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For all that Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas was an excellent pilot, he had one major flaw.
And that was that visions and steering a ship by hand did not agree with one another.
Concerned voices back at the Temple would say that he should just not fly, but that was out of the question for Sifo. Mainly because flying was the one thing he truly excelled at (apart from, you know, falling unconscious at various times of day and prophesying cryptic shit no one was paying attention to anyways). A man should be allowed at least a singular vice, for Force's sake!
After all, it was a vice that led to… interesting situations.
Like for example now, where Sy found himself partly hanging out of a cracked cockpit, angry lacerations all over his poor mangled self and with what definitely felt like a dislocated shoulder. And maybe a concussion. The jury was still out on that one, seeing as the line between concussion symptoms and vision aftershock was incredibly thin and easily confused.
The biting cold wind tearing at his face and hair did not help.
Sifo groaned and, breathing through the pain, pushed himself back into the shuttle. To have at least a bit of shelter from the elements.
Falling back into the half-crushed pilot seat - one side of the shuttle was now consideringly closer to the other than at the start of this journey - sent a new spike of red hot pain through his torso. So no jostling his own ribcage-and-or-spine. Got it.
Immersing himself into the Force, Sifo tried his best to assess the damages done to him. The shuttle was lost anyway. Not that he was in a much better condition. Rib fractures on both sides, hairline fracture on his skull, the entirety of his left side more or less one big bruise with open wounds on his arms and thigh where even his reinforced flightsuit had faught and evidently lost against the splintered viewscreen. In addition to that his aforementioned dislocated shoulder and the general discomfort surrounding his head.
Well, luckily the shock, adrenaline or the cold (or any combination of the three more likely) had staved off the brunt of the pain so far.
Yippee for him.
That would not last forever though.
Now, Sifo was a practical man. He had to be, his visions did not allow for taking the scenic route along life. Thus, the first thing he decided on was seeing to it that his blood - the part of it that remained at least - also stood inside his body.
The downside to falling into a healing trance while you were crashlanded on fuck-know-where was that you did not get to either keep an eye on your surrroundings or send a distress signal. Both of which Sy sadly had to accept, seeing as neither would do him any good if he died of blood loss anyways.
Another unfortunate tendency of healing trances was, that you never quite knew how much time it would take you. Especially without soneone to guide you in and out of it, it was very possible to knock yourself out for prolongued amounts of time, which was also why Sy opted against trying anything more than simply kitting his skin and flesh back together. That kind of thing usually didn't take more than a day or two.
He hoped it wouldn't get colder in the meantime.
Alas. It was a risk he'd have to take.
…
Waking up from the healing trance was a - in Sifo's humble opinion - unnecessarily tedious thing.
Moreso since in this case it involved quite the number of pains and aches returning full-force to his awareness.
Fuck.
And ouch.
He also was freezing, what a joy, and considering the frosty rosettes that had formed at the edges of the splintered glass in front of him, that was not just because he had been motionless for an extended period of time.
Cursing through his teeth, Sifo slowly got himself moving again. His fingers felt like they were frozen stiff, and the large field of bruising over his entire being did not help. There was a moment where his entire field of vision went stark white as he leaned forward a bit too far and pain lanced from his ribcage all the way up to the back of his head. The throbbing in his face only subsided after he pushed quite a bit of his pain into the Force. It wasn't an optimal solution, he knew that, as taking away the pain was probably just going to make him aggravate his injuries, but it would have to do.
At least until he could figure out where he was and who could come and get him.
Turns out, the answer to that might as well turn out to be 'no one', as his ship's comms were irrevocably fried. Well shit.
Calling through his bonds wouldn't work either, although he bet that Yan and Jo had probably gotten some gist of his pain, even through the massive distance they were apart. Sy checked his bonds anyways, and yep, just as suspected. Most he got was a very soft ping of quiet alarm.
So unless they managed to guess their way closer to him, even their technically illegal (if you asked Yoda) Knight-bonds were useless.
So the last resort was his personal comm. Rigging it to emit a mid-range distress call was easy and something you learned quite early during pilot training.
Sifo prayed to the Force that it hadn't been destroyed as he patted his suit uncoordinatedly, whilst simultaneously trying to not jostle his ribs too much. Relief flooded through him as he found it in his right breastpocket, feeling relatively intact. Tugging the pocket open with just one hand was challenging and he had to bite through quite a bit of discomfort as he had to angle his one working arm into positions that did not at all agree with the rest of his body. But in the end he managed and lo and behold, one almost unharmed comm was in his hands. Hand.
