Star Wars: The Eclipse before the Dawn (Corsair and Xana)

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Eyes closed, she shared in Quentin’s fantasies, imagining the future he described, training their daughter to follow in their footsteps. Mara was gifted in the force, far more than either of them, Kaydia knew. She’d be a powerful Jedi, given the right training and guidance. But if she remained with whoever had her now? Kaydia shuddered, clinging closer to Quentin. Letting his joke push aside the fear.

"Of course, I'm hardly one to talk."

“Can you imagine, if she’s as stubborn as you are?” Kaydia teased, snuggled up to her husband, “Part of me hopes she is, but it would be a challenge both to parent and to train.”

Sleep and desire clashed in her mind, but each of his kisses length strength to her longing. With the lights out, she could only see the shadowy outline of Quentin’s figure. Hands became her eyes, feeling along his firm back and shoulders. Thighs opened for him, gripping him, pulling him into her. Needing him, needing more, needing everything. That everything he had promised her the first time they came to Alderaan, when he proposed. She held him to those words now, holding him close, moving with and against him.

“Quentin,” she gasped out, between breathy moans and needy kisses, “Fuck me…love me…take me…” The senseless cries of passions grew quicker and louder as his pace quickened and his thrusts went deeper, harder. Legs tightened around him, moving along his length, guiding him even deeper to remove everything separating them. “Quentin…Quentin…” Her hoarse voice betrayed her tone, euphoria building and fighting against exhaustion “Love…my…love…my… my…” Her utterances ceased to be words, just worshipful pleas for more and praise for each movement inside her. Love and ecstasy bursting in her mind as all other concerns melted away. This moment, filled with him and his love was everything, consuming Kaydia as she let herself sink into it.
 
"Kaydia," Quentin moaned as he moved within his wife. "Kaydia. My Kaydia.". He felt her legs gripping him, her hands cli ging to the small of his back and her lips on his. He kissed her hungrily, then planted burning kisses on her throat. The feel of her body against him, moving with him, was intoxicating. He felt her stretching around his girth, felt her breasts flatten beneath his weight and the delicious stimulation as his chest rubbed over her nipple. He tangled his fingers in her hair, let her taste her skin as he bit the base of her neck, let her feel her naIls biting into his skin. Let her feel his pleasure build as each deep stroke brought him closer - brought her closer - to the edge.

It was impossible to say who climaxed first. Pleasure rolled through them, each magnifying the other's sensations as orgasm met orgasm. For a timeless moment he thrust into her, losing himself in her mind and body until he could take no more. Only then, spent and buried in hef, did he slump again at her sweat-slick body and gasp for breath. "That..." he gasped, kissing the hollow of her throat, "that was, was...". Words failed him, so he gave up. I stead he lay there, cradled against her warm figure and listening to her breathing. "I... I really think I am getting old, now," he finally managed, offering her a wry griin as he kissed the tip of her nose. "Because I need to rest, now."

Carefully, reluctantly, he rolled to one side and nestled against her. "Be here," he whispered, wrapping his arms possessively around her. "in the morning. Wake up, next to me."



Breha gasped for breath. Her elaborate hair hung in disarray, and her white gown was stained and bunched up around her hips, and there was at least one stinging bite on her throat that would be a scandalous bruise in a few hours. And she didn't care. Bail was still thick in her, and his hands rested on her rear, and she was certain he'd have a mark or two of his own. Sighing happily, still aware of the warmth of his pleasure in her, she leaned her head against his chest. "You're not getting old, are you?"

"I... don't think k so," he said, and she felt smug pride at the fact that he sounded so ded.

"Good.". She bit gently at his nipple. "I gave some plans for you, once you get me to our chambers..."
 
Once more, Kaydia found herself watching the clock tick down the minutes, wrapped in Quentin’s arms. Not daring to wake him, because then they’d have to go their separate ways again. Stretching, she could almost reach her data pad, until Quentin pulled her tighter against him, the sleep-reflex damn near breaking her heart. So she closed her eyes for a moment, squeezing the arm that held her. After a moment, his grip loosened just enough for her to reach the datapad.

