Private Another Reason

[Loske Treicolt]

The NIO vs. TSE INVASION of Muunilinst: Harnadian Control Building
Maynard Treicolt
We Go Back​

​

“I’m sorry. May, I..I..didn’t mean to..”

The words were mouseish at best, and the apology never fully landed. Loske strained against the amount of blood that was starting to collect beneath her tongue and she coughed lamely, her lips stained with the maroon liquid. The world around her was drowned out in a series of noises and overstimulating visuals that she could barely see through her bleary gaze. Dismayed as she was that he was by her side, she remained fixated on Maynard. Her heart in this moment was tirelessly pumping for him. The fact that he’d peeled from the contest with Ellie Mors brought her almost as much pain as the spear that had previously inhabited her chest. With it removed, and Maynard’s concentrated effort to sustain her life, she was slowly being lulled into a more comfortable descent. Permanently grounded for this engagement, her body fought against consciousness and warred to drag her away from being awake into a more comfortable stasis where her body could focus on trying to accept the medicinal treatment the Force and it’s Knight were trying to deliver.

Meekly her fingertips, stained with her own lifeblood, moved to try and touch his face - but it was concealed beneath that helmet. The T-Visor was all she could see, so she only managed to leave a blotted, crimson handprint on his breastplate before the serenity of the lifeforce he pervaded into her was accepted and took over.

Just before she slipped into the void of senselessness, her comms cackled sweetly by her ears and she smiled despite herself.

<<Hold on...you have to hold on, Blue - Please hold on>

If she could have replied, she would have. Unfortunately, that task was duly left to whatever residual impression she left on the Metaphysical. Or the Commander whose arms cradled her.

Gratefully, Allyson Locke managed to cross through the city and work to extract the fallen Padawan. A medical consort was arranged and she was separated from the useful fighters who continued to prove their support to the New Imperial Order and their presence on Muunilinst. The Galactic Alliance representative was redirected off-world and back to her space, along with a handful of other allies, back to Coruscant to receive appropriate medical attention based on their respective needs.

The Padawan had never been taken out of a fight before. Despite whatever volition she may have conjured, mortality begged her attention and she’d had to be extracted. It frustrated her with every waking moment, especially since her friends were still being useful planetside. And had been for several days while she was otherwise unconscious.

In the time between the end of the fight with the Sith Lord and now, Loske had spent much time submerged in the benefits of bacta. Outside of that, a dutiful Two-OneBees, under the instruction and helpful support of Auteme, operated on her - taking caution to reconstruct the vessels that had been severed and applying healing principles beyond basic doctoring.

Loske had woken up in the hospital almost alone. If Frank hadn’t been there, she might have had something akin to a panic attack. The intravenous, colours, metallic bed, and general lab-like atmosphere of the medical centre sent her back to a visionary place she didn’t want to visit. She hated hospitals, and being the one in the gown only served as a reminder back to clone stress testing days. Auteme had visited her, and Loske had complimented her handiwork, but it still felt rather lonesome to be so distanced from the battlefield.

The days that waned on without action, limited contact, and her friends were torturous. It was like her relationship had personified itself and sent her to her room to think about what she’d done.

Now, after everything, being alone with her thoughts was a terrible fate.

In isolation, Alekto’s goading ran its course. She didn’t need to Flow Walk to watch the scene play over again and again. It plagued her. Her nights were sleepless, wrestling with her wrongs and their consequences. They’d gone in as a pair, Alekto had taunted Maynard’s confidence, then they’d encouraged Loske’s, and then she’d masterfully turned their protectiveness over one another against them. And Loske had let her and ultimately failed the mission because she let her defensiveness and self expectations get the better of her.

She'd fallen into the trap of ultimate hypocrisy. Ryv had confessed to trying to do the very thing she'd done -- shouldered the burden solo so others wouldn't have to.

"....I know the truth of it. I'm gonna die young, bloody, and alone. But that doesn't have to be the rest of you."

"I love you too much to let that happen," Ryv's words came out faster than he meant. His mind seemed to finally catch up with his tongue, resulting in a visible wince. "I love all of you too much to let that happen. You, Maynard, Cedric, Aaaran, Bernard, Auteme..." his attempt at trying to cover up his colossal blunder sent his mind into yet another downward spiral.

"That's why we're never going to let you do anything alone, live..die. Neither one.

It's just not possible.

We're always going to try to be by your side. You have to let us stay close, and others in too so they can love you more."

Maynard had saved her life. Snatched her from the hungry teeth of the eternal void. He’d sacrificed his mission, even when he was on the path to besting the Sith Lord, for her. That gnawed at her. She knew she’d make the same decision without hesitation. That was part of the benefit of free will. Her creation had been to be a soldier, and her ability to choose something other than the government-driven objective and latch onto something she truly cherished was worth protecting -- but to be on the receiving side of that choice felt like an incredible responsibility. It would probably not be the last time where they’d risk their lives, lose hard-won time needed sorely by The Alliance, time they couldn’t afford to throw away on personal quests and private desires but...they loved each other.

Presently, and out of the mint-green façade of the hospital, she absently traced the memento from Muunilinst on her chest. Scar tissue that the surgeons had stitched together after repairing the punctures of her lungs. Alekto had left scars on both her psyche and her person.

Frank’s robotic voice broke her from such thoughts: Galactic Alliance allies are reporting inbound from NIO space.

A jolt of excitement coursed through her. May was part of those reinforcements, she just knew it! That enthusiasm took a pause as she pulled her jacket over her shoulders, and her movements slowed. Would he want to see her right away? Did he need space? Should she message him and meet him later, either her apartment or The Renegade? She bit her lip while fretting through the alternatives to her initial reaction - which was to rush him as soon as he touched down. Ultimately she made the choice that prolonging an interaction would make things too awkward, at least for her and that feeling would likely bleed into their interactions afterwards and put even more invisible distance between them. Loske resolved that she couldn’t handle that.

Coruscant // Alliance Spaceport​

So off to the spaceport she went, leaving Frank in the apartment to prevent any highly likely untimely interruptions.

The shuttle sat quietly, dwarfed by the cavernous reaches of the huge docking bay. Handfuls of troops clustered about, unassembled and self-organizing to either prepare for a layover or be reassigned to another mission. The Alliance Commander was easy to select from the crowd.

Impulsively, she embraced him and forced a tight hold around his torso to communicate the joy she felt at being reunited. Just seeing him again trumped the heavy debt of her mind - the burden that she still owed him an apology. Her eyes closed fast against all the sordid realities that would come rushing in soon enough.

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

Harnaidan​

Muunilinst​

Immediately following Schism's Dawn​

Angry Chair​

​

Enveloped in flames coating the surrounding scene of urban devestation, Maynard looked to the glint of the repulsorlifts pulling the RDAG carrying Loske, Allyson among injured Alliance, New Imperial troopers. With his lightsaber clutched tightly in his right hand he watched on in silence before the ship was out of view.

He'd said nothing to her following her last remark, her apology, her plea for forgiveness. He knew she'd meant it but whether it was a matter of lack of energy, demand of concentration or a momentary lapse of spite following her sentiment. He was silent, expending all in his power to heal her as Ellie Mors fled.

Standing outside the Banking Clan facility which had served as the forward command post not moments prior what remained of Raider Squadron were quick to fall in around him. Pulling up the gaberwool face covering once more as he settled the goggles over his eyes, Colter Darik joined at Maynard's flank. A break in the chaos so short lived.

"They've got Blackblade headed to reinforce all their positions, 'least that's what our eyes show." Outlaw informed, taking his viperwasp into his hands again before peering back to the rest of the squad.

Slowly coursing the palm of his empty hand along Loske's bloodied handprint imprinted on his chestplate. Distorting it in a smear of his fingertips, pulling the bloody armorweave glove into his vision. It was too much of a whirlwind to think about her, not now. On one hand...he'd protected her, saved her life and on the other he couldn't serve to defeat the very being who'd inflicted it all and she was well on her way from this place. This manifestation of death and chaos. But she was dying, were Allyson Locke not at her side he would've seen it better fit to leave his men here or pull them from the battle immediately. All the while, only serving to forsake his brothers-in-arms who could not so conveniently abandon the fray. He couldn't leave them here.

As the sun buried beneath the horizon, the night gave way to another rush of battle. With Ryv and many of the other Alliance and New Imperial commanders withdrawn from the fray, Maynard was one of the few commanders to carry the fight into the night. He needed it, he couldn't be caught up thinking of her.

Entrenched within the rubble filled city streets, Maynard led Alliance Rangers alongside New Imperial Stormtroopers to gain back ground lost at the arrival of Carnifex's reinforcements.

<"No!- no!- I surrend-"> The voice of one of the Emperor's own snuffed out in a blood curdling scream as the Mandalorian's cobalt saber cut along and through the man's spinal cord in a brutalist coup de grace among the flashes of chaos in the night which came from the short distance and frantic exchange of urban warfare in the dead of night.

Slamming the sole of his boot against the Legionnaire's back he put the corpse down low, his senses urging the cobalt blade up and infront of him to reflect an incoming blaster bolt, swinging once more to deflect another, bouncing its trajectory back into a path slamming it into the chest plate of another Sith Imperial.

There was no one, nothing here to fetter his self imposed exile unto darkness. Ryv on relief, Loske off world and the Rangers outnumbered and outgunned couldn't spare any quarter to the enemy. Surging toward another, he rested the palm of his left hand against the pommel of his saber hilt, twisting his wrist to plant a thrust unto the next Legionnaire's chest, slamming the blade through him in a savage impale before pressing forward and stabbing him into the duracrete beneath.

Where his mind was troubled, aching with the weight of Loske's pain shared in their bond. He felt liberation in the death around him. There was no doubt in the finality he inflicted, solace in knowing that they were the chattel of Alekto, of the insidious and despicable creatures which chained the Galaxy in suffering.

Alliance Spaceport​

Galactic City​

Coruscant​

Reborn​

​

It was a similar set of circumstances to when he'd first felt that intangible call to her. It was just after their mission on Brentaal. She was waiting for him after he'd been collected from the battlefield. All the same, except he was largely intact from Muunilinst. Save for more scars, more burns from his close exchanges with the Sith, he was all but the same wholly.

In a switch of dynamic, it was Loske who was knocking on death's door. Communicating back to Coruscant was difficult, leaving them each enveloped in uncertainty concerning the other. As soon the ship landed, making way for the Alliance troopers, rangers, marines and airmen all disembarking in their tan and blue be they relieved from the front or awaiting new assignments Maynard was one of the last out, waiting for the most grievously wounded.

In a reprieve, it was difficult to relegate a Jedi to the monotony of the rigid military service. He'd be destined for the front soon enough but there was an aura of understanding about him and Loske. He needed to see her, duty be damned.

He felt her in the force a few moments before he turned to see her and felt that familiar warm and welcoming embrace wrap around him. He was quick to reciprocate, pulling her close and tightly to his form. Running a hand up through her blonde locks he breathed in a tight breath through his nose before exhaling in relief. She seemed no different than the night before they set out for Muunilinst, if only free from the nerves that the eve of battle brought.