His left arm was still out of commission after all.
Fumbling, he started it up and checked the signal. Not great, but it would have to do.
After rigging that up, Sy decided that it was high time he did something against the quite airy conditions of the cockpit. Under quite a bit of staggering and cursing, he managed to prop himself up against the non-squashed side of the wall. After a quick breather and another session of release-the-pain-into-the-Force, he jerkily reached out to push the sliding door that separated the cockpit from the meager rest of the ship (barely more than a cot for napping and a little alcove with a 'fresher). It did take some effort, which left him cold and sweaty and just at the cusp of Force-exhaustion, but in the end he managed. The guts of his shuttle were entirely dark - probably better, if the energy was dead that meant there was no risk of the whole thing blowing up on him. But Sifo was familiar enough with it that he managed to simply stagger over to the cot and bundle himself up in the various blankets - the little bit of luxury he allowed himself - and simply doze for a while. To tank energy.
Did he wake up in pain? Sure.
But he also did feel like he wasn't about to keel over at the slightest intention of using the Force again.
He just hoped said Force would spare him from visions for the foreseeable future (ha!), because that would fuck him right over. Properly this time.
By moving very slowly and more feeling than seeing anything, Sifo managed to angle himself both his jedi robe and some rations - he needed hydration and electrolytes for his body to replenish the blood and sweat he had lost - and retreated back into the little crevice that was his bunk.
After that, he waited.
And hoped.
Between dozing and spending short intervals on shallow trances to at least accelerate the healing of his broken bones, time passed. Quickly or not Sy couldn't say, as he lost all reference for it.
At least until he remembered to check his comm. Which was running rather low on energy. Shit.
He cradled the little device in his hands.
"Don't," he whispered hoarsely, "don't you dare run out of juice now, hear me?" Of course it didn't. It was a simple electronic device after all. But he did pull the brightness down all the way, to at least get as long of a running time as possible out of it.
That was the exact moment the Force seemingly took pity on him, and in the dark, against the backdrop of the whistling wind outside, there was an ever so quiet ‘ding’ as a singular notification popped up on the comm.
[Pssst! Your next quaintance is only a SPRINT away!]
[1 of your Matches is close by. Message them now!]
For a moment, all Sifo could do was stare.
His brain needed a moment - nay, several - to fully understand what just had happened.
There was a notification on his comm. A Sprintr notification. A notification from a dating platform for quick hookups. Here. Now.
Indicating that someone using that app - someone with whom he had previously matched - was close by. Close by as in ‘just a sprint away’, which was the selling point of the application; finding people close by who were interested in a quick hookup. (He and Jo originally had subscribed to it purely for funsies and to see who else in the Temple was on there. Jo had deleted it after a really close call with Master Yaddle of all people.) (Sifo hadn’t. He had lost all of his shame ages ago. Though he had bonded quite nicely with one of the Shadows on the app - although it hadn’t ended in a hookup, it had produced his one solid friendship outside of his crèchemates.)
And evidently the thing might just be able to save his life as well!
Immediately, with jittery fingers, he opened the notification and without further looking started typing.
[So, uhm, I'm not looking to fuck right now, but my ship kind of crashed and my rigged comm with the distress signal is running out of juice.]
[I know this is kind of random, but is there any chance you could come rescue me?]
[No one else seems to be picking up my signal but you pinged as the closest person on my Sprintr, so…]
For a tense, tense moment nothing happened.
Then, a message popped up.
[Sure. Why not.]
It felt like an entire planet rolled off Sifo's shoulders.
Maybe he was gonna get out of this in one piece after all.
[Do you know where you are?]
Sifo hesitated at that. The nav had been as dead as the rest of the ship when he had come to.
[Not sure. Castriila System. I assume one of the Planets or a bigger moon, as it does support a breathable atmosphere here. Breathable for humans. Real windy and cold outside, but I'm still in the ship so I can't say more.]
[Sorry I'm not of more help >.<']
That time the reply took a while to come.
[No sweat. Think I found where.]
And with that, his mysterious would-be savior's status changed to 'offline'.