She sunk back into his embrace, waiting for the device to start up. She told herself she wouldn’t leave until he awoke, that she’d keep at least this promise to him, and in the moment, she didn’t want to leave his side at all. But then the device flickered to life, and she looked through the latest collection of Mara’s photos again. Their daughter needed them, and that was the one thing in the universe that could pull her from Quentin now.

Wiping the tears from her eyes, she kissed Quentin until his eyes fluttered open. “It’s time, love,” she whispered against his lips, trying not to cry again. “I have to head to Onderon, and keep up appearances of completing my missions. And if two months isn’t long to find Mara…” She didn’t finish that sentence, just pressed her forehead against his. “No matter what happens to me, you find her, and bring her home. Promise me that you won’t stop looking until she is safe with you.”
 
"Onderon.". He tried not to sound plaintive as he said it, but the knowledge that she'd have to leave was heart-wrenching. Damnit! He'd just found her again! It wasn't fair! The thought brought a grim smile to his lips. Whoever said it was? "Of course not," he said, taking Kaydia in his arms. "With your memories, I can feel her in the Force."

He fell silent, listening to her breathe. Listening to her heart beat. Trying to memorize every detail of her once more. He didn't let go, didn't want to let go. "I'll find her," he finally whispered. "I'll find her, and I'll find the bastards that did this, and I'll bring her home.". He stroked her cheek, staring into her eyes. "Take as long as you dare on your missions, Kaydia. And...". He hesitated, the words should we tell Master Valis unspoken. Because the old Axolotl would help. But even the office of the Supreme Chancellor had been compromised, subverting the sentence that had been passed against her. There was a mole, maybe more than one. Traitors in the government, possibly even within the Order.

That would be something to investigate. Once he'd found their daughter.

Emotions roiling, Quentin forced a smile. "We should probably get moving," he said with a heavy heart. Then he chuckled. "Think there's enough room for two in the shower?"
 
Kaydia heard his unasked question, felt the anxiety and distrust rising in him. Distrust that she struggled with as she considered the who it was that held her daughter, and was directing her missions. Suddenly their world was small, and almost everyone questionable.

“We can trust Master Valis,” she assured Quentin, running fingers through his hair, “He is the only other Jedi I trust right now.” Seeking corruption from within the Order was something Quentin had experience in, she knew from his memories. It was why he “died” in the first place. And they’d do it together this time, just like all the other missions they had undertaken together. “Once she’s safe, we’ll look into it together. We’ll root out the corruption, and restore balance to the force.”

“We should probably get moving.”

She nodded, but found herself still unwilling to move, unwilling to untangle from him. Unable to imagine leaving his side again. Just holding back the tears when he made his last suggestion. Then she joined him in laughing. “We always find a way to fit, don’t we?”


His warmth still filled her mind and body as she watched The Scrapper lift off from the docking berth. It had been hard to say goodbye, (even though she was literally to sore to fuck anymore), but instead of letting despair consume her, Kaydia clung to hope. Quentin was the person in the galaxy who loved Mara as much as her, and, like her, he’d do anything to protect their daughter. It wouldn’t be long now.

The next time they’d met, they’d be a family again.
 
Quentin's fingers drifted over the controls as he acknowledged the launch instructions from the starport. Even though she was already half a mile and more below him, with alloy walls blocking his view, he could still feel Kaydia's eyes on him. And it was hard, harder than he'd ever believed it would be, to keep going. She's alive. The thought ran through his mind, over and over again. The wife he'd mourned wasn't dead. And they had a daughter he never knew existed. And he wanted desperately to take her with him, to find their daughter together.

Except that he couldn't do that. Because if she didn't complete her mission, and the mission after that, and the mission after that, then little Mara would die.

"No." He murmured the word into the cabin. No, she wouldn't. He'd find her. He'd find her, because no power in the galaxy could stop him from finding her now. If it took decades, he'd find her.

Face grim, he tapped a button. The communication array on the ship whirred and realigned, connecting to the HoloNet. Another tap of the button sent a burst transmission, deeply coded and encrypted, racing towards Coruscant. Soon, Master Valis would know Kaydia was alive as well. And the wily old Shadow would be able to direct information towards him and towards her, aiding him in finding his daughter. Aiding him in freeing his wife.

His wife.

