He’s absolutely unhinged. There’s nothing stopping him at this point. I’m sorry. We have to do something now, or he’ll be gone forever.

There’s blood on his hands. Cool, slick, sticky as it dries and horribly thick. It’s not his. What is his trickles in a thin black river down his face into his eye, seeping from a cut sitting above his brow. It’s smudged from his mouth where he bit his lip so hard it split like a fruit. It’s matted in his hair where a blow to the head nearly shook him loose from his prey. Nearly, but not soon enough. Fuck, he hates it, the lingering itch he gets feeling those terrible hands on him again. It makes him want to claw his own skin off, if only to make it stop.

Niko employed an ancient Sith technique to finally, blessedly take Master’s life. It didn’t take nearly as long as he’d hoped it would. He caught him alone, hiding from his debts in a dingy motel in the badlands of Tatooine. One hand shoved down on his windpipe while the other, assisted by the Force, plunged between the man’s ribcage and clutched around his heart. And then he pulled. It wasn’t enough momentum to fully dislodge the pulsing lump, but it was hard enough to tear. He stopped struggling soon after, his human organs too weak to sustain his life much longer. Master’s eyes glazed over, face frozen in a mask of fear, sudden recognition, and a sickening sliver of satisfaction.

You can never really escape me. Didn’t you know that, my pet?

The tears had long since run dry, leaving rivulets down his dirty cheeks. There was an empty fog in his head, not quite tantamount to the buzzing, burning rage that surged in his lungs, but enough that it quelled him a little. Just a little. Enough to think.

He knows where he is. Yes, I’m sure. He’ll get himself killed out there… refusing his rebreather… found her yet. She might work. A solid Anchor if… we know that can’t happen… but what about the coordinates? No. It’s too late. All we can do is hope he covers his tracks.

He needs this. We need to let whatever happens just…happen.

He remembers. There was a ping on an old holomap. Hadzuska had left the room unlocked, before he… before they killed him. He watched in mute horror as a name, a face, vital signs, a dossier popped up. Master. Then the remembering slows, like honey through a funnel. He remembers tearing through the halls, being caught, familiar face, kindness, worry. “Please, don’t. We can handle this together,” but it’s too late. Lungs burning, feet moving of their own accord, tunnel vision. Hijacking the shuttle, commanding the droid to go. A lightsaber poised at its circuit board. It was an offer it couldn’t refuse.

A rough landing, definitely illegal. Sand whipping at his face, his clothes, the hot, dry air torture on his lungs. No mask. He has to see my face. Breaking down the door, “You! I thought you–” and he lunged, lightsaber lopping off an arm so he couldn’t…touch anymore, clawed hand crushing his vocal chords so he couldn’t say horrible things anymore. Sharpened talons plunging through viscera, cracking bone, a sickening squelch, and nothing. He was crying. And now he’s numb.

The whir of an igniting lightsaber startles him. Slumped against the wall, he lifts his head up, heavy and corpselike. Aria. He knows before he even recognizes her, the ever-present thrum of the Force amplified by her presence. She’s unhappy.

“Hello, Niko,” she says, and her voice is soft but uncharacteristically uncertain.

He wants to say something, but the words are too heavy on his tongue. He can only blink at her, slow and lethargic.

“Are you finished here?”

He doesn’t know. But he wants so badly to be finished here. Niko leans forward in an attempt to get up. The point of the lightsaber lands a precious few inches from his face. Golden, warm like sunlight and impossibly bright. Niko isn’t sure he’s seen something so beautiful in his life.

“I’d rather you not move right now,” she says, but there’s no bite behind her words. Just more uncertainty. And sadness. There’s plenty of that, enough that it makes Niko remember how long Aria’s actually lived, how much she’s seen.

“Are you going to kill me?” He asks. He’s… not too sure what answer he’d prefer. What was left for him, now that his hopes of forgetting were gone? More nightmares, more flashbacks, more waking up in a cold sweat? More drinking himself to a stupor just to feel some sense of normalcy? More letting strangers in a cantina get too close and scaring them off just to feel in control? Just for the attention? More keeping the people he really needs at arm’s length, only to hide behind them at the first sign of a slave collar?

No.

“Are you going to kill me?” He asks again, but it’s more of a challenge than anything. He rises up on his knees to face her, defiant. “If you’re going to kill me, make it quick. Look,” he drags the tip of his finger (bloody, sore, definitely broke a talon) across his neck, “right along here. Quick, painless, not too messy.”

Aria doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t do anything but sit there with her fucking lightsaber pointed at his head, unflinching even as Niko’s hackles rise and static crackles along his arms.

“Did you hear me? I asked if you’re gonna kill me. You gonna do something about it? Huh?” He taps insistently against his jugular vein. “Here! You want me to do it myself? Make it easy for you? Right here! Right fuckin’ here! Just one slice and it’s over!”

She doesn’t do it.

“Fucking kill me! You coward! Fuckin’ coward! You can’t kill me, can you?!” He screams the words, throat already hoarse with crying. “Just do it and be rid of me! Get rid of the family weakling!” He throws his arms open wide, fresh tears streaming down his face. “Just do what Papa did and forget about me! Sell me off again to save your own skin, pretend I was never there! Is that so hard?!”

Aria disengages the lightsaber. They’re silent for a long, long time. It takes just as long for Niko to stop crying. They could’ve sat there for days, Aria crouched in front of him and Niko very pointedly not looking at her. He can feel the heat of the day slowly sinking behind the canyons, long shadows growing longer as the seconds tick by into minutes, minutes into hours.

“Are you finished, Niko?” She repeats. But all the fear is gone. She’s genuinely asking if he’s ready. Can you believe it? Surreal. He wants to laugh.

Niko wipes his face with his arm, human blood be damned. Fine. Let’s go with this.

“Yeah. I wanna go home.”