Chapter Text
Water fell in steady drops like the beat of a heart, plunk plunk plunk, into the pool in the center of the cavern. Osha could not hear them: each movement of air in the cave or drop of water was a wave of light through the Force, coiling around her senses, locked behind a helmet of welded bronzed-aurium cortosis that blocked her sight and hearing and gave her wholly over to what the Force had to impart to her.
This is all the Force had to tell her: The water is falling into the pool.
Her heart rate slowed. This was familiar, oddly, just like he had said— the helmets they all had to wear as children in the Temple. Forced to rely on the Force. Like a game of blind-bat-bluff, a fold of fabric around a head, giggling and chasing.
I found you! I found you!
Osha inhaled. Exhaled. The dark is always patient. Waits for you. Welcomes you. She could hear her own breathing, loud and metallic: she could see nothing but two faint slits of indistinct light. He had fought in this, blinded and deafened to the outside world’s input and relying only on the Force. Maybe that was why he won.
He. He. She didn’t even know his name. He was a stranger to her. Sith Lords were supposed to have names, dark and dramatic names like Dorius or Bane, Clau or Viscerate. But he had never told her his name, even though he had been more than willing to take off every stitch of clothing he owned in front of her and go for a swim. Normally it’s the other way around, she thought, fighting a wry smile. Name first, then undressing. Stop smiling. He killed—
Osha paused, centered herself. It was easier without sight to focus on things that truly mattered. The Jedi always taught that we should not mourn people we lose. That they are not gone, just changed into the Force. So I will accept that Yord and Jecki and Kelnacca are passed into the Force. Being angry will do nothing. She focused on evening out her breathing and lifted the helmet off her shoulders when she felt sufficiently peaceful.
The Stranger was crouching over the pool. She regarded him for a moment, frozen: how long had he been there? He reached out, palm flat down, and brought his hand to touch the steaming surface of the mineral-blue water as if it was a transparisteel mirror. Plunk went a soft drop from the roof of the cave, and the tiny waves caused by its disturbance rippled over his hand, so still that it caused not even a tremor to disturb the water. Who trained him? thought Osha, fascinated at his muscle control and slightly unsettled.
He took his hand away and rested it on his knee. “Everything’s a ripple, isn’t it?” he said, almost philosophically, his voice quiet and conversational. “Existence is a wave. We affect the universe just by being alive. ”
“That sounds like a Jedi teaching.”
“Something being true doesn’t mean it belongs to the Jedi,” he answered, still crouching, still quiet. Slowly, he unfolded himself until he was standing, long and lean, at the edge of the pool. “And something being a lie … doesn’t make it the exclusive domain of the Sith.” He turned around and sat on the pallet of thick blankets that made up a resting place next to the pool. “It gets cold at night, so I sleep here. You can warm up in the pool before you go to sleep if you want.”
It was chilly in the cave. Osha wondered if the sun had already set outside. “How cold?”
“It’s a fourteen- or sixteen-hour night and a ten- or eight-hour day. Frost on the condensers outside at sunrise, usually.” He shot her a half-smile she would have categorized as almost teasing as he took off his white tie-wrapped shirt. “Go ahead. I’m not even here.”
This is a test, she thought, considering. Osha was used to casual nudity— in close quarters on a SecCorps ship it was unavoidable, and at the Temple in the dormitories it was the norm— but this felt different, somehow. Like a thing to be traded. He showed me himself, now I show him myself. It was not a hefty price. She leaned down, tugged off her boots, slipped her clothes off, and stepped down into the pool.
He wasn’t even watching. She caught him from the corner of her eye as he simply stretched and lay down facing up, eyes closed like a cat, one arm above his head with blankets up to his chin. Why had she expected him to sit there and stare at her like she’d stared at him? The water felt amazing: hot and soft with mineral deposits, soaking deep into her sore body. Even the wound along her side felt like it didn’t hurt much anymore. She sank down to her chin and sighed deeply, ruffling the surface of the water with her breath. Steam rose around her head in wafting coils. The Stranger’s face was visible in profile: strong nose, a jaw and cheekbones that could have been cut from steel, full mouth. She remembered that mouth, inches from hers, his own lightsaber humming scarlet between their throats, smelling of burnt ozone. She remembered confusion and wanting and the unsettling sensation that if she had strangled him or kissed him he would have accepted either choice with—
“Stop staring,” he mumbled, a tone of faint amusement in his voice.