He smiled as he threw the lever, and settled back as the stars streaked towards him and dissolved into the swirling chaos of hyperspace. Kaydia was alive. And the next time they met, they'd be together. All of them, for the first time. Then a thought struck him, something said one of his acquaintances from one of his cover identities. The man had laughed at the very idea of marriage. "It's a trap," he'd said, knocking back a brandy. "You get married, and they get the hooks in, and you're trapped."

He laughed at the memory. "Trapped? She freed me, Thom. She freed me."


Ord Mantel.
The Bright Jewel System, in the Mid-Rim.

"Understood, control," Quentin said. "Approaching Ord Mantell City on vector 33-27-Beta, and relinquishing manual control.... now."

He leaned back as the guide rays took over, steering the Scrapper with feathery touches of tractor and pressor beams designed to prevent any last-minute problems with the landing. Ord Mantell City, although currently occupied by the Separatists, still had business to conduct. A great deal of business. And the cartels didn't want that disrupted, particularly since the Shadow Collective had so recently been shattered by the Separatists. Disrupted business was bad business, and nobody wanted that. Particularly not the Black Sun, which effectively ruled the Bright Jewel system.

The presence of the Black Sun was, of course, why he wasn't "Quentin Hall" here and why his ship wasn't called the Scrapper. Black Sun, after all, knew that a (former) Jedi Knight named Quentin Hall had disrupted their operations across a dozen sectors of the galaxy. That a (former) Jedi Knight named Quentin Hall had captured one of their prize assassins, a former Padawan named Scarlet. And for that they'd put a bounty on his head that could buy a small moon. Well, an asteroid at least. maybe a small moon out in the Outer Rim. And that was why he was, once again, Quinn Hale - a mercenary looking for action (and, more importantly, work) after being released from a consulting position with Golb Heavy Industries.

Quentin watched the city grow beneath him. It hadn't actually occurred to him to suspect Black Sun, not until he'd started tracing the transmissions that gave Kaydia her orders. But it was them, and it made a sort of dark sense. Kidnapping their former assassin and using her daughter for leverage, in order to put her to work again. He wasn't entirely certain why they were targeting the Peace Faction, but he had suspicions. War made it easier for criminals to profit, after all, because the authorities were distracted. And with the CIS holding the Bright Jewel System, and having smashed the Shadow Collective, it wasn't hard to guess that they'd reached an accommodation with the enemies of the Republic.

He rubbed his chin, and smiled. He was here to find and rescue his daughter. But if he could strike a blow against the enemies of freedom in the galaxy? So much the better.
 
“Did you feel that, my apprentice?”

Obi-Wan looked up but did not speak for a time. Eyes closed, he sunk into the force, strengthening his perceptions and reaching out beyond human capabilities. Finally, he nodded, “Yes, my master, I feel it. A Jedi. But they could be one, anywhere in Ord Mantell.”

“Quinn Hale,” Dooku informed his apprentice, calling up a dozen pictures of the man, spanning the years, “Also known as Quentin Hall, a Jedi who died two decades ago.”

“Looks fairly lively for a dead man,” Obi-Wan quipped, “How do you know it is the same person?”

“Your predecessor, Baronet Aldane ha-Florindel Sergovia Organa-Nahal. An arrogant man; his hubris was his downfall. But he helped to arrange a deal with the Black Sun, and more importantly, right now, his contact provided me with valuable information concerning this Jedi Shadow.”

“A shadow, my master?” Obi-Wan asked, surprised to find he was unfamiliar with the term. The Jedi Council had kept many secrets. Too many, for a group whose teaching included, “There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.”

“A Sith hunter. Covert agents allowed to use the very techniques they would condemn us for. Now, what would a Sith hunter be doing here?” Dooku lead fingers steepled before him.

“Why, hunting Sith, of course,” Obi-Wan noted with a sly grin. “Hunting us.”

“Precisely. So I charge you with capturing him first.”

“Capture, my master? Not kill?”

“Capture. AS a shadow, he is already half Sith. And he’d prove a very valuable ally if we could turn him.” Dooku explained, and Obi-Wan nodded
 
Nosing around a Black Sun world was a tricky prospect at the best of times. And, clearly, a Black Sun world behind enemy lines in the galactic civil war wasn't the best of times. It meant he had to be discrete, a thing that many Jedi weren't particularly good at. Most of them would wander around in their pretentious hermit robes, acting holier-than-thou and asking questions and attracting all the attention on Ord Mantel. And attention on Ord Mantell was a recipe for death, if you were a Jedi.

