eyes clasped shut as her breathing picked up, her head becoming dizzy.

For the past three years, she carried shame & guilt about who she was. Who she had become.

And to be told that you woke someone up? That you became the best part of that chapter? And that he was sorry

Oh.

Michael watched in remorse as emotions collided into his chest, like a wave.

His chest ached as he watched her breathe heavily and the tears escape without her control. He reached out softly, placing a hand on her hand before he pulled her into his chest.

Tatums back hit the strong & sturdy chest that used to hold her nightly. The very one that provided security and affection. And comfort. When she'd stare up at him, and her mind would rewind to the man she thought was the love of her life -- before he broke off a six-year relationship. He'd push her hair behind her ear, before bringing her in for a kiss from behind, before making love to her.

Now, that same man was holding her from breaking completely.

And yet. She couldn't find her voice. To speak. To confess. To explain.

Why she disappeared. Why she never reached out. Deep down, she believed that if she confessed, he'd let her go and go back to pretending he didn't know her. Didn't care for her. Didn't love her.

Michael turned her in his arms, one arm pulling her close by her back and the other cradling her head.

His heart broke hearing the sobs escape.

The ones he prayed he would never hear.

Maybe he had broken her heart by not being honest. Maybe he had broken things so much that it was beyond repairable?

In reality, he didn't know the secret that had led them apart. He didn't know the secret that he so desperately would have wanted to bring to life. The one thing he had dreamed of for years. It had slipped from his grasp, without him knowing.

Tatum's sobs lessened, and Michael pressed a kiss to the girl's head. Pulling her as close as he possibly could.

"The reason," she paused, inhaling shakily. She then swallowed, pulling away from Michael a bit, so they could fully look at one another.

She bit the inside of her lip as he stared down at her, his chest rising and falling a bit too quickly for her liking.

Michael was on the edge of his seat, figuratively. He looked as though one wrong breath, movement -- word, would have him retreating.

"I fell pregnant Michael." she confessed softly.

Shame filled her bones.

Michael knew it was his. There was no doubt that it wasn't.

Michael inhaled shakily now, his eyes studying hers.

There had to be more, right? He pondered.

She swallowed harshly, continuing, "I got rid of it..I couldn't keep it." She confessed.

Michael's hands stayed steady, his breathing slowed. Tatum was confused by his reaction. Her eyebrows creased softly.

"That's all?" He whispered.

Her brow furrowed, "What do you mean, that's all?" She questioned, confused.

He went to speak, but she spoke, "I just told you, I was pregnant with your child and terminated the pregnancy -- and you -- all you're gonna ask is, 'is that all'? Why aren't you mad?" She questioned, taking a step back and out of his arms.

Michael had no place to be upset. He valued her autonomy and right to her body above all else. For any female, for that matter. He loved her too much to be upset.

He shook his head, "One of the very first deep conversations we had, you stated boldly and unapologetically, that you never wanted kids. You didn't want to bear them, didn't want to adopt-- that your life's journey and purpose was never to have children. Your purpose transpires and goes beyond caregiving, and that's what I loved about you. Your passion, soul purpose, and convictions -- are what pulled me in. Over time, but nevertheless, all-consuming Tate." He explained.

Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

Her fears, her anxiety, and worst-case scenarios were not playing out.

Her head believed that he would be angry, disappointed, or furious with her.

But no.

The man who loved her and the man whom she loved were still standing in front of her. Gazing at her as though she truly did hang the stars and the moon.

He remembered. He remembered something that was incredibly important to her and her self-worth.

Her mouth reopened, "But I took that life away from you." She responded. Her admission was met with a soft shake of the head.

He looked down at her hands and brought them into his, bringing them up to his lips, "The life I envision for myself has included you far longer than I ever realized. That includes you, no one else. So you didn't take away a life from me. You allowed me the opportunity and space to continue with mine...alongside yours." Michael confessed.

Love dripped from his words.

