Private Playing with Fire

[Sion Lorray]

Cordé Sabo

He counseled himself to patience.

Don't push too hard.

She might decide to flee again.

Sion wished things were easier. That she knew herself and more importantly wasn't afraid of it. Instead he had to suffer as he experienced the surface level of her emotions right against his skin. Osarla might have said it was good practice. In a way it was, because if he didn't maintain some distance he'd burn up entirely. There were shards of it anyway. Imagined memories of what their life could be. If only they weren't who they were. Half those thoughts were Cordé's, but Sion had amazing imagination and could fill in the blanks easily.

It would be joyful. Bliss. It would be difficult, because they were so different. But every moment of work would be paired with little bits of charm that would make it all worth it in the end.

So Sion stayed quiet. At least until the speeder went off and he was about to say something. I won't ask for an answer now, but Cordé, I love- And that was caught in his throat when she sprung that on him. He blinked and withdrew a little. "If you knew what you asked, you wouldn't ask it in the first place, Cordé."

He stepped off the bike and looked at the homestead.

"The Force is not a gift." Some days it felt like a curse. "It is not an attachment clicked into us that can be disabled with no issues."

Finally a glance over his shoulder to her.

"Even you are connected to the Force. A web of life that connects us to each other, to nature, to everything around us. If we 'remove the gift', as you say, it won't turn the baby into you. It will turn them into something disconnected from life itself. It is already born, it already feels the Force... and it will always know that the world looks a shade greyer than it ought to."

Now back to the house.

"Sometimes I wonder why my parents gave me up. If they even cared about me. But I would not trade my connection to the Force for a chance to know them."

And began walking towards the house. Trying to keep the roiling mess of his mind in check, instead of spilling out into more fiction. Now the vision of a life with his parents, if they had cared enough to find other options. Instead of giving him up. Throwing him away, because it was too difficult to live with him than without.

 

[Cordé Sabo]

This was the first time his answer had disappointed her. They were from different worlds, but somehow managed to bridge the chasm with some mutual perspectives on the galaxy at large.

Except when it came to The Force, and the appropriateness of a Jedi's jurisdiction.

Through his thought-sharing, Cordé's brow lowered and her mouth rose, squeezing her face into something smaller and thoughtful. There was some sense to what Sion was saying, at least to the degree of someone having something and then being aware they no longer did — like a cold, or an allergy, or an ache from a bruise — but if a remedy could be provided, and they could stay safe and with their loved ones?

Cordé'd witnessed second-hand the deep trauma that came with a family broken by the Jedi. While Sion Lorray 's perspective brought a degree of heartache, he'd come out on top, respectively. Like Cordé's aunt, he'd had the benefit of indoctrination while the hollowness and pain left behind in the family was out of his perview.

Maybe his parents were alive and hurting, deeply regretting their decision. Missing their son. Maybe they were as broken as Cordé's family.

"Greyer, but safer in the long run."

She set her jaw and didn't say anything further when she dismounted the bike and followed behind him. A surety was rising within her, but the only thing holding her back was, again, Sion. It would have to be a matter of timing.

Dantooine was slowly unravelling, and the danger wouldn't lift even as they travelled through the complicated route Sion planned. This child's life would constantly be in danger if she were to become a Jedi — but if she could live here, with her parents on the outskirt of a merchant town, she might be able to grow up with a chance of normalcy.

 

[Sion Lorray]

Cordé Sabo

He wondered if she'd feel that way if he had explained it a different way.

Like having to live without sight after being able to see. Not being able to taste. Or hear or anything. The baby WAS a baby, yes. And so if it had been any of those other things? They wouldn't remember it. The same can't be said about a connection to the Force. It was like... Sion thought back briefly to his time with the Maw. His mind almost instantly recoiled. He coughed and shivered. No, not a great idea.

"If they want to keep it, we will go away, but I won't force it into a fate worse than death without it being able to make the choice itself." And... they were talking about a baby.

