XX: Compromises
"Well, the crack is certainly getting bigger," Jayne said, quietly. He was leaning against a wall, frowning down at it. It was wider now, and stretched across the entire area, large enough that Nima could have probably seen it from the end of the hallway.
"It… i-is," Wessen said. But her stammer seemed almost not to fit her calculating eyes, as if it was more that her brain was moving too fast for her mouth to concentrate. She'd changed, her quiet lack-of-confidence had inverted itself. Or at least, that's what it felt like. "We should…"
"Yes?" Jayne asked.
"Hide this location. Use caution signs in order to block it off. This place is f-falling apart e-enough on its own that--"
"They'd believe it," Jayne said, with a smile. "But what if someone does show up, then--"
"W-we'll cover it," Wessen said firmly, and suddenly it's her reassuring him, changed and morphed into something quiet and yet surprising, as she steps a little closer and Nima wondered just what Wessen had been trained in. Certainly, Nima was glad that her friend was settling in, but there was certainly mystery there. "It's a simple enough job. We could also p-put the lights out, there and there. Make it look more abandoned."
"You still come down here with food?" Nima asked, frowning as she stepped closer to the crack. When she looked down, she could see about five or six feet before it was too narrow to even fit her hand in. If she leapt in it, she'd wind up standing in jagged rock up to her waist, which meant that at this rate… it was leading somewhere. That might have been deceptive before, some trick of the Force.
But there was no way to believe that now.
"Yes, we do. T-there's nobody else down here, m-most of the people who come for 'making out' do so a little farther to the west."
Nima blinked. She'd sort of known that, but it was the kind of detail that she'd thought that Wessen wouldn't ever say, and--
Wait, no, focus on the main thing, she told herself. Nima took a breath and stepped forward, "You're really not going to tell anyone?"
Jayne bit his lip, seemingly considering it. "No, I think it'd be best if we… uh."
"W-waited until the situation is more clear. T-this is our puzzle, and the crack didn't feel dark, did it?"
"No," Nima admitted. It didn't feel light either. It felt like something too old to have such distinctions. "But isn't it the purview of the people in charge?"
"No. The war is more important," Jayne said. "This is just a curiosity, and not a dangerous one. If we tell them about this, they won't have time to do more than block it off and occasionally visit, and there's nobody free who'd want to do it."
Nima frowned, feeling guilty anyways. But they had a point, and she'd covered up Jayne's sneaking out before, this was nothing compared to that. It was late in the evening, and up above everyone else was no doubt getting to sleep. She bit her lip and leaned against a wall. "Okay, just… can you promise me if anything big happens, you'll go to them?"
"W-we can do that," Wessen said. "We just wanted a chance. And it's been f-fun. Which is why we want you here too."
Nima smiled at that, relaxing a little. "What have you figured out?"
"It's definitely new," Jayne said, counting out the points on his fingers, his movements a little sly as he paced. "It seems to react to the deaths and chaos of the war as it opens up. Whatever is down there is… I think at least a few thousand feet down. A long, long way. We've gotten together some rope--"
"It's in the other room," Wessen said, quietly. "There was some left over from exfiltration class."
"What?" Nima said.
"Exfiltration," Jayne said. He smiled, soft and kind. "Remember A'ghal, getting trapped in between the bars and trying to squeeze through? While he was distracted I asked the Master, and the Master just sorta said 'yes.'"
Wessen… giggled. Actually giggled. "So, leaving places?" Nima asked, to try to refocus this slightly.
"Yes. Ships, dungeons, cities," Wessen said, quietly, as if she were trying to keep it a secret.
"It sounds useful," Nima said, knowing that that was just how she'd coax Wessen out.
"Yes. I'm top of the class for exfiltration--"
"N-n-naturally," Wessen said, glancing over towards the vent.
"But she's top for undisguised infiltration, and she's very good at tracking as well," Jayne said. "And survival. And she's even good at some of the code work."
"N… not that good," Wessen said, fidgeting with her hands. "I still need your help."
"I had two extra years to learn a bunch of superfluous Jedi code. I… I hope it's superfluous," he added, biting his lip. "A lot of it's from back when the Jedi were being hunted, and that's… historical."
Nima nodded. It was amazing the traditions that did and didn't survive. You'd look at an ancient tradition and learn it was two-hundred years old, and then another would be five-thousand and they weren't treated any differently.
The Shadows were an example. At times they were just a name, or a vague description for a certain kind of Jedi--and there were many such vague descriptions out there--and at others they were all but an Order within an Order. The latter times were usually the darkest, when the Sith ran rampant, and the Dark Side was close enough to touch if you just reached out your hand. Nima knew that the Jedi Shadows, or the Shadows of the Jedi, or whatever name one wanted to give them, were… a real thing. They weren't separate, per se, but she hadn't seen much of Wessen, except in general classes.
It was pretty simple, really. If two people wound up on different tracks, they might not see each other at all, and the people who learned to spy, to sneak, to infiltrate and escape, they were rarely on the same track as most people. But they weren't called Shadow Knight, or Master of Shadows, like they were in some of the older records, at times. It was different, it was implicit. You knew which Jedi were trained in what ways, and you sent them on the missions that they could do.
It was a skill of the Council, one that was constantly exercised.
"Yes," Nima said, finally. "I'm glad both of you are enjoying most of it. Wessen, you've--"
"Grown?" Jayne asked, softly. "I've said that a lot, but she likes being quiet. It makes people forget how much she's changed."