Peeling back if only enough to look into her eyes, his own gaze strained from the campaign. The jump from the warfront on the Braxant run to the Core being the only allotted time for rest in the past few days, and it showed. But other than that- he was fine.

"Hey..." He let out, offering a smile to her as he rested a hand on her cheek in a gentle caress. Leaning forward to press a starved kiss to her lips which he feigned far before he truly wanted to, his hazel gaze matching her deep blues again.

"I missed you, how're you feeling?" They had a lot to talk about, some of it uncomfortable but at the end of it all. He loved her with undying devotion, there would always be time, always be patience to smooth over his conniptions.

Loske Treicolt

​

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Fall back into place..
​

While Maynard unleashed his anguish and conflict, Loske was unaware of it. She’d been unconscious, or drugged, or some other thing that took her attention from that ethereal tether that transcended atmospheres across a galactic map. Those negative feelings were not beyond her total awareness though, she’d felt them on Honoghr and even more amplified on Muunilinst. After fighting Tathra, she hadn’t seen it as a concern. After Alekto, and seeing the ability of the Sith to manipulate emotions, she was a little more worried.

The toll from the surgeries and sleepless nights was sewn in the lines on her face that, unseen, crinkled happily in reaction to his affection. For someone with a typically glowing complexion, she looked truly tired - but less ghostly than if she’d actually crossed over to the other side. She buried her nose against him in the embrace, her heartsick state slowly waning -- making room for the repose of him being safe. Did he want to hold on to his fury like a treasure, because it was so deeply part of him? So much else had been stolen from him.

“Hi.” she offered back with a mustered façade of casualness she didn’t feel. Part of her did, the part of her that was committed to this relationship and who he was, the other part that was strained was the knowledge that they’d failed because of who they were as a pair and if they were going to be useful at all in upcoming quarrels, they’d have to iron that out. Any further words were cut off when their mouths crashed together in a kiss that communicated the yearning from their time apart better than any other means of salutations.

Appraising him wholly was limited at this proximity. He wasn’t coming home on a stretcher, at least.

How was she? Exhausted. Scarred. Parts of her lungs were synthetic. Devastated. Embarrassed.

“Better than last time you saw me.” Loske offered, wincing at her own pathetic attempt at levity. What should have been jovial felt foreign on her tongue, and she looked away for a moment’s reprieve - unable to look at him at the memory of their last broken interaction. She’d been dying in his arms, and asked his forgiveness for her dire mistake. He hadn’t responded, and she faded to black and then in and out of consciousness once Allyson arrived. Mostly out of consciousness, honestly.

The moments thereafter were completely lost, and she could only make up scenarios or dreamlike stories on what happened to fill in the gaps for herself thereafter. Alekto had gotten away, she knew that much, and Maynard had been able to stay. Anything beyond that was limited need-to-know communications from the warfront and those in command.

The corners of her mind ached for catharsis and closure. This interaction was shrouded in mystery and things left unsaid. A giant Mardji in the room.

There was a natural ebb and flow to the people around them, and while they were permitted to pause in the hangar it was only a matter of time until someone tapped them on the shoulder and encouraged them to get a move on.

Did she lure him under false pretenses to follow her and corner him with the conversation that needed to happen? Suggest he walk with her to a speeder that would take them somewhere pleasant?

Yes.

“I want to ask how you are, and I want to know. But feth, I wish I didn’t have to ask. Y’know? I wish I just knew because..” Her expression was as hopeful as it was contorted with shame. She huffed, unable to look him in the eyes for a handful of seconds and she ran her fingers through her hair while she scanned the crowds. Much like her original apology, she didn’t get to finish her thought when, sure enough, someone came along looking to control the flow of arrivals and departures. Even though this was a military spaceport, there was still a level of coordination expected despite the reduced incoming and outbound shuttles.

It soon became too long for her to pick up her sentence where it left off. Too interrupted by the back and forth of people coordinating logistics of parking, idle commentary on crowds, and trying to get back into some state of normalcy.

Of course, as soon as they approached the parking spot of The Renegade any attempt to regain her composure went right out the window.

The apology went well, then? Frank prompted, rolling up to greet them from somewhere around the legs of the ship.

“Frank." Loske hissed hotly through clenched teeth, her horrified expression quickly fading into something closer to anger and then back to being abashed.

By now, Frank was well familiar with his mistress’ tone when he’d said something at the wrong time. Buddy was infinitely the better wingman. He made a dejected sound, and promptly rolled back the way he came.

Loske awkwardly touched the back of her neck with a heavy sigh and wilted, running her hands over her face.

“I uh,” The implications of her pause and speech patterns quickly became clear. “I’m..” she bit down on her lower lip. She’d practiced this in her head on the way to greet him, but she’d got lost in the pure elation of seeing him and now the words weren’t coming out as well as imagined. They were trapped somewhere in her larynx and not rising any further.

Until they did, and they didn’t stop. She was horrified at her unfiltered admittance.

“I hate that this happened. That you just got home and I have to ask how you are because we went in together, but I had to come home before you, and now you’re..here after fighting alone.”

Eye contact was made again. “There were so many reasons to ignore her, and if I could undo it..I..in a heartbeat I would. I completely let you down.”


Maynard Treicolt

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

W O L V E S

As soon as they settled past the gratification of seeing the other again, that uncomfortable aura settled in again. Of unfinished words and sentiment between the two. Luckily enough they were quick from the hangar bay, Maynard about having his fill with the uniform regiment of militaristic existence and the constant blaring intercom and clatter of boots on the durasteel floors of the hangar bay and accompanying corridors were nauseating.

"Yeah...its alright." He said in reply to her wanting to ask how he felt, wishing she knew well enough already in its stead.

When The Renegade came into his vision he was offered a reprieve of familiarity that was quickly snuffed out by Frank's initial line of questioning. Seems there would be no time to settle in and avoid what needed to be said between them. He swallowed in a breath to Loske's hushed shush through clenched teeth to the droid where he retreated back under the vessel.

<Hey- uhh- dude. Chill.> Buddy said in a series of binary beeps, its photoreceptors shifting from the panel it was configuring as Frank wheeled his way toward the other astromech before it shifted to continue its maintenance on the pursuit craft. For all Buddy's quirks, he knew when his presence was needed, making him the ever reliable wing man he'd proven to Maynard. At least thus far.

As Loske spoke up again Maynard's gaze didn't match with hers in the slightest, baring a sigh before he stepped unto the entrance ramp of the craft and into his domicile. It'd been barely minutes since he'd returned from the front, from war and she was already well into difficult sentiment. He didn't want to talk about it, he'd felt true and genuinely betrayed on Harnaidan. Doubted. Again. She knew well what that could imply in his subconscious and she did it so brazenly, in such a critical moment.

Swallowing harshly his eyes finally met hers as the two astromechs rolled back aboard the vessel, promptly led by Buddy who did everything in his power to stray the pair of droids as far away from the Jedi as they could manage aboard the ship. His initial jubilation calcified in favor of the grittier details of the reality they'd just crawled from. Of their relationship, of how she felt about him.

“I hate that this happened. That you just got home and I have to ask how you are because we went in together, but I had to come home before you, and now you’re..here after fighting alone.”

“There were so many reasons to ignore her, and if I could undo it..I..in a heartbeat I would. I completely let you down.”

Swallowing down another heavy breath he nodded once before speaking up again.

"Some times...that's just- just how it is." Maynard said in an attempt to dismiss it all entirely, to cut through the distortion that this had over his mind. But it was futile effort and his thoughts drew more words out, words he wasn't sure he wanted to say.

"I mean...- yeah. It-..." Maynard rolled his tongue over the top row of his teeth as he stepped once more into the vessel, drawing a greater distance between them as he faced away from them, crossing his arms over his chest in a shift of his gaze toward the plasteel paneling beneath.

"You- you should know that I would never...I would never let you get hurt, I wouldn't ever let you into anything like that alone. I-" He turned toward her once again. His eyes matching with hers for the faintest moment before his gaze immediately drifted away once more. Those few days on the battlefield, left alone among the ruins and slaughter he entrenched himself more into the darkness. It atomized in the air around him and permeated in his consciousness. He didn't ever have to think about reaching a hold of anger and pain to use as his fuel. There was only fruits to in slain enemies, conquered ground. To now - he could only associate with victory. Be it on the field of battle at Harnaidan or even when he'd revenged his slain kin on Concord Dawn a decade prior. It broke his chains.

"I just- I don't know how the fuck you could ever think that I would just let you into that alone? And why? Wh- am I not worth the trouble? Am I not good enough? I'd do anything for you! And you- you doubted me, I could hear it- I could sense it. I- why? When have I ever not been there for you? Why the fuck did you think I wouldn't do any good there? You're all I have." Maynard pleads, tears threatening to well up his eyes as he speaks. That same feelings he clung to in his isolation on Muunilinst seemed to manifest here. Anger. Passion.

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Together​

“I know.” She murmured quietly while he explained he’d never let her do anything alone. It was a promise he’d made, and proven, several times over. She intoned it again, cheeks flushed with obvious shame. “No, no, I know.”

"I- I mean its always us together in the shit when something needs to get done. Always us in the fray back to back...and then always us picking each other back up afterwards. I don't know if I've cared this much about anyone else. I wouldn't abandon you."

The heavy weight that was building within Maynard was like an anvil. It seemed like he was wrestling with it, trying to lift it overhead and toss it away with a level of nonchalance that would spare them the exposing conversation. He elected otherwise and dropped the full weight of it on Loske. Immediately her heart shattered and she clicked her teeth shut. No noise slipped out.

There was no eloquence to his reaction, just raw, jagged emotion. It was more piercing than the ground-born javelin that had ripped through her in the fight and she felt herself tighten and tingle from the core outward. The space between them was more than the length of the boarding ramp. It was painfully obvious this was not something physical touch could remedy.

“No, it’s not..” how could she undo what she had done?

Before they’d plunged into the lower levels, she’d enunciated togetherness and Maynard had reciprocated without hesitation. She hadn’t wanted him to feel the need to handle The Sith alone and play the hero card unnecessarily -- so she’d shoved herself alongside him to balance the load of responsibility.

“There’s someone powerful waiting for us.” She hesitated, unsure how much of the execrable permeation he could detect on his own accord. It was a source too overwhelming to send the soldiers, and too much for one of them to try and best. "Again. Together."

That’s where her hypocrisy started.

Alekto was not to blame. As malicious as The Sith was and seeded in evil, she’d simply given a suggestion that baited Loske to bite and in a moment of weakness she’d put her own confidence ahead of the very promise to May she’d started the fight with.

"You're better than he is, stronger."
"You could have came alone."
"But you're afraid - for him."
"You are why he is weak."

She’d damned togetherness to in a choice try and act solo to prevent Maynard from continuing to dance in harm’s way. Shouldering the burden so he didn’t have to.

