more time travel. always more time travel.

"You have been avoiding me."

Zanya manages to say it so matter-of-factly that he can just almost manage to convince himself the uncharacteristic nervousness that settles over his form as he pads into the operations room late in the evening is entirely unrelated to finding Theron still working from where he'd left him hours ago after their council meeting. He wracks words around in his head like they'd just simply fall into perfect sentences that would resolve this all neatly, without any arguments or anything that should remain unsaid surfacing.

He's asking for perfection when he's never been capable of anything near it.

Given at least, he thought he could do it, during his long walk to the division of meeting rooms they keep. That things would go very smoothly, he'd say his piece, and things would be completely, and utterly, fixed. There had been a whole script in his head, fault trees on what might be said, and how he would respond. How he could steer things back towards where they should go, if things went really wrong, and how he simply work things out. Zanya has usually always been decent at commanding a room. Commanding people.

The confidence feels misplaced now, and he becomes more and more unsure of himself, being faced by Theron on his own with no one else to buffer between them, even if he doesn't turn to look at him. He's apprehensive.

Zanya is never apprehensive. Of anything.

Apparently, among other failings, Theron manages to shake that foundation in a way that no one else could claim to do before.

It's as if he has any idea what he's doing or how he should mean to address this. This, being the the stagnant canyon drawn between them ever since they'd returned from Nathema. Ever since Theron had come back, things had felt wrong. The burning silence, and the frustratingly clear repelling of each other like magnets flipped on the wrong ends. For obvious reasons, Zanya had more important tasks to address than his personal life as of late, but coming back to his quarters to find it devoid of anything that had belonged to Theron a few months prior had hit him hard in a way he hadn't be able to figure out how to explain.

They never talked about it.

In fact, they hadn't talked much at all since the Order of Zildrog had been dealt with. He'd been fine with this originally, since he didn't really think he could say anything that wouldn't be a multitude of questions and accusations lobbed at him. Truly he didn't trust himself to be anywhere near unbiased and able to hold a conversation that wouldn't make it evident just how much he was trying to stitch himself back together.

Now? Zanya wants to say so much, and yet finds nothing at all most of the time.

Theron had chosen to make himself scarce, clearly.

"I'm sorry?" His voice cuts through the silence like a knife. His attention doesn't budge though.

This conversation he imagines was a long time coming. Not one he wanted to have to acknowledge, but on his attempts to be less abrasive, he bends his knee now to do what he should have done ages ago.

He'll do it calmly, for one. With a level of understanding befitting someone that's close to him. Gently, in a way that would make it clear he wanted to resolve this rather than force a conclusion.

Things that he would have done, rather than tracking Theron down to where he absolutely went with the intention of not having any conversation with Zanya in private, and completely improvising when he did eventually find him because his mind had gone entirely blank.

So, here he is in the Alliance operations room, leaning against the doorframe as he watches his intelligence agent who has his head ducked towards a holoterminal, very much attempting to ignore his presence considering he doesn't even turn towards him.

It isn't subtle, the way he refuses to look at him. Now, or even during their usual meetings with the rest of the Council, who made it all the more clear about just how odd they found the behavior.

How had he recruited so many nosy specialists, he cannot begin to understand.

"You have been avoiding me as of late." A statement. It isn't as neutral as he would have hoped it would be.

Passing by each other like they were ships in the cold expanse of space. Having to work together on excursion missions in a painful quiet. Zanya can't quite feel like it's both infuriatingly not his fault and also completely out of his hands to fix. It's so unlike him to want to fix anything, once something has broken, he usually does away with it. It was simply how he was.

If his track record was anything to go by, he should be back in his own quarters purging everything about Theron out of his head. Moving on. Doing anything else than this.

He's not a fixing person. The hands he has are moreso meant for lethality, not repairs. They know force mmemonics and five different ways to kill given ten different situations. They know the calluses developed after years at the forefront of war and the scars of mistakes he still works to rectify to this day.

Zanya is not someone who fixes. He destroys. And he fears that's all he's really good for.

Tonight, he might have to be something else though, and force himself through the uncomfortable and confusing nature of understanding someone else more than he truly desired to. He might have to contort his fingers into shapes they don't belong in, if it means setting the record straight for once.

If it means getting out of the tortorous limbo he's found himself in.

This isn't his fault.

This isn't fair.

It's also after dark. When most if not all of the usual staffings have gone back to the barracks to rest after a long day. Meaning that it's unlikely for them to be interrupted by an errant soldier or crewmember, and the long shadows are playing tricks on him when he steps into the room proper. There is no walking away and no distractions to be bothered by. Only the four walls surrounding them would be their witnesses.

This is also when Zanya has decided that enough is enough. He's done his self-reflection, spent plenty of time ruminating upon the recent events that have upheaved his entire life (again), and bottled up the unknown frustration that had been boiling in the back of his consciousness for the previous few weeks. Dealing with his family was one thing, dealing with a lot of the new recruits was another and playing politician was just the icing on the cake.

Theron himself is the last loose thread before he can move on and focus on the war effort proper. Regardless of what happens, he can't keep doing this.

Theron finally speaks when it seems he's finished something on the holoterminal, changing the display to another report. Shifting the datapad in his hand, he sighs, his voice rough trom disuse, "Wouldn't say avoiding."

"Yes, and have you therefore invented another term for simply ensuring you are never in my presence alone?" Zanya asks, shuttering the door behind himself. The clunk of the metal makes Theron's force signature waver, clearly startled even if outwardly he barely reacts. He's nervous, but Zanya doesn't have to rely on reading what lies beneath all those layers to see it clear as day, "You will have to enlighten me sometime as to how you define it."

"Funny. Look, we're busy people. It isn't like you've been on base lately anyway. Maybe we just don't cross paths as often anymore," He pauses, considering. There's more to that, more he wants to say, but decides against it at the last second. Theron sighs, "That's all."

"Quite contrived, though I suppose that has always been your style," Zanya runs a hand through his loose hair at his shoulders. He isn't wrong, rare that he is, but something about the judgement does irk him. It isn't as if he's tried, which makes it feel all the more unfair, "Do not use Ossus as a shield when we are due to depart for Onderon in a week's time. If there is any time to say what you have been hiding from me, the moment is now."