Wessen's emotions twisted into their own sort of knot, but at the moment Nima could see all of them, easily. She was stronger by far, her emotions sure and steady, with none of the doubt or the instability that she was used to. Her tentacles shifted in a fast, clumsy pattern, as if she were unable quite to process the praise. Then finally she said, "Yes."
"Okay, what can I do?" Nima asked. They both seemed close, their words and even their emotions almost in time. It was disconcerting. They'd become best friends, she realized, and she'd seen only hints and flashes of it. Now it was all laid bare, and it was a little astounding.
"Well, you can be here, and help us search the Archives for more about the creation of the Temple. This has to be older than that, unless someone snuck in, somehow." Jayne shook his head. "Which is… possible. And we also could use someone to meditate near the gap. We think that… someone who has a grasp of emotions in the Force might be able to explain something. Sometimes it feels angry, and sometimes it feels calm, and it's--"
"Odd," Wessen added, nodding her head, her eyes going a little wider as if to help indicate just how odd.
"Okay, I can do it."
******
So that became part of her day, part of what she was doing over the next few weeks, even as she trained and filled her day. She'd come at seven or eight at night, stepping around the signs that warned her away, ignoring the darkness and just pushing through as if she were trying to get to the end of it.
And then there it was. She knelt by it for an hour, maybe two, every night. It was a fourth meditation session, and at first she felt nothing. At first. Then she could feel a distant ripple, again, as if she merely needed to get used to it. The vast power in the Force, that much was obvious, stronger and clearer now.
It was as if the waters had settled, at last. That's what she saw at first, settled thrumming power in the Force. Then, slowly, by the second week she could feel it, truly feel the strange play of emotions. There was anger, yes, and guilt, resignation and joy and… it was all so confused that it took her another week to finally realize.
There were three presences. Three things down there, which meant that this was not merely some object, or the resting place of some person. No, this was something deeper. Three of them, and she could even tell them apart, could feel the way that they shifted and changed. Only, there was no guarantee that they'd been persons. It could be a set of three statues, or three… anything.
But Nima felt as if at least some of them had been people. Had been, for she knew what living people felt like, and everyone said that Force ghosts were a myth. But there was still something that made her think it was there anyways.
The largest feeling was one of peace, contemplation. Power. It was the kind of power that didn't need to exert itself, unshifting and calm, but constant. The other two played around at its edges, as if they were movements in a symphony, seas in an ocean, part of it and yet in some inexplicable way separate.
One was angry, furious and passionate… but only for moments, as if one's fury leapt out like a fire and was then forced down instantly. It felt dark, but… not as dark as she had expected, for it was righteous fury, and it came with something prickly and brittle that seemed far easier to break or deal with than it seemed at first.
The other was sly, a little strange, tinged with darkness, with the ghosts of hate and fear, and yet smoothed out into calm, like the sea before the storm. And she felt something so marrow deep one of those days, still smarting from Aydan yet again effortlessly defeating her: compassion, and playfulness, even teasing. As if this third presence was aware of her, and drawing her in. She knew that there were ways in the Force to fake such compassion, such kindness, but most people were as they seemed, at least in some ways. The Force could tell one much, though of course both Jedi and Sith had plenty of experience in hiding themselves from others, and so too must the… bodies below. But did bodies have such changing and variable… imprints?
Ghosts?
It couldn't be, could it? Jayne was the ghost, everyone knew…
She didn't tell Jayne or Wessen. She did talk about how she'd felt emotions, shifting and changing, but nothing all that threatening. But somehow this felt like a secret, her secret, her maddened suspicion, with nothing to back it up but whimsy, fancy, and intuition. She wasn't ready to share this, she needed proof.
Perhaps she could unspool her emotions, unwind herself in the Force, almost, to try to reach out and serve as fishing line for the… there was a metaphor, Nima had thought at the end of the third week, after much had happened and much had changed, with Lexia still sometimes awkward and Nima still working through her crush…
The first force presence was an ocean, and the two other presences were fish. Conscious, sentient, changing.
If she could just catch the attention of one of them…
It was folly, and yet she persisted.
******
Bariss sipped the tea, making almost too much noise while doing so, leaning back in her chair a little and looking across at Nima. Her face was smooth, but there was worry teasing at her lips whenever she didn't have a saucer to hide behind. "I am not much of a connoisseur of tea, but this is quite good."
"It's my favorite blend," Nima said. "My favorite that is available all year." It was earthy, and soothing, the flavors soft and not liable to cause offense to anyone else. If her favorite tea had been something that most found distasteful, she'd have been forced to find a new favorite tea, because it would not be worth moments of distress. For sharing tea was a sign and symbol of trust in so many cultures, even those who called things tea that she never would.
It mattered, it really did, and she'd have never had a favorite tea she disliked.
"We had very little of this in the Trenches on Horblind. Beneath that massive space station of theirs, raining down death and destruction as a naval war raged above. But we did--"
She cut herself off when she saw Ayguin hurrying up. The human, her formhalf-shrouded in the sort of apron a healer wore to a surgery, though it was clean of blood, was smiling as she sat herself down across from Nima, right next to Bariss. "Hello, Bariss, Nima. I'm sorry I was late. I thought we were going to have to do a surgery for one of the Padawans who came back from Horblind. But it turned out he'd had that spore infection as well, which means we need to cure that before dealing with any of the internal--"
"Really? He didn't tell us?" Bariss asked, rolling her eyes. "Really, I bet he was just showing off. If it's the one I know, he's always showing off. He thinks he's Skywalker when he can barely crawl."