The singer looked down at her lips and second guessed himself.

Tatum couldn't believe what she was hearing. Nor was she believing her eyes.

There was no way, right?

Michael was in no way confessing his love for her, right?

Her eyes swelled with tears and a shy smile.

Tatum thought back to her birthday wish tonight and laughed at the stars and the moon.

To be chosen is to be loved. To be chosen is to be seen. I want to be chosen.

But not this.

Michael's heart began to sink as Tatum stared up at him without saying anything.

Tate gave a small smile before bringing Michael's hands to her mouth, pecking them a few times.

Tatum had spent the better part of two years finding her voice, her worth, & self esteem.

And as much as she deeply adored and cared for -- and quite frankly, loved this man. Her mind still wondered. It still worried. Her heart was unsure.

Tatum also knew that if he were to hear the words she wrote, produced, and recorded -- about him? He'd be devastated. He'd feel incredible guilt. He would feel in debt to her for what he put her through.

And she couldn't do that.

She couldn't allow himself to become hardened by guilt and past decisions.

Though Michael knew by now that she was stepping away from him. She was stepping out of his life once more.

Once again. And possibly for good.

The way he looked at her made her feel as though she mattered more than so. More than most. There was this unexplainable feeling deep within her.

The girl pulled him in closer, embracing him before pressing a long kiss to his cheek.

Tatum always knew she didn't want to be a part of a cliche.

And despite the words spoken tonight -- she couldn't shake the feeling of what could have come from this.

That would leave both of them in even more pain, which would create distant and then, undeniable distrust.

"Goodbye, Michael." She said softly, before grabbing her bag and walking out of that dressing room.

The peonies still lay on the counter.

Michael stayed still for a few minutes.

His mind, trying to piece together what had happened. And also, the past few years.

He walked out without a second thought.

The only thing left behind were the purple peonies he'd brought.

Now, a footnote in the chapter that now, ceased to exist.

hope you all enjoyed tehehhehe - blondie

He remembers vividly and painfully, pushing her out into the sea; his head, along with Luke's, had flickered towards her before Ben ran off, while Luke went to save her.

Ben had convinced himself, along with the chancellor himself, that she was gone.

That the light he once craved, cherished, and adored -- was gone.

No longer the brightest light in the Force — the light he had clung to like a god, like faith itself — was gone.

──

Moira had taken refuge on a desolate planet, as far out in the galaxy as one could go.

Vharis was a world abandoned by time. Its sky stretched endlessly, a dull gray that swallowed suns and moons alike, leaving only a thin, pallid light to touch jagged rocks and frozen plains. Winds whispered over barren ridges, carrying no scent of life, no hint of growth — only the hushed echoes of a planet long forgotten. Even the Force seemed hesitant here, like water trickling through sand, its currents faint and almost imperceptible.

She had chosen it for that very reason: a world where she could exist without leaving ripples of herself for anyone else to find — a place where her presence would not spark hope, fear, or suspicion. She carved her life into the desolation: small huts built from the bones of wrecked ships, gardens coaxed to life with subtle Force guidance, and a hidden enclave for children abandoned by the wars that consumed the galaxy.

Here, on Vharis, she could touch the Force only in quiet, fleeting bursts — a glow to light a child’s evening, a whisper to keep the wind from collapsing her shelter. No one would call her a Jedi, or a hero, or even a survivor. She was simply Moira: caretaker, shadow, ghost. The planet had forgotten her, just as she had forgotten herself.

And yet… even here, the galaxy was not silent. Something stirred in the dark — a faint, familiar pull she dared not name.

Her heart had shattered. Not just from grief, but in consequence — the fracture spreading through her soul and dimming her presence in the Force. No one could find her, trace her, or feel the faint pulse of life lingering in her violet eyes. She had become a ghost, untouchable, unseen, even by the galaxy itself.