Babies couldn't make informed decisions like that.

He didn't let her respond, because his knuckles already rapped against the door.

This was one subject that was a clear red line. In a way Cordé had never seen him like this. The very idea made his skin crawl. In a way it was no different from intentionally blinding a baby or cutting a limb off, on the off chance that it would pass muster and be left alone. Deeply disturbing in so many ways, but Cordé didn't seem to understand that.

They were let inside.

The homestead was cozy, nice, Sion couldn't help but look around curiously and smile. How would it be to grow up in a place like that? It made him sad too however. Knowing the child would have so little opportunity to come back, if the parents decided this way. Which... they did. No words could stop them from the course of action.

They couldn't leave the homestead. Their eldest daughter was at the academy and they couldn't leave her alone either. They couldn't go as a whole family, because that would inspire too much scrutiny.

Please, Master Jedi.

I am just a Padawan. ​

​

A Jedi you are and you promised to help.

I will. ​

​

Swear she will be safe. Swear it.

I do swear it. On my life.​

​

They left with the child bundled up together. "I know you aren't happy." He murmured to Cordé. "But this is something they wanted themselves." He had tried to point out that the New Imperial Order wouldn't last. But that was what they were afraid of. A crumbling Empire was sometimes more dangerous than a steady one. But they had to remain to protect their willful daughter who didn't want to leave and their homestead.

"Let's go." Sitting down on the speeder again. This time to the ID post.

 

[Cordé Sabo]

Sion had implored Cordé to help him with this mission. He would come to regret that soon enough.

She’d made her decision as soon as the couple started their appeal to Sion, and explained their situation. There was another child on the planet, studious and future-focused, who was not present for this decision and could come home and feel the betrayal Cordé’s mother had felt. It was one of the hardest, rawest things Cordé’d ever heard when her all-powerful, Dictator mother had explained how useless she’d felt. If someone with iron will like Arage could be devastated, how would the average sibling feel?

Cordé resolved to not let them have to find out. This family, the way they appealed to Sion, sounded like they weren’t aware of the options. It was Force or bust. Imperial Knights or Jedi were their only options. They were so consumed by religion that science didn’t get a chance.

Any appreciation for how adorable Sion looked with the child swaddled to him remained unsaid, and she shoved away the observation and added it to the graveyard of useless affections she felt for him.

“They didn’t seem to consider many options.” She murmured tightly and swung her leg over the bike and took over driving again. This time, she was the one who knew where they were going, and they did not linger in the yard. “Or how the sister might feel.”

This time, she would have preferred to be the passenger so the baby could feel closer to her and not start to grow attached to Sion by any measure. She wasn’t sure if there’d be some innate, underlying connection through the Force or something she’d have to contend with but, either way, she’d be prepared. She’d have to be.

Rose-grey twilight was settling over the town when they re-entered it, and Cordé dropped the bike’s speed enough to cruise and briefly check in on Sion and the child. She half expected the baby to make noise at the pungent fishy smell, but she seemed content to sleep curled up.

Twists, turns, and shadowy alleyways lead them to a bustling, but darkened part of down. Where people came and went without a second thought. Heavy merchant traffic and every now and then, someone would get into a tussle because something was overpriced.

Cordé parked the bike, helped Sion and the baby dismount, and then hopped off herself. She put a finger to her lips to suggest they stay quiet and follow her lead. It was through the backdoor of a kitchen, where steam and smells puffed into the air, people were busily tossing fish over flames, and pretty ignorant of the two and a half persons passing around their space. Something looked like a freezer door, and she opened it. For a brief stint, it was very cold. But behind a faux shelf they slipped behind, it lead to a darker stairwell and down, down to a world of machine-sounds that could only be covered by the noise that came with a kitchen.