When it came to her on the battlefield, he lost control and gave himself into a violence that imbued his movements. Alekto had noticed it, Ryv had noticed it and so had Loske. What it meant for him, she didn't know -- but everyone else seemed afraid of it, and it was enough for Alekto to try and exploit. It made the blonde nervous.

There was a lot to unpack in his plea. She felt soft, heavy and lost in this moment. Hurting him was the last thing she ever wanted to do.

“I don’t doubt you!” Loske protested, the words snapping to her tongue in a quick heat at his readiness to turn this into an accusation of his merit. He hadn’t understood her betrayal. She’d barely understood it, the choice had happened so quickly. It was inarguable she was stronger in The Force than him, but that wasn’t enough to overcome an enemy - there was much more required and as a pair they typically piggy-backed off each other’s strengths and weaknesses quite well. “That Sith.. she...and you..she’d already hurt you, imprinted almost.” There’d been a few nights after the sudden kill aboard the vong ship where his dreams would wake him (and by extension, her). The dark woman was a plague.

As soon as they’d entered the fray, Alekto hard targeted the murderous intentions of Maynard and the lengths he’d go to meet them. At first, Loske had realized it was a distraction -- but the fervent focus of her partner had made her second guess the truth behind the taunts.

“I didn’t want it to happen again. I know you’d do anything and you’re always there." She was as much his weakness as he was hers. The fear that he'd choose to sacrifice himself for her sake was too real.

"That’s why I wanted to keep you away.” Decisively, she stepped up the ramp. The part of her that had been wounded by his suffering was firming her resolve to explain the decision, even if she’d only made it with half a mind at the time.

“So you wouldn’t have to turn that part of you on.”

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

"You- you wanted to keep me away because you knew I would fight for you? You knew that I wouldn't let you get hurt. And so you kept me out of it and then-." He didn't want to say, he didn't want to articulate that 'told you so' moment. He didn't have to say it for it to get across to her.

That part of him. A way of explaining...how he became in the fray. A separate component, one not embedded in his very nature. In truth, it'd always been apart of him as long as he could remember, as long as he could feel the embrace of the force. Not as something that merely lingered about him but as something he could consciously grasp, hold and call upon. For guidance. For power.

"Part of me? What part of me? What do you mean?" He could...he could tell what she mean't. He could feel it as much as she could but what seemed to be an artificial switch. A sounding of his dread alarm though the primal body was in all actuality the natrual pendulum from which he submerged into the fray. When he was cornered, threatened, doubted, he relied on it. His anger and his passion. They would break his chains. With it, he could overpower any opponent, any struggle. After all, it saver her.

"I- I don't know what you expected. You think that I wouldn't...get angry, seeing you try and fight her yourself and try and push me away? I can't apologize for that. It- I can't control but in the end. It- I fucking saved you. If I just let you fight her all alone, you would have died and I probably would've died not long after. I- I can't lose you. Not like everyone else. I was too late then, I'm not gonna leave you up to chance, Loske. I just- I can't." It was less self indulgence and more self obligation. At least in how Maynard seemed to describe it. After his sentiment he closed the gap between them with a single pace.

Loske Treicolt

 

[Loske Treicolt]

"Yes! I mean..no." Loske was still confident that if Alekto hadn't been distracting her with an assessment of her partner, and outright called her a reason for him being weak, she would have been fine. Her lips twisted at the insinuation the Mandalorian levelled at her, and stubbournly folded her arms over her chest to communicate her defiance. It was a sentiment that lasted only seconds, because ultimately she'd been wounded almost to the point of no repair if Maynard hadn't been there at her side. The grip on her biceps loosened.

The innocence of his answer further relaxed her tenseness, and her expression fell. What did she mean? He answered his own question swiftly.

"No, you're right - I'm the one that has to apologize for that. And I am sorry, so sorry, if I could take it back and redo it, I would. In an instant. You deserve more and I shouldn't have let you down like that. I just, I don't know." He closed the space between them, and she continued to keep her arms folded, despite herself. Forcing the words that coalesced in her mind out into the space between them before she got distracted by his nearness. A proximity she craved.

"I guess I saw the opportunity to stop you from having to risk anything. I've been replaying it over and over every waking moment since then, and I..what she was saying just got all built up in my head. She said I could take her alone, and like an idiot I believed her. It was..such a hypocritical move, I know. I completely realize that, especially after I got all after Ryv about the exact. same. thing." She punctuated the ends of her thought and ran her hands over her face, obviously distressed. Her thoughts were getting all mixed up and she was self berating as much as she was trying to explain what had come over her.

"I couldn't get anything right during the battle. Maynard struck out at me while influenced by the dark side. I'd only ever seen him like that once before. When I saw it all, I promised myself he wouldn't have to deal with it again, but, he did because I couldn't keep you guys safe."

"And honestly, from the start I was scared for you. Not because of doubt, please don't think that," At this juncture, she allowed herself to reach out to touch Maynard Treicolt 's upper arm in pleading reassurance. "I wanted to protect you from whatever was down there, because she'd already left a damning impression. Maybe you'd be compromised, I don't know." Shuddery inhale. "And I'm scared because you'll do anything out of sheer will. Your fear, rage and will is an unreal combination.

And when, if..you get wrapped up in that charge, I'm...I just get afraid that you'll do something that sacrifices yourself. I can't..that's all I could see down there. You hadn't done it yet, but...she already had such an effect on you if something was going to happen it was with her.

What if you become too reliant on a source you can't control? I don't understand darkness as well as others..but they're scared of it. Scared of what it can grow into. Alekto saw it as something to encourage, isn't that something to be concerned about? If you can't control it, maybe you're not leaving me up to chance, because you become more powerful, but you're leaving yourself to fate and that's not something I can have either."

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

With her outbursts she seized the initiative of the conversation. Maynard's mouth locked shut, his teething grounding down against one another. The shoe was now on the other foot within the confines of this argument. Shedding the true intent of the actions she took then, his anger subsided. Not that he should've ever bared it toward her to begin with. She didn't- he couldn't. He couldn't hold that feeling up for too long to her, he just couldn't. Not when she had been so candid with him now.

When she closed the distance in its finality, setting a hand on his arm he peered once more to the floor beneath before his gaze matched with hers. Only reminded of the intensive flow of emotions that came under him when he saw her struck low, on death's door. That moment when he surged back into the fray and strained every fiber to fight back Alekto, to save her. It reflected back unto him once more and drew the tears welling up in his eyes to escape down his cheeks.

He shrugged that hand from off his arm before pulling them around her in a tight embrace, audibly sucking in a breath as he reached a hand up to run through her blonde locks. Just as he'd let the darkness unfurl on the field of battle at Harnaidan it was all but a posture to keep this far more vulnerable facet of him sated, distracted. The uncertainty of her fate meant there was only solace in the carnage, if she was concerned of him with what she saw during the encounter with Alekto how he regarded the Blackblade into the very same night wouldn't have sat right with her either. He had to let it out, even if he might've been able to carry on an argument that would've bared no fruits for either of them. He just couldn't muster the will. Yearning to be back in her arms again he wanted to avoid the inevitable but he'd staked his claim on the hill he would die on and she promptly walked him down from it.

"I'm sorry..." Maynard said in turn of the tables. He understood well what she meant but in the end, he couldn't help it then and he doubted he could help it again.

"I just- I can't. I don't care what it takes. I'm not going to lose you. Even I have to...use that part of me, I don't care." He said, all but justifying his indulgence in the darkness. If that was what was needed, he'd use it. It was a tool at least, that was how he hoped to regard it.

Loske Treicolt

 

[Loske Treicolt]

I'll crawl home..​

"I'm sorry..."

"I just- I can't. I don't care what it takes. I'm not going to lose you. Even I have to...use that part of me, I don't care."

“I know, love. I know..” Loske said quietly, repeating herself and shrugging into his hold to make her weight a physical demonstration of reassurance. He’d pulled her in before she could do anything to address his tears. She liked to think their vulnerability with one another was healthy. After the interaction in the banking building, she’d been concerned there was a toxicity to their relationship. Being able to honestly express rationale and reason and unpacking it together proved to be the opposite, and she became prouder and prouder to be his with each admittance. There had been something covered in the goading of Alekto under the basement -- she’d tried to pry out the expectations the pair had of one another and in this embrace Loske realized she could only expect Maynard to act out of complete selflessness. He’d also proved he had at least an ounce of selfishness reserved for her, to choose to live rather than die for a cause. He’d abandoned his post in duelling with the tendril-haired temptress to be by Loske’s side when she needed him. That was evidential enough that he felt exactly the same way she did -- she’d always put him first. Above whatever call of duty she was supposed to be following. The antithesis of the Jedi manuscript, but then again, so was being accepting of someone’s manipulation of the darkside. They were also mutual on that consideration - The Force was a tool. It was up to the operator to distinguish its usefulness and implementation; not fall prey to the metaphysical. It didn’t matter, she loved all of him. In the harsh environments they were constantly exposing themselves to, his roots went deeper than the surface layer so many reacted to. He flourished, like a tree, with a powerful outreach and foundation she could find solace and protection in. And like a tree, he cast a shadow; one which she could find protection in even if it did make things a little colder.

Loske leaned back, just enough to snake her hand up and draw the points of her indexes along his jawline and wipe away any of the gathered tears from dripping. He wasn’t bawling, so it was a pretty easy clean job. “Just so long as you don’t lose yourself either.” It was an admonishment that could have remained unsaid, but she wanted to reaffirm that she could also not afford to live without him.

“And I trust that. I do, and I..next time, if there is one where it has to come to that -- I really hope not---I don’t want you to have to deal with it,” she hoped not because she knew it was a resource he kept contained, only unleashed when the well of other options was dry. “I won’t get in your way. We’ve proven that doesn’t work.” She heh’d awkwardly and glanced in the direction of a refurbished panel instead. “But I’ll do everything in my power to keep you from having to get there.”

Was it something about this ship that made the apologies so cyclical? This wasn’t the first time one of them had apologized, and the other had accepted and mirrored the sentiment of apology within moments of the original outburst. Noo - It wasn’t necessarily fair to blame the location, there were also several blissful moments shared between them aboard the customized freighter. After the trip to Thyrsus they’d been starting to make the space more and more shared -- even if the quarters weren’t necessarily outfitted to comfortably sleep more than one person at a time. They managed. And the reality of this conversation, she realized, was her fault for spilling into an onerous topic quickly into their reunion, not giving him the grace to decompress from the campaign in Harnaidan.

A campaign that remained a mystery wrapped in an enigma to her. He was back, he was alive. Anything between him pouring all his healing intentions into her and now was a vortex of unknown. She hadn’t been aware enough to feel anything other than the fact he hadn’t died.

“I haven’t even thanked you for saving my life yet,” She realized, appalled and looped her arms over his shoulders, lacing her fingers behind his neck to suspend herself in a temporary hang before she pressed her nose against his to say “Thank you” and give an appreciative kiss, also ready to move on from the tenseness of their conversation. It seemed resolved now. He knew where she was coming from, she knew where he was coming from. They’d have to trust one another to keep a handle on that moving forward.