Osha dropped her eyes, frantic to talk about something besides the thoughts she’d probably been inept at masking from him. “Your scar,” she said.
“Which one?”
“The one on your back. I’ve never seen anything like it. I know— you said it was, you said—” Why was she stumbling over her words like a child? “I’d like to take a closer look. If that’s okay.” This is stupid. You’ve seen naked people before. Why is your heart pounding like this?
He did not answer for a long moment, but then he rolled over to his side, facing away from her. “As you wish,” he said, muffled into his blanket.
Osha exhaled evenly through her nose and got out of the water, her body steaming as she picked up his cast-off shirt and tugged it on. On him, it was thigh-length: on her, it went almost to her knees. She crawled up on the back and gently tugged up the blanket, exposing his back.
Sunless-pale, well-muscled, strongly built: his skin felt cool to her heat-flushed hands as she gently touched the fork of the Y-shaped scar that branched up toward his shoulder blades. The scar tissue was rough, rippled, hard and unmoving, but the puckers along the edges of it where scar met skin were familiar to her. Osha frowned, mapping out the topography of it with her hands, testing the thin puckers with a fingertip. “Intensely high plasma-burn, smooth pattern. These are lightsaber scars,” she mumbled, half to herself.
He sat up. Osha almost fell backward into the pool. “Yes,” he said, turning his head, black hair falling along his ear, his cheek. “Good eye.”
“Who— what Jedi would attack someone from behind?”
Wordlessly, the Stranger turned over his arm, exposing a healing cut along his forearm, plastered over with a clear green bacta patch. “I don’t know. What kind of person lures in umbra-moths to carry off an adversary?”
“A smart one,” she fired back. “Who was saving someone she cared about.” A pang in her chest smarted for little Pip, faithful droid to the last.
“Ah, yes. Master Sol,” he said dryly, tilting his head a little and eyeing her up. “So. Was he worth it?”
“Why do you ask? Did he do this to your back?”
The Stranger’s dark, keen eyes flashed across her face. “See?” he murmured. “You’re learning to not take the bait.”
“It doesn’t look like a normal lightsaber scar,” pressed Osha. “It looks— fluid. The shape of it, I mean. All the burn-scars I’ve seen from sabers are straight. This one—”
“And now you’re asking an awful lot of questions for someone who’s supposed to be going to sleep.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Well, you invited me over here. What did you think I’d do, kiss your widdle ouchie and make it better?”
“I don’t know, sounds vastly preferable to being interrogated.”
Her face went hot. “Don’t change the—”
“Go ahead,” he said, extending his arm to her. She stared down at it: smooth expanse of pale, corded forearm, battered and bruised where his bracer had dug into it, knitting cut below transparent bacta patch. “Want something, give something. Everything has a price, Osha.” She sat a moment, wrestling with her muddled feelings and half-curious about where, exactly, this might all lead. “You’re wondering if I’ll actually tell you if Sol did that to me or not. I’ll tell you. We’ll be honest with each other. I’m honest when I can afford it, and I feel generous tonight.”
“Fine.” Slowly, Osha bent down and kissed the smooth patch. It felt like nothing so much as colloid against her skin, dry and nothing: she lifted her head, paused, eyed up the reddening bruise above it near the crease of his elbow, and pressed her lips to his bare skin. He was warm and smelled of saltwater and sweat and canvas and metal. The Force coiled around him, shielding, protecting, and she sensed it, lifting her head to look up at him. In a split second, she saw his unguarded expression: lips parted, eyes burning. Something alive and eager, almost desperate, lived on every feature before he realized she was looking at him and a cool, indifferent mask snapped back into place like a theater mask. “So, was it Sol?” she asked, unsure of how she felt about that look.