Ayguin laughed at the joke, and said, "Well, that's true."
"What happened on Horblind?"
"I made a difference," Bariss said, quietly. "Half of their people were in orbit, half down below. There'd been some catastrophe, centuries ago, and the poorer people had been left to adapt to a changed world, become a slightly different… variation on the species?" Bariss frowned, rapping her fingers on the table. "They were seen as inferior, when truly they were survivors, doing well with what they had. They, of course, were not interested in a Trade Federation controlling everything. The people in the stations sent diseases, plagues to weaken the, by then, more numerous people down below."
"Why more numerous?" Nima asked, fascinated.
"Ships. The stations were relatively primitive, and since they traded plenty, anyone who wanted to could try to escape, see the rest of the galaxy. Do something other than hang in a station feeling superior. Those on the ground could simply survive, and the stations had… limited resources at first."
Ayguin shook her head, vigorously, "That's terrible! Did you cure the plague?"
"I helped. Then they tried this spore infection, while the Clones and the navy dealt with them up above. I didn't kill anyone, and I only had to stop a few droids. I just spent my whole time healing people. Oh, and outrunning creatures they'd sent. But…"
Bariss wiggled her fingers. "One of the Masters managed to tame them. He said that they should be put in a zoo, not hurt just because they were tortured by bad sentients."
Nima smiled at that, surprised at how much Bariss had unwound. She'd seemed in a bad way before, but now--so easily, truly--it was different. "You know, it's good when we can help out."
"It does feel like all the stories are of violence, nowadays," Ayguin said, quietly.
"We do a lot of good work," Bariss said quietly. "But I wonder sometimes…"
She trailed off, and Ayguin's eyes widened, and Nima felt it. Just like with Jayne and Wessen, there was a connection there. It was odd, in a way. "What do you wonder?" Nima asked.
"I wonder if the Jedi shouldn't be doing more of what I'm doing, and less of… if we were just helping people out during the war, medics and diplomats trying to negotiate the peace, we wouldn't be as distrusted, right?"
"We're distrusted?" Nima asked. Then she blinked, realized what she knew, and said, "Yes, yeah. Okay, but what do we do about it."
Bariss blinked. "Do about it?"
"I know that Katarina is helping to work on charity here," Nima said, brightening a little. "Oh, there she is. If you wanted to talk with her about…"
"Oh," Bariss said, and her eyes lit up, gratitude in them. "Maybe. I've never talked to Katarina, though."
"I could go over and talk to her, see if she'd be willing to talk. I know you're away with the war so often, but--"
"But maybe schedules will align, that sort of thing," Ayguin said. "I'm sure that Ahsoka would want that." She said it with a twist of her lips.
"Yeah, she would. She's quite a talker," Bariss admitted. She shook her head, "We've talked politics before, she's very… passionate. But…"
"But she's Ahsoka," Nima said, with a soft smile. Ahsoka wasn't particularly subtle, and her opinions weren't always all that nuanced.
"Yeah. One day she's going to run her mouth off and say something she'll regret," Offee admitted. "I just… hope it's not anytime soon."
Nima nodded. "I'll go talk to her, and see if you want to join in." She had a feeling they'd do fine talking to each other, though she had been included, really. She'd talk to them a little more about their classes, and then maybe she'd find a way to drop her problem with Lexia.
Besides that there was this odd frisson of distrust there. Not in Lexia's emotions, but in the careful way that she moved. Certainly, there were no shoulder pats.
She walked over and sat across from Katarina, schooling her features. "Hello, Katarina."
"Hello, Nima." Katarina paused, uncertainly, raising the saucer to take a small, quiet sip. "You did well in training today." She sounded as if she'd had to reach for that one.
But Nima smiled anyone, feeling herself all but glow as she said, "Thank you. You've been helping me a lot, and I'm sorry that there's more I can't do for you." Nima sipped her own tea and asked, "If I may ask, what type is that?"
"Taoimei Tea," Katarina said.
"It's good?" Nima asked, aware that her mouth was now talking without asking her brain, because if it wasn't good, why would Katarina get it.
Katarina stood up and walked away, and Nima gaped, startled. She couldn't have been that bad of a conversation partner. Then she saw that Katarina was headed towards the front, to order something, and she relaxed and tried to take stock of herself. She had a suspicion, and she supposed now was the time to figure it out.
By the time Katarina got back with a saucer of tea, Nima had a suspicion. It wasn't a certainty, though, and she bit her lip as Katarina sat the cup in front of Nima, kindness radiating from her. "Thank you," Nima said.
"Please, try it first," Katarina said. There it was, even a hint of… almost humor, something about how she said it or how she meant it that made Nima feel warm.
The second time Nima realized she had a crush was mildly less catastrophic. She merely held the saucer close to her lips for a full half-dozen seconds, eyes bugged out. "O-okay, I can do that. I was going to ask, you know that work you're doing outside?"
"Yes," Katarina said.
Nima sipped. It tasted almost medicinal, strong and sharp, even bitter, though with this odd, startlingly good aftertaste that almost made the rest of it worth it. She tried to keep any look at all off of her face. "Well, Bariss might be willing to help, if she has any free time. I thought you could at least ask. After all, aren't there hospitals in Coruscant that could use her help?"
"That's true," Katarina admitted. "I could talk to them about it. We need to do more." Katarina paused. "It's our duty."
