tw: fictional suicide attempt
Jaster didn’t like Coruscant, the Inner Rim really. It was a cesspool of political bantha osik and with just as much corruption.
The Mandalorian system was no sweet haven, but if someone had a problem they came right out and said it. Well, most honourable ones did anyway ...
But that wasn’t the point, the point was that he hated Coruscant.
Though not enough to throw himself off a building without a jetpack like the little redhead ad’ike was doing.
But hey, he didn’t have to live here.
“Ugh,” He grunted inelegantly, figuring he had been carted back to the Temple and was now wasting away in the Healing Halls. He wasn’t looking forward to the talks that would be coming his way.
“Depends, can be if you want it to be.”
“Oh shut up Myles, no kid, this isn’t hell, it's a med-bay.”
“Or I could pretend that I am actually dead and this is a horrid pre/post death hallucination.” Obi-Wan snarked, peeling his eyes open to gaze at the three Mandos. “Not to say that you are horrid, just that this would be a horrid pre/post-death hallucination, you know?”
“You’re not dead.” The newcomer grunted, clearly unhappy with his snark, or perhaps his casual talk of his death. Huh, who was he to guess?
“I should hope not, if this is death, it hurts more than I was promised.”
“Master?” Depa asked again, making her way cautiously into the room, worried for her master. “Is it a shatterpoint? Do you need your medication or to go to the Halls?”
“We failed,” Mace choked out, his throat tight, lips purse. “How many have we failed? How many have I failed?” Mace looked up at his padawan, taking in her worried features, her Force presence radiating confusion and something that was not quite fear, but wasn't far off. “Sweet padawan, did I fail you?”
“I...I can’t just do nothing. Look what doing nothing had led to.” Mace had known he wasn’t doing the Temple justice in his appointment as Master but he had thought that his part was enough. That he could make a change, eventually.
It was not, enough. It was never enough. He had accepted the role of Master of the Order because he’d hoped to make a change. To help his fellows but he had done none of that.
He couldn’t, not wouldn’t hide from the reality of his actions. Force forgive him.
“I’m not saying to stop. The Force wants this.” And it did. The Force practice pulsed in unison with their heartbeats. Urging them forward, wrapping them in safety and a frankly frightening sense of urgency.
“I don’t know who to trust.”
“We trust the force, the rest will come.”
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