So he did what any broke mercenary in his position would do. He went to the Guild.

"Name?" a bored xeno of some species he didn't recognize asked.

"Quinn Hale," Quentin replied, tossing an identity chip on the desk. It was completely legitimate, too, since he'd been Quinn Hale for years.

The xeno picked up the chip with a leathery three-fingered hand and fed it into a slot. "Been a while since you seen action, Quinn," he - it? - said, staring at him with two and then three tentacular eyes. "Ain't sure I'll find work for you."

"Oh, come on," Quentin protested, for the sake of formality. He'd expected this, after all. "A good, steady security gig doesn't count as action?"

The alien snorted. "On Zeltros? That ain't the kind of action we contract for, Quinn. And your record's light on details."

"Oh, come on," Quentin snapped back, exasperated. "I was doing security, you know. And you know how those contracts work - non-disclosure clauses and the like. If I gave any details, that crimson bitch'd make sure I..."

"Quinn! Quinn Hale!" someone shouted from across the crowded hall. "Danu love you, is that you?"

Quentin glanced in the direction of the voice and saw a pale-pink Zeltron male with shaggy snow-white hair heading towards him. The man was lean, dressed in a black jumpsuit and weapon belt that supported a disruptor pistol and a slim-bladed vibrofoil - Echani make, if he was any judge. He stared, trying to put a name to the face, then grinned wide. "Meryik Joss!" he exclaimed, stepping forward and seizing the man's hand. "What're you up to?"

"Same as you, Wizard," Meryik laughed. "Looking for my next score." He paused for a moment, then added with a wink, "and a job, too. What's it been, a decade? I haven't seen you since... uhm..." the Zeltron snapped his fingers, thinking out loud. "Massadon? No, Mustafar!"

"Yeah," Quentin agreed, clapping the man on the back. "Got my big break then, or so I thought. Sweet gig, running bodyguard for a rich Zeltron lady I impressed after a pirate raid."

"Oh?" Meryik's eyes glittered with humor. "How many times did you have to impress her?"

"It wasn't like that!" Quentin protested. Then he laughed. "Well, not all the time. I got set up by one of her full-time employees, though. Made to look bad and sacked."

"Man, that blows," Meryik commiserated. "Hey, since you're in the market, I got a sweet gig." He gestured back towards the door. "Mostly bodyguard stuff for a Vigo, running a few errands. I can vouch for you, Wizard. Get you set up." He grabbed Quentin's arm and steered him towards the door. "I mean, unless you wanna dick around with the front desk and get some scutwork looking for mines on Kashyyk or some shit like that."

"Naw," Quentin agreed, letting himself be led away. "Bodyguarding sounds like a lot less work. What's his name?"

A chill fell across him as they stepped outside. Across the empty street stood a man in a black hooded robe, radiating darkness. Quentin stared for a second and then went for his saber. As he did, Meryik grabbed his arm. "Kenobi," the Zeltron hissed, jabbing a needle into his neck. Quentin staggered, feeling numbness and cold fire course through his veins. Stumbling, he tried to focus enough to draw on the Force, to start neutralizing the toxin. "Shoulda used a different alias, Wizard," he heard Meryik say as he sagged to both knees. "I'll be able to retire on this bounty."

There was a rejoinder on his lips, but he couldn't say it. All he could do was collapse face-first into the street.
 
When Quentin awoke, he would find himself suspended in an immobility field. Obi-Wan recognized it from the time he had been captured on Geonosis. When he met with Count Dooku and learned the truth from him. How a Sith Lord was in control of the Senate, and the entire republic was drenched in corruption. How even the Jedi Order was culpable, and only from without could the stain be cleansed.

He was stirring, straining to move against the stasis field.

“Oh, good of you to join us, Quinn Hale,” Dooku declared as she entered the room. Obi-Wan found himself standing taller then, almost outside of his will. “Or should I say Jedi Knight Quentin Hall?” Dooku let the question sink in, smiling meaningfully.

“What is a dead Jedi doing here, on Ord Mantell?” Obi-Wan wondered.