Moira had long promised herself she’d never seek anyone through the Force — nor would she ever dare expose herself to the First Order or her brother. Even though it killed her to never see her parents again, she knew that, to keep herself safe and, truly, the rest of the galaxy safe, she had to stay hidden.

Each day, she reminded herself to reclaim the good, the light, the right path. Her work with children demanded that choice — a daily act of holding back the dark.

Moira was the first choice. The first choice for the First Order. For the dark side.

They had believed the moment she was born that she would restore order, continue the legacy of her grandfather, Darth Vader. Leia and Luke had sensed it too, and by age five, they had torn her and Ben away to Ahch-To, to keep them safe and together.

Moira was meant to leave that planet under the stable, dark hands of the First Order, not long after arriving.

Yet she was good. She found the good. Even through moments of darkness, she clung to the light.

Then Ben turned. And didn’t look back.

Neither did she.

And so she left.

She wasn’t seen again — not until the jolt hit her system.

She fell to her knees in the nursery during nap time, feeling the heaviest weight she had felt in almost ten years.

She knew it without a doubt: her father had died.

And somewhere deep down, she knew who had done it.

Ben.

No matter the distance or the years that had passed, she felt the magnetic pulse flicker to life once more. As if it had never ceased.

──

Moira had shortly left the desolate planet aboard her Ghost-class light freighter when the Force hit her like a cosmic wave. She weaved in and out of star systems, almost a million miles across the Outer Rim, hopping to another, each jump as precise as it was instinctual.

For the first time in years, she allowed herself to touch the Force — light as a feather, almost imperceptible. Untraceable, yet present.

She searched for her mother, like a moth drawn to light. It did not take long to sense her: D’Qar.

After navigating meteor showers, drifting space debris, and First Order patrols, she touched down. Moira squinted as she scanned the war-torn star fleeters and makeshift repairs surrounding her.

The familiar symbol of the Resistance caught her eye, and she exhaled softly. Her mother had never abandoned ship — the thought both made her smile and tighten her chest.

Moira’s hand brushed her lightsaber before she threw back her silver cloak, embroidered with constellations that mirrored her violet eyes. She stepped from her ship, taking in the bustling scene — crews patching hulls, people moving with quiet determination.

Her ears pricked at a familiar growl, a voice belonging to her favorite uncle, if one could call him that — Chewbacca. She caught his low, frustrated tones as he barked at two others, and her gaze flicked briefly to a group of two men and a droid conversing. Their eyes met hers for a fleeting moment before she turned forward, continuing on, purpose in her stride.

Moira stepped into the base's main building, feeling her mother’s presence resonate in her blood. She didn’t need to hear her voice for confirmation — it was like a melody you cannot escape.

Poe watched as the silver figure slipped in and out of crowds, head down, moving as if she needed no directions. She was an outsider; she was not supposed to be here. Yet — as the Force would have it, he knew who she was.

Leia had never ceased to talk about her daughter, as if they were always present in each other’s lives. As if the past twelve years had never happened. Poe would recognize those eyes — bright, full of hope — anywhere, exactly as Leia had described them. A rare sight.

Moira stepped into a hallway where a few Resistance members walked back and forth. Her eyes shut briefly, anchoring herself toward her mother. She could sense her — not far now.

As she stepped up to the door frame, her name was called.

“Oh my! If it isn’t Princess Moira Elaine! I thought we’d never see you again,” C-3PO exclaimed. Moira’s blood ran cold. She turned slightly to the left and saw the familiar droid, the one who had never left her mother’s side, even as a child.

Leia stopped dead in her tracks. Her breath caught. It couldn’t be… could it?

Wexley froze next to the commander and looked behind him, eyes widening. The little princess he had once smuggled sugar cubes to now stood before them — all grown.

“Moira!” Wexley exclaimed, taking long strides before pulling her into a bone-crushing hug. She stiffened for a moment, then giggled softly.

Leia finally turned at the sound, and could hardly believe her eyes. She saw her daughter, but could not feel her.