…
When Jaster had taken the week off to go on a bit of a pleasure cruise (read: recreational bounty hunting since he could not hit the evaar'ade but he could hit some smuggling slaver bastards), he had not expected to receive a distress call.
Over a dating app no less.
If this was a ruse or prank it definitely was the weirdest one he had ever witnessed. And that was saying something.
Then again, considering how absurdly out there this was, Jaster actually was leaning towards this being real. So he was honorbound to act on it. After all, even if it turned out to be fake, it would be a fun story to tell his verd'e .
Approaching Kon-III - planetoid-sized moon of the biggest planet in the system, just at the very edge of the habitable zone and largely a water world - he started sweeping for life-signs, not really expecting anything. The perpetual storm covering the moon didn't help signal clarity, but he was surprised to actually get a ping.
A single life form.
So it had actually been true.
What the kark?!
Lucky bastard had managed to crash on one of the few strips of actual, solid land that peeked out from beneath the storm tossed sea. Jaster immediately got to preparing for an actual karking rescue.
What the kark.
Navigating through the winds was tricky, but Jaster was a good enough pilot that he managed to set down without too many scrapes to his trusty ship. One perk of this perpetual storm was that the rocky surface was smoothed down to an almost perfectly flat surface. Stepping outside with his buy'ce up and HUD on, he immediately saw the downed ship. Shuttle.
Some sort of Republic issue, making out the details was tricky because its portside was almost entirely crushed, the generous viewscreen splintered. Closing in, Jaster realized that there was quite a bit of dried blood all over it as well. Osik , that jare'la di'kut hadn't mentioned being hurt in the crash!
Jaster's adrenaline spiked. He didn't have a lot of options for urgent medical care aboard his ship and that looked like a lot of blood had been lost.
Osik.
Cursing, he rushed the rest of the distance and clambered into the dark cockpit. Inside there was more blood.
<Hey!,> he called out over his external speaker, looking around, <You still alive here? Fucking hells, you->
But before he could start properly anxiety-cursing, his HUD picked up movement in the dark. Unpeeling from what before read only as a ball of cloth to him, a humanoid figure staggered off a small cot on one side. A gaunt, humanoid face, pale as a ghost, got illuminated by the stormy gray light coming in from outside.
Jaster froze. They looked horrible. Blood encrusting long hair into a matted mess, the left side of their face basically one big bruise with the eye dark from a ruptured blood vessel. What was hidden underneath the swathes of cloth they had huddled themself in probably looked equally as bad, if not worse. All that blood in the cockpit had to have come from somewhere after all.
They looked seconds away from keeling over.
<Hey, hey! Don't stand up!> Jaster said, slightly panicked.
He reached out to support their swaying form, but seeing him approach, their eyes widened. As if burned, they staggered back, blank fear on their features.
Jaster's hands flew up, open. <Hey, it's okay. See? No weapons.> The distrust in their stormy eyes did not abade. <Uhm, remember me? Jaster. You wrote me on Sprintr to come and rescue you?>
The person's already panickedly wide eyes grew even further. Then, they crumpled to the floor, their gaze never leaving Jaster. One of their hands flew to their mouth, obscuring whatever they were mumbling.
<I mean no harm. Ori'haat. I swear.> Jaster tried his best to make himself seem small and harmless, a tricky thing as a mando'ad in full beskar'gam , he was aware. <You good with me coming and picking you up? I'd rather have you in my ship patched up with bacta sooner than later.> He smiled disarmingly, then immediately felt like an idiot. They wouldn't see it, would they. He still was wearing his damn bucket after all.
He was just about to consider taking off his buy'ce as a show of good faith, when the person gave a tentative nod.
"I- yes," their voice was soft and raspy. Maybe from pain? Not a good sign. "You can… come. No picking up though please," they added hastily as he stepped up, "I think I fractured basically all of my ribs."
Jaster's eyebrow rose at the attempt at humor.
<It can't be that bad if you're still able to joke about it,> he quipped back, reaching under what he assumed was their arm to help them stand.
Wrong thing, because as soon as he tried to pull them up, they let out a soft cry of pain and crumpled a bit. Jaster immediately sprung back.
"No, do-," there was an audible, forced exhale and they pressed their pale lips together, "Do what you must. I can- I can manage." Then, quieter, more to themselves, they said, "The Force's probably sick of getting all of this pain from me." A light, slightly hysterical giggle escaped them. Then, their eyes rolled back and their head fell forward, before they immediately snapped back, swaying.