“No,” he answered, voice gone slightly rough, slightly soft, “it was not.”
“I see.” She stood up, annoyed at herself, and walked over to where she had woken up that morning: hard rock shelf, blanket, folded pillow. “Good night.” She thought she heard him let out a soft sound like a laugh, but after wrapping herself up and getting as comfortable as she could, she fell asleep before she could care too much about it.
Something woke her in the dead of night. It’s the cold, she thought immediately, huddling into a ball and shivering. Why’d I go to bed wet? I’m an idiot. It was freezing in the cave, made even worse by the damp which seemed to crawl deep into her bones, and Osha forced herself to sit up and whisper, “Hey.”
No answer. Was he asleep?
“Hey, whatever your— name is, I— I’m cold, do you have a thermal unit you could turn on?”
Silence. Then, sleep-slurred and half-awake, “No thermal unit. C’mere. I’m warm.”
I’m warm. Osha swallowed and slid off her perch, ice-cold feet picking their way across the stony floor until she found his nest of blankets. “Move over,” she hissed, patting around to find his body.
“Mmm,” he grumbled, and slid himself back, making room for her to lie down between him and the hot spring. It was already warmer over here, and she shucked off the damp shirt ( his damp shirt) she’d fallen asleep in before sliding herself under his toasty blankets and wedging herself up against his broad, hot chest. “You’re half-frozen.”
“Sorry.” She was so cold: not even on deep space voyages did it get this cold. “Can’t we build a fire?”
“No smoke-hole. We’d choke. Shush. Go to sleep.” One large arm coiled down around her chest, tugging her closer, and Osha closed her eyes, reveling in the warmth. She felt better already, and drifted off into a deep sleep featuring disjointed strange dreams of gigantic trees and falling into holes and wandering fields until she woke again, when pale gray dawn was barely lighting the cave in enough light to make out colors.
The Stranger was coiled very close up against her bare bottom, and something was pressing into the back of her thigh.
Osha hardly dared to breathe. He was obviously still asleep, his breathing even and steady against her neck, his body limp and deadweight. She slid her leg tentatively upward, and he did not move: she cautiously, carefully rolled slightly away, only for him to mumble something and tighten his arms around her waist.
Well then. She rocked her hips slightly back against his: if he was going to put her through all that touching and grabbing and back-and-forth and nudity, she’d give him as good as she got. He uttered some noise in his throat that sent her skin prickling and suddenly woke, abrupt and startled, his breath catching in his throat. “Osha.”
She did not move. “Yes,” she muttered.
“What… are you doing.” It was not a question, it was a flat demand. Her face went warm and she swallowed.
“Nothing.”
In one swift movement, he had rolled over, but not to push her down and demand answers from her— he had rolled her so that she was on top of him, his hands curled around her wrists and pinning them to the ground on each side of his head, his thighs keeping her legs in place. Below her, on his back, arms bent, ink-dark hair spread out on the blankets, he looked— well, Osha didn’t have time to think about how he looked. “Osha, Osha,” he whispered. “You agreed we’d be honest with each other.” She spluttered and tried to yank her wrist out of his grip, but he shook his head. “Ah-ah. That’s Jedi instinct. I won’t hurt you. Shh. Close your eyes and think. Breathe. Like you practiced. Search your feelings and give all of them equal consideration. And then tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”
Osha almost choked on her own tongue. All her feelings equal? What about the conflicting ones? The ones she didn’t want? Honesty. She braced herself on her hands and knees over his body and closed her eyes anyway, trying to center herself. He was so… unbothered, as if nothing anyone ever did to him, no matter how unexpected, could knock him for a loop. She had the distinct feeling that if she had punched him in the face to wake him up, he would have reacted the exact same way.