“I hated being away from you.” Loske admitted, breaking the lip lock and pressing her cheek to his chest, ignoring the potential of her sounding controlling and a little too clingy. It wasn’t the actual distance that was bothersome, it was the void of knowledge on how either of them were doing. Communication had been strained, impossible over anything that wasn’t encrypted, and built up to this nebulous moment. “Not knowing what you were going through and worse, that you were out there facing it alone.” Probably best not to ask how he’d handled it. He looked tired, and like a newfound maturity had soaked in.

“I don’t ever want that to happen again. As much of our life is debted to duty, I don’t want it to feel isolated. From you, from -- whatever. Ugh, look, I..I caught up with Ryv when we got back from Thyr--Kiffu..mostly because I was worried about him after Honoghr, but -- anyway” there’d been so many planets in so little time. She moved one of her hands to brace her forehead, recalling the dismality of the Kiffar Knight’s perspective “-- he said some really scary stuff about dying alone, all bloody and all I could think about was, yeah, I don’t want that to happen to him of course, but while I was here..and you were there, I was too afraid about how that could happen and be something real. I hated it.”

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

They'd seem to level out on a common understanding. For now, at the very least. It was easy to talk about all these heavy matters from a position of isolation, of safety. What was more difficult was employing it in practice. But what they tangled with was...understandably uncomfortable. Far less strained far more established relationships. And here they were, constantly having to face the mortality of the other constantly.

It all came around again. In the end, whatever they had to get through. Be it the both of them working to bring her from the brink of death, her recovery and then his time in the slog of war. It...it changed it. He'd seen death, he'd seen conflict before but...nothing of that scale. Hundreds of thousands of Sith and New Imperials threw themselves into the fray.

Death. Thick in the air, the surroundings. He took twelve Rangers from Raider Squadron with it, promised that he'd fight alongside them and bring them all back. Only five stepped off the very shuttle that Maynard returned in. It was...humbling even if, when he harnessed the darkness he made himself at home in the chaos and carnage of war in all its modern, industrial volume of the disposal of death. It made it easier to block out, using 'that part of him'.

"Thank you..." He said, he understood what she mean't even if he didn't pack a whole lot of weight behind his appreciation. He knew there would be no avoiding it. He could try, for her but...her at risk again? He couldn't help but assume he would just repeat it all over again for the better or worse.

To her own thanks, for saving her life he could only muster a toothsome grin before carrying on the kiss a moment or two longer. She was - in the end, what made it all worth it.

“I hated being away from you.”

“Not knowing what you were going through and worse, that you were out there facing it alone.”

In that moment his memory couldn't help but flash back to Harnaidan. The battlefield, in the dead of night. Ordered by the Sovereign Imperator, if only by proxy of his cousin Waylon within the service of the New Imperial Armored Assault Corps, he was charged with leading the fight into the night. It seemed overwhelming at first but in the end there was little to tangle with tactically. With air power and artillery positions all contested, it was street to street. War at its closest, most personal.

There was no veil of distance or technology that dug Treicolt from the muck. He wished he would've just been in an X-Wing the entire time. Things felt far less personal there, with a filter of controls, targeting computers and an atmospheric seal between him and the choking nothingness of space and the fellow pilots who sought to strike him down.

"Yeah- believe me I didn't much like it either. It...it's all exactly how they said it is. War. It's...scary, dirty, violent and-...you know, its different. I don't know, its hard to describe what I saw, what I went through...not sure I really wanna talk about it." They were soldiers after all, the two of them. He should just learn to accept the reality of it all. That could come with time, or never at all. They'd either fought an enemy which was wholly inhuman or arrived past the point of no return when tangling with the Bryn'adul. The scales were even at Muunilinst. There was no force bond between him, Loske, Ryv, Allyson...none of that.

"I- I don't know. What'd you get up to back here while I was gone?" Maynard says, donning a faux grin as he looks over her, running a hand in a smooth caress along her cheek. Anything to distract him from heavier realities.

Loske Treicolt

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Sedated​

The blonde nodded sagely, accepting the words he delivered. They were high level, but enough to give a glimpse into the violent rot and their impression on the wayward Concordian. She tightened her hold in response, feeling an insurmountable pang of guilt once more that she hadn’t been by his side. Taken out of the fight by her own hubris. His focus became atrophic, receding back to the streets of Muunilinst and she could watch in despair while his face darkened at the recollection of the memories.

He didn’t want to talk about it.

At first, she felt slighted - but reassured herself that it wasn’t because of her. It was the incomprehensibleness of the entire experience. He’d been fighting after she was gone, perhaps he hadn’t pulled himself from that dark place. It had been gritty, and articulating the experience could be difficult to articulate -- the words required were not necessarily part of either of their vocabulary yet. It was a stark difference to be entrenched with, and fighting shoulder-to-shoulder where you could see the faces of not only fellow soldiers, but those you killed. Part of the benefit of being a pilot was you didn’t have to see the contortion someone’s face who knew they were sucking in their last breath.

The first time she’d been out of the cockpit and on the ground it was like getting her sealegs. It was a completely different, more exposed, experience. She hadn’t been responsible for the lives of others though, leading a Squadron, she only did that in the stars. Maynard Treicolt had taken on the ownership of leading brethren

“We don’t have to talk about it unless you want to.” There was no necessity to dredging up more pain for him to re-live. He’d just got back from it, and probably wanted to leave it behind. They’d already spent a lot of time talking about somber, and since she was the welcome wagon back from the front lines, she better buck up and do her job.

“But if and when you want to, and don’t want to or can’t find the words, you can show me.” Part of the benefit of Kiffar genetics was the ability to translate history into a visual interpretation. Be it from inanimate objects, or to those with a deeper Force connection, sentients.

Obliging his eagerness to change the subject, she made a face at him and shook her head against his touch. What a question. Her fingers crawled to her shirt's neckline, giving it a downward tug and angled it to expose the rise of scar tissue on her chest. The Muunilinst memento. Even with Auteme’s healing, the scar was as unavoidable as it was gnarly. That had taken a week of her time, just getting stabilized, and left a fresh addition to the one that stretched from her shoulder blade to breast on the left side from the Bryn’adûl’s shaman. Trying to pull herself back from the puncturing pain had taken up most of her calendar, but the demonstration was enough and she dropped her hand into his. If he was seeking a distraction, she was willing to play into that hand for the sake of his sanity.

“Allyson stayed with me –– she drools in her sleep and Auteme helped with the healing. She’s gotten pretty good. Other than that, in the few, precious moments between just sitting around pining for you and thinking about doing this --” she was partly joking, and swayed in place to imitate swooning before she showed what this meant. It was a soft kiss that initiated a sequence that with each one brought about another gradation of intensity and ended with a dragging bite that faded into her roguishly coy grin and glinting eyes that could only be attributed to girlish flirtatious games.

“We got some new Saber recruits.” The pivot in attention was confounding, and it wrestled with the swimming giddiness in her veins. Still, he'd asked, and she was ever the raconteur. “The roster’s ripe with fresh blood, and we’re coordinating an expansion out to Metellos -- I was able to meet most of them, review their scores, go over a few things and get them aligned with some of the New Jedi Order efforts.

And honestly, with more Jedi activity happening, my accounts are taking a bit of a hit.”
She took this opportunity to look a little pensive, wedging her thumb between the rows of her teeth and chewing on the edge of her nail. he lucrative salary of a starfighter pilot had taken a cut with all the new squadrons being formed in other specialties. Not that it was truly lucrative to begin with. “The rent on my apartment is getting a little steep, and I spend most of my time on The Renegade anyway..so..I was thinking…it doesn’t really make sense to keep it and have a place so purposefully..planted.” She ran her fingers through her hair before she folded her arms and gave a casual shrug. This felt weird to talk about, but she supposed it was normal for couples. And they were a couple.

She’d bought the apartment because she dreamed to setting roots down somewhere, settling long enough to watch the seasons change but that goal was just a dream at this point. Her life wasn’t steadfast enough to establish a firm foundation in a single location. Her home was in a person, instead. “I could just get rid of it, and..make this more officially ours?” The end of her sentence trailed up in pitch, a suggestion that was open to rejection and she bit her lip ahead of his response.

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

“We don’t have to talk about it unless you want to.”

“But if and when you want to, and don’t want to or can’t find the words, you can show me.”

He hung around Kiffar enough to remember that they could just...do that. Even if Loske and Ryv never really resembled their kin.

"Yeah...maybe, just- I gotta settle in, you know?" Maynard said, hopefully in an understandable portrayal of his thoughts. It was all far too fresh of a wound to go prodding into it. At least...not now, not to talk about it. But if she wanted to prod, now might've been the best time.

The brief flash of the fresh scar that ran over her chest was gut-wrenching for a moment. And it showed as his face flushed red at the realization. He'd only seen the wound from beneath the armor she donned in the battle with Alekto and the grisliness of it seemed to pass by him. It didn't bother him in the sense of how she looked, she was well and truly beautiful.

He had seen the extent of her wounds and flaws just as she had his. It wasn't anything that made him uncomfortable on aesthetics alone, it was much more the implication. The pain, the rigorous work done to restore it all to a presentable and healthy state. That was what unnerved him over anything else. But scars were just that, scars. Memories. Tribulations that had been overcome.

But it was a faint distraction before put on her 'demonstration' of what she'd been really waiting for. It left him with widened eyes initially before he settled into it, slowly shutting them before his gaze jolted back open with the playful bite. That was certainly a better welcoming than the tear wrenching talk they had moments prior. Maynard didn't know it, but he was waiting for that too. His hands eventually settling unto her hips and urging her close to him again by the time she was done.

"Yeah? Not far off from what I was thinking about." He offered with a tease, leaning forward to press another kiss that saw the exchange of his teeth baring on her lower lip with a soft but domineering pull. He was certainly longing for her again.

"Here I was thinking I had any business being 'CO'." Maynard remarked with a grin in admiration.

"But yeah, I'd like to meet em. Probably need to get back behind the sticks here soon...it- yeah. We'll just leave it that." Compounding on the realization he'd had several times over. Knocking out enemy starfighters had proved a lot easier than killing them in person, in close proximity, with a lightsaber.

"Wh-. Let me guess. Haaad to get the sideline Nuna Ball seats. Haaad to get the new dress you'll wear once. Nah- I get it I get it. So you're saying you wanna move in together." Maynard says, unable to hide the smile of the small victory, lifting his chin to look down at her. Letting off a faint sigh, he nodded.

"Yeah. Of course we can. Hell that'd- I'd love that, actually. Granted...not gonna lie, I'd always figured I'd be uhh- riding solo in this thing. You...be glad you didn't see it before I knew you'd ever be coming aboard it is all I'll say. " Single men were single men.