"No Sy," they murmured now, eyes rolling around unfocussed, "Tah's no-t… Jo's gonna be sssso mad iff you… die. Here." Another giggle shook their frame. "Sh-sshe's gonna kill me," they said as if it was the funniest joke in the world, not quite managing to look up at Jaster.
A string of incredibly colorful curses flew out of his mouth.
<Hey, hey, get a grip. Don't->
They lurched forward again.
Jaster immediately caught them.
<Okay, this will probably hurt like a bitch. Congrats.> Jaster murmured before he, decidedly ignoring the person's soft cries of pain, reached under them and picked them up. <Honestly, you better fall unconscious now. It'll be a bit of a bumpy ride until we're at my ship.> He informed them, almost apologetic. It wasn't clear if they even heard him.
But the next moment they did slump fully into Jaster's arms, sending him staggering momentarily as he had to compensate for the shift in weight.
Well then.
The quicker he was off this moon, the happier all parties involved would be, he assumed.
…
Sifo opened eyes.
There was a moment where he didn't even realize he was conscious again. The suspicious absence of pain indicated that he was still in the blessed throes of oblivion.
Yet the tanned face of an entirely unfamiliar man staring down at him spoke against that.
He had nice eyes. Dark brown, a tad lighter than Yan's.
"Hi there," he croaked out, "What brings you here?"
The concern in the stranger's face morphed into confusion and then into exasperation.
"Do you remember what happened?," the dark-eyed stranger asked. "You crashed on a castriili moon." They shook their head, raking back the mass of adorably curling hair. "Honestly, I have no clue how you even survived. Seventeen fractures, a dislocated shoulder, extensive bruising and blood loss - I guess good for you that you had enough bacta to treat the big wounds, but hoo boy -, not to speak of the concussion-"
"I'm an angel," Sifo proclaimed.
They stopped. Then blinked.
"What?"
Sifo blinked right back. "I'm an angel. It hurt like a bitch when I fell from the sky."
The stranger simply stared at him. Incredulousness washed off them like waves.
After a moment of complete silence, Sifo frowned. "Wait. That's not how that goes, is it?," he mumbled, "I think it was supposed to be the other way 'round…? What did Jo say again…," his voice trailed off.
With a huff that seemed to come straight from their soul, the stranger shook their head and said, "Right. Concussion, as I said."
Ah. Concussion, yeah that made sense.
It wasn't like Sy to mix up his pick up lines.
He smiled serenely.
There was another sigh.
"Listen, I did what I could with what I have on hand, but you're definitely gonna need at least two days in a bacta tank. Anyone that can fix you up with one?"
Sy started to think. What was the name of that healer again? The one who always got assigned to him after bad visions? Something with B, he was sure. Bi-... Bel-... Bola? Bala? Something like that?
In the end it didn't matter, since his valiant savior evidently saw his apparent inability to answer as an indication of 'no'.
"Okay," the consterned voice came, "Then we'll go back to Mandalore. I'll see to it that you get patched back up, don't worry."
Ah yes, Mandalore.
Wait. Mandalore?
Sifo jerked up.
There had been a Mandalorian!
"Hey! What do you think you're doing?!" He was immediately pressed back down on the bed. "Don't karking move!"
Sifo caught one of the other's wrists and stared at him, feeling a sudden bout of panic. "Where's- No, not Mandalore! You can't bring me there, promise you won't!"
They seemed confused, then frowned. "What's wrong with Mandalore? I can-"
"They'll kill me," Sifo whisper-shouted, eyes blown wide.
The stranger choked. Then coughed. "What?," they croaked, after they had gotten their composure back.
Sy stared them right in the eyes.
"The Mandalorians ."
"What about them? I don't-"
"The Mandalorians. They kill Jedi."
…
Sudden stillness gripped Jaster.
At first he had thought… well, there were enough people who had to fear the mando'ade , true enough. Slavers. Smugglers. Corrupt politicians. Anyone with a bounty on their head.
There also were enough people who simply were ignorant about how Mandalorian society worked, they still thought that waging war for war's sake was the ultimate goal of the Clans. Or they simply had had unfortunate experiences with kyr'tsad .
All possible reasons he had expected to be the cause for this… person's fear of his people.
What he hadn't expected was that apparently this stranger that currently was more bruise than human was a jetii .
A motherkarking jetii!
