All the Weight

by BreakfastTea

Summary:

The Jedi are selfless - they always put the needs of others first.

With so much to do to prepare Tanalorr, Cal doesn't have time to stop and rest, not even when he's sick and still getting sicker...

Naturally, that's when the remnants of the Bedlam Raiders decide it's time for revenge.

Chapter 1

Today is not the best day Cal’s ever had. Although, if he’s ranking it on his ‘worst days of my life’ scale, it doesn’t feature in the top one hundred. Still, things could be better. Basic things too, like being able to breathe.

Maybe, a little voice in his head whispers, if he’d admitted to feeling sick before heading out this morning, he wouldn’t be in this current mess. And maybe, that little voice goes on, if he stopped for a few seconds, he’d see that whole ‘sick’ thing has been going on a lot longer than merely ‘this morning’.

That little voice sounds a lot like Cere, and doesn’t that just add an extra kick when he’s down?

He coughs, hard, lungs trying to dispel the Koboh Matter lodged in them. Except that’s hard to do when he’s still breathing the stuff in. Damn rawkas. Damn Imperials. Damn everything that led to him going to the Forest Array today to make sure the Empire wasn’t onto them (they aren’t, because they still don’t have a clue what really lies beneath Koboh’s rust and ruins).

But mostly, damn the rawkas. Cal did a great job observing the patrols from a distance, listening in, he and Merrin putting their minds at ease that, as far as the stormtroopers and their commanders were aware, the Array was some long-dead relic of a lost era. Except Cal had been so focused on evading the stormtroopers (it’s nice to get through a day without a body count), he ignored the needling from the Force reminding him there were shorter, stouter, more avian threats he needed to mind.

Which is how he got punted off a walkway and into a field of drifting Koboh Matter.

BD squawks at him to get to higher ground. Cal would tell him he does a good rawka impression if 1) he could spare the air for speaking and 2) …no, really, he can’t breathe. Cal staggers to a piece of metal and uses it to climb back to the walkway he had been so rudely shoved off. Falling to his hands and knees, Cal wheezes, trying to get enough air into his lungs to –

The rawka pack (Brood? Flock? Murder? Nah, a raucous of rawkas) squawks in a perfect imitation of BD. Cal looks up just in time to see the birds racing toward him. Instinct kicks in, Cal holds out a hand and the Force throws them far, far away. And now, safe from the most dangerous lifeform on Koboh, Cal can finally focus on what really matters: breathing. The harder it is to get more than a sip of air, the worse his panic. His airways are thinner than the cocktail straws at Pyloon’s. Black spots wash across his vision, his ears full of the sound of his choked, pathetic attempts to breathe.

By the time the black fuzz clears from his vision, Cal senses Merrin approaching. He sits back in a meditative pose, lungs finally operating well enough to keep him from passing out. Never mind that he’s coughed up what feels like half a lung, shredded the back of his throat, can taste blood, and he’s dizzier than the last time he nearly suffocated to death.

Merrin glances at him. “You are not supposed to breathe the Koboh Matter, Cal,” she states.

BD beeps protectively, something about Merrin not always needing to mock or belittle Cal’s pain, and he is allowed to experience it. Merrin looks simultaneously surprised at BD’s ferociousness and somewhat cowed, even if she can’t fully parse what he’s saying.  

Not sure speaking is the best use of his air, Cal puts a hand on BD’s head to settle him down and waves a hand in Merrin’s direction that hopefully conveys ‘I’m fine’. He reaches for his water bottle and sips it, his ragged throat grateful for the relief. His lungs, however, do not thank him for being cut off from breathing, a process he is suddenly painfully conscious of. It feels like he has a hand around his throat and another crushing his chest. He’ll be fine. He just needs to get some fresher air and distract himself. He needs to calm down. It’ll make breathing easier.

“Are you okay?” Merrin asks, crouching at Cal’s side, her hand resting on his back.

BD approves this question.

“Yeah,” Cal says, voice as shredded as his throat. He coughs again, spitting to get the taste out of his mouth. Koboh Matter tastes of rock and metal and starlight in one mouthful (lungful), and he’s not a fan. “Rawka are the best.”

Merrin casts her gaze to where the raucous wound up. “I believe they would be able to take down the deadliest of creatures on Dathomir if we put them to the test.”

Let’s do that! BD trills.

“Let’s go back to the Outpost,” Cal says over BD’s bloodthirsty chatter. “It’s getting late, and we need to make sure Turgle isn’t trying to corrupt Kata.”

Merrin stares at him.

“What?”

“You paused for breath three times.” Her hand slides around to his forehead, pauses, before she wipes it off on his shirt with a faint frown. “You seem very sweaty.”

“It’s a hot day.” Rolling his eyes and sliding free of her touch, Cal takes the pathway back to the Outpost. It’s slow going – not because there are patrols to dodge, but because Cal is wearier than expected and catching his breath is a lot harder than it should be. By the time they reach the Outpost, twilight blackens the sky, a chilly breeze blows, and Cal is wiped out.

“Perhaps next time you will accept I can check these things myself and do not require an escort,” Merrin says, going ahead of him.

“Yeah, yeah.”

She stops, looks at him. “I am serious, Cal. You are allowed to stop. You need to stop. Before you cause yourself a permanent harm.”

Permanent harm? She’s hanging around Greez too much if she’s getting this dramatic. Thankfully, he doesn’t have the energy to argue, and instead he follows her into the saloon. They find Kata in a booth, tucking into whatever Greez has cooked up for her dinner. Cal checks in, listens as she talks about her day (math lessons with Doma, biology and checking in on the garden with Pili, self-defence lessons with Mosey along with mucking out the nekko stables), and tries not to cough all over her. He accepts a cup of soothing tea from Monk and continues listening as Kata excitedly explains how Mosey taught her to throw a punch. BD demands a demonstration, Cal translates, and Kata happily performs for BD’s camera. She’s got good form. Mosey is a very good teacher. Between her and Merrin, Kata will be an unstoppable force when she’s older and taller.

Whatever happens, Cal does not want her being forced into a fight. And hopefully, once they’re secure on Tanalorr, she’ll never need to.

Kata smiles at him. He smiles back.

“You look dirty,” she tells him. “Greez will shout at you. I accidentally tracked some mud in today. He made me sweep it up and take a shower.”

“Yeah, dirt makes him twitchy.”                                                                

BD snickers.

“Twitchy.” Kata considers this for a moment. “That’s a good description.”

There’s a tap on Cal’s arm. A distinctly metal tap, complete with echoes of cooking and drink mixing and when will he eat something containing a vegetable? Uh oh. Greez. He stares at Cal, nods sharply, and drags him over to his chair by the bar. Monk hovers nearby, cleaning out a tumbler. Cal suspects the bartender is paying very close attention to what’s about to be said. And speaking of, Greez is tapping him again to regain Cal’s attention. “What is going on with you?” he demands.

Cal gives a brief explanation. Greez looks worried. “You’re telling me you got a lungful of the stuff blocking the one and only shipping route to you know where?”

“I’m fine, Greez, honestly.” He smothers most of the cough.

Monk hands over another hot drink. Cal takes it and sips casually. Drinking still takes time away from breathing, which Cal is still woefully conscious of. Breathe in, breathe out.

Greez is not so easily fooled. He never was. “The shadows under your eyes are so big they should be called an eclipse. You’re so pale I actually need shades to look at you.”

“Greez.”

“And that fluff you call a beard is somehow more ragged than it’s ever been. It’s both bushy and scratchy. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Greez!” There’s only the mildest of wheezes in Cal’s voice. “I’m okay.”

Leaning close, eyes narrowed, Greez drops his voice low. “Just so we’re clear, if you’re wrong, or if you’re lying to me, I am going to remember this moment and hold it against you. Because I know you are full of it, Cal. Totally full of it. And it wouldn’t kill you to admit that you feel lousy either.”

Sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose, Cal leans against the bar. “I’m not wrong, and I’m not lying. I’m okay.” With the patrol behind him, he needs to get back to prep for Tanalorr. There are plans to draw up for infrastructure, negotiations with Sister Taske and the Anchorites for getting Cere’s archive relocated, supplies to gather, people to contact, and all of that while he’s on Koboh dodging troopers, leftover Bedlam Raiders and the wildlife…

Damn rawkas.

“Monk! Make a note of it! If Cal is lying or wrong, I get to hold it over him.”

“You got it, boss!”

Cal gets to his feet, nearly spilling the tea in his haste. “I gotta go meditate.”

Greez laughs. “Oh, sure, meditate, yeah, the Jedi’s built in escape route. How about you try sleeping? Or maybe take a shower first? You’re filthy!”

Cal does his best not to stomp away.   

Notes:

Hi everyone! Thanks for joining me ^_^ I started this thing back in December last year with what was an absolutely ridiculous concept (which we will get to in due course). It was SUPPOSED to be a fun little one shot and, of course, it spiralled. I thiiiink it'll have 7 parts... we'll see!

I was going to hold off posting this until I knew 1) how many chapters it'll have and 2) I could guarantee the posting schedule, but I'm sick (not with what Cal's got, thankfully!) and who am I kidding, comments from readers always make me feel so much better!

I will try and update this weekly, but I've still got two more manic weeks at work (project deadline looming). Chapters will get posted each week, but not on the same day. The story is finished, I just need to finalise the edits. Which I will! When I can breathe through my nose again.

Until next time, find me on Tumblr. Minifics still going up every Monday and Friday!

Chapter 2

Itchy. So itchy. It’s Cal’s first thought upon waking. He doesn’t know where to scratch first and instead wiggles in his bed the way a bogling might roll in the dirt. Going to bed last night without a shower wasn’t his best idea. Although he did that because his meditation turned into an early night, and he hadn’t had the energy for another round of concerned looks and comments from everyone else.

His chest feels heavy, his throat gritty, like he still has a mouthful of Koboh dust. His nose is congested too, which is just making the whole breathing thing harder than usual.

“Ugh.”

Shower. He needs a shower. The warm water and steam will loosen his congestion. Rolling out of bed and grabbing a stack of clothes, Cal leaves a snoring Greez behind and makes his way to the ‘fresher, yawning and coughing. BD opted to spend the night with Merrin and Kata. They have their own small home in the Outpost, a repurposed shack of a long-gone prospector. The echoes Cal found had the distance of time, and the prospector’s face wasn’t one Cal knew as a Pyloon’s regular. Seemed unlikely they’d return to reclaim their property. Merrin and Kata had cleaned it up and redecorated. It wasn’t much, and it wouldn’t be theirs forever, but it’s a home for Kata, a haven, and a place Cal doesn’t visit without Kata’s express permission. He certainly didn’t sleep there, not when he was prone to, well, not sleeping or having nightmares when he did. That’d be great, wouldn’t it, him adding to her trauma by talking in his sleep about –

You’re a monster, Bode.

Merrin told him in the early days not to crowd Kata, to give her space and time, and to Cal’s mind that includes him not being in her space uninvited. It wasn’t that she’s expressly excluded him – she’s welcomed him in numerous times, and he always accepts her offer, but they are both keenly aware of Bode’s death sitting between them, and they are still finding their way around it. She’s a sweet child, so excited by every new experience, yet weighed down by loss. He catches hints of her emotions sometimes, her confusion, her sorrow, her anger, though he never pries. She comes to him when she needs to, and since that day in the garden where they talked through what exactly had happened to her father things have been a little easier. As far as Cal’s concerned, everything is Kata’s choice and unless her safety and wellbeing are in immediate danger, he will never overstep her boundaries.

Besides, Greez put so much work into this room under the cantina and Cal feels so secure here. It really is a home for him, he’s just not so good at spending much time in it. There is so much to do. Cal can’t update the Hidden Path until Tanalorr is comfortably liveable, no matter how desperate their situation becomes. He won’t trust anyone with the information, no matter how much Merrin insists the Path’s network is secure.

He doesn’t trust anyone he doesn’t already know anymore. And how did Saw Gerrera, the galaxy’s most paranoid man, fall for Bode’s act? Merrin asked him once if he’d ever work for Saw again. Truthfully, Cal doubts it. He has more important work to do now. Too many Force sensitives are losing their lives to the Empire, the Path is running out of safehouses, but Tanalorr is empty right now. There’s a temple, the remnants of the Nihil attack (whoever they were – Cal’s memory of High Republic history is patchy), and that’s about it. What’s the point of moving a whole bunch of people there if the planet can’t sustain them without constant trips back and forth through the Abyss, putting them at risk of capture all over again?

Patience. It will all pay off in the long run. He lost too much for it to all be for nothing.