They were greeted by a Pacithhip who stood about Sion’s height, only made possible with prosthetics. Even though Cordé’d interacted with him several times, she’d never seen him in daylight, and was still uncertain if the bluish tone of his skin was from all the screens in the room or if that was his natural colour.

Didn’t matter. She took over the situation, greeting him with an exchange that wasn’t notable salutations and hushed words. There was some confusion, and Cordé leaned in a little closer, dropping her voice to something nigh-inaudible. This went on for almost a minute before she gestured toward Sion and ushered him forward, encouraging him closer to the forger.

“He won’t tell you his name,” Cordé explained when the tusked alien approached, “And he doesn’t want to know yours — but he’ll give you a fake one. You’ve just got to smile for the camera and wait a bit.”

A door behind them wooshed open, sliding back into the wall. The Pacithhip grunted through his trunk and gestured for Sion to step inside.

Cordé squeezed Sion Lorray 's arm for additional reassurance. While these clandestine exchanges were becoming second nature for her, it was a world that Sion was unaccustomed to. And he had said she made him feel safe, so, that's what she'd do down here. Make him feel like this was a place he could trust.

 

[Sion Lorray]

Cordé Sabo

Her disapproval was felt keenly, but Sion couldn't afford to pay it any mind.

Not now.

Later, later he'd explain it to her, or perhaps even show her. He knew how to temporarily shield his force presence. It was the one thing that Osarla had insisted on teaching him before this mission. To ensure he could hide from any potential Knights. It was a deeply uncomfortable experience. Feeling like he was practically blind.

"Okay." Nodding there and without hesitation passing over the baby to her. In Cordé's hands he gently brushed the baby's hair while it was cooing at him. "You are okay." He whispered sweetly to the little baby. "We are almost off this planet. I will protect you, I promised your parents."

Only then did he withdraw and looked a bit sheepish up to Cordé.

"I... still would like you to come with us. There is so much we should talk about. Just... think about it, okay? We got a little bit more time to go."

And then he disappeared into the little room with the ID forgerer. Trying hard to ignore the feeling creeping from Cordé. It had been. Odd. A feeling that Sion didn't truly understand, because he hadn't experienced it from her before. It was like his teeth were itching. Like he wanted to get at a spot throughout the ordeal with the photograph.

The first one didn't work out. They had to redo it.

Another time. Then a fourth time. The forgerer kept apologizing and Sion started frowning more.

 

[Cordé Sabo]

Her arms felt weak and nerveless the second the child touched them. She was warm, and surprisingly heavy. Sion had cradled her so effortlessly. While she watched Sion with the baby, calm, quiet, trustworthy, she felt her strength transmute into smoke. The baby, Elodi, gurgled unhappily when Sion withdrew, but no further protest came from the little mouth. She seemed exhausted, and Cordé partly wondered if she'd already been drugged.

"I... still would like you to come with us. There is so much we should talk about. Just... think about it, okay? We got a little bit more time to go."

Cordé bit her lip and felt her throat tighten. She gave him a slow nod in response, and adjusted the daughter of Dantooine in her arms. For a sad moment, she realized that this might be the last time he sought to draw her in with his earnestness. She'd thought her final time hurting him would be on the train, but she'd apologized for that. This would be the decision that freed them from one another.

It was dissociative, in a way, to realize the gravity of her decisions while she was making them, and how unique they were in their shared timeline of relentless push and pull. Like this was a scenario she was wholly immersed in and a part of, but at the same time relegated to an observer. A profound multidimensional clarity resembling a piece of gathered stardust, making it stand out on this strand of time as, at the very least, a bump.

Then she was back in her body, fully present and watching Sion's shape disappear for the last time. In the poorly lit room, she didn't seem to care if she melted or crumbled in whatever its process demanded because she was, for maybe one second or more, forced to surrender to the unconditional intimacy that came with knowing how trust shattered. And though the time for the countdown was precious, she needed to watch him leave.