She had this serious face sometimes. It was hard to quite see if you weren't paying attention, because she always looked so serious, but when she was being disarmingly adorably--
Okay, yes, definitely a crush. Nima tried to put it out of her mind. But when she was being earnest, Katarina looked completely different. "It is," Nima said. "I've been doing what I can, but…"
"I understand. It is tiring."
"We do a lot, and it's not enough," Nima said. "I should help out with your idea too. But…"
"If you wish to, you can," Katarina said, and startlingly she was smiling. "Nobody doubts your devotion to doing what's right."
"What's that mean?" Nima asked, frowning.
"You're helping Aydan, despite disliking him," Katarina said, as if it were the simplest fact in the world. "You're learning how to heal broken minds." The other girl didn't sigh, but there was a certain incredulity about her emotions now.
A smooth stone? No, she'd never been that. "I'm… comparatively inactive," Katarina finished.
"Really, you?" She stared at Katarina, and wanted to tell her that she was amazing, that she could do things with a blade, or with her mind, that could astound. That, yes, she was sometimes a little too straightforward with philosophy, but it was a learned straightforwardness, and there was nothing wrong about it. But she didn't say any of that, she had a coward's tongue.
Katarina nodded. "Philosophy is important, but one feels constricted." She took another sip of her tea, and Nima did the same. Then Nima waited, feeling the way that the silence expanded the words and gave Katarina a reason to open her mouth again. "I don't know, sometimes."
Katarina blinked, startled, as if she'd just realized how much she shared. "How did you do that?"
"Sometimes people need someone to listen," Nima said.
Katarina nodded, a little carefully. As if she hadn't been wanting to say that, after three or four times of sparring like they had, all but dancing. Nima knew that she didn't want a relationship, or--a part of her did but that part also wanted an extra slice of pie on celebration days, so that part was foolish. She'd definitely settle for having a close, actual friendship whenever this crush went away.
That's what crushes did, eventually. Well, if they weren't fueled by anything. Nima wasn't completely sure about that, but she'd try it. Katarina tapped her fingers against the table. "We should meditate together," Katarina declared. "In the room of a Thousand Fountains. So few have been doing so."
Nima realized that this is part of what Katarina was thinking about when worrying about herself. To her, meditation was unlike philosophy, in that it was active. At the same time… wasn't it, in its way? Meditation was very beneficial, and Nima knew she was one of the relatively few who kept up, at least, thrice-daily meditation.
Katarina, well. She lived in meditation sometimes.
"We can do that. But do you want to go talk to Bariss--"
"Hello!" Elize said, leaning right over Nima's shoulder. "I was just wanting to ask you if you wanted to help me with something."
Nima blinked. "In a… little bit."
Elize's enthusiasm was a little startling, to be honest. It was welcome, sometimes, but Katarina was frowning. "Okay, okay. Sorry if I jumped out at you, you were looking pretty distracted."
Nima managed not to blush. No, she shouldn't be distracted. "It's not a problem."
"Well, so the thing I wanted you to help me with, is you know Fy Tor Ana? She only lets us go through the course once. But she keeps it up for a few hours. I was thinking, if you wanted we could run it together? Me a second time, you a first? I'll help guide you. They're really fun, when you're not falling on your butt from the ice."
Did Nima Tyruti wish to add, to her already hectic schedule, a series of exhausting trials for a class she wasn't taking, and for which she wouldn't have the preparation? "I'll think about it. Right now, why don't we all sit together. We have plenty to talk about."
Making friends make friends was… a bad habit, and she knew that it didn't always work. But it was a valuable one too. So she'd try it.
******
The crisis on Mandalore finally ended not long after that.
Was it a happy ending? Nima wasn't sure. It was all very complicated. The leader of Mandalore, Satine, had arrived just in time, apparently, to reverse some of the orders. Senator Amidala had led a spirited campaign in the Senate that led to the invasion of Mandalore being turned into… something a little bit different. In the Temple, they got at least a bit more of the full story, and it was that certain elements of the fleet were… released from service, just a few ships, to serve as transports for a Free Mandalore navy, one that would, ultimately, come with Jedi to restore Mandalore's neutrality.
Well, semi-neutrality. The ships would stay, but would be crewed as anti-pirate forces, forbidden to move beyond Mandalore or its environs, the Republic would hover at the edge of Mandalorian forces and would be forbidden from entering, and yet while independent and Republic merchants would be allowed to move through Mandalore, openly Separatist merchants couldn't. It was a minor concession, perhaps, from what she heard from Cho most merchants working for the Confederacy used fake identification to make themselves independent, or worked through an intermediary.
Crisis had been averted, Palpatine had graciously come around towards the end--once he had all but lost, Cho reported Hannah having said--and Mandalore was now in the hands of its ruler before all the chaos started.
Anakin, Ahsoka, and Master Obi-Wan Kenobi had been the leaders of the strike force, and were now back for recuperation before the invasion of Geonosis.
It was a happy ending. That, at least, was what people said. But Nima wondered just what Satine had planned. She'd seen the woman, and she'd heard the rhetoric: was it the sort of rhetoric that squared with having the start of a navy? However circumscribed? She wondered if that was it, that people had to make compromises to survive.
Perhaps she was being morose, but in the Force something felt almost-wrong. It was subtle, and indirect, not even something she dreamed of--and she'd been having almost no dreams of her mother lately, something that baffled her--but enough to set her at edge.