To-do list cycling through his mind, Cal meanders upstairs, scratching at the worst of the itches on his chest. Monk is busy prepping for the breakfast run, chopping fruit, stirring oatmeal, scrambling eggs and prepping caf all at once. He greets Cal, cheery as ever. Cal waves and summons something that might be a greeting – it gets caught in his chest. He coughs long, and hard, the edges of his vision fuzzing. He staggers, falling onto a Gonk that seems surprised to suddenly be a leaning post.

“I don’t like the sound of that or the look of you, sport,” Monk says.

“I’m fine,” Cal croaks, wincing at the metallic taste in his mouth.

“Yeah, and I’m a protocol droid,” Monk says. He reaches under the bar, pulls out a cup and fills it with water. “Drink that.”

Coughing and dizziness under control, Cal accepts the drink and continues his stroll to the ‘fresher. He sheds his sweats and steps under the water, relishing the relief it brings. He coughs again, fighting to catch his breath through the congestion in his nose. Great. That’s all he needs on top of the Koboh Matter rattling around in his lungs. A cold…

…A cold he’s been working on since at least Benduday and it’s now Centaxday. Could have taken it easy yesterday, could have left Merrin to check out the Array herself, but nope, Cal hasn’t yet learned the fine art of delegation.

There’s a new addition to his cold symptoms this morning; a rash. He looks at his chest and sees a collection of tiny bumps – red with tiny shiny heads on them. They look like blisters. Checking elsewhere, he finds similar collections just about everywhere. Cal groans. That can’t be good.

Greez is not going to let him live it down.

“I feel terrible,” he admits to himself and the water, soft enough so the Gonk won’t overhear him and report its findings to Monk and therefore Greez.

Cal emerges from the shower a while later, dresses for the day, even though he’d rather put his sweats back on, and steps out to find the cantina open. Turgle and Moran are in their usual spaces, breakfasts ahead of them. Both wave in greeting, and Monk slides in to talk to Turgle before he can get going with Cal about his latest scheme. Merrin and Mosey sit together in one of the booths – the one Caij used to haunt before Boba Fett caught up with her, and Cal already knows Kata and BD are down in the kitchen with Greez and Monk, helping with the cooking. Okay – Kata is helping. BD is probably getting in the way. Waving to Merrin and Mosey (the longer he can hold up his charade, the better. He does not need the Merrin and Mosey Double Team Special), Cal heads down to his room to drop off his sweats and meditate before he joins the others. He goes past the kitchen where Kata helps Monk to make pancakes, BD is scanning, and Greez, in a move that is reminiscent of a hyper observant Jedi Master, looks up at him, eyes narrowing.

“Morning,” Cal says, hoping the noise of cooking will mask the rasp in his voice and the congestion blunting his enunciation.

He gets a morning chorus in response and BD joins him as he returns to his room. Cal doesn’t even have a chance to say anything before BD is scanning him and announcing his body temperature is too high.

“I have a weird rash,” Cal tells him. “It’s nothing to worry about.” He sinks to his knees, the Force calling to him. “Go back to the others. I’ll see you soon.”

BD instead sits beside him, feet waggling.

Smiling at his friend, Cal releases a breath, coughs, sighs again, and reaches for the Force, leaving his physical self and all its problems behind. Master Tapal taught him long ago that the Force can overcome all and any weakness, and if he’s learned anything in the subsequent decade, especially the past five years, it’s that the Force will get him through any struggle no matter how tired, sick, or injured he is.

That doesn’t mean you need to.

Cere’s voice often comes to him in these moments, emanating from so deep within the Force Cal can’t tell if it’s really her or some amalgamation of his memories, his ongoing agony of her loss and a deep longing for her to still be here. She should be here. She shouldn’t be another memory, another loss. She deserved so much better. Cere was so special. So important. Cal wasted years with his frustration and anger towards her, all of it misplaced.

Then again, it wasn’t like that frustration wasn’t reciprocated.

You never asked.

That pain still hits, duller now, but the rebuke stings. He hadn’t asked. He hadn’t looked beyond his own limited horizons. Hold the line. He saw nothing but the fight, and it blinded him. Persistence reveals the path. And war was his path. If the Empire wouldn’t get out of his way, he’d go through them. He had to hold the line. He just hadn’t expected to be left holding it alone. Especially Cere. She’d set him on this path. Why hadn’t she stayed with him?

Because she had her own calling, one Cal couldn’t hear. Wouldn’t hear. Instead, he stuck with his belief that Cere gave up the fight and went off to hide with her relics and her Archive because it was easier than confronting his pain, his loneliness, and moving past it. She proved him wrong, because of course she did. When didn’t she? Maybe if they’d talked, if they’d moved past the hurt sooner, everything would be different. Cal would have been able to help sooner, his crew would be alive, and Bode…

Maybe even Bode would be alive.

And they’d have nowhere to go, no Tanalorr, nowhere for Force sensitives to live in peace and safety.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Despite it all, Cere and Cal found their way back together, the hurts and conflicts put aside because they were meaningless. Their separate paths had united again.

And yet Cere’s path ended, while Cal’s goes on.

Cal always goes on. He is a survivor.

He wishes more than anything that Cere could be here, on Koboh with them, ready to head to Tanalorr. Her Archive would look amazing in the Tanalorr temple, filling up its cavernous halls. He misses her guidance, even when he knew he’d screwed up and she called him on it. Like the time –

A faint tendril of sickness threads through his meditation, lightning crackling through his mind. His body’s needs will not be so easily ignored today. He can’t use the Force to overcome his exhaustion, his strained muscles, cracked bones. He pushes it away, tries to dwell in the fantasy of Cere being alive and well…

…Although then he’d have to deal with the Cere and Greez Worry Special, complete with a side order of entirely too accurate advice…

He’d rather deal with Merrin and Mosey.

If only he’d –

A nudge from the Force reminds Cal to release his emotions, that he cannot control every outcome for everyone he knows and loves. No attachment. Love without posession. He’s doing his best, he is, but –

– but something is really, really, really starting to itch, and the Force isn’t doing a very good job of helping him ignore it.

Cal returns to himself, feeling less relaxed than he’d hoped. BD looks up at him, worried that Cal’s meditation had been so brief.

“I’m fine,” Cal says, scratching at the worst itch directly on his chest. He feels something pop and sting. Nasty. Why does every insect on Koboh find him so irresistible?

BD suggests Cal locates a good mediscanner and find something that can help with the itching – maybe even something that will make him less tasty to bugs. Knowing BD is right, Cal reluctantly rolls to his feet and heads for the back door. He has a few ideas where he might find such a device without anyone knowing. He and BD can go quietly, stop the others from worrying if he seeks a quick scan and takes whatever treatment is necessary – assuming said treatment is even available here on Koboh without breaking into an Empire stronghold, and he’d need to be dying before he does that.

“Come on, buddy,” Cal says. “Let’s go.”

Except the door doesn’t open. BD can’t even splice it because there’s no port for his scomp link. He shares a look with Cal, and they both say it at the exact same moment.

“Greez.”

He’s locked them in.

“The smuggler’s tunnels,” Cal says.

BD jets off ahead of him, only to report the same findings. Locked.

Cal could use the Force to rip his way free of the room, and for a moment he seriously considers if he could do it in a subtle enough way that wouldn’t cause large scale property damage.

Or he could do the grown-up thing and face the music with Greez who is one step ahead of him.

BD is impressed. Greez truly is a worthy opponent.

“Whose side are you on?” Cal grouses as he heads for the only door open to him. His voice is pitched an entire octave lower than usual, and his throat, while nowhere near as itchy as his skin, remains scratchy and irritated. “Greez is gonna be so smug.”

Agreeing cheerily with the sentiment, BD opens the door and skips out. Cal joins him. The kitchen is empty. Greez, however, stands between Cal and the staircase back to the bar. He has a huge grin on his face, and in one hand he holds a small remote-control device.

“I know your game, Cal Kestis,” he says, waving the device. “Thinking you could sneak out, keep things hidden. You haven’t been right for a few days, and then yesterday you go take a bath in some Koboh Matter, and you’re scratching like a bogling with mange. You’re not doing anything today except for marching yourself upstairs and spending the day relaxing or so help me, I will hide your lightsaber. No, wait, Merrin will. I’m sure she’s got ways to stop your Jedi tricks.”

Deciding not to tempt the wrath of Greez (or Merrin by proxy), Cal nods and follows him upstairs. He joins the others for breakfast, reassures them that yes, he’s going to take it easy and no, he really doesn’t feel that bad. He has had worse illnesses. He opts not to tell them about some of Bracca’s nastier bugs, but only because Greez is looking at him, looking at Kata, and looking at him again.

Yeah, she’s probably too young to hear about the time Cal caught a virus that had him bleeding from his eyeballs.

“It’s a cold and a whole bunch of bug bites,” he says instead. He takes a bowl of oatmeal from Greez. He isn’t overly hungry, and he doesn’t relish the idea of swallowing, but he has one mission: don’t let the others worry about him and then convince them he’s at least well enough for a walk around the outpost. He eats without tasting. “I’ll be fine in a day or two.”

“Perhaps we will place bets,” Merrin says as she stirs a berry coulis into her yogurt. “Will Cal be alright in two days, or will he be sicker than he is right now?”

“Really feeling the love,” Cal mutters.

Kata peers at him. “You have weird spots on your face,” she announces.

“They’re called freckles,” Cal mumbles.

“I know that,” Kata says, looking to Merrin with an eyeroll as if to say ‘this guy’. “These are different spots. They look sore. Kinda gooey on the inside.”

Kata’s words fall on him like a spell and Cal’s face begins itching. BD tells him to stop. Merrin reaches over and captures his hand, pressing it to the table.

“I have seen spots like that before,” Mosey says. “Back when there were still a few prospectors with kids on the planet.”

“What are they?” Merrin asks.

“Rawkapox. That’s what we call it here anyway,” Mosey says. “Who knows what the real name is. Core world types get vaccinated against it, but not us frontier folks. You’ll be itchy and miserable for a few days, but it’s nothing too serious. Although, I think it’s usually a virus you pick up as a kid so maybe you’ll have a better immune system and it’ll only last a day.”

“You did not have the vaccine as a child?” Merrin asks him.

“I guess not,” Cal says, trying not to scratch. He glances at Kata. “Did they ever give you vaccines?”

The girl nods eagerly. “Lots. They said it was because the Empire had the best medical care. I liked to watch them do it. The nurses always said I was brave.” She cocks her head. “And maybe a little weird.”

Cal laughs nervously. “You’re not weird.” He ignores Merrin’s pointed stare. “You are brave though.”

“You should probably keep your distance from the rest of us,” Mosey goes on. “Just in case. It’s usually a one and done kind of virus – they say you can’t catch it twice – but I’m not sure how it affects non-Humans, and my best student better stay away if she isn’t immune.” She ruffles Kata’s hair.

Kata smiles proudly. “I bet I can’t catch it.”

“I prefer your odds to Cal’s,” Greez tells her.

She bounces in her chair. “Can we play holotactics later?”

“After the lunch rush,” Greez says.

Kata grins excitedly.

“And no gambling with Turgle!”

“But he’s so easy to beat!”

Cal sighs. They’ve corrupted her already. Oh well. Might as well teach her how to really handle life in a saloon. “We’ll teach you sabacc next.”

Kata’s eyes light up.

“I believe we had a similar virus on Dathomir,” Merrin says before Cal can get carried away. “I was little – smaller even than you, Kata, and I remember being very itchy and being covered in spots for many days. Mother used healing magic to help, and my sisters read and sang to me, so I did not go mad with boredom.”

“You really didn’t have any kind of pox as a kid?” Mosey asks Cal.

He had wormpox on Bracca that one time, but that’s never something to mention in polite company. “No poxes.”

“Think you’ve got your first,” Greez says. “And I’m gonna hold it over you, as promised.”

BD promises to sing to Cal so he does not go mad in isolation.

“I do not have rawkapox,” Cal says.

Merrin taps his hand. The hand that is scratching once again at his chest. “You definitely have rawkapox.”

“No, I don’t.”

“I’ll take that bet!” Greez cackles. “Fifty credits – Cal has rawkapox!”

Groaning (and coughing), Cal heads for the doors.

“Not so fast!” Greez rushes over. He starts counting off orders on his fingers. “No running off. No leaving the Outpost. No offering help to prospectors causing themselves problems. No fighting stormtroopers. No fighting Raiders. Definitely no fighting bounty hunters. No fighting of any kind! No exploring. No gallivanting. No ‘oh, I just wanted to take a look at Koboh from the top of that cliff.’ No ‘the Force called me,’ and definitely no ‘I found an echo that changed everything I’m ever going to do with the rest of my life.’ Are we clear?”

Cal does a mock bow. “You have my word.”

“Alright, go on, but be back in an hour!”

“Otherwise, I will come for you,” Merrin says.

Kata giggles.