One of those light-sword wielding, magic-wrangling space monks!
Why was one of them on a hookup app!?
Shouldn’t monks be like, oh Jaster didn’t know, celibate ?!?
In his silent panic - because yes, Jaster wasn’t entirely sure on how to approach this rationally right now - he did the only thing he could think of. Hypo the jetii .
If anyone in the future were to ask him about it, he would probably proclaim that this was purely out of care for the patient at hand. And entirely professional, not at all a panic response at the revelation that this random match from Sprintr that had crashed into a even more random moon had turned out to be a karking jetii of all things.
(That they had been flirting with him first thing after waking up - because that had been flirting, one hundred percent - only added to the weirdness.)
…
When Sifo awoke again, it was to the familiar humm of a ship in hyperspace.
The light in the room he was in was dimmed almost all the way down, which was why it took a moment for him to remember his whereabouts.
Right. There had been a crash.
He'd been fucked up quite a bit by it.
Then a rescue.
Somewhere there had been a Mandalorian. And a pretty good looking guy - his Sprintr match?
Wait.
Wait .
WAIT A MINUTE .
WAS THE HOT GUY-
WAS THE HOT GUY - THE HOT GUY WHO JUST HAD SAVED HIS LIFE, WHICH MADE HIM EVEN HOTTER - THAT HOT GUY, WAS HE THE MANDALORIAN?!
If yes, that was a Problem. With capital P.
Sifo laid there, stiff like a board, for probably a good hour. Just… silently panicking.
He only vaguely remembered what had happened after he'd been oh so graciously dragged aboard. Though he was pretty sure they had talked - about something - he hadn't retained any information. Where were they even going? Hopefully back to Republic space, otherwise this would get quite awkward to explain to the Council. Councils.
How much time had passed since he had crashed?
With a low groan, Sifo propped himself up. Immediately several parts of his body protested, though a lot less than he would have expected. Looking down he saw the cause of that.
His chest and arm were positively packed in bacta patches of all shapes and sizes. Some of them were already peeling off a bit and Sy pressed them back on. Better get all the juice out of them if his savior had been this generous.
Falling into a shallow meditation for a second, he checked his overall wellbeing.
Or just 'being', since 'well' probably shouldn't be used to describe any part of his current existence.
The bacta had done what it could and he did feel considerably more patched-together than before his medically induced power nap (yes, he remembered that. Getting hypoed out of nowhere kinda left an impression). His ribs were still pretty fucked up - which explained the problems he had sitting up - but at least the hemmorrhaging around them had lessened. His shoulder actually felt pretty much okay again, his savior evidently had put it back in himself. Nice.
Sifo rolled his shoulder. A little ache-y, but not more than a vague throbbing.
In one, not exactly fluid motion, the battered Jedi swung his legs out of the bed.
Orienting himself in the small space was easy, there was barely anything that seemed out of place or superfluous. Sy found his robes cleaned and folded halfway neatly on a small side table, together with his saber and an array of personal effects and medications which he remembered he'd had in the pockets of his flight suit. His flight suit which was conspicuously missing.
Kind of suboptimal, considering he was standing in nothing but his underpants and a whole bunch of bactapatches in the ship of a guy that might or might not kill him for fun.
The Force didn't seem to consider his current circumstances warranting a warning though, so he was still giving the maybe-mandalorian the benefit of the doubt.
But the Force had also been known to fickle with its graces.
Eh, chances were probably about 50-50.
Which was enough for Sifo.
He grabbed his robes - he wasn't entirely sure of the standards Mandalorians held themselves to in regards to dresscode. Probably more covered than not though, considering the whole armor thing they had going on.
Also, he was a little cold.
Stepping out into the hallway, he looked around. From somewhere vaguely up above there were soft beeps and clacks, a tell-tale sign of someone interacting with a ship interface. Sifo was familiar enough with these.
Well, no time like the present.
As silently as he could, he stepped up into the cockpit. The figure in the pilot seat had his back still turned towards him and if he had realized Sifo was there, he didn't show it. The beeps of the consoles continued for a while as the man's fingers flitted over them, punching in jump calculations. By hand? Sifo wasn't sure, this was not a ship type he was familiar with and the interface was neither in Basic nor looked like Republic standard.
This continued for a while, until finally, the movement paused.
Sy was still pretty exhausted, so he got only a muddy feeling through the Force, but he was pretty sure that he had finally been acknowledged.