How was that possible?

Wexley let go of the girl before turning toward her mother with a smile, and Moira felt her breath catch as her and her mother's gazes connected.

“Mo—Moira?” Leia asked, disbelief lacing her voice, as if her eyes were playing tricks on her.

“Hi, Mom,” Moira said softly, stepping forward. One step, then another, until her arms wrapped around her mother.

Leia clung to her daughter as if she might disappear once more — and this time, forever.

“Oh, my sweet girl. We thought we lost you… we thought you were gone,” her mother whispered, as Wexley began ushering others out of the room.

Moira sniffled, pulling back slightly to look at her mother, shaking her head. “No… I left, went to the Outer Rim, and I’ve been there since—”

“But we couldn’t feel you,” Leia cut in, confusion clouding her features.

Moira’s eyebrows creased, then softened as understanding settled. She remembered her uncle’s words, clear as light, striking her:

“The dark side can mute their presence within the galaxy......" It allows them to exist without us knowing.”

Moira shook those thoughts.

She smiled softly at her mother, a slight shrug, tears pooling in her violet eyes. She knew exactly why and how it had happened.

Ben.

His turn to the dark side. The heartbreak and pain that had surged the moment he pushed her into the sea.

Moira sniffled again, shaking her head as a tear broke free.

Leia knew. She knew exactly how it had happened.

“But Dad—” Moira began, before a sob escaped. Leia pulled her close, cooing softly.

“I… I felt it. I felt Ben do it. I felt it in the Force, even after I… turned it off,” she whispered, sobbing, and Leia’s mind raced with questions.

“Kylo Ren,” her mother corrected gently.

Moira’s forehead creased as dread washed over her.

Kylo Ren.

A chill ran down her spine. She felt it flood her system, every crevice, and sensed the soft hum of magma that had once threatened to consume her as a child.

It was like a beacon of light reaching out to her, demanding to be chosen — to be clung to. And yet, beneath it all, the familiar hum of magma stirred in her veins, threading its dark warmth into every corner of her mind.

She swallowed harshly, pushing down that all-too-familiar feeling.

“Let’s get you fed and cleaned up. Come now,” her mother said, wrapping an arm around her daughter and ushering her toward the private quarters.

It didn’t take long for the base to buzz with news of the long-lost princess’s arrival. Soon enough, Chewbacca barged into Leia and Moira’s dinner, asserting his ‘uncle’ duties with the same growl and urgency he had shown all these years.

──

Moira woke the next morning, watching the sunrise over the planet she had visited many times as a child with Ben.

She remembered playing hide-and-seek with the baby Wookiees stationed at the base, taking turns with Ben. They were never truly hidden from one another — their senses and awareness were far too keen.

She smiled at the memory of returning from trips with their father, who always brought trinkets, jewels, and delicacies from far-off planets. Their sugar rushes and crashes were legendary, leaving echoes of laughter and chaos in the halls.

Her heart ached, recalling the last time they had visited — thirteen years ago. That flight had been a battlefield of bickering, fueled by puberty and heightened emotions. Luke had half-joked that little Moira was going to kill Ben.

Ben had tripped her for the fourth time in ten minutes. Luke barely engaged autopilot before Moira screamed, shoved Ben against the wall, and planted her hand on his chest. Terror widened his eyes.

Her own violet gaze darkened, the constellations of her eyes extinguished. Luke and Ben had felt her presence shift in the Force — darker, more sinister, terrifying.

“Moira!” Luke yelled, pulling her back with the Force as she struggled to push against him.

“You little brat!” she screamed at Ben, whose remorseful, disbelieving gaze only enraged her further.

Luke raised a hand, firm and final. “Stop, Moira. You’ve hurt him enough.”

She remembered stepping out behind Ben, feeling the weight of the pain she had caused. His quiet, unvoiced suffering haunted her.

It scared her.

What would have happened if Luke hadn’t intervened?