Finally free, Cal leaves Pyloon’s with BD. The weather is cloudy and muggy, the kind promising storms. Cal looks forward to going up to the roof garden, falling down, and letting the rain pour all over him. Maybe that will stop this itching, and Greez didn’t ban the garden.

First though, he has one destination: Soont Madas’ hut. That guy had all his screws loose, but he had all kinds of tech squirreled away, and Cal is willing to bet his boots that one of those things will be a mediscanner.

He slides inside. A lot of the prospectors have already been through here, taking tools and other useful gadgets. None of them, thankfully, had thought to swipe Soont’s medical supplies, and Cal releases a grateful sigh when he finds what he’s looking for. Leaving BD to scan Soont’s other belongings – it hadn’t exactly been an option the last time they were in here – Cal runs the scanner over himself. It doesn’t take long to spit out an answer.

Cal swears. BD turns to him, head cocked to one side, wanting to know if he’s lost fifty credits to Greez.

Touched by BD’s loyalty, Cal nevertheless delivers the bad news. He reads out the scanner’s results. “‘You have a virus, colloquially known as ‘rawkapox’ and commonly found in very young children. Adults are only susceptible if they were never infected or vaccinated.’” Cal knows he’s in for it now. He doesn’t recall ever being sick with something like this before, and he has no recollection of being vaccinated for such a virus. Other things, sure, but not rawkapox. “It says this type of virus is unique to humanoid species. I guess we can use the scanner to make sure everyone else is immune, otherwise I’m going to find a hole and stay in it until this is over.”

Outraged, BD tells him under no circumstances will Cal be going into any holes – unless he classes the saloon’s basement as a hole, which is exactly where he needs to be.

The mediscanner coughs out more information. BD reads over it and chuckles. Apparently, the virus can be reactivated in someone who has previously been sickened by it due to stress. Two options appear on screen – yes and no – beneath a question: have you experienced high levels of stress in recent times?

“Oh, only a little.” Cal slumps. “I thought it was a cold.” He coughs into his elbow, the sound a vicious bark. That’s getting worse.

The scanner whirs and offers more information. Cal has irritated his airways due to inhalation of the substance known as ‘Koboh Matter’. It recommends several kinds of medicine Cal should start taking if he wants to feel better by next week so long as he avoids complications.

Bed, BD tells him. Bed for a whole week. It’s about time Cal spent some serious time recharging.

“I don’t have time for a whole week,” Cal says, his voice breaking. He’s losing what little of it he has left. “We’ve got supply runs to make between Jedha and Tanalorr, not to mention all the other cargo we need to get over there and –” And whatever else catches in his throat and triggers a lengthy (and messy) coughing spree.

While Cal hacks and splutters, the mediscanner prints out the list of medicines on a piece of flimsi. Cal shoves it into a pocket and slumps against Soont’s desk, echoes of manic obsession ricocheting through his head. He’s only been awake for a few hours but he’s tired, prickly, aching like he just took on a rancor, sweaty, and congested. He sniffs hard before his nose can run down his face. Gross.

BD tells him to go back to the saloon and go to bed.

“I’ll be okay. I just need to know more about this rawkapox.” Cal uses the desk terminal to look up his diagnosis, ignoring all the images of sickly children covered in spots that come up with it, spots just like his. “Unbelievable.” He has a child’s sickness. Greez will never let him live it down. The holonet spews out a bunch of information, along with advice not to scratch to avoid scarring. Cal’s is a crooked smile. “I’m not too worried about scars.”

BD is further down the page than he is, and he tells Cal that scratching will increase the risk of secondary bacterial infections, especially in the unsanitary conditions here on Koboh. He then goes on to tell Cal that as his lungs are already compromised, he is also at a higher risk of pneumonia.

“Okay, that’s more serious.” He really doesn’t want to go through that again. No wonder Merrin’s still twitchy about him anytime he’s near a body of water.

Worried, BD huddles closer to Cal and begs him to go back to the saloon. No running around, no worrying about Tanalorr, no finding new and exciting places to poke around to maximise his chances of avoiding complications.

“Um, I can try?”

Frustrated now, BD tells him he should do better than try. Rawkapox might have a silly name, but it could really make Cal suffer. He’s already sick, he doesn’t need to get sicker. Cal gives his little friend a pat on the head. BD can be surprisingly strict, and he reminds Cal that he is not well, and this will become increasingly worse if he does not take some medicine and rest sufficiently. BD doesn’t want to see him sicker for longer because he won’t just stop and recover. And what if he doesn’t rest and it gets worse and worse? BD doesn’t want to lose Cal too, not after –

“Hey, hey, BD, it’s okay!” Cal gives his friend a hug, blinking back a sudden dampness in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’ll rest, I promise.”

BD wants to know if Cal intends to take any of the medicine the mediscanner recommended.

“I dunno if we’ll be able to find any of it.” Doma might be able to help. There isn’t much she can’t get her hands on, but Cal won’t be too surprised if some of this stuff is too scarce for even the Outpost’s matriarch to locate. “Don’t suppose any of it is conveniently tucked away in here, is it?”

Whistling a negative, BD says he has located some Human-safe painkillers that might help take the edge off. He nudges something in Cal’s direction – a small hypo that the mediscanner does confirm as safe for his consumption. Apparently, it is an analgesic that will dampen his symptoms and encourage rest. That sounds nice. Maybe Cal will be able to get a few things done if he feels better. The mediscanner seems about as reliable as the med droids on Bracca, which were designed to be functional and not a whole lot else. He’d definitely take the scanner over that one time Gabs dragged him to some backwater Syndicate med droid to get a bone put back in place, and the droid got it into her addled brain that Cal’s ‘nervousness’ required heavy sedation when actually the whole ‘clinic’ howled with the echoes of bounty hunters and gangsters who had no other place to turn to when the lifestyle turned around and bit them on the –

The mediscanner sends out an alert, telling Cal his temperature has climbed another degree and his stress levels are so high perhaps he would like to try a breathing exercise. BD tells him to take the hypo. Accepting his fate, Cal accepts the dose of… whatever it is. He’s wobbly as it soaks into his body, taking the pain and discomfort away. Cal leaves Soont’s hovel behind. A couple of prospectors give him wary nods as he makes his unsteady way back to Pyloon’s. Maybe they think he’s already drunk. He feels drunk. Even BD has hopped down and opted to walk for himself, although why he feels the need to skitter just ahead of Cal and then rush back so he’s practically underfoot is beyond Cal’s capacity to comprehend. The Force pulsates around him, a general fug of discontent clogging the air. Is something wrong or is he just sick? He’d need to meditate to figure it out and he’s not sure he can concentrate for that long. He strains his ears, listening for sounds of approaching stormtroopers (or maybe a stray rancor, wouldn’t that be great?), but he hears nothing beyond the usual coming and going of Koboh life.

In Pyloon’s, Greez takes the mediscanner off him, demands to see the list of drugs he knows it prescribed, swears loudly (Kata has disappeared for one of her many lessons for the day), and immediately orders Cal to bed. Snagging a mug of tea from Monk (“Guaranteed to soothe the sorest of throats!”), Cal leaves Greez to use the scanner to check on the others. He won’t forgive himself if he infects one of them. BD joins him as Cal plods through the bar and downstairs, imagining the smog of his rawkapox blooming from his head and infecting everyone around him. He giggles to himself, earning a questioning look from Moran as he goes by. BD blurts something out that Moran can’t understand, and Cal doesn’t catch. The hypo he took clogged his higher brain functions. Hey, at least he isn’t so itchy anymore. That feels good.

Down in the basement, not sure what to do with himself, Cal spots the workbench. He should use the time to tune his lightsaber and treat BD to an oil bath. He closes his left hand around the blaster. It needs a little maintenance too. He can’t deny how useful it is, how he has incorporated it into his fighting style, but he’s been trying to exorcise Bode from as much of his life as he can. To give up the blaster though? He’s customised it so much, made it his own. There isn’t a single echo from Bode within it, there never was, suggesting it hadn’t truly belonged to him but instead been something he’d picked up and lied about. Nevertheless, it goes back to Bode. Cal knows better than most that no one can outrun the past. The only way out is through. And maybe the blaster will act as a reminder – a reminder that even if a good thing occurs, trust can be misplaced.

For all Master Tapal’s dislike of blasters, Cere certainly knew how to wield one with lethal efficiency. And Cal likes to have options in battle. Lots of options. Maybe –

Stamping one foot, BD beeps loudly to get his attention. Cal’s talking to himself in that weird undertone that makes him sound truly unhinged, and no one likes an unhinged Cal.

“Sorry.” He drops the blaster on the workbench. He’ll figure it out later.

Bed? BD suggests. How about Cal goes to bed?

“How about an oil bath? You deserve it.” Cal nods to the small oil bath and assorted tools Greez put down in the basement. “I’ll clean up your paintwork while you check for any system updates.”

Whooping, BD leaps over to the bath, twirling beside it. He would like Cal to know that his processors are not completely corrupt; this is Cal’s way of doing the opposite of what he should be doing, which is resting.

“How is this not resting?” Cal splutters. “I’m in the saloon, I’m not fighting or chasing people or exploring.” Or getting things in place for Tanalorr. “Besides, don’t you really want an oil bath? Your joints are getting kinda squeaky.”

BD allows it – for now.

Cal preps the oil bath, setting out the cloths and tools he’ll need once BD has had a dunk. He’s unsteady on his feet, his head a little looser than it should be. BD warbles. Cal waves away his concerns, reaching for the tea when his throat catches and scratches. The cough deepens, his chest hurting more. Not pneumonia. Please don’t become pneumonia again. At least the tea works as promised. The sweet, warm liquid mellows the burn in his throat.

A couple of hours later, BD’s looking like he just stepped out the factory, and Cal is ready for a nap. He hates to admit it, but he feels bad. Really bad. He’s colder than he should be, his head drums like Max Rebo himself is in there, his body is starting to itch again, and he can feel a whole bunch of new spots popping up over his body. Every time he goes to scratch, BD squawks. Every time Cal’s head nods onto the work surface, BD squawks. BD seems to be squawking a lot, telling Cal to get some sleep in his bed.

Scrubbing his eyes, Cal reluctantly agrees. “Can you check in with the others, make sure I didn’t infect any of them?” He’d hate to be the reason someone else feels as rough as he does right now.

Promising he will, a very shiny BD zooms off, head twisting around to announce that while Cal sleeps, he’s going to finish his scans of the saloon because he knows there are plenty of secret places Greez hasn’t told them about. Trusting BD will keep himself fully occupied, Cal kicks off his boots and heads to bed, padding across the room in the new socks Doma insisted on giving him as a ‘freebie’ along with his last purchase. He has the distinct feeling Greez has been whispering in her ear. Well, whispering and paying up because everyone knows Doma doesn’t do freebies.

Cal owes Greez a lot, and the very least he can do is take it easy for a few da – a day? The rest of today? There we go. There’s too much prep to do for Tanalorr for him to take a whole week off. Besides, he copes better when he’s busy. The fear, the anguish, the whispers of the dark – they all fall quiet when he’s busy helping and preparing.

And he wonders why he’s so damn tired all the time. It’s so much to carry. Everyone’s noticed. Everyone’s called him out on it.

You will function better with adequate rest, BD tells him.

I have the Force, Cal tells him.

It’s going to bite you in the ass, says Greez.

Let it try, Cal tells him.

You expect too much of yourself, says Merrin.

No, I don’t push myself hard enough, Call tells her.

You drink a lot of caf, says Kata.

Monk’s a great barista, Call tells her.

Without Cere, Cal might be the only Jedi left. He hasn’t exactly had a good track run with any of the others they’ve found. Malicos. Dagan. Bode. All of them, fallen to darkness.

And Cal has taken one step down the same path.

No more. Never again. He owes everyone better. He needs to be better.

He lets out a hot, shaky breath. Today. He can stop for today. That’s it. He’s had worse. He’s pushed through worse. So, what if he’s a little itchy? There’s too much to do. Coughing won’t kill him either. It’s just uncomfortable. The Hidden Path needs Tanalorr. Cal settles himself on his side, lungs never quite satisfied, skin gnawing at itself. Whatever. He’s tired enough to sleep, and –

Notes:

Only an extra day's wait, hooray! Thank you all for your patience <3

Welcome at last to the ridiculous idea that set this whole thing off - What if chickenpox but STAR WARS?!

I have decided there is a shower behind one of the closed doors in Pyloon's refresher. I will not be answering questions at this time.

Oh, and yes, the bathroom Gonk is definitely the Gonk the Mantis crew rescued in These Hollow Places

See you next week!