And so she went to the Room of a Thousand Fountains.
********
It was beautiful. There was an area of wilderness up above in the Temple, a zoo of sorts, but that room, that habitat, was nothing against the Room. Fountains everywhere, hidden and seen, story after story of walkways and paths, of small areas where one could meditate unseen. The air was always warm, but never too warm, and the Force itself seemed to sing as she walked over bridges, across babbling streams.
Even more than anywhere in the Temple, this felt in its way sacred, in its way hallowed. One could get lost here, not only in the place but in its history. Great Masters had mediated here, lifting stones or their own bodies, and many had fought with lightsabers… and the rumors were that not all of the times were about practice.
Nothing about the Room of a Thousand Fountains was trivial, and she wondered sometimes how a person lived without access to such a place when it was needed.
Then, feeling vaguely sorry for a woman she'd only seen and heard once, but who she had to believe the best of.
Had to, because there were so many reasons to doubt the world already, and she could not stand adding yet another.
So when she comes across Master Kenobi, she was not expecting it. Nor was she expecting the slight frown on his face as he sat in meditation. His eyes were closed, but his brown hair seemed a little messy, and there were bags under his eyes. Nima knew he must have been having long days and nights to get like that, and there was something unquiet about him, though she could not be sure.
There was room in the clearing, and she moved to meditate some way from him.
"You are troubled," Obi-Wan said, his voice distant, as if he were Yoda. "I can feel it in the Force." He opened his eyes, looking at Nima and seeming to regard her. "You're one of Ahsoka's friends, correct?"
"Yes, I am, and--"
Pain. She could suddenly feel it, the Force about him swirling. Troubled? No. He was an open wound, bleeding in the Force as if he'd die, and yet there was not a mark on him. It was as if his mask had been that flimsy, and it must have shown in my face, because he frowned, his lips twisting. "What's troubling you?"
Does the Force speak words? She'd heard some stories that made it like that, but… it felt as if it were guiding her in this part. "The Duchess Satine, of Mandalore."
The wound opened up, bright emotional blood spilling in this place of serenity and peace, the damage too great even for a Master to hide as he looked across at Nima and seemed to see someone else.
"I didn't know you were acquainted," Obi-Wan said, and there was a slight hint of wit, of wry sarcasm, which he seemed, from the shifting as he moved to stand, to immediately regret.
"I'm not, but when I saw her give that speech, and when she returned to Mandalore… against war and yet she had to have a fleet. She might have to have an army. I thought about what that means--"
"You do not think, as some do, that her hatred of war is merely a pose?" Obi-Wan asked, his voice so neutral that even if she didn't know better she'd know the answer.
"No. It didn't feel that way," Nima admitted, aware that she was driving away a Jedi Master with her impertinent words, that whatever Satine was to him was rather more than someone he'd seen once, or met a few times in passing. "I don't think that's it at all."
"It isn't," Obi-Wan said cooly, and Nima realized he was going to leave.
"You're bleeding, Master Kenobi," Nima said softly. And there it was again. The water was splashing all around them, and she was feeling empathy so deep that it was hard to even remember that she barely knew him, that she was an Initiate and he a Master, and that thus if she were wise she'd guard her tongue, or at least show more wisdom than she was. "I can feel it."
"Ah," Obi-Wan said. "I do not know Ahsoka's friends all that well."
"S-scout is fierce, loyal, and the cleverest person my age. I'm… just me. You're hurting, and you should see a Mind Healer."
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "You know of Mind-Healing?"
Nima nodded, her lekku twitching nervously. "I'm training, myself. I can feel it. I--"
"Ah," Obi-Wan said. He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes, quite. "I'll be fine, Youngling Tyruti. Satine was simply a friend of mine. I worry for her."
He was trying to dress it up simply, make it easy to accept, and yet Nima could see deeper than that. It was odd, the way she felt half-blind sometimes, and others it was as if the world itself was open to her, that she understood it. He'd liked her a lot, they'd been not just friends, but close friends. They'd shared a bond like Jayne and Wessen did, or for that matter a little like what she'd realized that Obi-Wan and Anakin must have, to have done all that they did together.
One didn't wind up bleeding out in the Room of a Thousand Fountains--and that was one reason it felt so clear, because how could one's sense in the Force be weak here?--because a friend had a position that they'd had before, for some time. No, when there was a gaping wound it was because something had been torn out, dug out: either her or him.
Humans, just like Twi'leks, had only a single heart.
But how did one accuse a Jedi Master of lying? Nima didn't know, and she knew she was getting too invested. Yet. "You worry for her," Nima said, quietly. "For what she'll have to do, or…"
"She's a pacifist, and yet--" Obi-Wan frowned, as if shocked at the fact that he was talking to her at all, though his emotions were under careful control. But he'd have to have real experience with it, the kind of training few enough people actually went through… at least, now, when the Force was all around her.
"She's making compromises. She's doing what she thinks is best for her people, isn't she?"
He didn't wince. Nima didn't need to see him wince to feel it. "She is," Obi-Wan said. "I don't begrudge her that."
But he did regret that it was so, or--
Oh. For whatever reason, she'd cut off their friendship, she'd made the choice that it couldn't continue, whatever it was. Perhaps it was because of her duties, that she felt she couldn't have friends and duties both. Or perhaps that was an excuse. There were quite a few possible answers, and Nima didn't know which of them was true.
"I know you don't," Nima said. "But sometimes you have to…"
She trailed off, gestured around at the room.