That memory returned in nightmares almost nightly, leaving her waking in panic and sweat, unable to fall back asleep.

Even after all these years.

She heard footsteps behind her and spun around instinctively, only to see a Resistance member, hands raised in innocence.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, and she sighed softly, turning back to watch the sunrise.

“You startled — not scared,” she hummed, and heard him chuckle.

He sat on the bench beside her. She shifted down a few inches, and he laughed again.

Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, a spark passed between them.

“I’m Poe. Commander Dameron,” he said, extending his hand.

She nodded, taking it quickly.

“Moira,” she replied softly.

He smirked. “Like I wouldn’t know who you are, Princess.”

She cringed. “Don’t ever say that again.”

“Why’s that?” he asked, genuinely curious. “That’s what your mother calls you when she talks about you.”

Her eyes widened slightly, violet meeting his ember gaze.

“She… talks about me?”

“I don’t think there’s a day that goes by where your mother doesn’t speak of you,” he said, gazing out at the sunrise. “Even when she was certain she had lost you, because she couldn’t feel you in the Force, she never went a day without saying your name, as if you were still here. And Wexley, too — he’s always said he looked to you as a niece when you were here.”

Moira blinked, taking it in, a small warmth settling in her chest.

"Well...that's nice. Endearing." She sarcastically hummed, looking away and back at the sky.

He smiled softly before looking back at the sky as well. A warm feeling, now warming his chest.

Moira left shortly after that, her feet carrying her toward the command center. Her eyes caught her mother hunched over the map with Wexley, plotting movements with meticulous focus.

Poe was not far behind her, and the group had begun outlining a plan.

“I’m not going,” Moira stated, her voice cutting through the room. The words made everyone freeze.

Poe looked up first, then Wexley, and finally her mother. Leia’s gaze lingered on her daughter, filled with a knowing sorrow.

Moira shook her head. “No. I’m not going. He thinks I’m dead, and I want to keep it that way — so I can go home.”

Poe let out a long sigh. Wexley’s frown deepened, and Leia’s expression softened with restrained worry.

“No, Moira — dear, you are the one who can bring him home—” Leia began gently.

Moira cut her off, voice sharp. “Bring him home? He killed my father! Do you think he wants to come home after that? He’s made his choice. He’s one of them, for good.”

Her voice softened, almost a whisper, “I can’t do it.”

All three felt the weight of her words. Wexley and Leia understood without needing to speak; Poe, from the stories he had heard, knew her capabilities — that she might be the one to confront the darkness and, somehow, bring Ben back.

Yet Leia’s worry ran deeper than any plan could see. From the moment her daughter was born, she had feared Moira’s potential for seduction by the dark side — and that fear never left her. No matter how far Moira ran, or how strongly she clung to the light, the shadow would always be there, and one day, it might reach her.

Moira’s violet eyes met her mother’s with a quiet defiance, then turned away, leaving the command center behind.

As she walked down the hallway toward the field of fleets, the sound of Chewie’s hurried roars reached her. He was running with someone — moving fast, urgency in every step.

Then the words hit, slicing through the tension like a blaster shot: “Rey’s been taken. She’s gone.”

Moira didn’t need anyone else to confirm it. She already knew. Her brother had taken her.

──

Kylo stared out at the galaxy that stretched endlessly before him. The stars seemed brighter tonight — sharper, almost alive — though he rarely cared to look at them. That had always been Moira’s thing, not his.

Still, something about the way they shimmered tonight made him pause. No… that couldn’t be.

From behind him, Hux observed quietly, curiosity flickering across his sharp features as Kylo leaned closer to the viewport. Out there, two shooting stars cut across the dark, side by side — gone as quickly as they appeared.

Then another pair.

A faint unease crawled beneath Kylo’s skin, the kind that didn’t come from logic but instinct — from memory. He felt something stir in the depths of himself, something he hadn’t felt in years.

It was faint… fractured… but familiar.