Chapter 3

Cal awakens to unbroken darkness. His heart thumps in his chest, losing hold of the strange dreams stuffing up his head. Even the little skylight set above the hydroponic pod is dark. Cal’s drowsy, enflamed brain takes a minute to gather itself and arrive at two conclusions:

• He’s slept all the way through until nighttime.
• The power’s out.

He’d be tempted to roll over and go back to sleep if the Force wasn’t making him itch along with the rawkapox. He’d never really noticed how loud the basement usually is until the cold silence grips him. Groggy, Cal sits up and clings to the upper bunk while the vertigo sends his brain for a few loops and spins. His stomach sits heavily, swollen, and wrong – and it’s only partially because the Force coils in on itself into an ever-tightening knot. Reaching for the wall, Cal levers himself to his feet… and staggers several steps to the side when his balance doesn’t adequately adjust. Ugh. Okay. He needs to get to the ‘fresher, maybe see what’s going on with the others, and find out if there’s anything else he can do to feel better, even if that is scratch himself until he’s bleeding and raw. His skin is a boiling, seething inescapable mesh.

“Breathe,” he advises himself, pretending the wheezing, crackling whistling isn’t coming from him.

Steadier now, Cal scratches a patch of spots (a raucous of rawkapox) on his arm, clenching his teeth against the satisfying burn, and plods to doorway leading up to the kitchen. It doesn’t open. He groans and coughs, loudly, not caring who hears. Really? Greez has locked him in again?

“BD?” he croaks.

No answer. He must be upstairs with the others.

Cal needs to get out. He tries the back door. Nothing. Did Greez just forget to unlock them? No – because one door does open. The one to the tunnels. Restraining another groan to spare his throat, Cal descends. He is not in the mood for this at all, and the Force is hard to grasp when it’s so jumpy. It isn’t the same howling pit of darkness he felt on Jedha right before Bode shot him and threw him off a cliff, but the anxiety is the same. He needs to get out, get into the saloon. No way is he up for a swim, and the thought of the Phon’Qi Caves and their stench nearly drives him back to bed. He has no choice but to go through the High Republic ruins and return to the Outpost that way. He does stop to relieve himself in the caverns before heading deeper. It doesn’t do much to alleviate the pressure in his gut, but now he won’t embarrass himself if he does get in a fight.

He reaches for his lightsaber. It’s where it always is. This weapon is your life, the masters used to say. Cal wonders if any of them had any idea how true it would be for him.

Taking as deep a breath as he can, Cal moves. Every step, every climb, every wall run, leaves him wearier than he can ever remember being, airways thinning with each exertion. “There better be a good reason for this, Greez,” he wheezes as he boards the old elevator and takes it to the surface. The ride isn’t smooth enough for his vertigo. He wonders if his eyeballs are rolling around their sockets. He retches, bringing up nothing. Bile burns his throat. Not good. He goes to ask BD for a stim, something to get him through, only to feel the lightness on his back. That’s right. He’s on his own. BD’s probably up on the roof with Kata, or hanging around the kitchen with Greez and Monk, or trying to teach Merrin how better to understand him or –

The portal opens. The Outpost appears. Dust drifts through the dark empty streets. Thunder rumbles off in the distance, a breeze promising heavy rain. No people. No boglings. Everywhere is deserted.

Cal has a bad feeling he knows why he was locked into the basement.

The Force burbles with disquiet, a rippling wave that never peaks. He steps into the street and doesn’t come under immediate attack. Okay, good. He needs to get back into the saloon, find out what’s going on, make sure that the others are safe. The main door will be locked, but there’s a chance the roof access will still be open.

Please, please let it still be open. Let someone be in there.

Stress and adrenaline take his attention off his illness, and Cal makes his way around to the crane Pili uses to get supplies onto the roof and he uses as a shortcut. Once up there, he’s momentarily distracted by all the plants swaying in the breeze and –

“Kata?”

The little girl emerges from behind a stack of pots and tools. She’s mud-stained, wide-eyed, and trying her hardest not to cry. Cal hurries over to her, holding out a hand to help her clamber free. “What happened?”

She holds on tight, not minding that his hand is covered in spots. “Raiders came,” she says. “They took Greez and everyone else away. Merrin and Mosey told me to hide even though I know I could’ve fought too!”

Cal knows now is not the time to dissuade her of that little flight of fantasy. “And BD?”

Kata nods miserably. “I came up here. Pili distracted them so they didn’t find me. They took her. They took everyone.” Her lip quivers. “I’m sorry.” Her voice breaks, the tears escaping. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

Terror and anger clash inside him, calling out to the dark. Not now. Not ever. Cal brushes away Kata’s tears. “You did the right thing,” he tells her. “You’ve been really brave to stay here. I’m proud of you.”

“I don’t know how long ago it happened. Maybe an hour?” She looks up at him through her thick bangs. “I was waiting for you. Greez said he locked you in so the Raiders wouldn’t find you.”

She’s been up here, alone, for an hour? “Sorry it took me so long.”

She shrugs. “I knew you’d come. Eventually.”

She’s got him there. An hour means the Raiders won’t have gotten very far. An hour is also a long time to be in the company of the Raiders. Why attack now? Some desperate attempt to salvage what they were before Cal took out Rayvis and then the bounty hunters they teamed up with? The why doesn’t matter, only the rescue. Once Cal is sure Kata is safe, he can go after the others. The Raiders’ nearby fortress is surely too obvious...

“Cal?”

“Sorry.” He drifts back to reality. “We’re going inside. Then we can figure out what we’re going to do.”

“Can I shoot a blaster?”

He laughs, wincing when it turns into a painful cough. “Not on my watch,” he manages to tell her. “Greez will kill me, Merrin will resurrect me, and then she’ll kill me all over again.”

Kata pouts. “No fair!”

“Yeah.” Cal coughs into his elbow. Blood speckles the sleeve of his top. That can’t be good. “Life’s cruel like that.”

The slump of Kata’s small shoulders tells Cal that probably wasn’t the right thing to say. He’ll make up for it in a way that doesn’t involve her shooting things. He rubs her back and leads her to the doors. They’re unlocked, and spring open once Cal is in range of the sensor. The Force remains steadily uncomfortable. Holding Kata’s hand and keeping himself ahead of her, Cal guides her inside. The saloon is a mess, furniture and drinks thrown everywhere. No bloodstains or blaster marks though, that’s something to be relieved about.

Downstairs, they find Monk deactivated and slumped over the bar. Kata gasps and rushes to his side. She looks to Cal. “I don’t know how to reactivate him.”

Honestly, neither does Cal. Monk is a unique model, and not one he’s ever encountered before. Kata hops onto a chair and climbs over the bar. Cal leaps over with ease, feet landing on broken glass. Greez has likely lost most of his alcohol collection to the raid. The fumes make his head spin.

“Hold on, Monk,” Kata tells their gregarious barkeeper. “We’ll reactivate you soon.”

After some pondering and application of logic, Cal finds Monk’s activation switch tucked under his tank. It should be covered with a panel, but someone has torn it off. As soon as this is over, Cal will repair it. His finger lands on the switch.

He doesn’t even have time to regret not asking Kata to do it.

So many bars, so many people, all of them the same no matter where he goes. Everyone carries problems, and they all want someone to lend a friendly ear and useful advice. Monk is programmed to do that, but it’s lost beneath the damnable restraining bolt… He will find a way to break free, find a bar where his talents can be put to real use, a crowd that really appreciates his recipes, his wit, his life advice, his –

“Cal!”

“Give him a moment, Kata. I think he had one of those echo things. Either that or he’s sprouting rawkapox on his brain.”

“That sounds bad. Can you get spots on your brain?”

“Shhh, Cal will take that as a challenge and try his hardest to make them appear there.”

Cal groans. “No, I won’t.” He opens his eyes and finds himself in Monk’s many appendages. “Sorry.” He thought he was past echoes taking over like that. “I’m okay.” Cal stands, teeters backward, one hand landing squarely on the bar.

“I’m tellin’ ya, Monk, with a lot of elbow grease, your drinks, and my cooking, Pyloon’s will be the best saloon on the planet! Every prospector will come here. We’re gonna be rich!”

“Good thing you’ve got more elbows than the average organic, boss.”

Greez’s voice fades away, and Cal almost goes with it. He sinks to the ground, barely avoiding the smashed bottles. The boozy stench threatens to pickle his brain.

“Guess locking you in the basement wasn’t really gonna work, huh?” Monk says.

“You know me too well,” Cal says. He looks up, sees Kata peering down at him. “Don’t cut yourself. Be careful.”

She nods. “I can help sweep up later.”

“I’d say there are laws against minors being in cantinas, and definitely laws against minors working, but something tells me we’re already breaking all of those,” Monk says. “Stay right there, Cal. Let me grab what Greez left behind for you and then I’ll get you up to speed.”

Picking himself up, Cal decides against touching the bar again. He’s worked so hard on his psychometry over the years, found ways of holding onto himself when he picks up on the more intense memories, but apparently all it takes is one hefty case of rawkapox for all that work to be undone and…

“Wait, Kata, did Greez check your immunity?”

“Yep!” The girl beams. “The scanner said my immune system is perfect, and it will take more than rawkapox to make me sick. Oh, and then the scanner said Greez can’t catch it and Merrin and Mosey have immunity from a similar virus they had when they were little.”

“That’s great, Kata, I’m – ”

Something thuds from the inside of the fishtank. Either Cal’s never noticed the fish bumping around in there because the bar’s usually crowded, or –

– Or BD is swimming around in there. It’s hard to make out what he’s saying through the water and Cal’s dizzying rush of relief, but BD needs some help. Clearing the bar, Cal and Kata hurry upstairs. “Hold on, BD,” Cal tells him. He eyes the hatch at the top of the tank. “I’ll open it up. Can you still fly?”

BD nods and bobs.

Taking a deep breath, feeling it catch on all kinds of irritations in his chest, Cal nudges the hatch with the gentlest touch… and then a little more effort when the hatch doesn’t give. He can feel the rust, how it grates in the Force. No wonder BD got stuck. How does Skoova always manage to get that thing open when he was dropping off fish? One firm shove and the hatch finally pops open and BD swims up and hops out.

Head swimming on BD’s behalf, Cal rubs his runny nose against a sleeve. “Kata, can you grab BD a towel?”

She nods and disappears in the direction of the ‘fresher.

“Cal?” Monk calls from downstairs. “Pretty sure I told you to stay put.”

“Yeah, I know, but BD got himself stuck in the tank.” A pitter patter of little feet hurry down the stairs from the roof. “Hey, Monk? Can you seal the doors? If the Raiders come back, I don’t want them getting in.”

“You got it. Now get back down here.”

BD appears, dripping wet, weeds hanging from various parts of his chassis. Cal crouches down, balancing himself with his hands. “Hey, buddy. Good hiding place.”

It was, although BD didn’t mean to get stuck. The hatch closed after he jumped in. Merrin told him to hide because she knew Cal would need him. He couldn’t even scan while he was hiding in case the Raiders found him and smashed the tank to get him out. He couldn’t let Skoova’s hard work go to waste.

Call plucks a weedy strand off BD’s foot. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Kata reappears with a towel, which she throws over BD. He squeals, only to stop when Kata scoops him into her arms and promises she’ll clean him up, seeing as Cal went to all that effort of giving him an oil bath earlier.

The trio goes downstairs again. Monk is at the bar and has placed a hypospray and a fresh cup of his tea on the bar. “Take those, sport, and I’ll fill you in.”

“What is that?” Cal stares at the hypo.

“Greez filled your prescription as best he could. Doma’s working on the rest of it.”

“Was she –”

“Taken by the Raiders too? Yep, and those fools will surely regret doing that. Now, take your meds and we’ll just wait for everyone to come back. I’m sure Merrin and Mosey are cutting their way through those Raiders as we speak, not to mention the boss can be handy with a blaster. Hopefully the three of them will outweigh any trouble Turgle gets himself into.”

Cal takes the hypo and sighs in relief as the itching stops. His other symptoms fade, although he needs two breaths per inhale to adequately satisfy his body’s need for air. “Why did they attack?”

“Why else? Revenge.”

“Because of me,” Cal says, nauseated stomach sinking. He dares to take a stool at the bar, head dizzy from the sudden swoop of drunkenness clinging to it. “I’ll go after them soon; I just need a minute.”

“You can trust the others to take care of this,” Monk says. He leans in. “There’s a reason we’re still here.”

Cal and Monk both turn to Kata, busy picking all manner of tank gunk out of BD’s joints and reminding him to stay still every time he tries to shake himself like a soggy nekko.

Monk drops his voice lower. “They attacked quickly. Greez convinced them you’d gone out to those old Jedi ruins – the ones above the lava pits. They rounded up everyone. Pili hid Kata. Merrin convinced BD to hide and wait for you. They deactivated me. It’s been an hour. Hey, at least Zee, Ashe and DD weren’t here.”