"So yeah, we'll have to modify the interior a bit, a bigger bed would probably be a start. But...why not?" Maynard said, running a hand up to caress through her hair, moving the stray locks to press a kiss to her forehead in wordless confirmation accepting her proposal.

Loske Treicolt

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Sunlight ​

Loske frowned again when he was quick to speak wistfully of the cockpit. It only served to spotlight further the impact of the war drenched streets he’d encountered on Muunilinst and she wanted to pry him open to get him to talk about it. Her tactics were likened to a crowbar and a clam. Her face softened when she realized the destitution of her ability to get him to open up.

Maybe she could find out without him having to be a part of it, and extend some sort of comfort based on empathy. The amour he wore was likely stained with the memories of the fallen, or at least could give a glimpse, or his lightsaber...it would only take a touch. The very idea of it was as intrusive as it was...maybe..essential? If she negotiated enough with herself.. what would it take to get to yes? Curiosity was an incredible vice.

No, it would be inappropriate. She’d already betrayed him once, and she couldn’t do it again in the same breath as vying for his trust. It could make them alienated.

“Woah, hey –– hold on.” She held up a defiant finger once he started picking at her spending habits. Verily, they could be better –– she was very much a ‘it’s better to give than receive’ consumer, and not too fixated on the long term. A stark contrast to the dreams of permanence and family that rocked her to a comforting slumber. The nuna ball seats, she’d give him that. She’d had a great time with Amea, and the ease of the situation was worth every credit after their visit to hell. As for the dress? Well...“Teeccchhhnically, I would have worn it more than once if you hadn’t ripped it.” After Amea’s drinking challenge, being Knighted, and the general jubilation of that evening’s festival on Coruscant..well. It was unlikely that dress would have lived to see another day even if the pair hadn’t ended the night together. The deal was sealed pretty much as soon as The doors closed behind them.

His self-awareness spurred a chuckle: “See it or smell it probably.” Even the first time she’d climbed aboard, there were obvious areas that were less used than others. Like the table in the lounge against the wall. Admittedly, there were a lot of tabletops for one person to occupy. There was a level of triumph knowing she was responsible for taking that projection of him operating in solitude and turning the future of one into two. Gloried in that thought, Loske’s grin stretched from ear to ear.

In reality the probability of him denying her suggestion at this point was infinitesimal, but it was still a relief to hear him say the words out loud. Elated, she looped her arms around his neck once again in celebration and lifted herself up for a triumphant smooch that didn't last quite as long as the former and quickly defected to the smirking statement of "You realize that means Frank too, right?"

For all his quirks and usefulness, Frank was an extension of her. His personality contrasted whatever it was she was feeling in the moment - likely Kaili's attempts to keep the Kiffar grounded and in tune with the odds. Without that balance, it was beyond likely her recklessness would have won the day be now, and she'd not be here in The Renegade to have this conversation.

Such was the reality of a soldier’s life in the end. Co-dependence and gratefulness for each breath. And an abundance of gratitude for moments born out of love. They were fortunate that way, to have these slivers of time reserved for just them. There were many who'd been a part of the campaign Maynard Treicolt had just returned from that were going home to emptiness.

Fingers dropped to trace the edges of the cool toned armour, receding back to the corners of her mind in appreciation. She’d try to prolong this as best she could. This is what she was fighting for — an eternity of reserved moments like this one until they were no longer stolen instances, but an expected normal. There were people out there with lives like that. It could be theirs.

“Mm,” she brought herself back to the present, poking her fingertips at the margins between the body glove and the plating. Just feeling it’s coarseness sent a symphony of questions to the fore of her mind, but she had to listen to his eyes. They were tired, matured and had seen more than he’d wanted. Maybe after a decompressing activity he’d be more available to divulge — or she’d have a better approach for her incessant quest to know more. Keeping her fingers locked in the spot between the armour, she took two leading steps backward and tugged him in the direction of their more personal locations. That dizziness from his affectionate reciprocity hadn’t been quelled, and her ability to keep a clear mind with such a suggestive distraction was getting more difficult. “Let’s get you out of this.” She'd wager a physical liberation from the weighty protection would probably encourage a mental shedding as well.

And just like that, she let her mind venture beyond to the idea of having Buddy and Frank measure out a more appropriate width for the main quarters and start to consider the opportunities for remodelling. Her ship, S.S. Bruno could probably somehow be retrofitted as some sort of extension if it came down to it...or..well. She didn’t have to get that far ahead. One step at a time. It was fine to have them parked in a similar hanger. Logistics and planning - how much of it could come to fruition, truly?

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

The armor was...worn and dented, it'd clearly seen its use past the last time they'd seen each other. With the slash of Alekto's saber cut clean through the chest piece patched and molded with durasteel, similar jobs being done throughout the cuirass, pauldrons, all of it. He'd been in the thick of it. Whatever he saw, it wasn't an easy tread out of it. But even so, the shredded and repaired armor, his bruised and beaten visage and physique did manage a grin to her words. How couldn't it.

She couldn't ever make him feel bad about the dress, that night. And it showed with a playful admission of guilt that came with a shrug of his shoulders. As special as all the accolades and titles might've been to him, making his way back down from that stage and into her embrace made it all the more sweeter, all the more worth it. He eased in to her embrace for a moment, recollecting that night, close to stealing another kiss before she mentioned Frank to which he offered up a laugh, nodding once.

"Well yeah, not sure I'd have it any other way. That- and Buddy has gotten pretty good at keeping him out of our hair. Should be juuust fine." Maynard hoped at least. He didn't mind Frank in the grand scheme of things, it was pretty hard to hate any astromech, being the spacer trash he was he knew just how helpful they could be in spite of their varied personalities. With Maynard and Buddy being a dynamic duo for so long, the astromech had gotten a gauge on when the Mandalorian could use or lose the company. It also helped that The Renegade always had something wrong with it that usually demanded the droid's attention. They'd figure it out.

When she began to slip her hands underneath his chestplate he leaned into the grasp, as much as his gaze portrayed comfort...love, there was something weary about it. Maybe it was the dim blue and purple hue in the skin about his orbitals that began to tell the tale she'd been yearning to unravel since he'd returned to her. In spite of the dull pain of exertion and combat that strained his body, he picked up well on what she was implying and didn't care to stray the course any other direction.

"Need you to help...if that's alright." He said in response to her last words as the pair less than subtly tread the path to his their room. As soon as that door slid shut behind them, encasing them in another layer of isolation with one another. Where The Renegade secluded them from the bustling noise of Coruscant, this room cordoned them off from well...their droids.

So began the slow and meticulous process of it all. Undoing seals, clasps, straps all to free himself from the metallic confines of the panoply. Eventually, each piece of the metal and its accompanying supporting fabric was set aside. It was then that Maynard's movement's slowed, the exhileration that the two of them. Lovers, alone brought. He knew he wouldn't serve to snuff out any of her curiousity when he slowly began to peel the bodyglove beneath from his upper body. Each inch of flesh exposed seemed to be a flip of the coin between unblemished skin or a bruise, a fading scrape or waning burn digging into the muscle. The worst of them mirroring the damage patched over by the makeshift durasteel ablation.

The worst of it, around his neck, his throat. It had been concealed moments earlier by his cloak and armor but now it was in plain view, for the better or worse. He'd been choked, strangled within an inch of his life and not merely by the force. It had been personal, the mark of the fingers raking into him evident. Of course, whether it be in expected Maynard fashion to downplay his damages or the needs of the front, he wasn't given more than precision injections of bacta. It showed.

He couldn't muster anything else, his gaze all but evading hers as he all but entirely expected more questions, an explanation from her. She probably deserved it.

Loske Treicolt

 

[Loske Treicolt]

“Well ye-ah,” a humour-born huff accompanied a wry smirk in response to his invitation to assist. “That’s kind of the point.”

Occupied with the fervent ministrations of reverse engineering the armour, Loske released an amused chuckle while jiggling a stuck strap until it relinquished and gave way, letting her set it aside to join the others. Up to this point, she’d tried to blindly remove parts of it while remaining distracted with his mouth but the intricacy of it all demanded actual attentiveness. So she’d had to abandon that part and focus more on getting him out of it, before they got into it.

“I know you’re not a fan of the contouring, well..for you,” different story for her silhouette “But man––the zip on zip off of that platform suit is...hmm..way more efficient.” Of course, while the mood was still blossoming with anticipation and desire, she accompanied the statement with a wink and a kiss.

With the exoskeleton removed, they were closer to finally being able to action the original suggestion. For all the warmth excitement that had culminated, it quickly came crashing down with each inch that was further exposed to his torso. The skin beneath revealed a violent canvas of blue, black, red that she’d expected but not to this degree.

Guilt busily sharpened it’s spear, and sent a spike that pierced through her once again. A gasp shaped like his name May! escaped through parted lips, too quick a reaction for her fingers to try and catch it.

Being battered and bruised wasn’t unfamiliar for either of them, but there was something wretched about this. The outline of terrible purpose outlined around his throat. The opacity of the bruising implied just how close the oppressor had been to success.

Lust took a backseat to the flood of emotions that burgeoned within her. Pressure gathered behind her eyes. It felt like each one started at the crown of her head, and ran its course to her toes.

Horror at the sight. Usually this was her favourite view, but right now he was something wretched. Her eyes burned to look at him. Not for the hideousness of what it was, but what it represented. The sculpture of mass and muscle that almost didn’t make it. Before now, from all their explorations together, the blonde could have drawn a map for tourists a micron high, with submicroscopic little shuttles to peruse the chiseled canyons of the grooves along the Knight's torso. Now it was almost unrecognizable, with new ridges, scars and bruises would have added detour after detour to her initial cartography. Loske wanted to shut her eyes, squeeze the image right from her vision and make the contusions something unseen.

Fury at the person responsible. A tight fist clenched around her heart to add tangibility to her outrage. Who had done this? This looked personal, and at the very least she hoped they were in a worse condition. Recompensed for how close they’d come to being victorious over May’s life. A shudder rolled through her, and she banished the thought of fatality from the fore of her mind.

Culpability for not being there.

Sensibility that maybe they should just maybe lay together in the end, so as not to encourage further duress or strain on his person.

A heavy breath lodged itself behind her teeth, suspended in shock. Was this one of those careful what you wish for situations? She wanted to know, almost needed to know - but then what would she do with the information? What if the person who’d done this had gotten away, would she want to hunt them down? He was hers and someone had done this. What if they didn’t get away? What if he’d murdered them or he was in the wrong, and someone had been trying to defend themselves? She quickly resolved she didn’t much care there. The strength of his spirit had saved her life, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to consider the swiftness of the opposite. Would she be satisfied with it just being shared knowledge between them? Would she be able to provide the comfort required to make this worth it?

She brushed her lips against his clavicle –– just away from where it looked like the thumb had pressed into the vulnerable area of his throat –– in a soft, breathless kiss. Her fingers became as feathers, delicately tracing the imperfections. The harsh lines that stretched from his Adam's apple (Anakin's apple?) outward. Her pleading, searching eyes tried to catch his but were evaded. Did it hurt to speak? Had she been causing him pain just by trying to get on the same page again?