Her.

His breath caught, eyes narrowing at the infinite dark. He had felt that presence once before — just before he’d cast her into the ocean the night he left the island. The night he’d believed he’d killed her.

The air around him seemed to hum with that same strange electricity.

Hux cleared his throat behind him, the sound snapping Kylo back into the present. His hands clenched at his sides, the faintest tremor in his fingers betraying the storm rising within him.

Across the way, Moira sat beside Chewie in the Millennium Falcon, as if she had never left it. The hum of the ship wrapped around her like an old memory — long nights in the cockpit with Ben and their father, jumping through hyperspace to who-knows-where.

Her breath hitched when the Finalizer came into view. The massive Star Destroyer cut through the void like a blade, and unease coiled in her chest. She felt that old, molten pull claw up from the pit of her being — the dark magma she had buried years ago.

No. Not now. Not ever.

Right?

She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the feeling down. But when she opened them again, time seemed to slow — the air thinning, the galaxy falling silent.

The Millennium Falcon drifted dead-center before the Finalizer.

Her violet eyes caught a flicker of movement through the viewport — him. The brother who had once called her his Moira, his light. The boy who used to laugh with her as if they shared one heartbeat, though two years apart.

Kylo Ren’s maskless face faltered, shock breaking through his control. He took one uncertain step forward, then another, as if his mind refused to trust what the Force whispered.

It couldn’t be. He had felt her die — felt the sea swallow her whole when he’d pushed her away. Snoke had confirmed it. He still couldn't feel her in the force.

And yet…

The shooting stars. The stars of the night sky. They had burned brighter tonight — the twin streaks across space, like a sign.

Hux hovered behind him, eyes darting between the two. Even he realized who she was.

Kylo’s hand lifted faintly, trembling. A single word escaped him, barely a breath.

"No..."

And in the next instant, the Millennium Falcon vanished into hyperspace — gone like a ghost.

Moira hadn’t even had a chance to process who she’d just seen when the Millennium Falcon was hit.

She lurched forward in her seat, catching herself on the console before standing with a frustrated growl to check the systems.

Her eyes darted across the controls — shields, thrusters, stabilizers. All still intact. Thank the Maker.

“Moira!” Chewie roared from the cockpit.

“Got it, Chewie,” she muttered, forcing herself upright. But her limbs suddenly felt heavy, her movements slow — like she was wading through sand.

A sharp pain split through her temple. She gripped her head, eyes squeezing shut—

—and the stars vanished.

She was seven again. Ben was nine. The night their uncle had sat by the fire, telling them about his childhood home on Tatooine. Through Luke’s memories, they had seen it — the pale suns, the empty desert, the small domed home where his story began.

Moira remembered smiling, curling up by the fire, the warmth of R2-D2 humming near her, her imagination painting the twin suns across her dreams.

When she woke, her skin was warm. Too warm.

She sat up. This wasn’t her cot. This wasn’t her hut.

Her small hands pressed into soft sand. The air was dry, the sky endless and blue. The quiet hit her all at once.

“Ben?” she called out. No answer.

Her voice cracked. “Uncle Luke?”

Nothing.

Her fear rose like a wave. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold her own trembling still. The Force around her buzzed and shook with panic.

“Ben!” she screamed, her sobs breaking through the air.

Ben jolted awake, a hollow ache filling his chest. He could feel her — gone.

“Uncle! Moira’s gone!”

Luke was already rising from his seat, the panic in his nephew’s voice slicing through the quiet. They ran to her hut. Her cot was empty. Her lightsaber — still resting by her pillow.

Across the galaxy, Leia woke with a gasp, clutching Han’s arm.

“She’s gone,” she whispered, trembling. She reached for her daughter through the Force — and slammed into a wall of static. Nothing.

Back on the desert, Moira wiped her tears, blinking through the sunlight.

“I—I think I’m on Tatooine,” she whispered.