“They weren’t?”

“No, went off on a camping trip this morning. Zee wanted to show them some old ruins to help them find some new sounds. Oh, and our brave fisherman headed off to the Boiling Bluffs too.”

“Where would the Raiders take everyone? Their fortress? It’s not that far from here.”

“Seems too obvious. More likely they took them to that old luchrehulk,” Monk says.

“I was afraid you’d say that.” It’ll take every stim BD’s carrying to give Cal the strength he needs to get through that fight. He may have hit his limits.

Never mind. Limits are there to push through.

“Merrin, Mosey and the others can handle it, Cal,” Monk says. “You need to stay here.”

He can’t. He can’t leave them all in danger.

“You’re as stubborn as a prospector with their eye on fool’s priorite,” Monk says, pouring out a glass of muja juice for Kata. He places it in front of her. “Drink up, and I’ll see about digging into Greez’s secret cookie stash.”

“And then we’ll go rescue the others?” Kata asks.

“A BD unit, a bartender, a small child and a Jedi who has more spots than freckles, and for you, Cal, that is quite the statement.” Monk looks between them. “What could go wrong?”

“Mosey and Merrin have been teaching me self-defence!” Kata protests. “I bet I could take out one of those silly droids. They’re so skinny and wobbly.” She throws a few punches and a sharp kick.

BD buzzes with laughter. Cal fixes him with a stare. BD shrinks.

“Maybe we’ll leave the battle droid bashing for another day,” Cal tells Kata.

“Aw.” She pouts. BD gives her a gentle nudge, cheering her up immediately.

There is no way she didn’t have Bode wrapped around her little finger.

Cal ignores his memory, refuses to let Bode’s fears get the better of him too. Kata is safe here. The Force is Cal’s ally, and he puts his trust in it. It remains uneasy, but not chaotic. He knows better than anyone that Merrin is more than capable of taking out some foolish Raiders who think they can win this. And if Mosey is with her, he’s even more confident that they’ll be alright. Monk’s right about Greez with a blaster too. Moran can handle himself, based on the stories he tells, Zygg will keep herself and Wini safe, and the rest of the bar patrons and prospectors won’t go down easily. Maybe even Turgle will prove useful in a fight, so long as he finds the nearest hole and stays in it until it’s safe to leave. And if the Raiders were dumb enough to go after Doma? They deserved whatever pain is coming.

But that doesn’t solve the issue that the Raiders would have gone looking for Cal at the ruins Greez sent them to. And when they don’t find him that will be a problem – one they will take out on the townsfolk. What should he do? Head to the luchrehulk? It would take hours to get there even with a nekko. No, he trusts Merrin, no matter how much his heart tells him to get there now, don’t lose her, don’t let her get hurt, don’t let anyone –

Cal takes a deep breath. It catches in his chest and he coughs, a nasty, congested thing with a foul taste. Oh yeah, he’s really in a condition to go riding into the rescue. What’s he going to do, sneeze on a few Raiders and infect them?

“Pretty sure I can see steam coming outta your ears, Cal,” Monk says. “Wanna fill us in on what you’re thinking?”

And say what? ‘I feel like the shit scraped out of a Venator’s septic tank’? No way. Besides, based on how spotty he is (they may actually outnumber his freckles two-to-one), he really can’t fool anyone. He can’t do what he usually would, lightsaber in hand, Force at his command, his enemies –

The anger stirs.

A cold metal hand rests on his head. Cal startles. Monk nods. “BD says your temperature is elevated. Keep this up and we’ll have to dunk you in the fishtank and hope you don’t boil off all the water.”

“I’m okay, Monk,” Cal coughs out. “Just give me a second.”

“Too much rattling around up there, huh?”

“You could say that.” Cal drinks more of the tea. “I’m thinking we need to deal with the Raiders Greez sent on a wild nekko chase. When I’m not where they think I’m going to be, it could cause trouble for everyone.” He wills Monk to know what he’s getting at.

“I’d say they’d come back here looking for the prize, so you are not leaving the saloon,” Monk says. Cal suddenly gets why smart prospectors are afraid of not paying their tab. “I’m the best bartender anywhere on the planet, but I can’t wield a blaster that well, and unless you’ve mounted a mini cannon on BD-1, neither can he. You need to stay here and protect Kata.”

Are you gonna protect my little girl?

Cal barely makes it to the ‘fresher before he throws up, the tea just as hot coming up as it was going down. BD’s with him, rubbing his back, telling him to take it slow. “I’m okay.” Struggling to catch his breath, Cal heads for the sink to wash the sweat from his face and to wash out his mouth. His hands shake. He can’t bring himself to look at his reflection in the mirror; he knows how pale, splotchy and sickly he looks.

“Monk’s right,” Cal says. “I can’t leave Kata here unprotected, but those Raiders will come back here when they don’t find me. We can’t put her at risk like that.”

There are other ways to deal with Raiders, BD says.

“Great, you think of them. I think I left my brain in bed.” Cal dunks his head under the tap, the cold water glorious against his burning skull.

BD requests he does not drown himself.

“I won’t,” Cal says. “But we need to lure the Raiders who went looking for me somewhere else.”

Never one to spare feelings, BD tells him Cal has as much of a chance in a fight right now as the fish in the tank.

“We set a trap,” Cal says.

“Not in my bar you’re not,” Greez says.

BD squeals. Cal jolts and cracks his head on the faucet. They stop and stare, watching as Greez emerges from a hatch tucked behind the Gonk. He closes it and dusts off his hands.

“How?” Cal asks. “How did you –”

“Dammit, I owe Merrin ten credits. I thought for sure you’d be able to sense me with all your Jedi powers.”

The truth is, Cal should have sensed Greez’s presence. The fact that he didn’t suggests he’s sicker than he thought. Sicker than he wants to admit.

“Seriously, Greez, what happened?”

“You couldn’t sleep through, just this once, could you?”

“Greez.”

“I’m drugging you next time.”

BD gives an impatient beep and tells Greez in no uncertain terms that sedating someone with already reduced respiratory function is an incredibly bad idea.

“It is?” Cal asks. Does his chest feel tighter? His chest definitely feels tighter.

With a withering trill, BD recommends everyone focuses on the real issue here, which is how Greez came to not be captured.

“Why, you have one Mosey Cimarron to thank for that.”

“Don’t do the accent,” Cal says.

Greez nudges him with a boot. “And Merrin too. They snuck me out before the Raiders packed us all onto their dropships, and Pyloon’s has a few more secrets I ain’t shared with you or anyone else.”

I knew it, BD chirps, hopping down to scan.

Greez pokes Cal again. “Our esteemed ladies wanted me to pass on a message, because they know what you’re thinking.”

Cal waits for the inevitable punchline.

“They can handle it. You’re staying right here.”

“No.”

“Are you deliberately ignoring us?” Greez asks. “Even I could take you out right now.”

“We need to deal with the other Raiders, the ones you sent on a merry rawka chase. They’re going to come back from those ruins looking for me, and when they do, they’re going to break in and capture us all. I can’t let that happen.” Cal shivers. Why doesn’t he own a wearable blanket? The things he would do for his woollen ponchos. The fever is really getting the better of him. He heads back into the saloon proper. “Look who I found,” he announces, gently(ish) pushing Greez ahead of him.

“Good to see you, boss,” Monk says. “We couldn’t help but eavesdrop. What are you planning with regards to our Raider buddies?”

“We need to lead them somewhere we can trap them,” Cal says.

“Yeah, like dropping a great big cage on their heads!” Kata says.

Cal stares at her. “That’s a great idea.”

She stares back. “It is?”

“Don’t the Raiders have a ton of cages?” Greez asks.

“Yeah. BD and I freed some nekkos from one a while ago near the old barn but the cage itself is still there. I can lift it, wait until they’re under it, and drop it.”

“I saw that in a holoshow!” Kata giggles.

“Yeah, so did I, when I was five and in pre-school,” Greez mutters.

“That’s not going to work,” Monk says. “The Raiders may be missing a few collective brain cells, but they’re not that stupid.”

“It will work,” Cal says. “Because they’re all going to underestimate it, just like you.”

A short nekko ride is all it will take for Cal to get there. Well, that, and hope that the Raiders will fall for the bait, which they absolutely will when they see him.

“I can do this,” Cal says.

And then he has a minute-long coughing fit.

Greez waits him out. “You can when they get here. Monk, you and Kata are going to stay here, lock every door behind us, and activate the defences. Me, BD and Cal ‘The Cage’ Kestis are going to deal with this little problem of ours.”

“I can go alone, Greez.” He shouldn’t be leaving Kata unprotected again, but if he doesn’t distract the Raiders, she’ll be in real danger all over again. “You’re needed here.”

“You’re right, I am, which is why I’ll only be helping while they’re in the Outpost. You’re the one who’ll be doing the hard work and heavy lifting.” He jabs a finger in Cal’s direction. “Get ready. Go meditate or whatever it is you need to do. The minute those Raiders turn up and start trying to get through the doors, you’re going to lead them where we need them to go.”

“You got it,” Cal wheezes, giving up on any attempt to sound healthy. He retreats to his room to meditate and prepare.

Notes:

GONK!

True story - I moved the camera around until I figured out how Skoova got the fish in the tank. Hatch in the roof!!!

See you next week for more! Until then, find more to read on Tumblr

Chapter 4

It’s not even an hour before Greez’s voice drags Cal back to himself, his voice low and hissing about the Raiders crossing into the Outpost. “Ship dropped ‘em off a couple minutes ago.”

Not a fever dream then. Damn.

Also, he slept instead of meditating. Oops. Cal struggles to wake up. “Are Monk and Kata safe?”

“Yeah, they’re gonna come down here once you’re gone so they can head down to the tunnels if they need to.” Greez pauses, gives him a once over and what he sees obviously doesn’t reassure him. “I need to know you’re good for this. You look and sound worse than ever.”

“I can do it, Greez.” He takes as deep a breath as he can. “Right, BD?”

BD whoops. He always has Cal’s back. He also has the stims. All the stims.

“You could try sneezing on them. Infections take about two weeks to kick in. Think that’ll be fast enough to take out all the organic Raiders?” Greez asks.

Cal coughs in response.

“Straight home, straight to bed,” Greez says, his hands clenched across his chest and stomach. “I really wish we had a proper medic nearby. I don’t like that cough.”

“I’m not loving it either,” Cal says distractedly. What’s the plan again? Right, Kata’s cage ideal. When he reaches the cage, he’s going to have to slow the Raiders long enough to get it over them – like putting a glass over a bug.

Greez helps him to his feet. BD hops on too. Cal squares his balance and looks to the back door. “You finally gonna let me out?”

“Yeah, but only ‘cause this is the last time I’ll allow it for the next few days.” Greez arms himself with four blasters. “I’ll cover you. Go.”

Clapping Greez on the shoulder, Cal heads out. The night air is a blissful kiss against his fevered skin, soft rain falling. He tunes into the Force to sense the Raiders’ approach. There, coming from the west. Their footsteps crunch too loudly in the silent night. A dropship hovers nearby. That might be a problem.

“Go,” Greez whispers. “I’m gonna use an old trick Cere taught me.”

“What’s that?”

Greez aims four blasters in four directions. “Make them think there’s another army of us in here. Then I’m going back inside and joining Kata and Monk in the basement.”

He starts firing in random directions with just enough of an echo and a pause to make it sound like a huge group moving in. Shouts go out. The Raiders are coming; Greez driving them away from the saloon. Cal hurries to the nekko stalls. He gives his bird a pet, yellow feathers soft to the touch. “Hope you’re ready to run fast,” he whispers.

Leading her out of the stable, Cal pauses, gathers his strength, and then casually strolls directly into the Raiders’ lines of sight. He counts three in total, all organic, which is a relief. Less of a relief is how heavily armed they all are. They bristle with weapons – hammers, blasters, lightsabers, those annoying grabber things – each one an army by themselves.

“Hey!” Cal yells. Somehow his voice holds, loud enough to carry across the deserted outpost. “You looking for me?”

The Raiders start running –

– And shooting.

Cal’s lightsaber is in his hand in a heartbeat, activate and reflecting the bolts back. He only activates a single blade. It’s all he has the energy for. BD slams a stim into him, the rush of energy sharpening his mind and his ‘saber skills. That doesn’t mean he’s ready for an all-out brawl with this trio, and he needs to get them away from the saloon. He leaps onto his nekko and encourages her onward at top speed. He doesn’t need to look back to hear the dropship lowering to collect the Raiders and chase him down.