Theron darkly chuckles, in a way that feels distinctly humorless and unsettling. It makes Zanya's mouth go dry when he speaks again, "Is that going to be my legacy? That you'll always believe I'm keeping something from you?"

"That is not what I said, nor what I implied," A sore spot that he hadn't meant to inflame, but he supposes these next few conversations probably would have quite a few. He wouldn't slow down and stop because they existed, but would perhaps think more before he spoke. Or try to, at least, when he uncharacteristically feels like his throat is trying to close on him, "Do not addendum my words with your own understanding. You are keeping something from me. I want to know what that is."

He finally looks at him, with an apprehensive glance over his shoulder that also is incredibly deadpan. As if he's already over this conversation, as if he doesn't want to have it to begin with, and considering the calculating look in his eyes, he's likely wondering just how quickly he could make his excuses and leave. Zanya knows Theron far better than he knows most others, which makes this conversation all the more excruciating to sit through when he sees every single tell employed.

This song and dance is theirs, it has been theirs for the past few months, and its starting to eat away at him like an acid that threatens to burn his already oversensitive nerves.

"Nothing," He finally responds, returning back to his projections, "For once, there's nothing going on with me. Just prepping the briefing for next week. That's all."

Defensive. Concerning.

He's lying.

Zanya stays his hand. As frustrated as he may be, he still can't bring himself to open his head and go looking himself as to what it is he chooses to keep so close to his heart. He deserves that much, even if it takes Zanya tugging and pulling at every loose wire verbally to get the answer that he should.

"Will that be the answer tomorrow as well? When you inevitably choose to acknowledge every other council member but myself? Or decide to conveniently share your tasks with Lana, so that none of the ones you keep lead to you having to meet with me one on one?" Zanya eventually decides to rest his hip on the opposite end of the worktable, partially in disbelief. He's under no misimpression that Theron is also just as busy as he is with the third major conflict of their lives kicking off with them in the center of it, but he also wonders just how long he thinks he can keep this up for without snapping from the tension that seems to wrap itself around them like a vice grip.

He has a sinking feeling he's not going to like that answer.

What if he leaves?

What if he was already planning to leave, and this is all just a formality for him to disappear back to the Republic?

Zanya stuns himself with that thought, enough that he has to blink himself back to being present in the moment.

Is he really that worried about that possibility? Surely not. Theron wouldn't go back. Not after years of working under the Alliance, with his grievances against the faction a kilometer long. That much felt certain.

But, then again, that promise was made to him what felt like lifetimes ago now. Can he still trust him to keep it?

Is Zanya beholden to presence like he's always assumed he is? He had a role with the Alliance that could not simply be filled. He knew as much. Would he simply abandon them all over this? It doesn't feel like something he would do, but these days Zanya has to interpret his behavior through that of a partner and a stranger's understand. Something could slip through the cracks and he'd never realize. Again.

"Are you really that bothered not seeing me off all people during the day that you had to hunt me down like this?" Theron asks, attempting to appear unbothered. He shifts his weight to the opposite foot, tapping his fingers against the edge of the terminal while he reads over a file, "Surely you can get by without me."

"Impressive. If you dodged blasterfire as well as you do my questions, Intelligence would have snapped you up years ago."

"There's nothing to answer, as much as you keep trying to bark up a tree that doesn't exist," His brows furrow in annoyance, turning to him, "And besides, why're you even bothering with this? It's like you want there to be a problem where there isn't one."

"There is one, and you have decided to refuse to acknowledge it," Zanya feels his eye twitch almost, crossing his arms over his chest. Meant to keep him from fidgeting more with his hands, and prevent them from giving away much more of his crumbling mental state, "Why are you running away from me?"

Theron scoffs, "I'm not running from you. Putting some polite distance between us, maybe. After everything, thought this is what you wanted."

"I never asked you to do such a thing," Zanya's eyes narrow, with him having confirmed exactly what he assumed was happening, he now feels quite justified to his frustration, "There you go again. Making presumptions where there are none."

"Again?"

"With recent events, I do not believe I am exactly incorrect in that read upon you. I am well within my right to be disinterested in that aspect of you."

There's disbelief, mirthless laughter and resigned frustration all rolled into one on his face. Theron gives up on the task he'd been attempting to complete, and pushes himself off the table, an undeservedly knowing look in his gaze when he finally looks to Zanya properly that makes him feel like he's staring directly into a part of him that he doesn't want to reveal, "Really? So you are still mad about everything. You can't just … do your usual tactic and say you aren't when you are."

Zanya can only make a noise that feels like there actually is anger leaking out between his teeth. He doesn't know if it's exactly fair to be directing it to Theron, but he doesn't like the thought of being accused. Zanya isn't mad. Or at least, he's convinced himself he isn't. What good was there to that, when he had so much else to bother with in comparison to pitiful indignation? "I am not. Moreover what ever it is you may think I am doing, I have been quite upfront with you ever since we filed away your work with the Order. It would be ridiculous for me to still be irate about such a thing."

"Right, right. So you're not mad about it, but you're still here to get on me about what, exactly? The fact we've been busy lately? That you're doing your smoke and mirrors on Ossus, and you doled out tasks to me to pull the wool over my eyes?"

Zanya flinches at the charge. It stings more than it should, "You were on a need to know basis, just as everyone else was. It was not only you in the dark."

"Not only me, but you did tell Lana that you were acting as a saboteur to the Empire, a month after we allied officially with them? It's fine if you don't trust me, I get that, but it's conflicting. You're conflicting. You're accusing me of avoiding you, but you haven't exactly been available to avoid lately."

"No one knew Ossus was a sabotage operation but her, we could not afford the information getting around. It would be disastrous for every party and weaken us further," Zanya folds his arms over his chest, attempting to ground himself all the while, "I intended to share it with you after we returned, but conveniently, you were never around to do so. I would imagine you would understand, considering you were in such deep cover as of late."

Theron nods at that, sucking in a breath between his teeth, "That's low-hanging fruit and you know it. It was different."