"You," the man finally said, "Shouldn't you be in bed?"
Interesting approach.
"I got lonely."
With a creak, the pilot seat turned around and the man - and yep, that definitely was mandalorian armor right there, wonderful - stared at Sifo. Like he had grown a second head.
It made him just a tad self-conscious.
He was aware that he didn't exactly look his best right now, okay? Hair greasy, left half of his body a continuous angry yellow and green bruise, one eye still slightly bloodshot… still, no need to rub it in.
Just as Sy nervously went to fiddle with the ends of his horribly looking hair, the Mandalorian slumped.
A deep, deep sigh filled the air between them.
Then, he pushed off the seat and approached Sy, who tried his best not to flinch.
Ignoring or overlooking his reaction, the Mandalorian grabbed his shoulders and started steering him back out of the cockpit.
Too stunned by this turn of events to speak, Sifo simply let it happen.
In the end he was gently pushed down on a little bench in the refectory.
"If you can walk, you can talk. So talk," the Mandalorian said gruffly, though his eyes didn't contain any anger. Rather, he seemed curious?
He turned and started cluttering with what seemed like cups and cans. Hopefully there was tea.
Sifo, taking this unexpected development with stride, tilted his head. Just a little, the swelling in his neck was still uncomfortable. "What do you wish to know?," he said gently.
The cluttering stopped.
"Well, first of all," the man turned and pointed at him with a spoon, "Who are you? You're a jet - a Jedi, right?" There was only a a hint of accusation in the voice, which Sy knew to appreciate.
He inclined his head in a light nod. "Correct, Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas, at your service." He cracked a wry smile that tugged at the bruises in his face. "Or, well, I will be. In a few days. When I'm back to mint condition."
He laughed a little.
The Mandalorian's mood soured and he grumbled something in a language Sy didn't understand. " You… Stars," the man looked at him sharply, "Your injuries were - are - no laughing matter, you could have died . I know that you jetiise are all aloof and detached, but you should at least care for your own wellbeing!"
Sifo blinked.
Confused by the sudden shift in mood, he shifted in his chair, drawing his robe closer around him. "That's not… what?" Why was this stranger, this man who should technically be an enemy of his, suddenly so involved in his wellbeing?
Two cups of lightly steaming liquid hit the table before him.
"Drink," the man sat down forcefully across from him, "Your readings said you were dehydrated and low on basically everything."
Made sense. He had lost a lot of blood.
"Thank you." Best to remain amenable, the Mandalorian was already riled up. Though it was, as far as Sy could gauge, in his favor, so…
After a few sips of the spiced, sour tea, he set the cup back. The flavor was… surprising. Kind of like a kick to his tastebuds, but after his ordeal a welcome one.
Sifo smiled lightly. Yan would hate it.
He should ask if he could get some. Later.
Then, he looked back up at the Mandalorian who was eyeing him like a hawk. "Your concern is… well, surprising," he stated bluntly, "Considering our peoples' history."
To his surprise what he got back was a dismissive scoff.
"I'd be a fool and dar'manda if I'd let a millennia old grievance influence me into not helping someone sending out a distress signal." He shook his head. "No, as long as you don't try your Jedi magics on me or my people, we're good. You're a patient and a rescue and will be treated as such."
Without his normal access to the Force - he still was severely exhausted from the vision, healing himself and keeping his body up and running - Sifo couldn't say with certainty, but the man seemed genuine. And call him naive, but he'd much rather assume that this random stranger that just so happened to be on the same dating site when he'd crashed in the middle of nowhere was a good person than a bad one. Because the latter would really suck for him.
…
Jaster felt exhausted.
Why?
Because Jetiise were exhausting.
The man - who by all means should not yet be up and running again, what in the creepy space magic? - had drunk his shig, wolfed down a truly impressive amount of porridge and then proceeded to happily recount what would have been the most horrible mission report ever given had this been one of his verd'e . Luckily he wasn't.
Though Jaster pitied whoever had to wrangle the menace that was Sifo-Dyas back at the Jetii Temple.
(There had been mentions of someone named 'Yan' several times, though he was not yet clear if that was a teacher, a lover, a friend or a particularly despised enemy. From the anecdotes dropped it could have been any of these.)
That was another thing about his hitchhiker that Jaster had discovered.