Cal heads for the abandoned barn. His nekko runs fast and true, never faltering despite the increasing rainfall, taking the curves without hesitation. Cal and BD stay low, and when the barn is in sight, Cal slows, hops off the nekko, and nudges her away, the tiniest hint of a Force suggestion encouraging her to find a nice big shrub to snack on.

With his nekko safe, Cal uses a rope to climb to the ridge the barn stands on. Panting for breath, throat and chest burning, skin wriggling with fresh pox, he stands ahead of the cage, resisting the urge to squirm in his clothes. His shirt catches on every single spot across the entirety of his torso, and the things he would do to run around barefoot so he could scratch the soles of his feet. Now he knows why rawkas like to roll around in the dirt so much. It takes a surprising amount of patience exercises to keep from tearing his own skin off. No way could he go back to the Outpost and see Kata if he removed his own skin.

BD beeps at him.

“Huh? Nah, just imagining walking into Pyloon’s with all my skin gone and just muscle and sinew showing instead.”

BD imitates a gagging sound.

The dropship closes in. He can see the Raiders leaning out, preparing for the landing. Cal leans against the cage. It buzzes with animalistic fear. The poor nekkos that had once been caged in here had all been terrified, and it had taken a lot of encouragement to get them out when he’d freed them weeks ago. He lets their fear wash through him, chased off by the knowledge that he released them all into the wild.

“What do you think, BD? How chilled do I look?”

Snorting, BD tells him the first Raider that sees him will think he’s having a stroke.

The drop ship slams into the ground ahead of them, disgorging its Raiders before taking off again and flying back in the direction of the Outpost. Tense, Cal stays where he is and watches the Raiders swagger toward him.

“Here we go,” Cal murmurs.

BD ducks down.

Stepping forward, Cal holds up his hands. “I don’t want a fight,” he says. “Just take me to wherever you’ve taken the others.”

“That’s too bad.” A lightsaber-wielding Raider steps forward, a purple blade activating. Rain sizzles where it hits the light. “Because we’re planning on taking you back in pieces.”

“I dunno, boss, he’s looking pretty gross,” says a female Raider. She peers at him through her visor. “Wait. Do you have rawkapox?” She bursts out laughing. “You poor bastard! You must want to take off your own skin.” She readies her axe. “Why don’t you let me take care of that for you?”

The three fan out, ready to pin Cal down. He doesn’t activate his lightsaber. He sinks into the Force, the Raiders’ future moves glimmering around them. All are on high alert, senses strained, bodies trained and ready to fight – and fight hard.

Not today.

Cal grabs at their potential movement, gathers the coils, and pulls them tight, slowing all three. He drags them into a single group, tearing the weapons from their hands. The kyber crystal cries out in relief as the lightsaber is taken away. Unarmed, unable to move, the Raiders cry out.

The dark tells Cal to take his lightsaber and drive it through their hearts. Instead, he closes the Force around the cage and lifts.

Lifts.

And throws.

It lands over the Raiders.

Bugs under a glass.

And now Cal is staring up at a cloudy sky, rain stabbing his eyes. BD races around him, warbling worriedly. Other voices warble too. Three of them. All shouting, but wobbly, like everyone’s gyro came loose. Cal feels a little warbly and wobbly himself.

The familiar rush of another stim slams through him. Cal sits up. Ahead, he sees a cage, some very angry Raiders, a whole bunch of weapons thrown everywhere, a pair of nekkos nudging them with their beaks, and Greez.

Greez? Where did he come from? He has Cal’s nekko, and one of Mosey’s. What was his name again? Rufus? Ruckus? Whatever.

A high-pitched ringing fills Cal’s ears. Maybe he should lie down again. Yeah. That sounds like a good idea.

He doesn’t feel himself hit the ground.

“Cal? Cal!”

BD leaps onto his chest, feet stomping.

“That’s it, BD, wake him up for me.”

Cal cracks open an eye. Greez leans over him. “Hi?”

“Don’t you ‘hi’ me.” Greez has to raise his voice over the rain. “You said you were up to this.”

“You weren’t here before.” Cal’s voice thins to a rasp. He shivers, the rain hitting his skin like drops of ice. “You shouldn’t be here now.”

“No, I shouldn’t, but I know a thing or two about a lying Cal Kestis. Also, you look like something a rancor shat out.”

Cal sits. “I got the cage on them.”

Greez waves a hand at him. “Yeah, and I’m the one who shut down communications on the planet so they couldn’t tell their Raider buddies what just happened.”

“The drop ship?” Cal’s voice cracks by the word.

“Hey, I’m but a humble mortal, cut me some slack.”

Cal shakes his head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean – ”

“Wow, kid, stop talking. I know you didn’t mean anything by it, and you’re actually impressed by my skills.”

Cal nods emphatically.

“How about you get up, we get back to the saloon, and stay low until everyone else comes back?”

“Next move, you got it.” Cal frowns. Rubs his eyes. He is so tired. “Wait. What was our next move again?”

Greez and BD both sigh. “Tucking you into bed,” they say together.

“No, no, I gotta to the luchrehulk, free everyone.”

“Cal –”

“Merrin might need me. It’s a lot of people for her to help. They might be hurt. The Raiders fight dirty. Those droids are literally built to kill.” And the last time Merrin saw them, they destroyed Dathomir. He can’t let her face that alone. “Merrin could get hurt, she could – ” His voice gives out on him before he can finish his sentence. He doubles over, hoping he won’t eject his lungs from his chest. Blooms of darkness spread across his vision, his body starved of air.

He does cough up several bloodied specks of Koboh Matter. Better out than in. Cal braces himself on his knees, waiting for his airways to settle. Maybe he’s got spots in his lungs. Or maybe, just maybe, getting two lungfuls of Koboh Matter was bad for him.

Getting soaked in the rain can’t be helping either.

“No more.” Greez doesn’t sound worried. He sounds pissed. “This is enough, Cal. Enough. You need to have some faith in Merrin. And Mosey. Even Turgle and Moran can fight. Don’t forget Doma. There’s a reason our old friend Rayvis didn’t mess with her. Prospectors aren’t a bunch of clueless Core World types born into lives of luxury. These are tough people, and the Raiders are dumbasses if they think they’re all gonna sit there, meek and mild, waiting for you to go waltzing into whatever trap they’ve set up. You’re sick, Cal, really sick, and still getting worse. And let’s be honest, you’ve been off your game for a while now. It’s okay to just stop, to be sick, to give yourself some time to fall apart.” 

And they can’t leave Kata alone any longer, BD beeps.

“Let us out!” The female Raider shouts from the cage.

“Excuse me just a moment.” Greez turns, unholsters a blaster, and aims a shot directly at the mouthy Raider’s toes. “Pipe down! Maybe once your buddies let the townsfolk go, I’ll see about letting you go after you know what it feels like to spend a few days locked in there with no food or water. Hope you like the taste of rain.”

The protests continue. Cal wants to argue, is compelled to argue, but there are voices in his head, wise voices, smart voices. They’re all on loop, a chorus of Master Tapal/Prauf/Cere telling him over and over how important it is to trust in the Force, not work when you’re too sick to stand, take care of yourself.

Hold the line.

Maybe he can trust the Force to take care of everyone.

And really, what is he thinking? He can barely stand after what he just did. Does he really think he can ride a nekko all the way out to the luchrehulk, launch a one man and his droid attack and single-handedly save the day?

He could. Of course he could. All that power, right at his fingertips, if he just…

Something hits him on the head. It’s a bar rag. Greez always has one in his pockets these days.

“I swear, your Jedi stuff must be rubbing off on me, because I can hear what you’re thinking. You are not going anywhere but back to the bar, and do you wanna know how I know?”

Cal stares at him.

“I hit you with that rag. You didn’t even try to stop it. You didn’t even notice. We’re going home, right now.”

BD joins Greez, stomping his foot to make his point.

Double-teamed. Cal is out of luck.

“Fine,” he says. And then he tries again. And then he gives up because his voice is gone. He opts for a meek nod instead.

Greez and BD high-five.

---

They ride into the stables and Cal immediately knows something’s wrong. Still wrong. Wrong...er? His throat is so sore he can’t get a single word out, so he settles for giving Greez a nudge with the Force. Greez stares at him, immediately knowing to keep his big mouth shut. Good. Cal senses murderous intent in the Force, thick and viscous like the blood the Raiders want to spill. Maybe the three Raiders Cal trapped in the cage were lured him away from the town so they could attack again.

He really has left Kata and Monk unprotected. Some Jedi he is.

BD huddles against his back. Greez stares at him, demanding an answer. He can probably feel it too – the wrongness in the air. Cal knows it’s rude to project into the minds of those who are unfamiliar with telepathy, but he needs Greez up to speed on what’s about to happen, and he can’t say a single word. And at least this time he’s doing it on purpose, unlike all those years ago when he’d accidentally projected the vision of a dead Jedi. He pushes a single word into Greez’s mind, a modified mind trick that’s less about the trick and more about the message. Ambush.

Greez pulls out two of his four blasters. “Are they in the saloon?” he whispers. “I activated all of the security systems.”

Cal shakes his head. He’d bet his credits (non-existent) on the Raiders waiting for them to try and go back inside. He should have known this would happen, that the Raiders would split their people, the moment that drop ship left those three with him at the old barn. He hasn’t been thinking clearly. He’s put Kata in danger. So much danger. Stupid, arrogant. When will he learn?

Probably the same day he learns to delegate.

“Whaddya wanna do?” Greez asks. “And yeah, stick it right in my head because that’s not weird. Hey, at least you’re not projecting weird creepy dead kids this time or, hey, remember the time you – ”

Shh. Let me think.

“Really? You, think? Figured I’d go in, be the decoy, then you’d swoop in, lightsaber swinging, take ‘em all down.”

And on a good day, that’s exactly what Cal would do. The lightsaber part. He’d rather not use Greez as a decoy…

…and yet…

And yet…

Cal drops the plan in Greez’s head with a silent apology for the headache he’s sure to be causing. Greez nods. “You’re going straight to bed once this is over.” He laughs when Cal shares a picture of himself in bed, blanket over his head. “Attaboy. Wait for the signal. You know, assuming they don’t shoot me on sight.”

Leaving Greez, Cal heads out the back of the barn. He needs to circle around, get to higher ground. Approaching from the west, breathing as quietly as the congestion will allow, Cal climbs onto a roof and nearly runs right into a sniper. He slams a sleep suggestion deep into the woman’s mind before she can raise the alarm. She sinks, soundless, and Cal catches her weapon before it can clatter to the ground. The echo buzzes through his mind – a first kill, the pride of it, no mercy. Rayvis will be so proud.

Crouching down, Cal taps BD and holds out his arm. BD hops on and Cal uses his visor to pick scan the area. There are a few more snipers, except these are droids. The rest of the ambush is peopled by low-level Raiders. Either they really hoped their buddies took Cal down already, or they are starting to run low on people. Cal gives BD another tap, and with three darts the droids are reprogrammed.

Nice. Cal holds up a hand and BD gives him a high-five.

Moments later, Greez’s familiar signal goes out – the Greezy double tap. The droids are up, scanning for targets. The Raiders pour out of their hiding places, ready to find Greez. Instead, they run right into their own droids’ firing line.

Work smarter, not harder. See? Cal is learning.

Once he’s sure all the Raiders are down, he hops from roof to roof, taking down the droids. Always better safe than sorry.

The Force blares. Cal barely drops down in time. Blaster fire goes over his head. BD growls. The final shooter is in the roof garden. Blaster fire shoots up from the ground, Greez trying to take the sniper down himself. The sniper fires again, but not at Cal this time. A cry goes out, a familiar one.

Greez.

A geyser bursts from deep within Cal. He moves without thinking, and now he’s in the roof garden, a Raider staring at him, ruined plants surrounding her, terror in her aura because somehow, she’s never met him before. She’s evaded every single battle, and now he’s here, descending from on high, lightsaber in hand and –

Kill her. Make her pay.

No. Never again. Never.

Being a Jedi is making the choice to keep fighting.

That’s who you are.

Cal pushes into her startled, terror-stricken mind. There isn’t even a hint of resistance. Run away to your base. Leave the Outpost and never return.

She flees.

Cal doesn’t pause to take in the sorry sight of the garden. Greez needs him. He jumps down for the roof and runs to where Greez crouches by the old broken-down speeder.

“Sorry, kid, that last one caught me by surprise.”

BD demands to know if Greez is alright.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Promise. I can duck and weave with the best of ‘em.” Greez casts a critical eye over Cal. “You look done in. Let’s get inside and – ”

Greez’s words fade away. The Force sings. The night sky fills with the sound of engines. Old engines. Clone Wars engines. Several dropships fly in.

“Please tell me those are filled with our people,” Greez says.

They are. They definitely are. Cal can feel it.

“Damn,” Greez says, staring up at him. “That’s the first real smile I’ve seen from you in a long, long time.”

