#kitra

He leaves it a few hours before going to find her, because despite what Plo says he does have some self-preservation instinct still remaining. He follows her signature across Coruscant, down the levels, stopping only when he sees the bar she's chosen to drown her sorrows in.

She must be really angry with him, if she's here. She must really not want to see him.

He briefly considers respecting her wishes, but he can feel how she's aching, how deeply she's hurting. He can feel how it's curdling in her stomach and boiling her blood, even so many hours after the event. She might be angry with him, with the whole council right now, but she never does well on her own when she's upset.

He would have left her to it, but both Nocte and Ashe are working this evening, and he hates to think of her suffering alone. She might curse his name, she might even punch him, but she won't stagger home alone tonight and that's what matters.

Kit steels himself and walks into 79s.

The clones recognise him first, though it takes the civilians a few moments longer. Without the cloak and formal robes, it's much easier to pass as just a normal citizen. Unfortunately, his face is currently plastered all over the most recent Senate propaganda, all because he lost a coin toss with Obi-Wan. Currently, barring Master Yoda, Kit is just about the most recognisable Jedi out there.

It doesn't help any that there is an extremely large billboard with his face on right outside the entrance.

His own battalion nod and smile as he passes them, and he acknowledges them all as he winds his way towards the back of the bar where he can feel Dara's angry pulsating presence residing. The others are not nearly so at ease with him. Monnk is sitting at a large table with his fellow Commanders, and he waves at Kit as he passes. The other Commanders, barring Fox, all stare at him with frozen faces. Kit pretends not to notice as Bly stamps on Monnk’s foot beneath their table for drawing attention to them.

Kit waves back, smiling. Monnk knows he’s hardly one to mind a bit of carousing after a hard campaign. Fox too, unfortunately for the both of them. Still, he thinks he’s forgiven as Fox tips his drink in Kit’s direction. He grins and keeps moving.

One of the servers, a young togruta with dusty pink skin, almost drops her tray when she sees him. She scurries away, presumably to find the owner. He sighs internally.

He spots Dara quickly enough, sitting in a booth with her back to him. There is a woman sitting opposite her.

She has deep red skin; not quite as dark as wine and not quite as pink as ruby. Garnet, Kit muses. A suitably geological description, he thinks. Her hair is silver, tied back in a bun. A few loose curls hang forwards over her forehead like threads of moonlight. Her cheeks are dusted with pale white freckles.

She looks upset, frowning concernedly as she holds one of Dara’s hands over the table.

Kit is about to turn around and walk away, satisfied that Dara is not in fact alone, when the woman across from her looks up and sees him. Her eyes widen in alarm, and she snatches her hand away from Dara’s, standing so quickly she bangs her legs against the table.

“Master Jedi,” she stammers, wiping her palms nervously over what Kit quickly realises to be an apron. She must work here. “How- uh- how can I help you?”

“Don't worry Cherise,” Dara mutters, her voice soft and a little slurred. “He’s here for me.”

If anything the woman, Cherise, just looks more alarmed at Dara’s words.

She still doesn’t turn to look at him.

“Um, okay…” Cherise says, her eyes flicking rapidly between Kit and Dara, “can I, um, get you a drink?”

“Yes please,” Kit says, sliding into the booth beside Dara. She shifts up grumpily to let him, staring down morosely into her drink. He throws an arm over the back of the booth behind her, pulling his ahwey forwards with the other hand so he doesn’t end up leaning on them. It’s never a good idea to let your ahwey rest on something in a public space, especially not something in a somewhat seedy bar.

“A full bottle of whatever she is currently drinking, plus a second for that table over there,” he says, pointing towards Monnk and the other Commanders. “Please, keep the change.”

Dara blinks as he hands over a fistful of credits he doesn’t bother to count. It’s the most she’s reacted to anything he’s said or done since he arrived.

“That’s a lot of money,” she murmurs, watching as Cherise accepts the credits with both hands cupped together. “Where did you get it?”

“I stole it,” Kit says blithely.

Cherise’s eyes widen almost comically.

“Who from?” Dara asks curiously.

“Quinlan,” Kit says as he leans back in the booth, “He was irritating me.”

Dara snorts softly as Cherise stares at him in confusion. Eventually, she shakes her head and clears her throat.

“Two full bottles,” she says frowning, “I’m not sure...”

“I can assure you,” Kit interrupts, “the men on that table are perfectly well behaved.”

Cherise’s face twists as if she's tasted something sour. Dara laughs.

“It’s not them she’s concerned about, asshole,” she says. “It’s me.”

Cherise and Dara make eye contact, and Dara smiles somewhat sadly.

“You thought I wouldn’t notice you’ve been watering down my drinks for the past hour?” she murmurs.

Cherise snorts.

“Two, actually,” she says, and Dara laughs again.

“Clearly you needed it,” Kit says dryly, before turning back to Cherise. “And I can’t comment on my friend's future behaviour, but I can offer to look after her. And pay for any damages, of course.”

Cherise stares at him.

“He’s joking,” Dara says, finishing her drink and putting her empty glass on the table. “He can't afford that.”

Cherise looks between the two of them, then sighs.