"Yes. Because you decided not to afford any of the inner council a clue that was what you were doing. I did."

"And you chose Lana over me."

"Indeed I did."

"How am I supposed to feel when I'm getting half answers from the people I'm working with? It's like half the council has one story, and the other has another."

"Things are delicate right now. You were not exactly the first candidate to bring upon this assignment, perhaps for reasons that you can fill the blanks on, if you are so observant."

"No consideration at all though. Exactly the sort of the team I really missed working on." Sarcasm drips off his words, as much as the shrouded irration shows through anyway.

"You made your own decision when —" Zanya stops himself. He would be snipping at him all night in a thousand cuts if he continued that line of thought. It had already been done away with. There was no reason to dig up the way he felt his chest coming apart at the seams on Umbara, not again, "That is not my point."

"What is your point then?" Exasperation, "We're going around in circles."

Zanya swallows thickly, "It is what I stated when I arrived. You have had ample opportunity to speak to me since I returned from Ossus. Other opportunities to contact me if you so desired. You have not done so. Why?"

Theron furrows a brow, clearly confused. Still, the way he settles his hands at his side, his fingers fidgeting all the while, it isn't full innocence either, "Wouldn't think you were expecting me to. I was under the impression that I wasn't exactly your favorite person on base right now."

"I have made it clear my problem was never with your methodology. Nor was it with you, personally," Zanya feels his hackles trying to raise on him again, digging his nails into his sleeves, "I am not going to act as if things have not changed. They have. What I do not understand is why you act as if that means you ought to remove yourself from every facet of our shared schedules. It bewilders me."

"I'm not —" He shakes his head, "Look, you drew a pretty clear line in the sand when you revoked my access codes. You barely acknowledge me anymore except for when you need something. Don't think we even have to talk about the last time we talked like this. I know where I'm wanted and where I'm not."

That gives Zanya pause. How much else had Theron read into his actions, exactly? What exactly had he read? And what did Zanya mean for him to take away from it? He had thought he was being pretty level-headed at the time, with that one action just keeping Theron from being too close while he was trying to heal over a stubborn wound the whole operation had torn back open. Didn't he deserve that space to do so? It felt like he did.

Theron had apologized rather profusely once he was conscious again as well, which Zanya hadn't accepted at the time. It made little sense to. It just wasn't who he was, nor was he capable of it and stated it because he didn't see a reason to lie to him. He was not fool enough to presume things would go right back to the way they were, no, but he didn't think Theron would be that distant either. It didn't feel fair to Zanya at least that he would be. They had certainly argued prior to now, but things had often gone back to center eventually. Often times with more minimal effort on his own part, but it wasn't as if he hadn't tried at the very least. This was him trying.

He's realizing, there in the eery glow of the holoterminal, that he doesn't know what should've happened compared to what did. Perhaps that was what made it all the more agonizing to think about. He knew good and well that he was more abrasive than most, but he'd been more than understanding. Mostly. Though it seemed like this time, maybe he hadn't been.

"You are not incorrect. Your astute observations are indeed what makes you valuable," Zanya responds, trying to consolidate the maelstrom in his head to something that would make any sense at all. He isn't sure it's working, "Then tell me. As you have so neatly managed to sidestep thrice now, what is it that you are holding onto so tightly you refuse to inform me of it?"

"I can't say I know how I should feel exactly when you effectively told me there was nothing I could do to even try to repair any of this," He gestures gently around them, and also nothing at all, "I'm not delusional enough to think that anything I do will ever be enough to actually make it up to you. I messed up and I know that. Best I can do now is just stay out of your way."

To look at Theron, and still see the man he cared about, and yet also see someone that hurt him irrepairably … it's almost nauseating as the visages meld into one. Like there's one image that abberates into another, to form something else entirely. There wasn't any coming back from that day on Umbara, and both of them knew it.

"I did not ask you to do that."

"You didn't have to."

"That is not fair."

"I don't think you've exactly been fair either."

And yet, he still feels tied to him. Some terrible part of him that betrays his head does still want him in ways that feel unnatural. Against all logical reasoning, he still cares about him. Zanya hates the idea of it. How ever much of it was just a ruse to make their split look real for the Order, it still was against every tenet he held himself to when he considered looking past everything that had happened. He shouldn't be entertaining this. Yet, he is.

He also finds that traitorous part of him that makes Theron right all the while creeping up the back of his throat even as he tries to shove it back down. It doesn't work, as annoyance claws into his skin before any understanding does.

"This —" Zanya inhales, and then exhales, both far shakier than he wanted them to be. The words spill out of him before he can catch them, and he regrets them as soon as he speaks, "You run away from your problems. Something tells me you have been running for many years, and you continue to do so today. Do you really intend to just walk away because I refused to simply forgive and forget your transgressions?"

Theron seems resigned. Too resigned when he throws his hands up, a half smile on his expression that doesn't reach his eyes. It pulls the string in him taut, "Yes — sure, you figured me out. I can't take it back or undo any of it, as you reminded me. I'm not running from it. Why wouldn't I take a step back then if there isn't anything I can do?"

Zanya doesn't have an answer for that. Or, well in fact he has dozens, but none of them feel quite right when they come to be in his mind. He settles, and then winces as soon as he does choose something to say that feels ugly on his tongue, "Presuming such a pitiful outlook does very little for you. You have created a sword to fall upon and attempted to hand me the blade's hilt. I did not make you do the things you did, I would suggest you do not blame me for the consequences of your own actions."

"I don't blame you for anything but what you've actually said and done. It's the same thing you do, how is it any different when I do it?" Theron shrugs, "I don't think it's a huge ask to have some understanding."

"I understand a great deal. It does not absolve you of anything."

"I'm not looking for absolution."

"Then you shall not receive remittal either. What part of that did you not understand? I feel I was very clear that those choices do not simply disappear away," Zanya tilts his head, raising a brow, "The fact that you do is not my fault."

"That's not — Thanks for that. Why did you come down here, anyway?" He looks away from him, to the bay windows overlooking Odessen's skyline. There are new scars literring his facs that weren't there before. Zanya supposes he hadn't been close enough lately to see them, "If this is you just wanting to be mad at me, then fine. You deserve that much."