"Yes. I find it relaxing," he said, with a nod. And finally something like a wry smile. "I assume that's why you're here as well?"
She felt someone approach, and realized, almost with a start, that it was Anakin, and that he was in a hurry. And worried.
"Yes. I've started doing this more often. I don't think it's right, the way they've cut down on the meditation, and I wouldn't have expected to think so before."
"Yes, it does sneak up on you," Obi-Wan said, but that was all. His mood was slightly more settled as Anakin stepped up.
"I hated when we had to do five a day," Anakin admitted. He had a pack on his back, as if he were about to set off that very moment. "Whenever we were in the Temple, my Master made me keep to that schedule."
Obi-Wan's eyebrow quirked. "Your former Master sounds like a wise man."
Nima couldn't hide her smile.
"Sometimes. Or perhaps just a wise guy," Anakin said. "C'mon, we do have to go. I know it's hard, but why don't you just send her a message, she's--"
"An adult," Obi-Wan said, calmly. "She makes her own decisions. She has responsibilities."
"Yes, but that doesn't mean she can't have friends. Senator Amidala," Anakin began.
Obi-Wan looked at Anakin oddly. "We should talk about this later, Anakin."
Not in front of the eleven year old girl went unspoken.
"Okay, maybe," Anakin said. "I still think you should take my advice."
"And what's your advice?" Obi-Wan asked, turning to Nima and almost smiling. "As an apprentice Mind-Healer."
"You're--" Anakin said, and she could feel his astonishment. But she didn't know how to feel about that. He'd just… he had to know he was opening wounds, didn't he? She wondered if he just hadn't thought, if he'd forged ahead even though he should know his Master.
"I think that even wounds that don't fully heal can eventually be made to scar, if they're given enough time," Nima said, and her eyes were slightly narrowed, looking at Obi-Wan in a way she'd been told was speculative, "You have a mission, don't you? That'll be… I think it'd be good, as long as it wasn't--"
"Oh," Obi-Wan said, frowning thoughtfully. He nodded, because of course that was what he'd already planned to do. He probably knew his own mental health just fine, wound or no. She hoped she hadn't made it worse: first, do no harm. "We should go."
"I'll stay for a few more minutes, Master," Anakin said, almost formally. He certainly looked almost formal in the black. "I'd like to talk to Nima."
"Very well. I'll be waiting with Ahsoka," Obi-Wan said. He left, and Nima watched him leave and wondered what had just happened and if he would be okay. Surely she was being dramatic.
"How have you been, Nima?" Anakin asked, crouching a little bit. He was tall enough that he needed it.
"I've been… dealing with a lot," Nima admitted, face flushed.
"Don't want to talk about it?" Anakin asked, and his voice was, startlingly and against all expectations, soft.
She felt the impulse, the emotion, and was almost stunned. No, it couldn't be.
Okay, she'd say something. "Just… puberty," Nima said.
"Oh, do Twi'leks get… pimples?" Anakin asked, looking about as awkward as expected.
"I don't think so. But it's… well, there's the crushes, and--" Nima waved her hands slightly.
"Crushes?" Anakin asked, sounding almost amused.
"My Mind-Healing teacher, Lexia, Katarina, another initiate. It's… not a big deal. Most crushes fade. I'm only eleven," Nima said.
"Most do," Anakin said, and there was something odd about how he said it. "You know what was going on?"
"Not quite. If you mean with Obi-Wan," Nima said, surprised.
"He had… has, I guess, a crush on Satine. And her on him. But, and I didn't hear all of it, I came in at the end, apparently she doesn't want to keep on staying halfway in and halfway out." He frowned. "Being friends but subtly pining for more. She asked him to choose the Jedi Order or love, and she knew what he was going to choose."
That last part was said vehemently, and he added, "Surely there could be some way they could have stayed friends, or…"
Or what? Nima was sure that Obi-Wan wouldn't, he was a respected Master, and, and--
That wasn't a crush. Or, if it was, then the next few months were going to be very painful for Nima. But it felt like it had to be deeper than that. A best friend that you had a crush on, that sounded a lot like--
Her thoughts kept on skipping, as if they couldn't settle down, especially with her suspicion. "Maybe, I know it can be hard," Nima said. "I.. I don't know much. I hope you're safe on the mission."
She hoped Ahsoka was safe even more, but she didn't want anyone to die, or even be hurt.
"I will be. How are things with the dreams?"
"Oh," Nima said. "Well… you don't really want to know, do you?"
"I do," Anakin said, a little firmly. It was odd, really. He felt as if he were trying to play some role he'd never had to play. Something like a parent, maybe? Nima didn't know, though of course few enough Jedi knew how to do that. They knew how to be a mentor and a Master if they were lucky. That was more than enough.
"Okay. Mom had a breakup with a boyfriend," Nima said, smiling at the dismayed look on his face. "But she's been coping with that, and she's on the track for promotion."
He looked… stunned. She realized it was at the idea that she was getting this knowledge, yes, but also because he didn't see mothers that way. Nima understood that, of course. Jedi who became interested in their family often had idealized pictures, as if their parents had spent a decade or more frozen in time, grieving and focused on their child.
Nima knew firsthand that it wasn't like that, and that it was better that it wasn't.
"Oh, I'm glad she's okay," Anakin said. "I know you care."
"And I know you care about Obi-Wan," Nima said, biting her lip.