The man was incredibly sociable when given the chance.
To the point where it would have put any foundling on a sugar high to shame. He freely shared everything with Jaster. Everything . And while he wasn't particularly involved in the 'latest Temple gossip' (who was 'Master Dapatian' and why was it so scandalous that they had an apparent affair with the bothan Senator?), his attention was caught when the man started speaking about what he called 'his condition'.
A Seer.
Jaster had somehow picked up a Seer in the middle of nowhere while trying to get away from his responsibilities.
A Seer who now was squinting dopily up at him, their faces only centimeters apart.
Jaster was rethinking several life choices he had made. Becoming Mand'alor was one of them, sure. Going on this trip was another. Installing Sprintr a third. But the most pressing one was that he had, out of altruism and personal weakness towards a pretty face, agreed to cuddle up during the night. With the Jedi.
He truly cursed himself for caving as quickly as he had. Sifo had batted his eyes at him, lamented about how he was cold and touch-starved and could really need the presence of another sentient after his ordeal. And Jaster? Jaster had folded like wet flimsi. If Silas - or Stars forbid Jango - could see him now they would have been so disappointed.
Though in Sifo's defense, the hands that had curiously slipped under Jaster' shirt and now were resting against his stomach were freezing.
He also couldn't find himself to mind , per se.
He was just… curious.
After what stretched like an eternity in silence, Jaster made a soft sound at the back of his throat.
Sleepy grey eyes wandered up to meet his.
"Say," Jaster kept his voice barely above a whisper, "Are all Jedi this… sexually forward?" Because he needed to know. Purely for the good of his people of course.
His inquiry was met with a chuckle.
Then, Sifo's mouth twitched into a grin. His hands curled ever so slightly against Jaster's stomach, eliciting a soft hiss from him. " Is this sexual to you?"
A patient .
This was a patient .
A man with more broken ribs than whole ones. Any strenuous activity would be severely frowned upon.
Luckily, Jaster was in possession of remarkable self-control.
He managed to keep his voice level. "I'm getting the feeling it could be." There was maybe a hint of an accusation in that sentence.
"Mmh," the man's eyes turned into happy little crescents, "It could, yes."
That… was it that easy? Just like that?
Not that Jaster was complaining. He had found himself in enough similar situations, but that had been with other mando'ade . Not with jetiise he'd scraped off a moon.
Again. Weren't they supposed to be celibate ?
Something about his apprehensions must have shown on his face, because the soft chuckle from before turned into a proper laugh. Sifo nuzzled his head against Jaster's chest.
"Don't look like that," he said between laughs, "Jedi are allowed to have private lives. And if I like to share a nice night or two with interesting people every once in a while that's not the Council's business." Then he seemed to sober a bit. "Problems arise then when the loyalty to the Order might get jeopardized. And I don't mean that in the 'they would choose their lover over the Jedi' way, since we're free to leave if we wish to. I mean it in the 'they decide to compromise the Order's ideals or missions in favor of a loved one's wishes' way." He shifted and one of his arms slid around Jaster's back.
"It has happened before." He sounded more sad than reproachful. "Betrayal for the sake of a a spouse or a child. Especially now that we are so close to the Republic Senate, there are always people who try to gain influence over our Order by one means or the other. It is why there are some voices - prominent voices - campaigning for complete non-attachment and, indeed, celibacy."
"Not you though." Way to go Jaster, stating the obvious.
Sifo didn't seem to mind. "Not me." There was a brief moment of hesitation. "I-... my gift makes it hard sometimes to stay tethered to reality. I have found that sex and intimacy counters some of that. It also helps that I enjoy it," he added, smile audible.
Well, if he laid it out like that…
Jaster was just about to reply, when he had a realization.
A realization that might… hamper proceedings.
"Uh," he said intelligently, hesitating in turn.
Sifo pulled back a little, without a doubt having felt his sudden stiffness. He made a small, inquisitive noise.
Jaster's tongue flitted over his lips.
"So, uh, not that I would try to pull anything," he assured Sifo, "But… you are aware who I am, right? My position amongst my people?"
Stars , this was awkward.
What made it even worse was the blank stare that his potential bed partner gave him.
"Well that answers that," he murmured to himself, before drawing away from the Jedi and propping himself up as well as he could.