"It would not be exactly productive for that to be my goal," Zanya retorts, "If I was, I had ample time to do so before now."

"Just — whatever you're doing, let me know when I can just go, instead of dragging this out for months."

Something cracks in Zanya at that, straight doen his chest and makes his heart sink into his boots. The word falls out of his mouth, his voice far more startled than he expected. He mostly hopes he just misunderstood, "Go? You were released from work hours ago."

"Not from here. To leave. Take a break from the Alliance. From you, stars know we need it at this point if you want any sort of normalcy. I'll go back to being just an agent that works for you, and we don't have to keep doing this," His voice quiets, and he swallows thickly, "Just. Maybe we should be done. No going back, and it isn't like I blame you for it. If that's what you're getting at."

Done?

Done?

A rather unreasonable part of him that feels like an old injury rears its ugly head, demanding to ask if Theron was even allowed to do that if he didn't request it. If he didn't allow it. He shoves it down as fast as it'd appeared — he was not Theron's keeper and he would not make the same mistake he had before. There was no reason to cause them both more harm than truly necessary.

Had he ever said the words to imply as much? Rattling through his head at a breakneck speed playing back their conversations in halfway clips, he has no idea. He can't say. He doesn't think he would ever actually utter those words to Theron, especially when it's the very last thing he wants him to do. But he's beginning to realize that perhaps he may have had more blind spots than he realized. Too many that he does not have enough time to go back and dismantle.

He's conflicted, wildly in fact, and he almost feels like he can't breathe in fully, with that suggestion hanging in the air like a ton of durasteel just waiting to crush them both. Zanya was not infalliable, and he was not someone that would simply be able to shake off such a loss. He had tried before and he had failed. He had tried for weeks before now, and was still failing. Faced by the very real possibility it may become permanent, it doesn't quite feel real.

Simply, he was not built for anything but long-lasting devotion. To now have to acknowledge a tear in that fabric, he wonders just how unaware he'd been this whole time.

Theron had been there from the moment he stepped onto Odessen after they'd returned from Zakuul. Had been by his side almost without question for years up until now. Took chances on him that he still wonders about the soundness of. Chose him. Kept choosing him until he couldn't. Understanding, in a way that no one else truly had before. Supported him and requesting so little in return. Carefully unravelled him to make a home in his heart, tethered his thread of fate to Zanya's nearly without question, and now he wanted to cut it so violently with a set of shears that feel more painful than the train crash itself?

Theron wouldn't.

He didn't get to.

Again, he sweeps the thought out his head with an unnecessary amount of force. His anger would get him in trouble one of these days. Perhaps it already had.

He doesn't know that anymore. Maybe he never knew to begin with. How long had he been planning this? Had the entire operation with Zildrog had a secondary purpose of ridding himself of Zanya? Being able to step away from him, as soon as he started to disagree with the moves the Alliance was making regarding the conflicts with the Republic and Empire?

How far had this gone, and for how long? How long had he been slipped from grace in Theron's eyes for? How had he let this get that bad? Had he been blind to his disapproval, had ignored the signs, had been completely and utterly uncaring of the tiny details that had lead up to this?

The image abberates in his painfully dry eyes again.

Zanya blinks. Once, twice, and sets his jaw, "Stop doing that."

"What?"

"You are assuming again. That it is nowhere near what I want. If that is your prerogative, then you are free to do so. But do not blame me for your own convictions," Zanya doesn't know what to do with this quickly spiralling conversation, and it's clear in the way he can no longer decide what to do with his hands, nor his stance when he stands up fully, "I cannot stop you. And I will not. But that is not what I want."

"Not like you've exactly been forthcoming about what you do want."

"You betrayed me."

"Yeah. No, I remember that, pretty clearly. And I am sorry, if that's even worth anything anymore," He deflates, "I've been sorry, about everything. I know that doesn't deserve forgiveness but, guess you can't blame me for still wanting to be by your side."

No, he can't. It isn't like Zanya can deny that he still wants to be too, even if he's clearly lost signal at some point during everything for this to go so far sideways. It only makes him wonder if he deserves to actually keep him here, especially if he already has one foot out the door. Was his misery less important than Zanya's self-righteous outlook?

"I do not forgive nor forget. You are correct there, and I do not intend to change that." Zanya nods, more resolute on that than anything. He's repeating himself, and he doesn't get why that doesn't lodge itself into his head without any fanfare or extra words attached to it. It's exactly what he means. Theron frowns anyway, and he feels as if he's said the wrong thing somehow.

"Then we get each other. That sounds good as done to me."

"Why?" He hates the way his voice cracks, and he clears his throat trying to control it again. He doesn't know if it's anger or fear driving him more. If he could just strip all of the pretense off his words and present them as they were to Theron, he would, and yet he surmises that still might not work, "That is not what I said. It has never been what I said. What are you running from? Is it me? You say that everything to do with the operation was not real, that you said what you had to just to avoid detection, but if there is something I have done to offend you outside or even within the bounds of our personal relationship, I would hope you would inform me rather than sit here and try to define my own words for me."

"You? I'm not running from you, if anything you're the one who's been pushing me away since all of this happened," He refocuses on Zanya, squeezing the bridge of his nose between his fingers, "I just didn't need you to be the one to have to tell me it was over. You're never going to be able to look me in the eye and see anyone or anything other than what I was then. Would be a really hard ask otherwise. I get that."

"I have not been …" Zanya trails off. Something isn't working but he doesn't know what. The forlorn expression he's clearly trying to hide from him is failing to not peak out from between the cracks, and it threatens to shake him more than he already is. He lets the screaming thoughts of his subside for a moment, "Theron. It was not about your actions. I do not care about Umbara. Or Copero. Or Nathema, truly. Yes, I do not forgive you for that. Not at all. I will not forget either. I do not do that for anyone because it would be a ridiculous act to say I would simply ignore it."

Theron settles his hands back on the edge of his own jaw. His voice softens slightly, "I'd go back in a heartbeat to have changed anything about those missions, I would. A hundred times over. I never wanted you to get hurt."