Her question was large in ask, but small in sound: “Please, can I see?”

Maynard Treicolt

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

He'd only barely been able to push off the strain around his throat through his own self conditioning. His voice was seemingly not far from what it was before, but even still the pain lingered enough to shoot a sharp sting through his vocal cords. He couldn't do anything to hide now. Whatever he went through was now bare to her in all its cold ugliness. There wasn't really any other choice now. He could try and evade and divert but none of that would sate her mind, her curiosity, her worry. It'd be best to snuff all of that out now before they tried to ease into anything...comfortable, before they could ease into time they could cherish with one another.

Slowly, he reached down to take her wrist into his head, leaning his head down to press his forehead to hers before he guided the hand he clutched to rest on his cheek. Screwing his eyes shut, he seemed to isolate himself in his mind before he left his memories bare to her. With the wounds still fresh, she may as well prod them now to evade the danger of reopening them later. Wordlessly, he gave her all the permission she'd need to take the delve.

​

Muunilinst​

Harnaidan​

-34:54:12​

​

In media res, the harrowing chaos and ear shattering sensory envelopment of war was already heavy at the onset of this echo, this memory. Knelt beneath a pile of rubble acting as the best barricade he could manage he peered to the man beneath him. A New Imperial stormtrooper, the man's off white armor covered in ashen dust to form a dark grey that contrasted violently with the deep red of shredded flesh and spilling blood. He was dying, quickly. The bodyglove had long expended its bacta and stimulant reserves, the squad of troopers calling over the Jedi in a last ditch effort to save the man, as it appeared he had to for Loske. ​

​

His hands press down on the throat of the man to put pressure on the flow of blood. Rapid heart beating, heavy breathing. Treicolt was under duress. Even if she didn't occupy his form, she could feel the stress of combat, of the situation around him as he pulled desperately to try and save the man. He couldn't muster anything here, not as he could with their will mustered and consolidated. The rapid beeping of a thermal detonator snuffed out whatever chance he might've had when it sent more vicious shrapnel into the trooper's already exposed and bleeding flesh, sending him off into the dark in an instant. A last reprieve at least. Knocked from his knelt position, Maynard was thrown against the rubble he used to protect himself from the volleys of Sith-Imperial blaster bolts that rained down around him.​

​

The line was being held, but with no sparing the human cost of either side. Lateral with the position he'd held. Bodies. Many of them, a solid majority the New Imperials who'd charged headfirst into this war to begin with. Alliance soldiers were far rarer among the piles. Attempting a breakthrough, Evocati and New Imperial super battle droids began to press the advantage with blind disregard for their own wellbeing, machinations of metal and computing they were.​

​

There were no other frontline commanders present in his isolated section of agony and death. They all marched at his command, Imperial or Alliance. In spite of any prejudice or rhetoric, his rank as Commander was respected here. If his soldiers remained where they were, holed up and ground down on this side of the street then they'd only be picked off one by one. They had to move.​

​

<"Move up! We can't-"> His own voice of command through his helmet stifled when he felt his body thrown forward and down unto the rubble beneath, his visor catching a jagged formation of metal and duracrete which threatened to shatter the glass and sent a ringing sensation through his head. Making a short recovery he stood up with a groan of pain, slowly turning as his pattern of muscle memories finally went to the saber at his belt. Just as he wrapped his hand around the hilt of synthleather and metal he felt a stream of lightning crash into his form. ​

​

Maynard let out a scream of agony, threatening to collapse him again as his gaze finally picked up the Sith Knight before him. Clad in the dark rainment of a juggernaut, the Sith veered toward him, a flash of crimson swung across his vision before he was able to meet it with a cobalt ignition of his own saber. The Sith was able to press the advantage early. Channeling a superior strength and force into each strike which sent a rippling shock through Maynard's arms as he met each attempted blow. He was on his backfoot, the defensive almost immediately. ​

​

One misplay sent another slash through his chestplate again, drawing an open schism in the metal as the bodyglove struggled to mend the break, leaving an open cauterized burn in open air. But it wasn't all too distracting as the Mandalorian rode the high of adrenaline. His dread alarm pulsing through his consciousness as he tried to keep in tow with the Sith, the path of their encounter veering away from the main exchange of force around them into an isolated battle. ​

​

A cut down through Maynard's visor jostled him again. Though the armor saved him from any marring of the flesh, the helmet became a useless article afterward, the Concordian quick to throw off and away from him out of necessity for a clear field of vision. Barely enough room for the maneuver, he had to respond to the Sith's next strike with a parry in its wake, breaking the lock of sabers to swing out wide and cut at the man's arm. ​

It landed, and it was enough to force the grip of the crimson saber from his hand, the ignition shutting out before it landed unto the ground away from them. Not even a split second of leeway before the Juggernaut and lowered down to tackle Maynard into the ground, his own grip faltering as his saber trembled from his grip.​

​

Letting out a low scream of pain as his unprotected head was slammed into the earth from the Sith's weight, his scalp bleeding immediately after the strike he had no choice but to wrap his fist and slam a punch into the side of the Juggernaut's helmet. He was able to unfurl a volley of five, hearing an audible crack in the alchemized steel as his hits made purchase, breaking the visor apart.​

​

Rearing his head up to look down at Maynard, he could see those eyes of pure evil intent, infernal rage. It was then he felt the Juggernaut's hands wrap around his throat and begin to squeeze the life from him. The pain was immediate as Maynard choked out in a futile attempt to fill his lungers with air, rearing his head up to try and breath as he clawed his fingers and hands at the man's wrists to wrench them off.​

​

<"Look at me! Look at me! I wanna see your eyes!"> The Sith barked out in a voice of pure malice wrapped in sadistic wonder as he was held back from strangling Treicolt to death if only restrained by the Jedi's grasp and pull around his wrists. He could see blackness enveloping his vision as he clawed, kicked and fought for life. They had narrowed into near nothingness, his vision fading over with a dark tint of anguish and strife. Each breath he tried to grasp unto seemed weak, strained and futile. As if merely nudging away the inevitable. ​

​

Mustering the force to squeeze down on the Sith's wrists and twist he could feel the pressure giving up again only for the Knight to rear his hands up to clasp around Maynard's bare skull and press his palms into his orbital bones. As if he all at once decided to stop playing with its food, the Sith went for a coup de grace in crushing Maynard's skull with his bare hands, the maneuver drawing choked screams of agony from the Mandalorian as he stretched out his arm in the direction of the Sith's trembled saber. He could feel it jostling it in the earth before he eventually willed it into his grasp and pressed the business end of the hilt against the Sith's abdomen, igniting the crimson saber and stabbing through the Knight he sliced it up in a swift and final turn of fates as he heard the blood curdling final welp of the man before the Juggernaut collapsed over him.​

​

The weight of the corpse threatened his lungs again. Reinvigorated he managed to move it off of him before curling forward in a series of unproductive heaving his breath. Coughing into the ground beneath as he slouched down and over, his hands grasping at the 'crete dust beneath as he clawed back to grasp the reins of life again. He could barely breath, were it not for one last pull of the force to protect himself he would've died ingloriously here. But he'd proven his toughness, his persistence again as he survived. And then all of a sudden that wave of emotion washed clean over him. As if he peered into the call of the void and realized how closely he nearly witnessed the finality of his mortality. He began to weep into the ground, beating his forehead against the ground once in anger. He almost died...he almost never saw her again.​

​

The memory flashed to a conclusion as Maynard's gaze peered open to look into the light of the present, at her. He was still, placid. He hadn't any idea what her reaction would be to playing witness to that event, but he certainly couldn't retell the same event audibly. This...for better or worse, was the better means of explaining it, even if it only offered a brief glimpse to his tenure at war, it was by far his closest brush with death. With the end.​

​

He couldn't muster any words to say to her, not now.​

​

Loske Treicolt ​

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Whatever Maynard remembered, or thought he remembered, was what Loske experienced. And in the order he recalled them, was the same sequence that encased her.

First was the noise.​

​

Her ears were enveloped no longer with whitenoise from The Renegade’s ducts. Instead they were shouts, cries, sobs and the soft gurgle of blood trapped in a throat. Something that sounded vaguely like a name, but she could never decipher, was called out. The loud, thunderous thumping of his own heartbeat in his ears. Next she felt the warmth of the blood, even through the gloves. The pulsing pressure against the neck under his palm. The accelerated beeping of something nearby. The deafening nothingness of the aftereffects of the detonator’s explosion. The heat from it’s flames. The shockwave of pain that tore through his back on impact of the rubble. The shapeless, turned shapely and detailed, soldiers scattered and strewn about. Discarded by the detonation. She didn’t recognize them. She felt that he did. The harsh sound of metal grinding as droids marched to their disabling. The creeping sense of reality gripping and shaking him to a sound that she realized as familiar but foreign at the same time. It was her own, his own, voice commanding. The pressure of jagged edges against his palms as he pushed herself to rise. The grip ripped too early from his weapon, and the overwhelming grip of electric fire. The sound of agonized air racing through his body and screaming out. The daunting heaviness of the armour ahead of him. The flash of red and blue. The loud bark of angry blades. The weakening quivers of his arms under weight too heavy for her to outmatch. His heels scraping against the ground as he was pushed back and back. The sizzle of his armour succumbing to the pure plasma. The sting of heat on his chest, searing away the skin while the cooling of the bodyglove did its futile work. The heavy pull of alarm that took weight in his elbows and biceps. The jolt of the impact to his helmet. The arid air that rushed to his cheeks, eyebrows, face. It should have cooled him. But it felt warm. The clattering of a saber striking stone. The shake of the ground beneath his boots before the rib-crushing collision of the juggernaut against his torso, the rippling tremor that roared through his skull. The rush of blood, the wet to his hair. The crunch to his knuckles. The successful crack of the Sith’s helmet, metal crying out and the visor crackling. The piercing death gaze of the enraged Sith. The cold press of metal against his throat, the increasing pressure. The airlessness. The pressure. The gasping rush of air that pooled in his cheeks, unable to go further before being rejected by blocked airways. The harsh demands, the furious and malicious orders. The understanding of temporary blindness. The sweaty, franticness in the clawing attempts. The dryness of his nose. The stress in the backs of his hands. The crushing sensation of his orbital bones. The tingling sensation of a jostling saber. The punch of the metallic cylinder in his palm. The zzzzzzmm! of ignition. The resistance at first, and then ease of the blade cutting through metal, flesh and bone. The blood curdling final whelp of a failed assassin. The heaviness of the lifeless corpse. The scratching oxygen. The airid rush of wind. The clench of coughing. The rubble. The solidness of the ground in his hands. The solidness of the ground on his forehead. The streets that began to take shape, the sounds of the fighting louder now without his helmet.​

​

The air is still as warm as before. The war had not come to a stop.​

​

Not even a standstill in the wake of that brutality.​

The featurette ended and they each returned to their individual minds. Loske took a few seconds, not of her own volition, to fade back to reality. Her lungs felt shallow, and her ears felt heavy. The skin on her arms felt like it was crawling, while the layer on her legs felt tight. The imbalance of her senses revealing themselves in succession. The blankness of her pupils receded back to normal. Now they had both seen one another on death’s doorstep, curled up on the welcome mat.

