Characters: Vim “Wildfi’re” Linfla, Jonas Balker, Aric Jorgan.
Link to AO3 here.
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There was an unwritten rule that a cantina in one of Coruscant's lower sectors would always promise something interesting. Because of this, a lot of visitors took advantage to distract themselves from things in their lives. A lot of patrons were there to simply party and socialize, others stuck to themselves in attempts to damage their memories, a more favorable outcome than reliving horrors.
A lone soldier sat by herself at a rounded booth, nearly looking as glum but swirled liquid in her cup instead of consuming it. Her mind needed to be clear, she was a Captain of one of the best SpecForce squads the Republic had. Horrific memories were a factoring cost to keeping her skills sharp. People relied on her, put their lives in her hands. And oh, how those hands were trembling now.
Closing her free hand into a tight fist, Wildfi're surveyed the environment. Among the paying guests, there were a few who doubtless had ill intentions; of course, that was like saying there was surely fish in the ocean. The expectation was someone would come out to try to kill her or anyone in the room. Another reason why she had to stay aware. Shore leave didn't just turn off years of training and experience.
She blinked and had did a double-take. A familiar face. Her body tensed, lowering her cup to the table as she leaned slightly forward. Lights were changing in subtle, consistent patterns, but threw off perspective; anyone hammered was probably having a harder time keeping straight than usual. There, again! That smile, structure, down to the hairstyle and some of the facial patterns of the mirialan were exactly like… like…
No, no, it wasn't possible. Nariu had been dead for years now and her parents were living on Tython to aid refugees. It couldn't be… but passing through the crowd was the face of her friend. Gooebumps crawled up her toned arms, causing her to shiver. It took everything in her to control rising from her seat in a calm, natural manner. Readying to scoot out and investigate, all current questions were answered as she got a better view. The mirialan wore light colored robes, a couple of sabers at his hilt. Disappointed rolled in but sucker-punched when he looked in her direction and offered a friendly smile that mirrored Nariu's. A slow return of the smile, Wildfi're sat back down and mentally cursed herself. How could she be so foolish?
She stared at her drink for a moment, then rested her chin on her gloved palm, her exposed fingers drummed lightly against her face.
"Aren't you quite the party animal." Her eye trailed up to see the owner of the voice, a light smirk played on her lips.
"Jonas Balker," she hummed.
"Vim Linfla," he echoed her tone with a smile. "You know, I think this might be the first time I've seen you in civilian clothes."
"Hm? Oh," she glanced at her sleeveless lavender turtleneck, tugging at the material before returning her gaze to him. "Well, it's nice having a break from wearing all that armor."
“No kidding. Still look good, though." He motioned to the seat beside her. "Mind if I…?" With a small shrug, she nodded to the seat and he complied, sitting only close enough to be heard over the noise. Leaning back, he rested an arm along the back of the seat. She rolled her eyes.
"Got something official or not official for me to do?" she asked.
"Officially, no. Not official… depending on what you had in mind." A charming coy grin flashed on his face, she responded with a faint wry smile and a shake of her head. He raised a brow. "Why? Bored on shore leave already?"
"No, but I figured it would be better than doing this," she loosely motioned to herself. He leaned over to look into her cup and gave a short hum.
"Mm, I think the issue might be that you're in a cantina and you haven't drunk anything."
"I had a sip," she countered in a playful, defensive tone. "I'm not just… feeling it. Bought it and don't want it."
"So then," he plucked the drink from her hand and took a sip.
"Excuse you-?"
"It's the lack of decent company. Now that I can obliged."
"Since when did decent company start stealing drinks? I took a sip from that!" He raised a brow and side-eyed her for a moment. She exhaled and folded her arms. "Alright, I was going to." He shook his head, took another drink and looked ahead.
"So why are you here then, captain?" Their gaze followed the chaos in front of them, once more she caught sight of the Jedi, and she turned her head away.
"Because of this." She pulled out her datapad to show him a few pictures.
"Huh. Didn't take you to be a collecting ghostly, gloomy art type."
"Well, I didn't intend for the composition or palette of these pieces to end up like this."
"Ah, an artist and a hero. I'm starting to wonder if there is anything you can't do." The lack of a quip had him look at her face again. "So, it's-?"
"It's nothing unheard of in our field of work," she shrugged while she put her datapad away and sat up. "It… is what it is, unfortunately. Trying to manage things during the downtime is part of it. I think… I'll try something else. Want to get in a better headspace before meeting up with Aric anyway."
Jonas' eyes looked down at the cup slowly swirling in his hands then up as Vim stood at the table.
"Captain, I owe you one for next time," he raised a glass. She smiled and shook a hand.
"You don't owe me anything. In fact, have another on me." With that, she was gone. He exhaled, grinned, and shook his head before ordering another drink.
Time seemed to stretch into hours on the way back to her apartment. By the time Vim arrived, she collapsed into the warm embrace of her mattress. Promises of a deep, dreamless sleep lured her in.
But she was back in that cantina. Loud, but not as chaotically crowded as earlier. Familiar faces kept shifting around; it was hard for her to get a good look. Walking would help fix that, get her bearings.