Not because she didn't trust the Pacithhip to keep him occupied, but because it was the only closure she'd get.

"Okay, baby girl." Cordé whispered when she was sure she was alone. "You're with me now, for a bit." She wasn't sure why she was talking to the girl, maybe because Sion had done so and it seemed to calm little Elodi. But also maybe because she needed to hear the sound of her own voice to keep her stable and strong. Her objective was the sole thought that seized her careening mind. "Then we're getting you back to your mom, and dad, and sister."

Her steps were quick, but heavy, as she retraced the route she'd lead Sion down previously. She took a few extra measures to add some obstacles in his way, be it people who'd accost him or just objects strewn inconveniently. It was ham-handed and desperate but she had to work with what she had.

Which was mostly only sheer will and bone-deep conviction.

The speeder was much lighter with only one and barely-a-half passengers. Once Cordé was sure the child was snugly wrapped to her and safe, she leaned into the bike and throttle with less concern than earlier. "You've had a lot of promises made to you today," Cordé was talking to the baby again. "I'm not going to promise you anything, but, I'm just going to tell you that your family loves you. They're just scared because they don't understand. And that's okay, but sometimes fear makes us make the wrong choices." She drew in a breath.

Meanwhile, under Dantooine's crust, the forger seemed satisfied with Sion's photo and was now running potential name matches through an index, populating letter by letter an alias that was neutral and unencumbered by lore or history that could be linked to the individual. ​

​

"Did you want to keep pretending to be married?" He asked, and rotated the screen to show Sion two options for his name. Nios Medar, husband of Hela Medar, or Nios Samad. "Might make your trip together easier."​

​

He knew Cordé's plan of course, but this was a dungeon of deciept. ​

​

It took a third of the time to get out of the town than it had taken to get in. Cordé discarded the bike not at the return office, which was inconveniently far, but elsewhere. Somewhere unseen. This was a new station, different than the last.

Expertly, she navigated through the late-night crowds. Hardly encumbered by the baby strapped to her chest. A single mother in a merchant town drew no second looks. Trying times for the Empire left several families with uneven numbers, and imbalanced parenting situations.

Everything she could control, coordination, purchasing, logistics, went smoothly. She felt fine, calm, even, blinded by her rationalization. Everything that she could not control, like the departure time and how long it was taking to process the ticket, riddled her with impatient anxiety. It didn't help that this was the last outbound train and if she missed this, the risk of failure escalated multiplicatively.

Her restlessness bled into her foot-tapping, which the baby didn't seem to like. So she had to stop, and remain still. By the time the ticketing office uploaded her transit permission for herself and a dependent, she practically had to sprint to the terminal platform.

The number of people that were travelling so late at night for the last train were few and far between, nobody stood in her way. Everyone that was meant to be on the train was already seated, comfortable, and ready to depart.

By last call, Cordé and Elodi were still not on the train. Almost, but not yet. The train's warm glow was on her face when the final announcement broadcast over the speakers.

FINAL BOARDING CALL FOR OUTBOUND TRANSIT. STAY CLEAR OF THE DOORS. THE DOORS WILL BE CLOSING.​

 

[Sion Lorray]

Cordé Sabo

Guilt.

That was the emotion he had felt coming off of her. He knew it the moment he stepped out the room. Cordé wasn't anywhere to be found. Part of him pushed him to give her more slack. Trust. Maybe the baby was fussy and they went on a walk. Maybe... maybe something else. The next minutes were almost like a dream. He was in his body, but he was also observing clinically from above and watched himself go through the motions. Clinical cold him was shaking his head at the way gentle Sion picked his way through the alleys.

Circling around the obstacles Cordé made. Waving away the people set on his side.

Until he reached the place where the speeder was parked.

Except? No speeder.

His shoulders crumbled down.