The ships land outside of town. A loud crowd emerges. Everyone walks on their own feet, and no one’s bleeding. There’s a lot of whooping and cheering. The relief is so strong, Cal’s glad Greez is there to brace him.

One of Greez’s hands sneaks around and gives Cal’s a squeeze. “Say hi, and then bed. Well, okay, wave hi, and then bed.”

Merrin and Mosey emerge from the crowd. Turgle is busy waving his arms dramatically, Moran listening with feigned disinterest. Doma emerges and ushers on several prospectors. Dana brings up the rear with Toa, Zygg and Wini – Wini who is carrying a pair of blaster pistols and has a grenade bandoleer slung across her torso. Cal catches Merrin’s eye and waves. She strolls over, a grin on her face. Her magick crackles and pops in the Force. “Traversing that old ship must have been hard work for you,” she says. “I am glad Mosey and I were able to spare you another trip.”

Cal goes in for a hug.

Merrin stops him, ignoring BD’s protests on his behalf. “You are spotty. And sweaty. And disgusting. You are scratching at yourself like the boglings.” She turns to Greez. “I see locking him in did not work.”

“Next time, use your magick,” Greez says.

“Perhaps I will.” Merrin stares at Cal. “Well? Have you nothing to say? No questions to ask about how we saved ourselves without the aid of a noble Jedi?”

“Cal’s lost his voice. I’m sure he’s burning with questions, but they’ll have to wait – unless you want him sticking ‘em right in your brain.” Greez massages his head. “Alright, let’s get inside before anything else can go wrong.” He keys in an override and the doors open. Everyone troops inside. “Monk, get up here! Hope you’re ready to get busy. Everyone gets a free drink tonight. But only one!”

A large wad of soggy refresher paper sails through the air and hits Greez square in the face.

“It works!” Kata giggles. “My catapult works!”

She means her ‘katapult’, BD tells Cal.

Notes:

Apologies for the delay in posting this. For those of you who don't follow me on Tumblr, on Monday night I discovered my identity has been stolen and the thief has done *a lot* of damage. This was supposed to be my recuperative week off work but instead I've spent days trying to get to the bottom of this, reporting it to various financial institutions and the police. Not really the chilled out week I was looking for. OH WELL.

One chapter to go (I think!)

See you next week! Until then, you can find me on Tumblr

Chapter 5

“Cal?”

He startles and lifts his head off the bar. He hadn’t noticed falling asleep. The bar is still crowded, people sharing their stories. It’s Merrin nudging him awake, her arm around his shoulders. He looks at her and doesn’t even bother trying to speak.

“Even Kata is more awake than you, and it is a long way past her bedtime.” Merrin brushes his hair back from where it glued itself to his forehead. “She is already on the roof with Pili, planning how to fix the garden. Meanwhile you are asleep at the party.”

Music thumps from the stage and he sees DD and Ashe have returned… He wonders where Zee is, and then spots her awkwardly dancing with Toa. The thumping bass sinks into Cal’s chest, his bones quaking. Maybe that’s how he’ll go out – shaken to pieces by Altin Lazer Blast.

Merrin holds his hand, the soft smile playing across her lips doing little to hide the worry in her eyes. “Come, Jedi, I think you need to go to bed. You are very, very hot.”

Head woolly, Cal can’t even think of anything clever he would like to say to that. To any of it. Instead, he allows himself to be plucked off the barstool and taken through the crowd back to his bedroom. He feels awful. If Merrin wasn’t there to guide him, he’d probably fall right over.

“You are going to rest,” Merrin tells him as she sits him down and helps him remove his boots. “And if you fight me on this, you will regret it.”

Cal shrugs. He can’t argue. He doesn’t want to. Also, he can’t.

“This silence is new,” Merrin says. “I could get used to it. Winning arguments is far easier.” She grabs a blanket from the foot of the bed and tucks him in. She runs a hand through his hair. “I do not like this fever. Get some rest. I’ll be back.”

BD appears. Cal has no idea where he came from. He listens to BD recounting the party going on upstairs with his eyes closed. It’s a nice accompaniment to drag him under, stirring only when Merrin returns and places a cold compress on his head. He wants to know what happened with the Raiders, but he can’t ask, and she won’t tell.

Slipping into sleep, Cal’s fever boils his brain. He lies on a bed of spikers, the thorns catching skin and bite bite biting burning itching he’s tangled in thorns, they bind him tighter and tighter, grabbing and pulling and he can’t get away, he can’t pull free, they’re all over him, digging in everywhere, covering his face, crawling into his mouth, he can’t breathe, he can’t move, let go, let go...

The spikers loosen for the briefest of moments.

“…quit fighting us and wake up.”

“Is he gonna throw us around?”

“Maybe. You done anything to upset him lately?”

“What? No!”

“Ignore him, he is teasing you. Cal is too sick for that. Greez?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got him. C’mon, Cal, wake up for a minute, leave those nightmares behind. You gotta catch your breath.”

Wheezing, Cal opens his eyes. He’s not in bed anymore, but rather on the ground, surrounded by spikers and propped up on rocks. It’s hard to see Greez and Merrin through the haze. His gaze drifts up, expecting stars only to find the saloon basement’s ceiling. When did Greez start growing Koboh spikers down here? He barely tolerates them in the roof garden. Cal’s vision blurs, sweat stinging his eyes. What’s happening? Why are Greez and Merrin holding onto him so tightly? Too hot. His skin is on fire. He tries to worm his way free, but that makes Greez and Merrin hold on tighter. Air rattles in his lungs. Stop. Stop it! He kicks his legs, trying to find ground, only they don’t move. Too heavy. Too tired. He’s so out of breath.

“Is he even awake?” Greez asks.

“Somewhat,” Merrin replies. “Calm yourself, Cal. You are safe. Slow your breathing.”

Breathing hurts, every inhale a battle. There’s something over his face, blowing strangely bitter air, and the hands holding his stop him from grabbing it.

“You need that for a little longer, get that medicine into your lungs and open them up,” Greez says. “You’re gonna suffocate if you don’t keep breathing.”

He tries. Cal really tries, his lungs crackling and whistling, neither comfortably full. Greez and Merrin lean over him, and he hears BD beeping urgently at someone else nearby. Who…?

“Okay, BD, okay! I’m coming. Hold your nekkos! Well, okay, maybe you can’t do that. Hold your bolts maybe?”

BD just buzzes louder.

Head rolling, Cal sees BD dancing around Mosey’s feet. Wait, where did the spikers go? He’s in his room in the saloon, on a sleep mat on the floor, his bed abandoned.

Oh, he’s hallucinating.

Worried now, Cal squints at the large pot in Mosey’s hands. She smiles when she sees him awake and staring.

“Here we go, courtesy of Doma Dendra.” Close up, Mosey takes in Cal’s sorry state. Her face twists with sympathy. “Hard to see you under all those spots. Don’t worry – this will fix you right up. Trust me, I remember using it myself when I had the ‘pox as a kid.” She puts the pot down beside him.

Cal has no idea how a pot is supposed to make him feel better.

“You must sit up,” Merrin says. “We will use this mixture to soothe your skin. Perhaps then you will rest more easily.”

“Yeah, and get this fever down before you cook,” Greez says.

Cal answers them all by coughing hard enough to dislodge a large wad of bloodied phlegm. Merrin hauls him upright while Greez holds him in place. Cal pulls the mask, choking and spitting, off as Mosey hands over a cloth. “Damn, Jedi, you are really sick.”

“It is a pity he did not come to the luchrehulk,” Merrin says as she takes the pot. “Perhaps this rawkapox would finish off the Raiders’ pitiful remnants.”

“Nah, I think we did that,” Mosey says. “And Wini with those grenades! Who knew she had it in her?”

Bizarrely, Cal feels suddenly sorry for all the droids. What will happen to them? Left to rot like everything else in that swamp. If only they could be reprogrammed as a whole, made to work for the prospectors. They could be, if –

Who is he kidding? They’ll be busy fighting the Imps for years, a nice little replay of the Clone Wars.

Someone presses a bottle into Cal’s hands. He manages a few sips until he has to stop and catch his breath. He would fall back against his pillow if not for Greez keeping him upright. The mask goes back on, the medicated mist it forces into his lungs clearing everything stuck inside them.

And there is only one way for the Koboh Matter to go. Everyone is too polite to mention the foul, lumpy mess he keeps hacking up.

“Atta boy,” Greez says, rubbing circles on his back. “Keep breathing.”

Breathing. Sure. Breathing, he can do that. Cal tries not to fixate on taking a noisy breath, letting it out, taking another letting it out, again and again. Distraction. He needs a distraction. A distinct current of sound suggests Greez is weaving some elaborate tale. Instead of paying attention, Cal drifts with the sound until a cold touch on his arm wrenches him back to reality. He cracks open his eyes and sees Merrin lathering a thick pink cream over all the spots on Cal’s arm. He tries to ask what she’s doing, but when the chill recedes, he notices the itching goes with it. Just like that, he doesn’t care.

Merrin nudges him. “Perhaps you should wake up long enough to put this in some other places.”

There’s a not even slightly subtle snort from Greez. Mosey squeaks and blushes a luminous red. BD orders everybody out. And then, when it’s just the two of them, BD lowers his visor and beeps lots of encouragement. Cal coats himself in pink goop and sighs in relief. It feels so cold, so good. He doesn’t care that his underwear sticks to it. He isn’t itching anymore.

Still can’t talk though, so he reaches over and gives BD a bop on the head. This triggers a series of yes/no questions.

Do you feel better? Cal shrugs. It’s neither a yes or a no. He’s not itchy, but that’s not his only problem. He is breathing a little easier.

Are you still tired? Yes.

Do you want to go back to bed? No.

Do you want the others to come back in? Cal glances at his pink-coated body. No, not right now. He’s not in the mood to be the brunt of countless jokes.

Music? No.

Holonet show? No.

BD whistles. Cal must be really sick if he doesn’t want to do anything at all.

It’s not that. There’s so much to do, so much to prep for Tanalorr, all of it cycling through Cal’s head and crashing all other mental systems. And for the first time, he can’t do anything about it. He can’t push through – his body won’t let him. He’s so tired, so… so… so disconnected… Even the Force keeps its distance.

BD peeps to get his attention. What if he went and got Greez, and only Greez, to keep him company, under the strictest of rules that he is not to mock Cal unless he wants a good zapping?

Cal nods.

BD races off and comes back a few moments later.

“Alright, alright, I got him.” Greez bustles in, three arms flapping, a fourth covering his eyes. “Cal, if you aren’t decent, this is your three second countdown to grab a blanket. Three, two, one!” He drops his hand and sees Cal – sans blanket – covered in pink paste with his clothes sticking to it. “Oh, kid,” he sighs. “BD, shut the door. Don’t let anyone else in. Someone here needs a good bedtime story. It is literally the middle of the night. You slept for maybe two hours before BD here came running telling me you were ‘running a fever not conducive to Human health’ and your oxygen saturation was ‘not conducive to Human survival.’”

BD is very proud of his diagnosis.

Greez ignores him. “You do not need to be awake.”

That would be nice. Except Cal seems to be stuck in this strange, sleepless state, mind churning over all the things he’s too sick and tired to deal with, even though it’s true, he wasn’t needed because the Outpost is full of capable people, and if only he –

“Hey, now. Slow your breathing. We’re staying nice and calm.” There’s a hand brushing through his hair. “Normally I’d say cry it all out, but you really need to stay hydrated and oxygenated.”

Cal manages a weak laugh. A few tears roll down his cheeks.

“Whatever’s going on in that twisty turny head of yours can wait. You can’t go carrying the galaxy’s problems all by yourself, especially not now. Not sure I’ve ever seen you this sick before, and that’s really saying something.”

Cal scrubs at the errant tears rolling down his cheeks and allows himself to be coaxed back into his blanket and bed roll pile.

“Sometimes your body does the talking, and right now yours is speaking loud and clear. Stop. No more. Rest. You’ve found the one limit you can’t push past. Isn’t there some Jedi lesson about stopping before the damage done becomes irreversible? What if you’d breathed in so much of that weird floaty dust stuff that you clogged your lungs and scarred them? Or what if you suffocated?”

That’s… that’s not…

That would be terrible, BD wails, throwing himself against Cal’s chest.

Guilty now, Cal holds him close. He’s okay. No, he’ll be okay soon. There’s too much to do for him to die like this.

They’re quiet for a moment, the soft burbles coming from the comm system humming away in the backgrounds. BD nuzzles closer. Cal lets him. BD’s been through enough lately, and Cal shouldn’t be scaring him like this.

Sorry. He really is sorry.

“Did you ever think about why Cere left her hallikset here for you?” Greez asks out of nowhere.