With a deep sigh, he looked at Sifo. "I'm kind of… an important figure. On Manda'yaim . If that's the kind of thing that might result in split loyalties or even just the rumor of such a thing, I'd rather not proceed any further." After a pause, he relented, "We could still… cuddle, I guess. For the duration of the flight."
Sifo's expression switched between confusion and amusement. "It can't be that ba-"
"I'm the Mand'alor."
"Hm?"
Jaster held his stare. "I'm the Mand'alor."
"Isn't that," the Jedi seemed genuinely confused, "Like… the sole ruler of Mandalore?"
Jaster grimaced. "Well, not sole at the moment. It's kind of complicated, but… yes. That position. I claim it."
" You? "
"As I said, yes."
Silence stretched between them.
"So…," Sifo finally piped up again, voice betraying nothing, "You are… King of Mandalore?"
"...It's comparable, yes."
"Huh."
Huh indeed.
"That's… making things interesting," Sifo finally allowed, after a good minute or so of awkward staring had passed, "Since I'm technically on the Jedi High Council."
"Huh." Now it was Jaster's turn with the confusion, "Only technically?"
The other grimaced. "It's not like they ever listen to me. Apart from Yan of course."
That was a loaded statement if Jaster had ever heard one. And thus not something he wanted to explore at night, in bed and with a guy who had his hands up his shirt. If Sifo wanted to talk about it, they could do that over breakfast. Tomorrow.
"Well, that solves the issue of power imbalance I was going to raise," Jaster opted for light humor, "Though my previous point stands. If you wish to reconsider now that you are aware of my station, I won't hold it against you."
The Jedi blinked.
Then his mouth quipped up, just a fraction, but Jaster saw it.
"Nah," Sifo closed the distance again, pressing his body to Jaster's (which he really shouldn't, he still had his ribs in more pieces than strictly advisable), "I'm good as is." He smiled at Jaster.
Okay then.
"If anything," the Jedi continued, voice laced with humor as his deft hands returned to exploring Jaster's back and chest, "The others should thank me, I'll be single handedly bettering Jedi-Mandalorian relations here."
A more childish part of Jaster wanted to make a joke about there needing to be at least two hands involved, but in the end something Sifo did to the lower end of his back let him blank completely.
Any comment he was about to make died on the back of his tongue.
Sifo looked incredibly smug.
That smugness vanished into thin air when Jaster declared that they still weren't going to have sex that night. Or the next.
Jaster after all still had some self preservation. And he had very suddenly realized that if they were going to do something now, the ba'ruur'e would undoubtedly find out about it. And then Jaster would have to be the one explaining his reasoning for why exactly he'd fucked an injured man.
But his offer to cuddle still stood. It was received with equally great enthusiasm.
…
Several weeks and quite a bit of hot-potato-tossing Sifo around various medbeds, bactatanks and passenger transports, he finally was back in the sanctity of his own quarters. Or, well, Yan’s.
Which, at this point, there really wasn’t that much of a distinction between them.
“So,” Yan murmured lowly as he let Sy burrow his face into his chest, “Tell me about that Mandalorian of yours.”
The smaller man grumbled a bit. “He was too nice,” was what he eventually murmured into Yan’s shirt.
“Oh? Sifo-Dyas met someone who was too nice ? And a Mandalorian at that?”
With a mockedly pained sound, Sifo nodded into the fabric. Then, he pulled away to look up at Yan’s face. “Entirely too nice,” he complained earnestly, “He didn’t want to sleep with me. Because I was ‘too injured’ and ‘any strenuous physical activity would only aggravate my wounds’.”
Dark brows rose. “Surprisingly sensible. I might actually start liking the guy. Tell me more.”
“Traitor,” Sy said with a pout.
Yan pressed a soft kiss to his head. “No, really. We - I - owe him your life, Sy. I’m glad that you were found by someone who took your wellbeing seriously enough. And who knows, you've got his contact now, right? So if you want, we'll just meet up with him at some point in the future and you can catch up on anything you missed."
For a moment, Sy's eyes shone with elation, before his expression froze.
"Oh no ."
"Oh no what?" Yan tilted his head ever so slightly.
Sy stared at him with growing regret. "I left my comm. I left it in the shuttle."
A heavy hand came to rest on his shoulder, coupled by a less-than-genuine wave of sympathy ebbed through their bond. "It was the will of the Force, then," Yan said airily and then didn't even have the decency to react to the half-hearted punch to the gut Sy graced him with.