“Seeking a disturbance in the force, perhaps?” Dooku questioned, walking a perimeter around the bound shadow. “I am afraid you are in the wrong place, however.”

“Whatever you think of the CIS, there is a far greater threat to the sanctity of the Republic,” Obi-wan insisted, eyes boring into Quentin’s.

“What if I told you the entire senate is under the influence of a Sith Lord?” Dooku offered, coming back into Quentin’s line of sight, “Darth Sidious.”

“A Sith Lord so powerful, he has blinded the Jedi Council,” Obi-Wan explained, “A Sith Lord so influential, his taint has seeped into the Order.”

“You know about that, don’t you Quentin?” Dooku asked, standing beside Obi-Wan now, “You have a history of rooting out corruption within the Order. You uncovered one conspiracy among the Order, before. This threat is far greater than any we have experienced before. Only by splitting off from the Republic and the Order could we begin to unravel it.”

“Join us,” Obi-Wan invited, “I know this is all hard to believe. I was in your position once. But once I opened my mind to Dooku, everything became so clear, so obvious. Lend us your strength, and we may yet have the power to cast out this would be emperor of the Sith.”
 
The first thing he noticed, as consciousness returned, was the pounding headache. Whatever it was Meryik had dosed him with, it hadn’t been gentle. Which led to the second thing he noticed - recriminations. He should have known better. Should have remembered that maybe, just maybe, he’d fatally compromised the Quinn Hale identity when he and Kaydia had fled Mustafar. After all, the entire galaxy had learned that it was Quentin Hall that the pirates had captured along with Scarlett.

He allowed himself a full minute to wallow in misery and self-pity. Then he drew a breath and focused, keeper by his eyes closed as he did. No reason to...

“You may as well open your eyes,” someone said. “I can sense that you’re awake.”

Shrugging, he opened his eyes. “Master Obi-Wan,” he said, recognizing the fallen Jedi. “This is a surprise. I wasn’t aware that you were on Ord Mantell.” He struggled a little, testing the grip of the suspensor field. It was strong.

A door hissed open. “Oh, good of you to join us, Quinn Hale,” declared a rich, basso voice. “Or should I say Jedi Knight Quentin Hall?”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter, Count Dooku,” Quentin replied, observing the change in Kenobi’s stance. “I’ve used so many names in my career.”

“What is a dead Jedi doing here, on Ord Mantell?” Obi-Wan wondered.

When all else fails, Quentin decided, baffle them with the truth. “Well, it’s complicated,” he began.

“Seeking a disturbance in the force, perhaps?” Dooku questioned, walking a perimeter around the bound shadow. “I am afraid you are in the wrong place, however.”

“Oddly, no,” Quentin said, trying to correct the Sith Lord. “I had no idea either of you were here at all. I just...”

“Whatever you think of the CIS, there is a far greater threat to the sanctity of the Republic,” Obi-wan insisted, eyes boring into Quentin’s.

Look, I’m not really here for political reasons,” Quentin insisted. “I’m here because...”

“What if I told you the entire senate is under the influence of a Sith Lord?” Dooku offered, coming back into Quentin’s line of sight, “Darth Sidious.”

“...what?” He blinked, processing the statement. This was not where he’d expected the conversation to go.

“A Sith Lord so powerful, he has blinded the Jedi Council,” Obi-Wan explained, “A Sith Lord so influential, his taint has seeped into the Order.”

“I...”. Quentin fell silent, thinking hard. The source of the information was suspect, but... it made sense. It explained so many little things, starting with Kaydia being spirited away from her execution. But...

“You know about that, don’t you Quentin?” Dooku asked, standing beside Obi-Wan now, “You have a history of rooting out corruption within the Order. You uncovered one conspiracy among the Order, before. This threat is far greater than any we have experienced before. Only by splitting off from the Republic and the Order could we begin to unravel it.”

“Join us,” Obi-Wan invited, “I know this is all hard to believe. I was in your position once. But once I opened my mind to Dooku, everything became so clear, so obvious. Lend us your strength, and we may yet have the power to cast out this would be emperor of the Sith.”