"He can't just give up. I know he's not the sort to give up like that. Not on… friendship, at least," Anakin said, frustrated, anger rising for a brief moment. "He's like that friend of Ahsoka's, Scout. He never would have said what she said, not even when he had plenty of reasons to. He's known her for years and years. Letters, like you send Ahsoka. Every once in a while."
Nima frowned, and there it was. He sounded, of all possible things, fond. Anakin Skywalker was fond of her. He maybe even liked her. She had no idea how or why, since they'd barely talked at all, though maybe he read Ahsoka's letters? Or… maybe Ahsoka talked about Nima. They still hung out, after all.
It was baffling, and more than that, for some strange reason it even almost scared her, in a way. In part because she wasn't sure how much she liked him. He'd been different every time, and sometimes she liked him and sometimes she felt bad for him and sometimes, like when he was stumbling or doing something bad or getting into some minor argument with Ahsoka over nothing, she actually rather disliked him. She had no idea how to feel about the idea that he felt compelled to ask about her day to day life, about her mother, heck, even to pretend to care about a crush of hers that wasn't going to last.
So she had no idea. She was pretty sure he hadn't thought it through either. She should ask him about that. "When I can. I'm not the best at writing letters, I like talking a lot more," Nima found herself saying, a little stunned in fact by this choice, since it was very clearly a mistake. "Because my abilities mean I can read people, and figure out things easier. But I know that's a weakness, so I'm working on it."
Anakin nodded, looking like he was about to leave.
Nima was sure this was a mistake. More than that, she was sure this was overstepping her boundaries, and a part of her didn't want to do it at all. "Do you read my letters to Ahsoka?"
"I've looked at one or two she's shown me," Anakin said, quietly.
Okay. She was going to do it. "Where are you going?"
"Geonosis. Again."
She could see his arm, knew what he'd lost, then, and what he'd lose again, and again, and again… there were many flaws one could ascribe to Anakin Skywalker, but lack of persistence wasn't one of them. "I could write. I mean, I already write a letter to Ahsoka."
This was a stupid idea, she told herself. He was odd for even being fond of her, what sort of person became fond of someone just from a few brief interactions, half of them meaningless.
Nima Tyruti's own brain rebelled, pointing out quite clearly that she'd done exactly that numerous times. That this wasn't that much of a stretch, and no doubt he'd read a letter or two and stop… whatever this was, anyways.
"If you want." Anakin turned, looking and feeling amused, a little incredulous. "I'll be here a little longer."
"Why?"
"I came from a desert planet," Anakin said, looking as if he didn't expect this either. "This Room was a revelation, when I first saw it. It made me home sick and… not." He shrugged. "I always go here before a mission, if I can."
Nima nodded, and sank to the ground where Obi-Wan had been. "I'm going to meditate. But you're free to stay here as long as you want."
She could feel Anakin's nod.
He spent a dozen minutes quietly looking around, no doubt reaching out with the Force, and then just as suddenly as he had arrived, like a storm that broke over her and then departed, leaving her to wonder just what she was thinking.
Really, she should go take some time to rethink what she was doing.
******
But training in the Temple didn't wait for anyone, and Nima was busy all the way through Geonosis, truly, without even a moment to spare that wasn't spent on friends or work. In fact, the stress was so great that when she had a dream of her mother, for the first time she was almost annoyed. Annoyed not at her mother, but at herself, because did she really need to know this? Was it really important?
Her mother was apparently, or so the next month of dreams began to fill in, dating someone. She hadn't seen him, yes, but she'd felt him, the small touches in her apartment, the moments planning ahead or working for the weekend, it was all very cozy, and all very much not Nima's business, even if she was curious as to his name.
As for his occupation?
"An artist?" Ash asked over the holocom.
"Yes. I met him--"
I can guess where you met him. Is he starving, a fixer-upper for you to…"
"No. We've just been going out on dates. His art is very good, and he has a secondary degree. He could always fall back on that, but I don't think he will have to."
"Ah, yes. Well, good luck with that."
If only she knew his name, but then what would she do with that? She had enough to do without worrying about her own mother's love life, which was a phrase that she didn't want to ever think about again. And yet would have to.
She filed it away with Obi-Wan Kenobi's love life and tried to focus on training, on work, on doing what she could to be the best she could be.
When the war ended, she thought, she'd need to have all sorts of skills. That didn't really explain why she was sitting at a table with Threes, back in the clone quarters, reading over some after-action reports. She'd asked, two weeks before, and now she was getting to read them, one after another.
Clones really didn't add unnecessary details, and so they were all quite dry, but these particular ones were of interest, since they were one of Master Bell's earlier battles. Threes was there, the leader of this group of clones looking a little thoughtful, sometimes, when he looked at her.
"Scout, you know, has taken to asking for the same thing. We've decided to make it a… module." He said it with a slight twist of his smile, as if he were surprised again that things had changed. "She gets under your skin. So do you. All of the Initiates do." His smile became more gentle. "You should stay for dinner, since you're already here."
"I do need to meet with Lexia, we've started in on actually… healing minds," Nima admitted, frowning as she went through another page. It was startling, the kinds of mishaps that seemed so common in war. It felt as if there was no such thing as control, and yet people made plans all the time. So there had to be some sort of advantage to do so, even as half of the AARs ended in discussions of scrapping and changing plans multiple times.
"Ah. You're always invited. You know that, right?" he asked. His face was almost blank, but she could feel his good cheer. He hoped to surprise her with the invitation, but she knew.