She’d seen his face before the void of consciousness and what it wasn’t took her away. But he’d been alive, healthy, exhausted, but not about to die. When she argued her case mere minutes ago, she’d been arguing from the perspective of the victim, not from the perspective of the witness.Forced to observed helplessly. Now she’d seen him gulping, frantically desperate and their roles somewhat reversed.

But not entirely of course, she hadn’t been there in the real world with him. As he’d been for her.

She’d abandoned him. He’d have died alone, bloody. That had been the fear that she’d used to motivate her to push him away in that dungeon of duels. It had almost become a self fulfilling prophecy. Alone. Dying.

What if she’d not pushed him away? What if she’d done what she originally suggested and focused on together? This might not have happened. They may have beaten the dark woman, or at the very least been together for their final pathetic breaths.

Loske blinked the bleariness away, tears clinging to her eyelashes. By now, her face was soaked with grief. Steeling herself, she inhaled her last shaky breath. Through sheer will alone she wouldn’t turn into a bubbering maniac. Slowly, her fingertips lifted - one by one - from their touch points. They hovered for a few seconds in suspended silence, before she pulled one back to draw across her nose and eyes. The palm next to his cheek floated still, before she rested it back against his skin. The heel of her hand just below his ear, and the top gently touching the hair above.

That hair had been stained with blood. Chestnut soaked with crimson, the edges sticking together in clumps flattened by the ground. The concrete dust he’d clutched, that no longer existed, clung to her fingerprints and she curled her nails into her palm. Silt sifted through and ran down his back. Invisible it coarsed the shoulder blades that had been crunched into the streets, shaking to keep strong. Unclenching the gesture again, as if still in another worldly daze, she followed the outlines of his arms to his hanging wrists. Everything that had flexed to outmatch the opponent. The knuckles clenched white beneath the gloves to deliver the killing blow.

Maynard had used the aid of The Force to survive. He’d used it to save her life. He’d come back to The Jedi because of The Force. By extension, she could imply she met him because of The Force. By the same argument, He’d lost his family because of The Force. It’s implications were truly worn throughout and everywhere. Not always for good, not always for evil. The only time a choice was involved was with sentience — when someone decided to allow it to influence them, or they to influence it. It wasn’t something Treicolt could lose control to.

He couldn’t be that consumed as the Sith were. Before now, she’d never truly hated the Sith. They were bad, vile, and no good. They had to be stopped. But she’d never been so personally wronged as when that soldier had screamed at May to look at him. To give him the glory of his life.

Her countenance betray her with a lip quiver, and she bit down to stop it. The room was still spinning. The shallowness in her chest was replaced with anvils, finally releasing an exhale she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

Blue eyes darted from left to right, left to right, of his own. Those hazels of his blurred, drained. Exhausted. Exposed. Usually so quick, bright, and candidly observant. The shaded juxtaposition adding to the layer of affliction.

Now they’d see each other almost die once, truly on the edge. Their next deployment would be to ask to, maybe please, just do it again. She’d been created for that continuous deployment, but all her friends that had made her who she was right now wanted to say no. No more. Not again. Not him, not me! Not us!

Loske almost said it out loud. Her mouth was opening to speak. Turned and begged him to leave, run away with her. Get away from all this. The first word was shapeless and got stuck behind her teeth, her tongue unable to push it past the precipice where it might catch sound.

She wanted to kick and scream before putting on another jumpsuit, another shield, another piece of plating and in the mental image of her rage, the shape of her anger and fear, evaporated. Awareness. She was fighting against loneliness, in the end. For each of them. Running away was asking to stay together, forever and out of harms way. But where would they go where something evil wouldn’t rip it away? Who would be able to convince their friends to join them, to save themselves. Maynard wouldn’t say yes. He had too much fight to give to ask him to not to.

"Thank you, sir. I'll always answer the call, whenever the Alliance needs me, I'll be there."

If he went back to the fight without her, he’d die lonely. She’d die lonelier. Maybe at different intervals. Visa versa.

They’d have to run to the trials together. No matter how brutish they were. No matter how outmatched they may be. How unarmed. Unprepared. Maybe watch one another take their last breaths, but at least it wouldn’t be apart. And they would have upheld each of their promises. If they wanted to make forever as long as it was supposed to be, how long it should be, they’d have to earn it. They’d have to fight for it. For each other.

But then, for he who was always answering, always needed, nobody had paused for him. The war didn’t end. It creaked and groaned on. And then not this war, maybe another war after it. They could pause it for now, work to establish The Alliance, spread positive influence. How long was it for? How sustainable?

Loske felt small in his arms, unworthy. A heathen for thinking this way. She wilted. Her panglossian self enervated after watching his almost undoing.

The words that had been prisoners before, pushed through the bars and into freedom. They were sad. Heavy. Uncertain.

“Why are we doing this.”

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

He’d fought tears welling up in his eyes again when the memory concluded, even if he did all he could to separate and seclude himself from the sensory envelopment of it all, not totally. When the concluded in kind he slowly took her into his arms. He needed that closeness again. At the conclusion of that memory he’d felt the residual emotions of that event, the last in a string of many to this point where he was at the brink of mortality.

At least now, in this moment...he didn’t feel so alone anymore. Leaning his head down to ease against hers he ran strained fingers through blonde locks idly. Whether it was more or comfort him or her was largely negligible. He needed the contact, her touch.

“Why are we doing this.”

Of anything she’d asked of him that might have been the most difficult question to approach. Deep down, yeah, he wanted the same as she did. He wanted to take her, take this ship, take it all and move far away from the noise. Somewhere like home, far from the bustling chaos. Maybe seclude themselves to a homestead and live out their days with whatever unit they’d consolidate. Between the two of them, their droids and whatever fruits would be bared from their union. It would’ve been a far easier path than the one they walked now. With its own tribulations, certainly but far fewer that involved their mortality, and even fewer that took into account the Galaxy as a whole.

Deep down, they must’ve both known it wasn’t that simple. At least Maynard did. He’d lived on the other side of it all for much longer.
As intangible as any of it seemed, he knew what they were fighting for.

“It- it’s not...it’s not for us. We aren’t fighting for our own interests. We’re fighting for Ryv, Allyson...all of em. Fighting so people can grow old in peace, fighting for...people left behind. In Sith space, like-...like home. I wish- I wish we really could just take what we have and leave. I don’t wanna keep doing this and I certainly don’t wanna see you do it but-.” Maynard said, swallowing in a breath before closed his eyes. He didn’t like how true it was, how attached they seemed to this fate. All the same, the vein of events that’d brought them together also threatened to rip them limb from limb.

“It’s just- it’s what we are. And if we all stood down and left...we wouldn’t be doing any good at all in the end. It’d be up to people who can’t handle it. It’d catch up to us.” Maynard said, his voice dipped in shades of solemn.

“I want to just- go. Just leave it all. I want to live somewhere...in peace, with you. I don’t- I don’t want to care about anything else. Just- Settle down, find somewhere and just...just live. Hell, maybe we’ll be able to some day. Maybe if we fight now we won’t have to later. When other people can carry the fight but for now...we- we don’t have a choice. If we stop...we’ll just be living running from it and...I ran for too long. I cant do that anymore. As tough as doing all this is...it- I don't know, it's just what we have to do.” Maynard said, pulling back his head to take her gaze into his.

"But I'm alright now...I'm alright." The Jedi Knight said before he he clasped a hand at the side of her neck, pulling her into a deep and hungry kiss. Then was then, he was alive now. Walking. Upright. In her arms. That memory...it might serve to haunt him, another that might jostle him (and her) awake in the middle of the night but, if she was there...he could deal with that.

"I love you...whatever happened it- it's okay. I can't expect you not to make mistakes. But for right now- I'm not sure its something I wanna worry about too much. We both made it out, that's all that matters to me." Maynard states candidly, eventually delving to lock his lips with hers once more, all but drinking in that intimate contact with her again after so long mulling over her mortality.

Loske Treicolt

 

[Loske Treicolt]

It wasn't meant to be rhetorical, but she wasn't ready for his response.

“It- it’s not...it’s not for us. We aren’t fighting for our own interests. We’re fighting for Ryv, Allyson...all of em. Fighting so people can grow old in peace, fighting for...people left behind. In Sith space, like-...like home. I wish- I wish we really could just take what we have and leave. I don’t wanna keep doing this and I certainly don’t wanna see you do it but-.”

“It’s just- it’s what we are. And if we all stood down and left...we wouldn’t be doing any good at all in the end. It’d be up to people who can’t handle it. It’d catch up to us.

She hadn’t really expected an answer.

His first searching words were uninspiring, and her reactions were plain to see on her face. She was disappointed in his initial rallying statement. It wasn’t for them. That was bullocks. She immediately refuted that in her mind, swatting it away with an angry backhand. It was for the names that meant much to them, but also for the unnamed. The names he spewed out were two of the ones closest to them as a couple, unities forged through trial. In an instant, she hated them. Those names. Those images of people. If they weren’t around, would Loske and Maynard be in the fight? If those names died, would that be an excuse to leave? They’d be free to go?

No.

The heathen did not gorge in that train of thought, disgusted by herself.

They’d still be fighting for those names. The honour of their legacies and martyrdom. Maynard immediately grouped in the dead to their reason to fight. How much more compounded would it be if it were their dearest friends. He’d bury himself in it. Home was a reason, the word of reflection heavy in the air. His home. A place that was drenched in affliction.

He continued. They couldn’t stop. It was who they were. But they could! They could run. Sprint. Blast away through the stars to worlds unknown but it would find them. That creeping cause leering in the shadows. One Life Day, when they were curled up and content, ignorant in their ocean of bliss --- it would appear and tap them on the shoulder, hold out blood stained hands and they’d blame themselves. The blood of their friends, family. People they didn’t know. Innocent lives.

All of this, on them. Their terrible purpose.

She’d never wanted to run or turn away from this battle. It had always been a part of her to be involved. It wasn’t until she’d watch him take what he, and by extension through the memory she, thought was his last breath. She never wanted to see it again. Once had been too many times.

"I was finally convinced to start training to use The Force. I'm officially a Padawan Learner."

“It’d be a lie if I didn’t say I felt like it was a potential mistake.”

“I mean, because I just… The titles, the religions and their wars. It is good, really good, that you are learning, just… Please, be careful. This path is a dangerous one. One that sees many people believe that their path is the only one to be walked despite historical proof that says otherwise.”

It was dangerous. It was ruthless. Kaili had been right.

But Maynard was also right. If neither of them had been guided by their innately altruistic conscience, they wouldn’t have ended up with one another. They couldn’t reject it.