Quentin stared at them, then tried to scratch his head. The suspense or field barely let his hand twitch. “I... look,” he sighed. “I believe you. Believe that you believe what you’re saying. So let me be honest here. I didn’t know either of you were here. I’m just looking for my daughter.”

“Your... daughter?” Obi-Wan lifted an eyebrow. “What a ridiculous...”

“There is some precedent, my Apprentice,” Dooku interrupted smoothly. “Not all Jedi are as dedicated to the Cide as you were.” He turned a paternal haze on the trapped Jedi. “But, you must admit, it seems... unlikely. A Shadow arrives on the same world as two renegade Jedi, in search of his daughter.”

“Yes,” Quentin agreed. “But it’s true”. He thought hard, then decided to go for the gamble. “Help me find her, or just let me go do I can. Then I’ll listen to your evidence. If there really is a Sith Lord behind this, then I’ll help you.” He paused, looking from Kenobi to Dooku and back. “After all, the Jedi exist to protect the Republic.”
 
Simply releasing you without some sort of guarantee would be foolhardy,” Dooku explained, “But perhaps we could help each other. One of the reasons Jedi are not permitted to form attachments is because of how dangerous those attachments would make a Jedi. Even a Padawan could do quite a bit of damage if compelled to protect or a loved one. But you aren’t the one being compelled, now are you?” He was quiet for a moment, deep in thought.

Obi-Wan looked towards Dooku and back to the bound Jedi. When it became clear Dooku wasn’t going to continue, he started, “What makes you think your daughter is here, of all places?”

“Because you think the Black Sun have her.” Dooku finally deduced. Obi-Wan looked over at Dooku with an eyebrow raised and the count elaborated, “Quinn Hale caused quite a bit of trouble for them, almost ten years ago, when he freed their pet assassin Scarlett. She went dark for years until she showed up three years ago to kill a senator. One of ours, too, despite how the Chancellor tried to spin it as a CIS attack. She’s the mother, isn’t she?” Quentin’s expression spoke loud enough, and Dooku smiled. “It all makes sense then. I thought she’d begun killing again, though, it’s hard to tell for certain. She covers her tracks well. And now we know why she has gone back into killing.”

“Is it the Black Sun then?” Obi-Wan asked, piecing together his half of the information.

Dooku shook his head, “No, not the crime syndicate. If they possessed their assassin, there would be too many targets for them to waste their time on off-world Senators.” Disturbingly, he laughed, “No but this is perfect! With you and Scarlett on my side, the four of us stand a strong chance at striking down the Sith Lord. Join me, and we will reclaim your daughter and wife from the Sith Lord who holds them.”
 
"Her name isn't Scarlett," Quentin said, voice level. "Not anymore. She hasn't used that name in years. She's Kaydia. Kaydia Voss-Hall."

Count Dooku nodded at that bit of news. "Ah? Well, whatever name she chooses to use, she's certainly filling the same role she once played. And your daughter... she is leverage, I assume. Leverage to compel obedience." He chuckled lightly. "A prime example of why the Council forbade relations of that sort. It is human to want to protect your loved ones - but then, the Jedi Council would have had us be unhuman." Pausing, he regarded Quentin with a level gaze. "But, these are semantics and have so little to do with my offer. Join me, and we will be able to strike down Darth Sidious."

"I..." Emotions warred within him. There was a lot at stake here now, more than just his daughter. The security of the Republic itself was at stake, if the Count spoke the truth. But that was the trick, wasn't it? Was he telling the truth? Because, for all Dooku's brave words, he could feel the darkness flowing from the man. It was like being in Aldane's presence again, or holding the double-bladed lightsaber that had been recovered from Naboo - a cloying chill that warned him that Dooku was much more than 'merely' a fallen Jedi. "Tell me," he said, swallowing. "What title did you take?"

"Tyrannous," Dooku answered without hesitating. Then he smiled. "You look surprised, my young ally. Did you think I would lie to you now? I am known among the Sith as Darth Tyrannous. And Obi-Wan, as my apprentice, has taken the title of Darth Skalho."

"Skalho," Quentin muttered. "From ancient Sithari, meaning to divide or separate."

Dooku lifted an eyebrow. "You speak Sithari? Impressive, but I should have expected that from a Shadow. But you haven't answered me."