"Of course I am."
"Even after all this time, some of the initiates don't want to come around here," Threes said. "A few of them even get our names wrong."
"I know. They're trying, and I'm sorry if any of them--"
"Most of the ones that get the names wrong apologize, so don't worry about it. Lark offered to prank them for me," Threes said.
"For you?"
"Because I know what this is," Threes said, gesturing to the reports. "This whole set of lessons. What Master Bell is trying to do. And it's working, mostly. But it started out there, and it's going to stay out there for most of them."
"Out there?" Nima asked.
Threes shook his head. "The war. It's teaching trust, I suppose. It's teaching a lot of things, I'm sure you Jedi would… I know you object to some of it."
"I do. Others do," Nima said. "But…"
But what? She wasn't sure, not yet. She liked most of the clones, though. She had a feeling she'd meet one one day that she didn't like, because they were people and thus at least some of them would be people she didn't get along with.
"I can't really understand that," Threes admitted. "I'm a warrior by nature. But look at Geonosis, look at… everything. Jedi are learning to trust clones, clones to trust Jedi, and I've been here long enough to begin to wonder what will happen after the war."
"Geonosis? What about it? This one or the last time?" The battle was now ongoing.
"The first time. The Jedi were unprepared for a war, and we were only half-prepared for the Jedi. We had to learn a lot, and fast. And we kept on learning," Threes said. "Even then, I wondered about Jedi. You're all still mysteries." He shrugged, his smile growing wider as he stepped over to where the papers were. "Would you like some of those first AARs? They'll tell you a lot about what not to do. And all the misunderstandings."
Nima had tried not to look too eager. Perhaps if she just looked at all of this, all that she was learning about how to lead clones, as a challenge, or as part of a story on trust, on the ways that people could grow into each other, it'd be easier.
Certainly, it couldn't be that much harder. War wasn't something that Nima Tyruti was built for, but it was something she might have to prepare for.
*******
Nobody could have prepared for Geonosis. Or its aftermath. The battle itself was a nightmare, hard landing, the battle of Point Rain, infiltrations, and a bloody toll. But then came something about a Geonosian Queen, and brain parasites, and stories that seem increasingly terrible and impossible. It was a disaster, it was a victory.
That's what the Jedi notice first.
It almost makes them miss what happens when Anakin (bearing the letter she sent him, if it hadn't been lost), Ahsoka, and Obi-Wan are on their way home.
There would be investigations. There would be riots. There would be so many nightmares. Some of the planetary defense forces replace the clones that were leaving. An argument happened, nobody knows about what, and said forces started massacring captive geonosian citizens. Almost two-thousand die in a single bloody, chaotic night. The Jedi were sent in to deal with it, and the clones.
They do. Except one Jedi…
Jedi Knight Nate Sanrul, whose Master died on Geonosis. He must have been waiting, or perhaps he was driven wild in the tunnels, but he went rogue. He killed almost fifty geonosians by his own blade before he was captured. And he killed himself when he saw that he was going to be taken in.
Yet another Jedi who fell. Yet another one that the war lost.
The Temple seemed to fall apart with the news. Cho, Hannah, and several others got into a fight, a serious enough one to leave people covered in saber burns, to warrant the full might of the order coming down on the ones who started it. But Knights and Masters were debating too, just more subtly than the Initiates.
Nima heard them, walking through the Temple, feeling lost for the first time in a while. This wasn't the first, but… this felt different. This was the very start, in a way. Geonosis, where the Jedi had started on the path to war.
A Senator had been the one who'd added in the planetary security forces, convinced that relying on the clones was a mistake, that they'd need to be phased out after the war anyways, so why not--
It was some bold political compromise, some balancing act that had had to be done, if one asked the right Senators.
And a Jedi had killed fifty sentients. A Jedi had stopped him, but what did that mean to the galaxy? What did that mean to anyone? When had he first become compromised?
And the Clones hadn't done it, never would have disobeyed the rules of warfare like that. Or, at least not nearly as easily.
The entire Order felt split. The entire Order seemed to be falling apart.
For the first time, it felt as if this would be a war without survivors.
What does Nima think?
[] It's… the Jedi should have never been involved in this war. No, that's not the right way to phrase it. But perhaps Bariss has a point. This is costly, this is destructive, and the Jedi need to find a way to be that… somehow allows them peace in all this war, if they're to survive. They need to prepare people, but… Nima doesn't know how.
[] It's politics. The security forces, the Senators, perhaps Hannah was right when she said that Jedi could and should get more involved, that something would have to be done to civilize this war, and the only ones who could do it were the Jedi. Even if… there was such a balance to strike, as democracy was, but… and…
[] That it's the… lack of trust. The clones and Jedi trusted each other, and almost all of them were able to work together to stop a slaughter from getting even worse. The deaths could have stretched into the tens of thousands. One Jedi went rogue, but that was just a reason to watch out, to think it through. The Clones hadn't ever gone rogue, after all. That's what went wrong, truly.
[] Maybe… it's lack of understanding, demonization of the enemy. Had the Jedi ever taught about the Geonosians? Perhaps they should have, should have explained the way that a people could make choices that were wrong, or… found a way that the citizens of the galaxy didn't hate and distrust each other. Maybe it was impossible, but something had to be done.
*****
A/N: And so it gets even more AU. Thanks to Neems for all she does. None of the answers are really an answer, it's about how one feels. I… hesitate to accept the idea of a write-in, honestly?