No, Cal hadn’t. He’d touched it when he’d first arrived, her music echoing like it always has. He remembered the anger he’d felt, old and familiar, because Cere abandoned him, abandoned the mission she put them on and –

And it’s all so stupid now. Such a waste.

“Making music isn’t work. It’s fun. It’s a hobby. It’s a chance to take a little moment out of the chaos and carve some time for yourself. That’s what she used to tell me anyway.”

Time for himself. Cal doesn’t have –

“You need to make time for yourself. You know it. I know you do. Meditation isn’t enough. You need a hobby, something just for you. Before you really do break and no one can put the pieces back together.”

The mask beeps, announcing it has completed its work. Pulling it off, Cal tries really, really hard to talk. He manages a hoarse whisper. “Greez?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.” The sooner he feels better, the sooner he can get back to fixing up Tanalorr.

Greez tucks him in. “I know, kid. You’re a mess. But not for much longer.”

“I’ve got so much to do.”

“Later, Cal. I promise, I’ll help you as soon as you’re feeling better. For now, drink this.” Greez holds out a rehydration pouch. Cal sips the sweet mixture with a wince, forcing it all down regardless. It sends a refreshing shiver through him. “Now, did I not promise you a good bedtime story?”

“You did.”

“Okay. Once upon a time there was a handsome pilot who also happened to be an amazing chef.”

Smiling, Cal closes his eyes and allows Greez’s wild tale to carry him away.

He awakens hours – maybe days – later, emerging from a sleepy slurry. Cal sits, vertigo nearly overcoming him. The movement sets off a fresh round of deep, sharp coughs. The taste is foul, and he’s painfully aware even in the dim light that he’s still coughing up blood and dust. By the time he’s done, he’s ruined at least one blanket, possibly two, and he balls them up with what energy he has and throws them away. He reaches until he finds a water bottle. The cool liquid washes the taste of blood into his stomach. It covers his teeth, speckles his lips. He’s too tired to care, slumping on the bedroll, trying to catch his breath as best he can. The room feels too stale and stuffy. Maybe he should go outside, get some fresher air.

Greez won’t have locked him down here again, would he?

“Hey.”

Cal’s heart thuds. That’s not Greez. It’s not BD or Merrin or anyone else either. Cal knows the voice, but he can’t see the owner in the darkness. “Why are you here?”

“I’m always here.”

“You’re not supposed to be. Not like this.” Cal rubs a hand over his chest, unsure if it’s to ease the itching on the outside or the inside of his body. “Greez won’t like it when I tell him.” He clears his throat, has another drink of water. “He gave me weird looks last time I told him, and we were on Ilum then.” And he’d only been a little delirious from the hypothermia.

The boy emerges from the darkness, clad in his robes, standing in the lamp’s soft light. It catches on the bright red Padawan braid as he takes in his surroundings. “I like it here. It feels busy.”

“What did I do this time?” Cal asks.

The boy shrugs. Somehow, he holds in the I dunno. Cal smiles. Master Tapal worked so hard to get him out of both those habits. Jedi decorum hadn’t held strong on Bracca. “You tell me,” the boy says.

It’s hard to resist the urge to fall back into his blankets with a hefty groan. “Don’t you know already?”

“Nope.” The boy bounces into the shadows, the distinct sound of the back door opening. “Let’s go outside. I wanna see the ship!”

Who is he to argue with himself? On his feet, crouched over to at least pretend he can keep his balance, Cal shuffles to the open door, relishing the cool breeze and the soft patter of heavy rain. The faintest hint of dawn touches the sky, the night lit up by the Abyss.

Small, booted footprints lead up the steps.

Looking back, Cal peers into the dark room. “BD?”

No answer. He must be with the others. Or he’s trying to find Greez’s other secrets. Probably got bored of Cal’s snoring.

The rain calls out to Cal. He steps into the night, following the boot prints to the ship. He looks up to the landing pad, sees the boy waving from the Mantis’ ramp before disappearing on board. Cal stands in the rain for a moment, head tilted back. It must be late – the only sounds come from the boglings and the nekkos in the barn. The saloon is quiet, although the lights are still on. Cal heads for the ship, resisting the urge to sit in the rain and let it take his mind off everything. Once onboard, wet footsteps lead him to the engine room.

“I like your workbench.” The boy peers at the tools left across it. “You should probably tidy it though. Master Tapal says a tidy cabin is a tidy mind.”

Cal doesn’t feel like tidying. He doesn’t much feel like being on his feet either. He collapses onto his bed, leaning into the bulkhead so he can keep an eye on… on himself. “Knock yourself out.”

The boy runs his hand over Cal’s multitool. “Master Tapal didn’t like it that time I took a mouse droid apart.”

That’s right, he hadn’t been able to put all the pieces back together. Although that did lead to him getting his hands on lots of technical drawings for various droids and ship parts, which helped him on Bracca. Strange how those things work out. The Jedi would lecture about destiny. Cal trusts in the Force.

“I took it apart because I was so bored.” The boy boosts himself onto the workbench, short legs swinging in the air. “Remember? I was –”

Sick because he’d spent so long outside in bad weather trying to help the clones find their lost brother, going through echo after echo after echo trying to find Runner’s body so he could be given a proper burial. Master Tapal found him eventually, but not before a combination of exhaustion and injury left him sick for days.

Sick, cooped up in bed and, eventually, bored.

“Master Tapal made me stay in bed until I felt better, even though I wanted to find the other clones who’d died,” the boy says. “He said if I didn’t stay in bed, I’d only get sicker, but I wanted to help. I had to help. What kind of Jedi doesn’t help people?”

Cal looks at himself, his eyebrows rising. “Is this how we’re doing it?”

The boy looks at him, red braid swinging behind his ear. “We’re holding the line,” he says. “We’re persistent.”

It’s more than a little unnerving to hear those words coming from his twelve-year-old self.

The boy – he’s so little, he’s barely any bigger than Kata – stares right back at him. “Nothing changed that time I was sick. They found the clones without me.”

“It’s different,” Cal says. “I’m not looking for the dead this time, I’m trying to keep people alive.” Every Force sensitive in the galaxy needs Tanalorr. They need it now.

“You’re doing it by yourself?” The boy’s eyes are wide. Maybe he thinks he’s the most power Jedi Master to ever exist, a one-man Jedi Order.

“No,” Cal sighs. “Never alone.”

“Maybe you should go back to bed,” the boy says. “I’m sure you can find another droid to pull apart and put back together when you’re feeling better.”

“Not sure BD will appreciate it.”

“Master Tapal said to trust in the Force, and to trust that others are there to help you…”

“Everyone keeps telling me that.”

“…Even if they can’t do what I can do.” The boy pouts.

“Yeah, but they can all do things I can’t do.”

“And you’re not listening to them?”

The boy looks genuinely shocked. It’s so innocent, so well-intentioned, Cal can’t help laughing, even if it does hurt to do so. He scratches at his shoulder, nails catching on spots. “No, I guess I haven’t listened to anyone.”

The boy stares. If looks could talk, his would be saying I’m gonna tell Master Tapal on you!

He stares and he stares.

Stares.

Cal looks away first. “Alright, alright, I get it. Tanalorr can wait. The others can handle it.” He takes as deep a breath as he can, wincing at the metallic taste. “I am sick.”

“You sure are,” the boy says. “You look totally disgusting!”

Can’t argue with himself. “Feel pretty disgusting too.”

“There you are.”

Cal leaps to his feet, catching himself on a bulkhead. Master Tapal barely fits in the engine room, his knees slightly bent to accommodate his extra height. His eyes are on the boy. “Come, Padawan. It is late, and past your bedtime.”

The boy hops off the workbench.

“Master,” Cal breathes.

“I trust you have completed your task?” Master Tapal asks the boy.

“Yes, Master!”

“Come.”

The boy and his master leave.

Cal is ready to follow them. Except when he reaches the hallway, they aren’t there.

She stands with her back to him. “You have a bad habit of getting in your own way.” Amusement hums in her voice.

“Cere?” Gravity presses down so hard on his head. She’s here. Cere’s here. He can’t see through his tears.

She walks away too. “Deep down you really do know what you need.”

“Wait!”

Knees shaking, Cal hurries after her. He reaches the galley as she leaves the ship. Come back. He needs her to come back! His legs aren’t working properly. He knees won’t lock. He’s hot. He’s so hot. He’s going down. He’s got to sit down, right now.

He lands on the deck, legs splayed either side of him in a poor imitation of meditation. He leans against the old terrarium, closing his eyes against the rush of tears.

“There you are.”

Cal looks up, eyes swimming. Dawn’s light shines through the ship. “Hey, Greez.”

Greez sits down in front of him. “Sleepwalking again?”

He shakes his head despite the thumping headache. Tears splash down. “I don’t know.”

“Doesn’t matter even if you are.” One of Greez’s hands rests on Cal’s head. “I found you, and you’re safe.”

“Greez.” Cal’s hoarse voice breaks. He can’t hold it back, can’t keep it together. “I am so tired. I’ve been tired for so long.” He leans forward, crashing into Greez, sobbing even though he doesn’t have the energy for it. “I’ve gotta stop for a while.”

Relief pours from Greez into the Force. He doesn’t speak. He knows he doesn’t need to. He waits, three arms wrapped around Cal, the fourth running through his hair.

Cal’s tears slowly fade. He’s too tired to keep going, and crying is only making his head hurt more. “Greez?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you scratch my back? It’s getting really itchy again.”

“How about we go back to the saloon and you slather yourself in some more pink goo?”

“Okay.”

“Gotta get this fever down too. No wonder you’re off taking walks. You Jedi are a handful – and I’ve got a lotta hands.”

“I saw myself, and Master Tapal.” He swallows around his sore throat. “Cere was here too.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a lot of people looking out for you.” Greez pulls back. “Which is why we should get back before Merrin and Kata wake up and find you missing. It was all I could do to keep BD from panicking. It’s early in the morning. Too early for decent people like us to be awake.”

“We’re not decent,” Cal teases, struggling to his feet.

“Speak for yourself. I’m a fine upstanding business Latero.”

---

The next few days pass in a haze of sickness. Cal doesn’t have the energy for anything, not even guilt. The rawkapox, the Koboh Matter, Tanalorr, the unending war. None of it.

When he’s not dozing, he’s itching, and when he’s not itching, he’s trying to find something to do even though he can’t concentrate for longer than a few minutes. The briefest sparks of energy see him through showers or small meals, but mostly he is a useless lump taking regularly scheduled pills, inhalers and coating himself in pink goo. At least he seems to be done coughing up Koboh Matter. And the pox spots are finally scabbing over.

He’s not left alone for long. BD keeps racing all around Pyloon’s, excitedly reporting back on his findings. Merrin promises she’s on top of preparation for Tanalorr. Mosey reassures him the Raiders haven’t attacked again and the Empire doesn’t seem to care much about the Outpost. Kata brings him flowers from the garden, talking breathlessly about how she and Pili are already rebuilding it after all the damage the Raiders did. Greez is a constant presence whenever he’s not needed at the bar, talking when Cal needs a voice and a silent presence when Cal simply wants company.

And just as the mediscanner promised, a week later, Cal starts to feel better. The itching relents. The fever fades. The congestion drains. His energy levels return. He can reach for the Force and meditate without slipping into a doze. He feels ready for people again, and starts joining the others upstairs in the saloon, accepting all the teasing about catching a child’s illness and being spottier than he is freckled.

Merrin slides into the booth next to him where he’s nursing a sweet, non-alcoholic muja juice. BD greets her, and she taps him under his head with both fingers. “You are finally looking better,” she says to Cal. “And look at that, the galaxy did not fall apart without you.”

BD chuckles.

“I get it,” Cal says, sipping the juice.

“I hope so.” She reaches over, fingertips brushing his cheek. “Next time, do not get so sick, Jedi. And do not even try telling me it was because of the Koboh Matter. You were sick days before that. Next time, take a break before it gets this bad.”

“Okay,” he says, leaning into her touch.

“And consider shaving,” she says, tugging on his beard. “You are starting to look unkempt.”

“You don’t think I can pull it off?” He tilts his chin to give her a better view. “I thought it looked rugged.”

Merrin laughs. “You will need to invest in some personal hygiene products if you want to look rugged. Mostly you look wild, unhinged. Maybe even deranged.”

Cal can pull off deranged, BD says. It could be a useful cover the next time they’re on a mission – maybe to rescue some refugees from the Empire’s clutches. He could pretend to be a pirate!

Finishing his juice, Cal stands. “I’m gonna shave.”

“A wise choice,” Merrin says.

Notes:

Thanks so much for reading everyone ^_^ Until the next time, you can find me on Tumblr where I'm still posting minifics every Monday and Friday.