In the background, Obi-Wan stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Wait. His wife was the assassin Scarlett? A Jedi-trained assassin?" He eyed Quentin speculatively, eyes narrowing as he did. "Who has she killed?"

"I've got a counter-proposal for you," Quentin said, staring back at Dooku. "You say you want to root out the corruption in the Republic. Then come with me. Or give me the evidence, and hold back your attacks. I can deal with this. It's what I do - what the Shadows do."

"Who else did she kill?" Obi-Wan asked, insistent.

"Bail Organa of Alderaan was her last victim," Quentin replied. "And, before him, Duchess Satine of Mandalore."
 
Fury radiated from Obi-Wan, remembering the older redhead. It had been Satine’s idea, so he could make up for lost time.

“She’s pretty, don’t you think?” the duchess asked, nudging him.

“I suppose,” Obi-wan allowed, “But you are the one I dreamt of, all these lonely nights. You’re the only one I want, Satine.”

Light from his saber painted the walls red, and Obi-Wan pointed it at Quentin, “I should cut you down right here, to repay her treachery. Let her feel my loss, as she mourns you.”

“Peace, my apprentice,” Dooku commanded.

“Peace?” Obi-Wan snarled, not backing down, “His wife killed my lover, and you want to ally with them. She was finally mine, and Scarlet took her form me!”

“Focus,” Dooku shouted, standing between Quentin and Obi-Wan, “Recall what he has told us. Scarlett was compelled to kill, to protect her daughter. Any parent would have done the same. Scarlett is not Satine’s killer, my apprentice, merely a tool used by her master for his goals.”

“She joined us in bed!” Obi-Wan bellowed, the glow of his saber reflected in his eyes, “Murdered Satine with the same hands that caressed her skin. Only a monster could have killed her lover after that night.”

“Very well,” Dooku said, his tone far too calm for the emotions roiling in the interrogation, “The injustice of Satine’s murder has empowered you, my apprentice. You know who holds his daughter, and therefore know where to look for her. Use your anger; it will grant you great strength.” Obi-Wan nodded, glaring at Quentin once more before turning to leave.

Dooku turned to Quentin now, smiling darkly. “Attachments are a weakness, Shadow, and your attachments will prove your downfall. Join me, in opposing Darth Sidious, and I may yet be able to convince my apprentice to spare the child. Otherwise, well, I suppose he will have his vengeance for Satine.”
 
Dread stabbed Quentin's heart as he realized what was going on. One careless word out of place, and he'd managed to unleash a Sith Lord on his daughter. "NO!" he shouted, struggling ineffectually at the suspensor field as Obi-Wan stalked from the room. "No, damnit! She didn't do anything!" The door hissed open. "Master Kenobi!" he shouted as the fallen Jedi swept through the door. "How does the murder of a child fit in with your desire to save the Republic?"

Dooku turned to Quentin now, smiling darkly. “Attachments are a weakness, Shadow, and your attachments will prove your downfall. Join me, in opposing Darth Sidious, and I may yet be able to convince my apprentice to spare the child. Otherwise, well, I suppose he will have his vengeance for Satine.”

Quentin hung in the field without answering for a long minute, staring at the floor. It was a seductive offer, really. One that made sense. What did his own life matter, in the face of his own child? It would be easy to step from the shadows into the darkness. All he'd have to do is turn his back on the light, and his daughter would be safe. A chuckle escaped him, one without any humor. Safe? Would she be safe, really?

"You've learned nothing, Count Dooku," he murmured, staring blankly at the floor.

"Oh? Have I not?" He could see the faint, mocking smile on Dooku's lips in the Force. "What, my shadowy friend, have I failed to learn?"

"You honestly believe that attachments are a weakness?" Quentin asked, examining the mechanisms of the suspensor field in the Force now.

"The Jedi were not wrong in that belief," Dooku assured him. "They misunderstood, but attachments hold you back. They are chains, binding your will and keeping you from achieving greatness." He laughed lightly. "In a way, you have done the young Darth Skalho a service. He will understand, in time, that his affection for Satine was a weakness."

"Friendship," Quentin said, expanding his perceptions to see beyond the walls of the chamber. He was on a ship, he realized. "Love. These are things of the light, Dooku. They inspire selflessness. They encourage a willingness to think of others and their welfare before your own. The mistake of the Council was to try to replace personal attachments with an attachment to the Republic as a whole."