Zanya can only blanch at the statement. Aside from the scar that dragged itself across the lower half of his back, he can't remember any other injuries he'd sustained from either planet, "That — is appreciated, but not needed. My frustration was directed at your mission, yes, primarily because I found it short-sighted and riddled with strategic holes —"

"I know." His eyes drop to his boots, interrupting him from continuing.

"But my anger was never about that. I thought you would understand that by now."

He hesitates, clearly more confused now than before. Theron finds his voice again a moment later, "Understand what exactly?"

Zanya lapses into silence for a moment, before figuring that he isn't going to be able to explain it in any way that isn't painfully vulnerable. In any manner that doesn't require him doing the equivalent of pulling out a rib. It is absolutely agonizing all the while, but he grips it tight and doesn't let go, "You broke my trust, Theron. You did not afford it to me then, and you still do not afford it to me now. Trust in that I would understand, regardless of what the cost was. Instead you went ahead and made a decision for me, stripped me of my ability to choose, and left me blind. You have apologized so many times for the inconsequential physical turmoil the Alliance experienced and a betrayal that was ultimately necessary, yet I see all of those as barely worth acknowledging. I care less that you went behind my back, and more than you never considered the fact that I was ready to do anything for you. That I would have understood, if there was any chance at all."

Theron opens his mouth to speak, then nothing comes out as he makes a small noise that's barely inteligible. He looks to Zanya finally a moment later, like he's trying to collect his own thoughts while Zanya tries to keep all his metaphorical blood from spilling at his feet. Sadly, he fears he isn't as successful at that.

"I'm sorry," Theron steadies his tone, breathing in through his nose, "I don't think I've ever been more sorry in my life that you weren't the first person I reached out to, really. I just thought — no, I was hoping … I don't know. I wanted to save everything you'd given up so much to build, no matter what. Because even if we didn't make it, you'd still have the Alliance, and the Order wouldn't be able to tear you apart.

He huffs a laugh, as sad as it was, "It didn't matter what happened to me at that point. What mattered was you."

Zanya at least has half a mind to think before he speaks again, "You planned to become a sacrificial lamb. For the Alliance?"

"Not exactly. I didn't want to go out like that, believe it or not," His voice strains at that, dropping his hands to his side, "And no. Well, yes, but at the end of the day, I was lying everything on the line for you. The only reason I did all of that is because I wanted to guarantee your safety, and them being tapped into all of our communications, everything we ever said and did — I couldn't let that go, knowing someone was watching you like that."

Zanya nods, "I understand that, and I do not blame you for such a reaction. The immediacy in which you acted was necessary. Yet, you understand why I am to feel slighted, hurt, as if you have burned me in a way that is still quite raw."

"Right," Theron lowers his voice, "I didn't want to stay if it was just going to make it worse. Or if we were just both waiting around for the other shoe to drop. Thought, maybe if we end this before we end up hurting each other more, then we could avoid all of this. Snipping at each other all the time and acting like we don't exist in the same room."

"Theron —"

"Just, wait a second," He pauses, then continues, "I didn't expect this to last forever. I knew that between me and you, we have a lot of conflict points. We argue, we make up, we fight sometimes and then that's that. But people don't stay in my life that long. Whether because of work or because of the fact I'm usually more devoted to that than anything else, I don't know. I've asked myself that a million times.

"With everything with Zildrog, I thought that had to be the last straw. There was no coming back from that, no matter what I said or did. I couldn't reason my way out of it. I spent so many nights awake just wondering what I could do to even get close, and nothing worked. So you leaving was the most likely reality to me. And when you said you'd never be able to forgive me or see me the same way again, well, figured at least I was right. That all of this was just stalling out the inevitable."

Understanding dawns on Zanya in a way that makes it feel like his blood runs cold. He hadn't been able to understand that interpretation of his words, at least not in that context. He still thinks that it makes so very little sense to have ever skimmed that reading off of them, but then again he didn't live in Theron's head. Nor is he in any place to correct him, when he supposes he wasn't fully wrong either, "You wanted me to leave?"

"I expected you to. With my track record, thought, honestly, that's where this conversation was going. Is going," Theron folds into himself, perhaps he had been this entire time, when he rubs the back of his neck. If it were possible for his voice to get quieter, more melancholic, it does, it and strikes at something Zanya didn't know he had, "It isn't about what I want, at the end of the day. Nowhere near it. But I've been having this dream, nightmare — over and over again where you're walking away and I can't catch up. I didn't want to keep torturing myself with that, so I figured I'd take myself out of the equation entirely. No matter how much it hurt."

There are simply too many thoughts logging through Zanya's head by the time Theron finishes his thoughts, and stops talking. He glances at the idling holo display, clearly attempting to look anywhere other than him. He doesn't know how to unpack half of things that he'd been told, nor does he know exactly how to mend any of those assumptions. A part of him is more annoyed that it clearly isn't an issue with him at all, but he'd been the one paying the price.

Yet, it's as fleeting as any other thought, and he takes a step towards Theron.

"I never gave an indication that I intended to leave you. Or, I did not want that to be my intention. Yes, I needed space from you. Time to rethink, to … understand where I was in the aftermath. This was a lot to go through all at once," He picks and chooses his words with a level of accuracy that feels lacking, like each and every one is somehow both incorrect and correct at the same time, "You are not the first person to have done something similar to me."

Theron nods, quietly, "I remember."

"Yes. That could not simply be forgiven and ignored either. I did not want to, so I did not. I was hurt, I responded as such, and my life was torn asunder then," Zanya flicks away the fractured memories that make up his time on Corellia, fearing they would be simply too much to think on now. He wouldn't let himself slip back into that moment, into the person he was then, not again. He refocuses, "Forgiving and forgetting is the absolving and burying of past transgressions. If that is what you wished for, I am sorry to have disappointed you. But when I spoke of that, it did not mean that I was to simply discard everything we were and have been. It means there is change to be acknowedged, and atonement to be embarked upon. I would not just — leave. I do not find us to be broken and irrepairable. It would be quite juvenile to believe otherwise."