“Fine,” she acquiesces, dropping the pile of credits into the front pocket of her apron before looking up at Dara once more.

“You sure you’re okay here?” she asks, her eyes flicking to Kit distrustfully.

“I’m fine, Cherry,” Dara says. “Don’t worry about it.”

Cherise frowns at her for a moment, then nods.

“Alright,” she says, lifting her chin. “You know where to find me if that changes.”

She glares at Kit, the threat clear in her eyes, before she sweeps back towards the bar. Kit watches her go, consideringly.

“I like her,” he says, turning back towards Dara. She’s scowling at him.

“I thought I made it clear that I don’t want to speak to you right now,” she says.

“I know,” he sighs, pulling his arm away from her and into his lap, “but I didn't want you to be alone.”

“I wasn't alone.”

“Well, I didn't know that.”

“Well why don't you leave?”

“Do you want me to?” he asks softly, looking at her carefully.

She turns away, fiddling with her empty glass and glaring at the table top. She swallows, blinking rapidly, the ends of her ahwey twitching slightly. He can't get any prevailing scent from her, the air in here is too dense with the hundred or so people enjoying their evening, and she’s likely been regulating herself as soon as he arrived.

He knows her though. He's known her almost as long as he can remember. He doesn’t know how to make this better though.

“Look, Dara,” he says, “I can't imagine what you must be feeling, but-”

Her bitter laugh stops him talking.

“No, no you really can’t,” she says, “so shut up, or go back to your quarters, take your saber, lube it up real nice, shove it up your ass, and press the fucking switch. You know what?” Her lip curls, exposing her canines. “Use mine. Even better.”

“Yours?”

Kit turns to see Cherise standing a few feet away. She’s holding a bottle of brandy and another glass and looking incredibly shocked. She swallows as she takes the final few steps up to the table, placing the bottle and glass in front of Kit.

She and Dara stare at each other, one face shocked, the other stricken.

"So… you're a Jedi?" Cherise says.

"Unfortunately," Dara says. She clasps her hands anxiously in front of her. "I'm sorry Cherry, I should've told you years ago I just- I don't know. Fuck. I'm sorry."

Cherise nods slowly, still staring at Dara. She doesn't say anything, just nods slightly dazedly before she walks away.

"Fuck," Dara says. She sounds gutted.

"Sorry," Kit murmurs, "I should've been more careful."

"No," she sighs, pulling the bottle towards her, "much as I'd like to blame you, that was definitely my fault. I should've told her years ago."

He understands the urge; the desire to have just one conversation where you are normal, just like everyone else. Especially from Dara, who has always had one foot out of the Temple doors. Dara, who has a constantly evolving list of pros and cons in her head about staying in the Jedi Order.

Dara, who has just stood and betrayed everything she stands for in the name of the so-called greater good.

He watches as she uncorks the bottle and lifts it straight to her lips. After she's taken a long swig, throat bobbing as she swallows, she pours them both a glass.

Her eyes are dull as she slides his glass towards him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Kit asks quietly.

She's quiet for a long time before she responds, staring down at the amber coloured liquid in her glass.

"Do I want to talk about it?" she muses softly, still staring at her drink. Kit watches her.

"Do I want to talk about how I just stood and betrayed everything I stood for," she continues, voice barely audible above the throbbing base.

"About how I just watched everything I've worked for, my life's fucking work, get turned inside out and used against itself?"

She stares at her drink, blank faced and voice so, so empty.

"I genuinely don't know," she says slowly, her voice cracking in the middle.

"Dara-" he starts, but she isn't finished.

"I'm not even angry with you," she adds thoughtfully, "you're just the only council member I can scream at without repercussions. I really don't want to get sent on a meditative retreat right now."

"Oh, I don't know," Kit murmurs, "you had a good scream at all of us yesterday."

"That wasn't screaming, that was calmly outlining my points of concern."

"Yes," Kit agrees, "very loudly."

Dara snorts, almost a giggle, and her eyes flick to his face briefly.

"Thank you for doing it," he says. He doesn't know if anyone has thanked her yet. "I know how you feel but…"

"I swear to all that I hold dear, Kit, if you say anything about the greater good right now-" she chokes on her words, her head ducking forwards and a tear rolling down her cheek.

She blinks rapidly, and he waits for her to compose herself before he keeps talking.

"I was just going to say," he said softly, "it will keep my troops alive a little bit longer, and for that I can only thank you."

She nods slowly.

"Can we-" her voice cracks, and more tears spill down her cheeks. "Can we just not talk for a little bit?"

Kit nods, finally taking a sip of his drink as she hides her tears in hers.

Later, when the bar is almost empty, he will hold her upright while she slurs apologies to Cherise. He will carry her back to the Temple and carry her up the steps. He will wait, while the anger and alcohol fades and all she is left with is her grief. He will hold her while she falls apart, screaming and crying in his arms.

Later still, he will think of her in his final moments. He will think of her as he follows Mace, Saesee and Agen into the Chancellor's office, and how she was right all along. He will think of her on her meditative retreat, because it turns out you can't lose control in front of the Council and escape without consequences. He will think of her scrambling up a mountain and at peace, and be desperately glad that she is far, far away from Coruscant.