Luke’s heart softened as her voice finally came through the Force. “Stay where you are, Moira. We’re coming for you.”

Her eyes flew open. The pain was gone — but her heart thundered.

Cold durasteel beneath her palms. The low hum of engines.

She looked around, breath catching as she saw the gleam of black armor and white plastoid.

Stormtroopers turned the corner.

Moira’s blood ran cold.

She wasn’t on the Falcon anymore.

She was on his ship.

The Finalizer.

Once again, she had folded space -- through galaxy and time.

She folded like the dark Sith that simmered beneath her surface.

──

Moira slipped through the corridors like a shadow, her heartbeat thrumming in her ears. Every corner, every echo of boots, forced her to pause—hide—breathe—move again. She counted the turns until she found herself before an enormous, unguarded door.

A tremor rippled through her as she lifted her hand toward it. The Force pulsed—thick, magnetic, alive. Not one presence. Several.

Her fingers brushed the air, and she knew. Ben. Rey. And something else—ancient, festering, wrong.

Before she could take another breath, two crimson figures stepped into her path.

Red Guards. Of course.

Their armor gleamed like blood under the faint light. The hum of their weapons vibrated through the air, that sharp electric pitch that made her teeth ache.

Moira exhaled. Her eyes darkened.

Without hesitation, she reached through the Force and tore into their minds. It was a violent, instinctive thing—heat flaring beneath her ribs. The guards staggered, their bodies stiffening as she seized their thoughts and shoved. One of their electro-bisentos ripped free of his grip, flying into her hand.

She turned back to the door. Her palm lifted.

The Force—her Force—sang in her veins, wild and alive. The metal groaned, shuddered, and then snapped open with a thunderous hiss.

Her pulse hammered. She felt it again—that molten, volcanic energy stirring under her skin. She had to control it. She hadto.

And then she saw him.

Snoke. And Rey—kneeling before him.

Her stomach turned. Ew. Gross. The thought flickered before she could stop it.

Snoke’s head rose. His lips parted into that twisted grin. Kylo—Ben—turned sharply, the moment freezing between them. His mask was gone. His expression broke. Disbelief, wonder, horror—all at once.

Snoke’s voice slithered through the room, serpentine and gleeful. “Well, well. If it isn’t little Moira Solo—the lost princess at last returned home.”

His words wrapped around her name like poison.

Moira’s jaw clenched as she walked forward. Each step echoed against the marble floor. She stopped beside Rey, refusing to even look at her brother.

Snoke leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Has Princess Moira finally come to her senses? Ready to claim her birthright—to take her place at the throne of the Sith?”

The air grew heavy. Moira’s breath came sharp, steady. The magma within her roiled—but she pushed back, holding him out of her mind, locking every door he tried to pry open.

Kylo’s eyes widened. How was she here? Why couldn’t he feel her?

Snoke chuckled, answering the question as if he’d heard it. “Because she is not what you think, my apprentice. She is ours. She always has been. The blood of the Sith burns in her bones—just as it did in your grandfather.”

He turned his back to Kylo, approaching her with greedy reverence. “You were always the one we wanted first. The purest potential. The truest heir.”

Moira didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

Inside, the storm built. But she refused to let it consume her.

She would not be what he said she was.

“Let her go,” Moira said, her voice steady — dangerous.

Rey shuddered at the power beneath Moira’s voice, swallowing hard before glancing up at Kylo — who could only stare at his little sister.

Snoke scoffed.

Moira stepped forward until she stood a foot in front of Rey.

“She’s not who you want,” Moira said evenly. “She has no part in this.”

Snoke laughed, low and dark.

“I’ll show you,” Moira said softly.

“NO! Don’t!” Kylo shouted, taking a step forward before Snoke’s invisible grip held him back.

Kylo knew the risk — if she opened her mind to Snoke, there would be no turning back.

But Kylo was naive.