There's a hesitant interest that lights in hazel eyes, as if Theron is wholly unsure of where Zanya is going with such a thing. It's fleeting, as quickly as it's replaced by doubt, "You don't have to do that you know. It's not like I deserve it."

"Why not?" One step, two, enough to close the distance where there's only two feet between them, and he holds Theron's gaze, "We are not stagnant creatures. We are capable of change, and it does not have to be the end if we do not want it to be."

"Zanya …"

He raises an eyebrow, though can only hope it is far less accusatory than he's sure it looks, "The thought I would leave after the fact, your surety of that concerns me. Why was that not something you brought to me before?"

Theron squeezes his eyes shut, then reopens them, "Would you have listened?"

"Not at first, perhaps," He would not lie and say something to balm over his fears, that wouldn't get them anywhere. But he did have every intention of finding his way to the center of them, "Later, possibly. I cannot speak for who I was two months ago, only who I am now."

"I guess that's fair, or as fair as it's going to get," Theron responds, "Stability wasn't exactly something that was always afforded to me. Not as a kid, and definitely not now. I think, somewhere in the back of my head I knew that if the Emperor or Arcann or Vaylin or whoever else didn't take you from me, it'd be something I did. The wrong words, the wrong choice, the wrong thing I did at the wrong moment. I knew that there was always going to be something that could have made you walk away, and I made my peace with it. Or, I did. And then the years passed and — things changed. I started looking forward, started thinking about whether there was a future there or not. With you. For us."

Zanya bites his own tongue, preventing himself from shoving yet another foot in his mouth. Letting him continue, he tugs on the end of his glove as if that would quiet his mind.

"Somehow I started getting more and less scared all at the same time. More because you were so important to so many people that I knew I'd never be priority number one. I guess I knew that there might be one day where you left me to the wayside. Less though because everything also felt like it was falling into place. Things felt comfortable, believe it or not, I was ready to — doesn't matter," The first chuckle of the evening that feels less guarded, softer in a way that's tinged with an undertone of self-directed sadness. Zanya can't parse out what the rest of his sentence was before he finishes the rest of his thought, "I felt like I was in limbo. Torn between feeling like I'd never loved someone like I loved you before, and feeling like it all wouldn't even matter tomorrow because it'd be gone before I knew it. And I thought, if I felt ready to leave at the drop of a hat, it wouldn't hurt so bad when I actually did. Apparently a load of good I was doing, huh?"

Zanya can only nod, the knot in his chest loosening all the while. To find out that he felt the same as he did, with the same expectations and the same fears he kept locked away beneath his ribs, it feels both relieving and crushing. Neither of them expected the other to stay nearly as long as they had. Not in the way they had at least. Misplaced and well-placed guilt curl around his lungs. There was nothing he could have done to prevent it, really, but he still wants unreasonably hard to think that he could have. He feels responsible. That he should've been someone that Theron was actually able to trust — rather than expecting it outright.

Should he?

Leave it to Theron to make him actually consider thinking backwards than forwards. He did always seem to give Zanya a reason to think differently than he usually did. Everything about him managed to change almost every aspect of his life thus far, what was one more sliver of his mindscape?

"Then, what do you want, Theron?"

"What do I want?" He looks almost startled by the question, "Shouldn't that be what I'm asking you?"

"My want has not changed since we parted ways on Umbara," Zanya answers. It's truth, when he unravels all the complications between then and now, and he sees little reason to continue shrouding him away from it. Theron had been honest with him, maybe more honest now than ever, and he would do the same in return, even if it takes him an agonizing amount of seconds to put his head together, "I wanted to understand what had driven you to such lengths, and I wanted to resolve what ever had caused such a divergence in our worldviews. I wanted you to return to me."

He's quiet. Almost for too long, almost enough to make him worry. Zanya can see the cogs turning in his head, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners as if he's studying him all the while.

"I, yeah. I want that too. I mean, to not go — to come back to you in a way that — stars, hurts so bad some nights," The depths of his hazel eyes feel almost all consuming when he admits it, trying to set his expression and failing, "I still — you know better than anyone that I'm terrible with relationships, but there's something more that doesn't want to move on. I'm sorry. I don't think I could fall out of love with you if I tried. I know I wasn't what I should've been then, maybe I'm still not now and really, I'm terrified I'll make another mistake and lose you for good. And I'll be out of your hair if that's what you want. But if you'd let me spend the rest of my time here making it up to you …"

He trails off, looking away from Zanya, and then dragging his eyes back all the same as if anchored to him. There's a sense of fear that spills off of him that Zanya doesn't even have to touch his force signature to feel, as much as there is hope mixed into it all. Hope is an emotion he only began to learn much of off of Theron's presumption for the better. Where he once found it annoying, when they started working together nearly a decade prior, it now feels more like a familiar quirk of the galaxy that he keeps returning to.

He grasps it, "I need you to promise me something."

"Name it."

"Whatever it may be that we face in the future, we face it together," Zanya feels a weight lifting off his chest that he'd thought had settled there permanently when he says it. In the grand scheme of things it isn't much, but its enough to let him fill his lungs again, "If nothing else, I implore you to not take away your own opportunities to trust me."

"Yeah. When it comes to — well, anything regarding us, no more smoke and mirrors. I promise," Theron nods, and his expression softens when he speaks again, "Never again."

"Good," Zanya responds, "I do not enjoy being at odds with you."

"Neither do I. I haven't slept a wink in a while," If his words don't cement that fact, the way he deflates afterwards does. He does look more exhausted than usual, but isn't as if Zanya looks much better. He flickers off the holo-display a moment later, leaving them in only the low light of the night cycle's glint of the overheads, "So. Where do we … go from here?"

Zanya rolls the thought about in his head, and does not take a moment longer than to close the distance enough to press a kiss to Theron's cheek — just far removed enough to not have implied more than he wanted, but enough to do away with the space between them. It settles his nerves again, at least, no longer feeling as if they're as caustic as they once were.

He's missed him. Zanya is honest enough with himself to admit as much.