This was the moment he broke. This was the moment that Sion shook himself out of the dream and faced reality. His jaw set hard, eyes flamed, and without hesitation Sion took the air-bike in the corner of the lot. It was the bike of the photographer, he hadn't even realized he picked the keys up before leaving the place.

Eyes flamed.

Sion had never been this angry before- Sion had never been angry, period. The trip on the bike was a mist. Red. He felt her scent in the air, or imagined it, but he could pick up on her residual emotions all the same. It was weird. Before... he was in a turtle shell. He had shied away from every emotion, because it had always been so much.

It was why Sion never realized just how much... his own emotions were.

And he had nothing to fear, because as long as his were so powerful? Nothing else could get purchase on him.

He reached the station. She didn't see him, but Sion saw her and it confirmed his worst thoughts. The next move? Sion didn't think about it. In truth he didn't know where it came from. It was an instinct totally foreign to him and yet? Entirely familiar. His hand, palm facing her, rose up and from one moment to the next the Force curled around her body.

It was immediate. It was forceful. It was more strength than Sion ever felt before.

There was clearness of purpose as he pushed her back into the wall, away from the train. His head tilted there, looking up at her, as he lifted her up into the air against the wall. "You left me all alone." Quiet, calm before the storm, tightness that didn't belong. Her arms would start to twist and forcibly pulled apart.

The baby didn't fall.

It was still enveloped in a protective shell and began drifting into Sion's other stretched out hand.

"You lied to me. Did you aim to steal the child all along?"

 

[Cordé Sabo]

The doors closed just before her fingertips could brush them, and Cordé’s eyes went wide — briefly making eye contact with a Salketh inside who half-rose to help, and then cowered back in his seat.

Cordé didn’t see that part, and she had no time to cry out.

The wind rushed from her throat, battering its way out her belly as if all the sky were being funnelled through her. She gagged, and her body buzzed like she’d stepped into the blast from a firehose.

Overwhelmed by an alien power, her head bent back, spine arching against herself and her arms instinctively cradled around the baby to protect it from whatever unseen, incredible Force was happening to her. She heard herself gasp, loudly, but it was like she was hearing a recording of herself. The sounds of her own breath and the blood in her ears was too loud.

Fire flushed through her bloodstream, white-hot pain that radiated from the back of her head, shoulder blades and spine and out through the rest of her. The protective cocoon she’d created for Elodi creaked open, and the motions of her arms were not her own. Her free will, her ability to move, was as stolen as the baby she’d taken.

When she looked at him, wide-eyed and shocked, two burning coals glared back.

The physical pain was substantially less than the quiet grief that bloomed when he nearly whispered how she’d abandoned him. Yes, she had. And the sharpness of that realisation was like a knife thrust right into her throat, she couldn't answer. Only grit her teeth and try to struggle against the oppressive, invisible restraint.

This is what claustrophobia felt like.

"You lied to me. Did you aim to steal the child all along?"

Her courage left her in a rush, a purge of bravery and the deepest, darkest desires she had.

“Sion, please,” technically she hadn’t lied. She’d said very little to him after their disagreement. But that was a technicality that didn’t suit the moment. And frankly, she was a little too scared to argue. She’d never felt this power directly at herself before, and feeling like a puppet at the whim of someone who’s trust she’d just shattered was terrifying. Fear sloshed over her, each wave colder than the last.

The best she could do was plead her case, and try and appeal to the understanding he’d shown time and time again.

“She can still be with her family, she doesn’t have to leave forever, or risk her life becoming a Jedi —” Her voice was thin, and every second felt as long as the day. But she shouldn’t have said those words out loud.

It was a damning invitation.

As if on cue, and barely perceptible above her pounding heart in her ears, she faintly heard the unmistakable sound of heavy footfalls ascending the stairs she’d raced up just seconds earlier, when she had still been an autonomous citizen and had control of her body. They had less than minutes before the white-armoured soldiers that owned those footsteps would evidence themselves.

And expose everything.

Her desperation grew.