Upon moving, her feet dragged. It was okay, she was in no rush. It would be more productive to spend more time focusing on who was with her than her speed. Brows furrowed and knit together, she started by keeping her sights on a particular individual. The robes, hair, walk, it was that jedi again. Was… this some weird connection? Reaching a hand out, her fingers didn't even touch the Jedi's shoulder before they turned around.
"Oh, hello Vim!" Nariu greeted. Vim froze, body growing colder as her friend laughed. "You look surprised. Is it the robes? A career change since the academy, but, hey, much better than what happened during our training." Vim shook her head.
"This isn't real." Turning away, Vim searched for the exit. There! Stars, why was it so far away? And could she truly not go any faster?
"Look who decided to join us," a voice purred, causing her to jolt.
"You guys?" A lip curled at the sight of Gearbox, Tavus, and Needles, who had spoken.
"Don't act so surprised, you're the one who put us here." Tavus folded his arms. "Served in the Republic's hardest battles, including the Sacking of Coruscant, carrying on through the horrors, surviving the impossible, all for what? To be betrayed by our own. By some lieutenant handed the title of leader instead of earning it."
"I'm not arguing with a figment of my imagination."
"Yet you won't face your reality," he countered. No quips or retaliation, she just pressed on to the exit that was harder to see. A crowd was starting to gather. Variety of ages, from kids where she recognized a few to adults, some in uniform like her own, while others in civilian clothes. All eyes on her. The pounding of her heartbeat rang in her ears.
"Captain," they called. "Captain Linfla."
Not real, just need to wake up, she thought.
"Captain," the chorus repeated. "Captain, why?" Hands were reaching out and began grabbing at her. She twisted her body away the best she could, all while feeling stuck.
"Vim." Everyone was getting closer, especially the more familiar dead.
"Stop!" she commanded. They would not yield.
"Vim," they took hold of her and began to shake her. "Vim! Hey!"
Her body jolted awake. Deep inhale, clutching the sheets- wait, something still held on to her. Twisting back, she came face-to-face with Aric Jorgan. His brows were furrowed, head tilted. "Are you alright?" he asked. A couple of slow blinks and breaths, she turned her head to the alarm.
"Dank farrik," she groaned, rubbing a hand over her face. "I'm sorry, Aric, this was supposed to be a short nap. Guess my alarm didn't go off."
"It did," he almost looked amused. "It was going off when I got here." The concerned expression returned. "Are you alright?" She paused to think.
"I… guess I'm as alright as I can be. Tried, obviously. Does something seem super concerning?"
"Well, it's not like you to disappear without a trace. The Nyys said you were still here, so I came to check on you, only to find your art supplies out and disorganized."
"Ah. Nothing was coming out the way I planned,d so I… had just left. Clear my head. Went to one of the cantinas, but even that was a bust. Didn't even have the drink I paid for, Balker took it."
"Balker?"
"No idea how he found me. Arrived alone and left alone after he lightly interrogated me."
"Light interrogation, huh? Better brace yourself, because I saw those paintings you left. I'm no expert on art, but knowing you and your works, I think it's about time we had another talk."
It took him a few too many minutes to remember. A few too many minutes wasted, too accustomed to having Mipha to fall back on.
Mipha wasn’t with him any longer. None of the champions were.
Four’s eyes landed on him, pale face losing about ten shades more, and Wild finally remembered right about the time his legs gave out from under him. Four shouted, ran. Wild winced at the sharp spike of pain - Four’s hands slipping, clamping around his neck, lips moving but no sound reaching - and hoped with a vague sort of numbness that Four had a potion.
Still now, Obi-Wan could see the irony in all of this.
“You’ll be the death of me” he had said to his apprentice so many times.
It was a joke, but if Obi-Wan thought about it hard enough, he had always known it was true. He could not imagine another end for him than being killed by Anakin Skywalker.
That being said, one could believe he was prepared.
He believed that too. He thought he was ready to be one with the Force, complete his mission, die in a fight like he had always imagined.
He will save Luke and Leia from the father they didn't know, and then he'll see his master again.
But he wasn't ready.
The only thing he could think about was that the machine he had in front of him was Anakin.
His padawan.
He could only see a kid, cold and afraid in the Jedi Temple. A teen, afraid of failure. A man who felt helpless because no one understood his pain and even all his power wasn’t enough to erase it.
Obi-Wan thought he had done all he could to help him, but it turned out to not be enough.
The shadow of Anakin, his brother, was in front of him, and was ready to kill him.
And it destroyed him.
It destroyed him because the man he had known since he was a child, the man he had raised and loved, the man who hd been with him since he lost his Master, was eager to do so. He knew Darth Vader hated him, he had known that since they first met as Sith and Jedi, as Evil and Good.
But he had forgiven Ankin so many years ago, that he hadn't even thought about Vader's anger being still alive.
He guesses he deserves it. To be hated.
He had caused most of the pain that now crushed Darth Vader’s heart.
He hadn’t been capable of killing him on Mustafar, prolonging his suffering.
He had failed that mission, he won’t fail this one.
Luke was the only hope now.
He let his guard down, sure that Vader wouldn’t miss that opportunity
He felt infinite sadness when he saw him strike
“I forgive you” he thought as he died, by his brother’s hands. And he knew that Anakin, somewhere inside Vader, had heard his last words through the Force.
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