Vette wakes up in the middle of the night. At first, she isn’t sure why, she’s still sleepy and comfy half in her sleeping bag, one bare leg luxuriously sticking out. But something has woken her up. Something that seems to come from her guts, an innate danger sense. She carefully peeks out from under the covers. The room is dark. The light from the moons that might come through the thin curtains is dimmer than she expects and makes the shadows in the room almost impenetrable. Good thing she isn’t afraid of the dark, right?

Then she hears a dull shuffling sound and freezes.

It stops again, but it has come from outside the room, in the hallway. She tries to make out more, but it’s quiet.

Oh, come on, they said they never come inside…

She’s annoyed now, but still spooked, too, contemplating how considerate she should be. Should she really suffer awake while the others happily snooze the night away? And what if it’s actually something else, some low-budget assassin that can’t even sneak around properly?

She immediately discards that possibility again when a truly awful moan comes from the hallway, keening and gurgling like there’s something thick and wet down its throat. The shadows around the door seem to grow.

“Oh fuck no,” Vette whispers loudly, crosses over Qyrhu’s sleeping form still half in her sleeping bag, “I’m not sleeping on the outside.”

She tucks herself in on the inside of their sleeping arrangement, feeling a lot more like she won’t be the first one getting grabbed if these things come inside, sandwiched between a slowly rousing Qyrhu and a Theron whose back is turned to her. She can’t see his head because it’s under an entire pillow that his arm is holding in place over his head. Wait, has he just been trying to continue to sleep like this? Next to Theron is a motionless Faro, laying flat on her back and her arms on her chest like an entombed mummy.

“Whzhgh?” Qyrhu groggily intones as he appears from out his own sleeping bag.

“There’s things in the hallway. You asshole said they wouldn’t come inside.”

“Hnm?” his eyes still aren’t open while he’s rubbing his face. “They don’t.”

The sound that wafts over to them now is like the splashing of vomit hitting the floor. The air in the room becomes inexplicably thick and damp. There’s no smell to it, but it really feels like it should smell like rotten corpse.

“You wanted to keep that shitty relic!” Vette hisses and pulls his own pillow away from him to bury her nose into. She has forgotten hers on his other side. “So go fix this. I can’t sleep in these conditions!”

Qyrhu grumbles but unzips his sleeping bag and reluctantly rises from their mats. He shuffles through the room, collecting his lightsaber and throwing on a bathrobe over his downtime clothes. He’s taking his sweet fucking time putting on his mismatched slippers while heinous looking shadowy goo creeps in from between the upper crack of the door.

At the sound of Qyrhu exiting the room like he’s just going to the fresher, Theron’s head comes out from bellow his pillow, sleepily looking after him as he closes the door. He doesn’t seem all that enthused to follow though.

Everything is quiet.

Keeps being quiet.

Vette and Theron are straining their ears.

Then there’s one wet slap, loud in the dead quiet, like someone just hit a huge dead fish.

A many throated scream pierces the air, discordant and dreadful. Vette feels goosebumps popping down her entire back. She watches as, out of thin air, deep scratches slowly grow downwards on their walls, and she grips Theron’s arm in horror. Theron tenses and grabs Faro’s arm in turn. Faro is still lying on her back and looking up at the ceiling with a flat expression. She simply shifts the knife she has been holding in her one hand to the other that isn’t restricted by Theron’s grip.

Meanwhile, the hall is still a cacophony. There’s lightsaber noises, screaming that alternates between piercingly high and vibratingly low, sounds of breaking glass and shattering furniture, one enormous stomping thud that shakes the entire floor of the barn floor they’re on. They aren’t sure if the harsh hitting sounds are Qyrhu’s doing or if they are being done to him. The muffled grunts that come every now and then tell them he’s still alive at least.

As they are beginning to wonder if they should maybe go look if he needs some help the screaming changes into blubbering gurgles and finally, a relieving silence. They hadn’t noticed how dark it had become as the shadows seem to return to grey instead of deepest black, and beams of cool moonlight trace the floor.

The door opens on creaking hinges. Qyrhu comes back inside, re-tightening the belt of his bathrobe. There’s something dark staining the front of his robe, but otherwise he looks surprisingly unscathed.

Theron releases himself from various forgotten grips and clambers over to look at the stained robe. His fingers come away red.

“Jam has run out,” Qyrhu says to that.

Faro intones a sigh from deep within her chest, not having budged from her mat.

“I always thought that kitchen was lacking,” she says. “The next one is all in stone.”

“It’s not that bad,” Qyrhu assures, “but um… I’m going to the market tomorrow. The milk is all curdled.”

“How about durasteel for the kitchen,” Theron adds, sucking the jam off his fingers, “I don’t want any more stone in this hut, feels like all of it’s cursed.”

“When did you say that buyer comes in again?” Vette angles her head over to Faro, “Please say tomorrow…”

“You know it, Vette,” she says with eyes already closed again.

Unsurprisingly, Qyrhu scoffs at that and looks at them reproachfully. “Excuse me? You just decide to give away the one thing that makes this hovel look like it has some class?”

“Yes,” everyone intones at the same time.

“Cantik,” Sonnas said. He reached for her chin, trying to get a look at her expression probably, and she snapped at his fingers.

“Yours or mine?” she repeated.

“Cantik,” Sonnas sighed. “I can tell something is wrong.” He’d been startled by her sudden attachment to him, but now he wrapped his arms around her. Cantik shuddered in his grip involuntarily, and hoped he wouldn’t notice. It was a futile hope, she knew; Sonnas noticed everything. Normally she liked that about him. He really paid attention to her.

She didn’t want anyone looking at her right now.

“Are you going to take me to your ship and screw me if I ask nicely?” she said plaintively.

“Tell me what’s wrong, first,” he said. “Then we’ll see how you feel.”

He wasn’t going to drop it. He never did. He cared too much to let Cantik get away with glossing over her emotions.

But she’d never done something this awful before.

“I killed a padawan today,” she admitted quietly. Sonnas’ arms went slack around her for a moment as he stopped breathing. Cantik winced, waiting for him to pull back entirely.

“What happened?” He pulled her a little closer. Cantik couldn’t respond for a moment, with the relief sitting so large and painful in her throat.