"Sion, please..there's another way." She tried again, wincing through the strain. Her focus was on him, and the child rested in his arm — the intensity behind his eyes held her focus enough to miss the silhouettes of white in her peripherals.

 

[Sion Lorray]

Cordé Sabo

When she said that last part. Doesn't have to be a Jedi. Sion felt like she had slapped him in the face. He stepped back, eyes wide, as if this was the first time laying eyes on her.

"You hate what I am. You hate me." Said oh so quietly, voice brittle, as the Jedi in him tried to come to terms with it.

He heard the footsteps. Only an hour ago Sion would have been nervous, fearful. Now? There was somethiny coalescing inside of him. A strength he didn't know he had. It was both wonderful as well as terrifying. Was Cordé right to hate him?

"This was not your choice to force." Not to make. To force. Lying to him, lying to the parents.

Cordé had done what she thought was right.

"Halt, stop it right there, what is happening-"

The Jedi didn't even turn. There was no need to. His mind reeled up and launched itself at them. Like an ocean tide it overwhelmed them with pure empathy and he shared with them the exhaustion he felt.

Sleep. The word came out of his mouth and hummed with power. It echoed and then as one each trooper collapsed.

Deep asleep.

"There was another way." Sion agreed quietly as he straightened out. "But no longer. Don't try to follow us, Cordé, or I will share everything I am feeling with you. Those troopers were the lucky ones, they get to wake up."

Sion left her there, stepping into the waiting train. It hadn't left. Somewhere, at some point, he had made the conductot wait without even realising it.

Only once the doors shut did the Force let go of her.

He rubbed at his eyes. Dry. That was good. There was no time ror tears while the passengers looked at him so fearful. It was time to get to work.

 

[Cordé Sabo]

“No, n-no, that’s not what I—” Her voice was scraped and raspy.

She had meant that the child’s chance at survival, enjoying a rich, fulfilling, loved life would be more likely if she were normal and untouched by The Force. A Jedi’s life was hard, and full of sacrifice. She'd seen this, heard this, time and time again. She hated Jedi for what they were, yes, but Sion existed outside of that judgement somehow. He always managed to be too slippery and pure for such cruel arbitration.

Boring into hers, Sion Lorray 's gaze was intense and strange to see on his face. His pupils huge and dark, swallowed his face and glinted in the moonlight when he rebuked her. His breath sounded ragged.

Against the wall, still suspended in paralysis, Cordé flinched at the sound of Sion’s command. It wasn’t meant for her, but his voice seemed to pass right from him to her, reverberating through her bones, the podium, and each trooper one by one as they crumpled noiselessly to the platform. It was effortless for him, he didn’t even take the time to look away from her to take that much control, to have that much influence over so many different minds. It was an awe-striking display of power.

Fear knotted her throat.

Hope tried to choke its way through when he quietly agreed with her.

Maybe there would have been another way, but how far gone would she have been before they got there? Her conviction got the better of her, and he’d truncated any dialogue to get to an alternative by knocking on the door instead of listening. Even now, through her hurt and unease, she found ways to blame him.

She moved her lips noiselessly, but her vocal cords barely buzzed through the knot that had gathered in her throat. She wasn’t quick enough to say anything before he left, but she watched him the entire time, stricken with overwhelming guilt. Even if he hadn’t seized her up in The Force, would she have been able to move? Or would culpability have turned her to stone?

The train left the station, and Cordé dropped to the ground, the breath crushed from her chest out into a groan.

Empty handed and empty hearted.

Her shame was caustic, searing every nerve and rendering her entirely numb. Her mind was filled with cataclysm and apocalypse, and her stomach felt burned to cinders. Her numbness started to slip away, and her palms ached where her nails had cut into them. Belatedly, she realized she was trembling.

Wind swept through the station, whirling across the platform and stinging her face and eyes. If anyone looked back down the tracks they’d see her face broken with grief and regret.