Maybe if they tried hard enough….but then would they become resentful of the other? For constricting themselves? For truncating their potential?

Her throat tightened when he said he wished they could pack up their things and go together. The sourness of her expression softened and she gave a small nod against the scarred skin of his chest. She pressed herself tighter to his bared self, finally lifting her arms to wrap around his body and pull herself as close as she could. He was right.

It was who they were.

There was little to argue with that. It was clear he was good at this. He had tenacity and an ability to lead. His unwillingness to back down something that was inspiring to the core. The calm he’d excluded mission after mission with the Sabers, the clear commands he’d given the rangers while blasting through rooftops. She couldn’t take that away from him and keep it to herself, redirect it to tending to a garden or something.

Even wrapped up with his kindness, she was limp. Wrestling with her hostile thoughts.

Had she really just moments ago wished her friends didn’t exist so she and her lover could pack up their bags and leave? She paled, her cheeks feeling empty and her stomach knotted with revulsion at her own mind.

“I want to just- go. Just leave it all. I want to live somewhere...in peace, with you. I don’t- I don’t want to care about anything else. Just- Settle down, find somewhere and just...just live. Hell, maybe we’ll be able to some day. Maybe if we fight now we won’t have to later. When other people can carry the fight but for now...we- we don’t have a choice. If we stop...we’ll just be living running from it and...I ran for too long. I cant do that anymore. As tough as doing all this is...it- I don't know, it's just what we have to do.”

Loske wanted to speak up, and shake him. They did have a choice! The very fact they could have discourse about it meant they could reach a way to access the conclusion they both seemed to dream about. He wanted to run away with her. The butterflies in her stomach fluttered, their wings beating against her insides. Settle down and just live. In the end, that’s all she desired. It was so close, but propagated responsibility dragged it away and out of reach.

Her voice felt hoarse, and she choked on those words after he said he’d already tried to run away for too long. The Renegade serving as a souvenir of those wayward Maynard years.

"Me too. You're all I've ever wanted."

When his eyes met hers, he’d see the ferocious glint in her blue. The unease of self. She was angry at the situation, at him for buying into the same folly she’d been influenced by.

It was infuriating. How dare they? Who were they to give themselves such righteous claims and position that they were the ones to shoulder the burden? Why? If they were the only ones that cared so much, was it worth caring about? If they were fighting for the weaker, shouldn’t those they were protecting at least be trying to do something? Show some appreciation? PAUSE to make sure someone was okay in the wake of the battle? She didn’t notice, but her heart rate had escalated and was pumping almost as quickly as if she were sprinting. Little crescents had been pressed into her skin from the nails of her clenched fist.

Whether or not he noticed her agitation didn’t come to the conversation. He swiftly ushered the dialogue to reassurance, letting her know he was alright. In the end, that’s what mattered. His lips crashed against hers, both their mouths stained with tears equating in a collision of salt and saliva. He broke the exchange off long enough for her to draw in a breath and listen again. Hearing him say those three words never failed to completely shut her down. I love you was enough to efface anything she’d been feeling prior. She felt like a mess while he did his best to button up his explanation, book-ending it all with the shared love between them that had been cultivated into something powerful.

Making it out was all that mattered to him. Clinging to life, to the idea of seeing each other again was enough. Her eyes closed and she tried to lose herself in his touch, but her reciprocation was weak and she broke it off with a gasp, and she put her hands on his chest with light pressure to indicate she wanted to stop. Even though every part of her body screamed in revolt and begged her not to stop or speak. She couldn’t explain it. Her heart was entirely with him, every beat belonged to the Mandalorian but her mind right now -- it was so clouded. Dubious. Broken.

She’d never felt this way before, never had this level of conflict within. She’d always been so bolstered in accountability and purpose, proclaiming her rationale for actions without hesitation and climbing on any soapbox to pump her fist in the air.

“Stop - sorry, ah, I love you.” Loske began to explain for part of the reason she needed to put space between their tongues, “I love you…” she sighed “So much. More than I can put into words and measure it out for you. And, I know, I know you’re alright now. I’m...I..thank everything for that." Everything but her. She'd never get over not being there, even if he'd forgiven her for that mistake and was happy just to be together again, alive.

"But I just watched, experienced, you almost dying May. I felt your last few breaths, what you thought were your last moments.”

If he’d almost died once during that battle, being a part of his memories was like her almost dying twice. It had been that real. Likely due to the magnitude of their bond, compounded with her care and concern for him.

“That might have been weeks ago for you, but that was right now for me. Right now. Seconds ago.” Tears no longer clotted at her ducts, she was too spent for it.

“I just, I’ve never felt this crushed before. Seeing you like that. Feeling it. It's making me question why. I guess I'm playing catch up.”

A shudder rolled through her, goosebumps picking up along her skin.

He was alright. He was alright.

"I can’t..yeah, we both made it out this time, but how many times do we have to make that gamble? Neither of us know the answer unless we give it. Unless we say no more times. We both want to leave this behind. Build our life together. Or there could be ten more gambles. Hundreds. I don’t know. Honestly, right now? I don't want to know.

I think you’re right. No, I know you’re right. As much as I hate how much you sound like him -- you’re right. I know it. We have a choice, it’s not that we don’t. Don't say that.

We’re choosing this because we want to. Because in the end, it’s the right thing to do. And even if you say we’re not doing it for us, I am. I’m doing it for us. So we can walk away feeling like we’ve done our best, given our service to being part of what needs to be done. Part of the solution.” If her lips had been trembling before, they were still now and she was ready to make eye contact again after sorting through all the compartmentalized frustrations, fears and apprehensions.

“You’re right. We’ll keep going. We’ll do better than we did on Muunilinst. Better than ever before. I'd follow you into anything, anywhere.

But when it gets too much, if I ever see that...you like that again, I’m going to tell you I want out. And I'll beg for it. I don't care. I want to walk away. With you, toward something better and worth focusing on. Together.”

She hoped that they never ever had to have that conversation ever again. She understood now his refusal to lose her. His original agitation at her deliberate adjustments to try and control the situation. His vying for her to look the other way with the bubbling darkness in exchange for understanding that he couldn't lose her.

Usually eternally optimistic, a trait noticed by many, she felt dour in the face of this new awareness. Angry at a source of evil that had almost ripped the life from Maynard's lungs, and probably (she wasn't sure yet) angry at anyone who rose to challenge it. Standing against oppression was the right thing to do -- but such violence did nothing but create war in their wake. War bred soldiers. Soldiers filled graves. Graves meant vacant families and relationships. Vacancy and emptiness were pain. Loneliness. Again, she was fighting against loneliness.

Maynard and Loske? They were cogs. Not the machine itself.

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

Whether or not his sentiment landed right- he wanted it to but in the end...it was how he felt. Even if Maynard, characteristically, could not articulate himself the best in every situation. It came with his humble, agrarian origins. Even if his dialect had slowly adapted to the life he lived now. Living in and around the core, interacting with people almost exclusively hailing from the core, his roots were...fading. At least in his voice, the persistence and diligence he’d built was clearly maintained. Even still, he should've been more understanding to the trauma she'd just endured, given it was his to live all the same.

He had no business assuming he’d be where he was now even two years ago. He did everything for himself then, he spend his life running. Running smuggled goods sure, but all the same running from his fate. The precarious and brutalist series of events that took place on Concord Dawn that led to his self imposed exile was not the tone his tale would end on. It was a beginning, to something else, to now.

When she’d rejected his want for closeness again his gaze was colored in shades of dejection even if she was quick to realign herself. He understood exactly what she was saying. After all, it was mirroring the very same sentiment he had before they left for Thyrsus. He wanted to escape his duty, his obligations with her. Even if only for a brief moment in time all the while, she prized the mission above all else.

"This is...no. This isn't the time to leave. I don't know what it's the time for, but leaving for the sake of leaving feels wrong. I'm mad, yeah, really karkin' angry, but I want to show everyone what they should be doing. To be better than last time. Those monsters aren't going to stop being genocidal. If anything, we need to get to their level ah--"

Except now, they were admitted lovers and they had a clear, mutual self interest. They had seemingly consolidated into a unit themselves. It was the two of them, it should always be the two of them. Muunilinst, if it did nothing else. If the New Imperials were some how driven back and their sacrifice in vain, they at least learned that they should do anything in their power to stay at the other's side.

Deep down, he really did wish it was that simple. That he could hand in a two weeks and call it quits again, except instead of setting down an isolated path, just to spin the wheel. He’d be with her. He’d try and start something special, a family, a life that was fulfilling beyond endless routines of self sacrifice. But what would he be then? Maynard Treicolt, the man who ran. It’d certainly do in part of proving all those who'd doubted him right again.

He couldn’t keep doing that. Not now. Then? He could simply walk away and vicariously watch as the Galaxy burned. He- They had too much staked in everything around them now. The Alliance, the New Jedi Order. How would he feel if he abandoned them now? How would they cope if the both of them were thrust into a situation where someone like Ryv died where they could’ve saved him but didn’t because they selfishly sought out self satisfaction. To him, it was the end goal. Unfortunately, they weren't anywhere close to that yet.

“You’re right. We’ll keep going. We’ll do better than we did on Muunilinst. Better than ever before. I'd follow you into anything, anywhere.

But when it gets too much, if I ever see that...you like that again, I’m going to tell you I want out. And I'll beg for it. I don't care. I want to walk away. With you, toward something better and worth focusing on. Together.”

With that Maynard nodded in understanding. If he'd felt that way he felt alone in the blood ridden streets of Harnaidan again or saw her in the same perilous straits that nearly brought her low in the duel with Alekto. That'd test his will and persistence all the same. Less so for him, he knew he'd be alright in the end. He'd get back up and continue on. For her.

"Yeah...then- then yeah, that's what we'll do. I don't want Ryv, Allyson, Bernard, any of them to carry this fight alone I just- there's too much at stake for us to just walk away. But- yeah, I don't know if I can keep going if I see you like you were at Muunilinst again...or the same with me. We- we really can make something nice, between us. I want that, more than anything. I just wanna escape somewhere and just- be with you. Work some land, start a family. I want all that shit, I do but- I can't leave everyone else behind. I've done it already and I can't do it again. It'd be selfish, doing it with this now. But hey, maybe the time will come where yeah, we can just walk away. Live in peace, the two of us. Just not there yet..." Maynard said outright, stepping toward her to try and bridge the gap between them again even if he was all but reluctant to touch her given she'd repulsed him moments before he reached a hand down to take into hers.

"I love you- more than anything. Whatever it takes...I'll do it for you and...as much as I'd just like to slip away, alone, just us. We can't leave behind everyone else who'd been at our side the whole way. We gotta finish this fight." Maynard stated out right as an attempt of reassurance while standing his ground. In the end, he just didn't want to see her sad, crying, in pain. It hurt him all the same, even if he was maintaining his composure behind tear stained cheeks and a voice strained by the physical torture he endured.

Loske Treicolt