“She wouldn’t listen,” Cantik said. “She kept – her master was – he was suffering like Yuon. He kidnapped her, and she bought into the crazy shit he was spouting and she wouldn’t fucking listen to me!”

Cantik had been told she was lucky she couldn’t cry. She didn’t think that was true, because the lack of eyes for tears left her with nothing but dry, heaving sobs in her chest. It was loud and painful and embarrassing and now she was doing it directly into Sonnas’ robes no matter how she tried to bite it back.

“Oh, Cantik,” Sonnas sighed. “What hangar are you in?”

“What?” Was he seriously going to take her up on her proposition now?

“Doesn’t seem like now is a good time to introduce you to Kira,” he said. “And we should talk in private. I’m sorry I made you tell me out here in the spaceport. That’s… awful.”

Cantik swallowed, her horrible sobs fading to hiccups. “Yeah.” This wasn’t how she’d wanted him to make her feel better, but maybe it was. She knew what Sonnas was like. She knew what he would do for her. He always put effort into the ugliest of feelings, and Cantik couldn’t deny that was part of what she loved about him.

“She was such a good kid,” Cantik murmured as she pulled out of Sonnas’ arms to lead him back to her ship. “She and her master were close. Like you and yours.”

Sonnas knew how jealous Cantik was of the years he’d spent with his master. Nobody ever passed him around like a piece of junk they didn’t know what to do with. Typically, he didn’t say anything, just hummed sympathetically.

“I told her it was stupid. That nothing Tykan was saying made sense. She wasn’t an idiot. Why didn’t she listen to me?”

“I don’t know,” Sonnas said. “It wasn’t your fault. You tried everything you could. She made her choice.”

That was what Cantik had said to the soldier who’d wanted her to kill Tykan. She clenched a fist thinking about him. He was so angry she’d let Tykan live, when it was never his fault this happened, but he’d been broken up over the girl who heard Tykan spout nonsense and still thought he was worth fighting for? How was that fair?

“Cantik?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Look, if we’re not going to sleep together, you don’t have to come with me. Not much left to talk about. I told you everything.”

“I have a little time,” Sonnas said. “My ship needs maintenance before we can leave. I’ll stay.”

“Great,” Cantik muttered. “Just great.” At least Qyzen would have already tucked himself away in the depths of the ship like always. He was reliable like that.

“It’s obviously bothering you,” Sonnas said quietly, stopping Cantik just before she stabbed her finger at the button that would take them down to the hangar. To her embarrassment, he reached out and tapped the button below the one she’d aimed for. She’d been so caught up in herself she hadn’t been paying attention. Stupid up and down arrows, always painted on and never textured. “I don’t want to walk away until I know you’ll be all right.”

“What if you have to? What if your ship gets fixed and they need you somewhere right away?”

There was a flicker of guilt in Sonnas’ Force presence. Cantik pounced on it.

“You do have somewhere to be. What are you doing with me?”

“I can’t go anywhere until my ship is fixed, so I might as well help my best friend,” Sonnas said firmly. “Yes. I should go as soon as I can. But I can’t right now, so I’m here.”

She wished just an ounce of that care was because he loved her the way she loved him. Then again, she was bad enough at being a Jedi in most people’s eyes, for all that she followed the code and tried to do everything right. Clearly she hadn’t been Jedi enough to convince Aris…

She waited, wondering, as they finished. It was easy enough to brush off the Wrath's looks. They were not so similar. It was Tad, really, that gave her pause. She'd always thought he felt about Sith as she did, that same throat-tightening fear telling them to run away before they were cornered. For him to sit so calmly across from a Sith Lord, as though the Dark Side clinging to the younger man like a shroud didn't remind Tad of clinging to her with bloody hands, the Sith must matter.

Ivellan looked at the Wrath's nose again and told herself it couldn't be true. Tad had told her he'd delivered her son safely to the arms of other Jedi.

Tad had slowly stopped speaking to her over the next few months, too.

"Ivvy."

She jumped, hand going to her lightsabre on an old instinct. Wrath was gone, vanished as she lost herself in old pain and fear, and it was only Tad in front of her.

"I didn't want to interrupt," she said. She didn't apologise for reaching for a weapon. They both did, when startled. He didn't need the apology.

She hoped it hadn't been so long that he did, anyway.

"You didn't," he said. "You settling in ok?"

"Nobody has gone screaming past my window on a heavily-modified swoop bike," she said as she began to prepare the Enclave for the day. Cushions, new training dummies... Tad didn't follow her as she walked the length of the room.

"Sorry," he said.

"For not waking me up with your trademark recklessness?" Was he still reckless? In his forties, did he even own his swoop bike anymore? Ivellan couldn't look at his expression as she laid out cushions for her meditation practice.

"No," he said. "I... I suppose not."

"Well, you should be," Ivellan said, startling herself. She straightened up to glare at him before she could catch herself. He still wore his hair the same. What right did he have to look like so little had changed? "We had a whole life planned together. So where have you been all these years? More than two decades, Tad! And I -"

Lightning, or the memory of it, crackled in the corners of her eyes. She wrapped her arms around her middle and turned away from him.

"You weren't supposed to give up on me," she said quietly.

"I didn't, Ivvy," he said. She still couldn't look at him. "I... Ivellan, I - your son, I -"

"I don't want to know," she cut him off sharply. "If I'd wanted a son I would have done something to keep him. You were the one I meant to keep. You're the one who left me alone."

There was no sound but the quiet hum of the computer terminal in the corner. Then one footstep. Then another.

"What do you want from me now?" he asked. He was too quiet and calm. He shouldn't have stepped hesitantly toward her. Where was his energy?

"I want my Tad," she said quietly. "Or did you lie him out of your life, just like me?"

A quiet, rueful laugh. She looked at him again, properly this time. He still wore the mask she'd gotten him so he'd look more presentable on Jedi business, red fabric now faded with age. There were lines on his forehead.

"I can still show you a good time, princess padawan," he said, reaching out a hand. "Got a swoop bike in the garage and lots of empty planet out there."

Ivellan sighed fondly and reached out to squeeze his hand.