Moira had learned, long ago and by accident, how to manipulate visions — how to bend dreams, how to deceive. She would make Snoke believe Rey had no connection to the dark side. That he had been wrong about her.

“My boy, stand down!” Snoke roared, forcing Kylo to his knees. He choked out a sound as Snoke turned his focus back on Moira.

Moira shut her eyes, allowing Snoke to claw into a sliver of her mind — showing him the vision she wanted him to see.

He hummed, satisfied, and withdrew just as she slammed the mental door shut.

“Well,” Snoke purred, “she’s no use to me anymore. Kill her! Claim your rightful place on the throne and rule the galaxy for eternity!” His voice cracked through the chamber, echoing off steel and stone.

Moira stepped back, her breath unsteady.

She didn’t want this. She only wanted to save Rey.

But she knew.

She knew she might not make it out alive. A life for a life, she thought.

“NO!” Kylo shouted, his gaze darting between Snoke and Moira. “I’ll do it!”

Finally, Moira looked at him.

Their eyes met — regret against regret — and for the first time in years, he felt her in the Force. The ache was immediate.

He would do it again — sacrifice himself for his sister. The reason he’d joined Snoke in the first place was to protect her. If she had survived the ocean, he’d taken her place to keep her safe.

Despite her darkness, she was too full of love — too much light — for the First Order.

Emotion rippled through her like a storm. The Force trembled.

On Ahch-To, Luke felt it. Leia felt it on the base. Rey felt it too. But Ben — Ben felt it most of all.

“Let me do it, Supreme Leader—” Kylo began, but Snoke cut him off with a sharp motion. Kylo gasped as the invisible hold released.

And Moira felt it — the slow, familiar burn of magma rising in her veins.

An old friend, come home.

Kylo felt the air shift. The room darkened. Moira was awakening.

Maybe — just maybe — she could deceive Snoke. Save Rey. End this.

But she knew the cost.

She would have to stay. She would have to become what she swore she never would.

Maybe, though, she could bring light into the darkness.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Moira exhaled and wrapped her hand around her lightsaber.

The purple saber roared to life — a perfect blend of blue and red, light and shadow intertwined. A tale of two paths: one that had always threatened to consume her, and one she chose, again and again — the path of good. Of light. Of love.

Kylo took in the familiar color — the brilliant violet that mirrored her eyes perfectly.

As a child, he used to tease her for it. He’d always called her “extra.”

But now? He saw the truth of it — the constant war that lived inside her, the one he had sensed for years. That internal storm that threatened to consume her whole.

His heart ached as she stepped forward, placing herself between Rey and Snoke’s wrath. Rey’s voice cracked as she pleaded, “Don’t do this.”

Kylo’s chest tightened as he heard his sister’s voice echo within the Force.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry for who I am to become.

On Ahch-To, Luke fell back against the bench in his hut, feeling her presence ripple through the Force — a shift, sharp and final.

Across the galaxy, Leia stumbled, Wexley barely catching her as she gasped, her heart sinking. She felt the balance of the Force tilt — just enough to know there would be no undoing this.

A tear slipped down Kylo’s face, burning as it fell. The melancholy ache flooded him, hollowing him out.

His light — the very thing he had clung to like a religion, worshiped like a god — was slipping away. He had failed her. Failed his duty as her brother, her protector.

And that failure threatened to split him in two.

Moira raised her saber, its amethyst glow trembling in her grip. Rey sobbed, begging her to stop.

Gods be damned, she looked at her brother one last time. His expression said everything — don’t do this. please.

A single tear traced her cheek.

Gone were the early days of the First Order — the thing her grandfather helped begin. Gone were the days of servitude to Supreme Leader Snoke.

A new era was dawning in the galaxy — one that would reign for millennia.

Moira prayed silently to the gods for mercy, her voice breaking as she whispered to herself:

A Jedi must be a light in the darkness — a beacon of hope, no matter how hopeless things seem. Master Windu.

hope you guys enjoyed xxxxx