How do I feel? Embarrassed, mostly, at her own actions. And why had she done what she had done? She wanted to embarrass him, which was apparently impossible— but she also— she had felt—
No. I don’t. I do not. Osha tamped that feeling down far and stomped on it for good measure, but it crawled right back up like a pernicious vine, entwining her. What had he called it? Desire. Yes. Desire, she had been taught, was humiliating and weak and made Jedi susceptible to attachment— desire for family or revenge, desire for exclusive companionship, any desire, but especially the kind of irrational desire that had wormed its way into her heart after he had extended grace and understanding and an offer of equality and training, had given her a choice the Jedi never had, had seen something in her the Jedi never had— irrational because he had done it all after killing three people she had cared about. But she had cared more about Sol than any of them… and he had left her old Master alive. Had he done it for her?
She could figure all that out later. Right now, she was accepting all the feelings she had, even the ones she didn’t like to think about. They all make me who I am. Even— yes, even…
Osha opened her eyes and looked down into his patiently waiting face. “I want you to tell me your name,” she said.
His left eye twitched almost imperceptibly. “You can call me Qimir.”
“Qimir,” she echoed. Their faces were so close. A foot apart. An eternity. “I don’t… know how to say what I want.”
“Then show me,” he said.
“Okay,” she whispered, searching his eyes for any sign of treachery and finding none, “okay—” and she bent down and crushed her mouth to his, afraid she’d lose her nerve. Her teeth awkwardly pressed into his soft upper lip and he made a noise like he’d been cut to the heart. The grip on her wrists tightened in tandem, loosening just before the pressure hit the point of pain, and Qimir (if that was even his real name) opened his mouth against hers and fiercely returned the kiss. She pulled back, her chest thudding like an off-timed carburetor, her whole body flooded with heat. “I don’t— know what—”
“It’s okay,” he murmured, eyes gone heavy-lidded like a sleepy Loth-cat. “Want what you want. Feel what you feel. Anything.”
“Anything,” she repeated, one eyebrow lifted.
“Yes. Anything.”
“We’re no— both naked,” she stammered.
“Okay,” he said, like it was nothing, like he could have cared less. “I can put my pants back on if that’s what y—”
“No,” she said, sharper than she’d intended. “No, that’s— fine.” Inwardly she cringed: who talked like this in this kind of situation? She didn’t have any real experience apart from exactly two casual hookups in smelly SecCorps bunks, and those she preferred to not think about.
“You’re thinking you’re not doing a very good job,” he said, tilting his head where he lay. “Not being very impressive or… whatever you think it is I want to see. The answer to that is that this isn’t an act, a performance. This is just—” and he rolled his hips upward, pressing himself into her skin to punctuate the point— “being with another person. The only prerequisite is communication. Knowing what the other person wants. Helping them achieve it.” He paused, but she just remained where she was, straddling him, hands planted by his head. “You don’t have to be ready right now.”
Oh, you have no idea how ready I am. “Why, are you having second thoughts?”
“It’s just been a while,” he said lightly, a delicate edge to his voice. “Tell me what you want.”
Slowly, experimentally, Osha pushed her hips forward against him, and he shut his eyes, undiluted pleasure rippling from him through the Force like a wave on the stony beach outside. It was still dim in the cave, but she could make out the pink tinge staining his throat and cheeks. “This feels nice,” she managed, fighting the all-consuming urge to throw communication to the wind and sit on his—
A smile twitched over his mouth, white teeth gleaming. “And you haven’t exploded into a ball of evil intentions.”
She scoffed. “You don’t know the first thing about my intentions.”
“I know if you intended to leave, you’d have left in the night when the tide was out,” he whispered, and those eyes of his gleamed like stars in the gray haze of dawn permeating the cavern.
“Maybe I was too cold.” She lifted her right hand from the blankets by his head and gripped him by the hair: his hair was thick and warm and he made a sound when she pulled gently that made her want to throw all caution to the wind. “Maybe I thought I’d get into bed with you. Maybe I still want to kill you.” Osha curled her hand around his throat, squeezing just enough to cut off bloodflow, not air. He did not move to stop her, did not do anything but let his hands fall in a surrendered position by his head. “What about that?” she whispered.
He swallowed. She felt his throat bulge and swell under her palm. “Then at least I won’t be dying alone,” he murmured, and all her frustration and arousal and anger and desire and pity rose like a flood to drown her, so she bent down and kissed him again, deep and hard like he had done to her, and Qimir eagerly returned it, silent now, no more noises as his fingertips trailed down her bare sides, down to her hips. She needed air at some point, so she pulled back, panting and trembling, and watched him gulp down air, too.
“I just want— a little. Not— not everything. Just. Just—” She closed her eyes, struggling, but he was patient. The dark is always patient. The dark accepts, doesn’t it? Light exposes all your imperfections but the dark doesn’t care, the dark— “Just this,” she forced out, and reached down between their bodies, touched the tip of him, circled him with her finger. “Just this.”
“It doesn’t— work like that— Osha,” he stuttered out, flinging his head back at her touch and maybe— maybe she’d underestimated his own experience, maybe he spent more time in that sensory-deprivation cortosis helmet than she thought, maybe he was just as desperate, in his own way, for touch and connection as she was.
“You said anything,” she protested.
“I’m not a spoon and you’re not a bowl, I can’t just put the tip in—”
“Just try it. Please. Qimir—”
He sat up, pulled her to sit across him on her knees, leaned back against the energy unit, and curled his hands under her backside, under her thighs. The hair stuck to his forehead gave him a disheveled, almost predatory appearance. “You don’t get to be mad at me when it doesn’t work the way you thought,” he breathed, low and dark, and Osha rocked her body up across him, his hands guiding her, pushing and pressing until she had notched him just where she wanted and sat down carefully, concentrating, only just a little, a tiny bit, she could make this work.
“See, easy,” she gasped, one arm locked around his shoulder and her other hand tangled in his hair.
“Yeah? Try moving.” His voice had dropped into a tight, desperate snarl, low as the pits of the earth below her feet, and when Osha tried to lift up and down in the space of only one inch, she realized he was right: there wasn’t anything pleasurable about that and even worse her body was shrieking for more to the point her thighs were refusing to hold her up and Qimir was just sitting there in the slowly brightening light, his face bathed in sweat, tendons standing out in his neck as he endured friction over and over on the most sensitive part of his body.
“I don’t know,” she ground out, “you seem to be feeling something.”
“Let me in.” That tone brooked no argument, but Osha could stand her ground against anything.
“Say please.”
His eyelids twitched. “O-Osha—”
“You want something, you give something. Everything has a price. I want to hear you say it.”
Qimir’s eyes fluttered shut and a breathy, strained laugh left him. “So you do listen to m-me when I’m— mmm— teaching y-you—”
“Say it or I’ll do this forever.”
He sucked down air in a gasp. “Please—”
And she sat down hard until her backside was against his upper thighs. He made a noise like he’d been stabbed and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder as he moved and Osha held on to him, too, reveling in how good it felt to be like this, with someone who wanted her, saw something in her—
The sun broke over the sea and streamed into the cave. Everything went alight in a dazzling glow, the misty air lit in golden curtains. In the light she could see down his back, saw every ridge and valley on the scar there. Osha pressed her fingers against it, biting into his skin with her nails, and beneath her he let out a muffled cry and came apart, emptying himself into her, shuddering in a heavy-damp mass under her arms as he laid them both down and slipped a shaking hand between her thighs. “What—” she started to say, but cut herself off when his fingers circled softly, carefully: pressed and touched and sent ripples of tingling sensation down her thighs and up into her gut and all over her skin.
“You didn’t— think I was— gonna leave you like that, did you?” he breathed against her neck, and after that there was nothing but inarticulate noise, some from him but mostly from her, and Osha stared up blindly into the air of the cave as her whole body came together and fell apart in shockwaves and all she felt was joy as the drifting steam caught the sunshine, lighting the cave in ribbons of gold.
He held her until both of them had started breathing normally again, one arm under her head, the other around her waist. Osha turned her face from the too-bright sunshine, burying it in his chest.
The dark is patient. The dark accepts. The dark is always there, waiting.
Suns become dead frozen stars and planets die, but the dark is eternal, and patient, and will always be there for me in the end.