"Ah, you begin to see," Dooku said.

"The mistake of the Sith," Quentin continued, "the mistake that all Sith have made, was to conflate strength with selfishness." Concentrating slightly, he killed the power to the suspensor field and fell to the floor beneath. As he did he reached out with the Force, grasping the hilt of his lightsaber and pulling it to his hand. He caught it as he landed, igniting the blazing white blade.

"We shall see," Dooku said, drawing and igniting his own lightsaber with a graceful flourish. "Do you really believe your attachments make you stronger than me?"

"Not at all," Quentin answered, raising his blade. He smiled and winked. "Just... smarter." With that he spun in a circle and slashed low. The blade tore through the alloy deck, carving a circle around his feet. It collapsed, dropping him into the room beneath.
 
Dooku wore a half smirk on his face as Quentin disappeared onto a lower floor. Oh, he had very much doubted it would be so easy to turn the Shadow to his side. Not after the reports he received from Aldane, about his own failures in that regard. He’d gotten close though. The threat to the child had cracked his armor some, and if it were even possible to turn Quentin Hall, that would be his angle.

“Lockdown all exit and entry points,” Dooku instructed, punching commands into the nearby computer console. “The Jedi prisoner escaped and was last seen on Level 3, in the northwest server room. All BX-Commando Droids search the vicinity immediately!” The BX-Commandos were elite battle droids, too costly for mass production, but useful for special missions, such as this. As a Shadow, Quentin wouldn’t have fought on the front lines against droids, and Dooku believed this would slow him down enough to be captured once more.


“Life form detected inside,” one robotic voice asserted, approaching the server door. There was only one entrance in or out, but a Jedi wielding a lightsaber wasn’t restricted by doorways. Waiting him out wouldn’t work. Four commando droids raised their blasters while the fifth approached the entrance.

“Blowing the door, blasters ready,” the same droid commanded, affixing explosive gel to the frame. “3, 2, 1.” The door blew inwards and a hail of blaster fire followed, red streaks lighting up the room.
 
Quentin's landed on the deck, flexing his knees and calling on the Force to soften his impact as the alloy disk clattered and clanged. He was free for the moment, but his situation was perilous. The CIS preferred combat.droids, so most of his opposition would be functionally immune to the majority of his Force techniques. And many of their assault craft were robotic as well, so escape would be difficult. Oh, yes. There were also two Sith Lords aboard, both intimitly familiar with Jedi training.

It was the thought of the Sith Lords that spurred him to action. There was no reason why Dooku couldn't follow him, after all - nearly everything he'd done could be replicated by a half-trained Padawan, and Dooku was far more than half trained. So he scanned the darkened room, opening his perceptions so that he could see despite the lack of light. There. The exit was there. And there were battle droids beyond. He didn't recognize the specific model, but he knew they weren't the common combat units deployed by the CIS. So, best to assume they're designed with Jedi-hunting in mind.

Calling on the Force, he hurled himself against the bulkhead as the door hissed open. Crimson blaster fire illuminated the room as the droids opened fire, filling the air with strobinglight and ozone. As the first one entered, he reached out with the Force again. The rough alloy disk that had once been the ceiling stirred and launched itself into the air, crushing two of the droids I to junk as it cannoned through the open doorway. By then, he was no longer guiding the missile. Instead, he was watching the other three through the bulkhead as they moved back, avoiding the swath of destruction. One pulled a cylinder from it's chest as the disk crashed to the floor, and crept towards the door.

Focusing, Quentin used the Force to rotate its artificial brain 10 degrees in it's housing. Without a sound, the combat Droid went down. The other two followed suit as the Force shattered vital connections in their chasses. Only when they were all down did Quentin emerge from the room. Trusting to luck and hoping to find a terminal somewhere, he turned left and sprinted down the corridor.
 
“I’ve never seen a Jedi cause this damage before,” Obi-Wan noted, examining the wreckage.

“No, you wouldn’t,” Dooku acknowledged, looking with eyes that saw beyond the visible. “Most of the Jedi we face are in the war. Opponents used to a straightforward fight. Coming at him as if he were a typical Jedi isn’t going work.”

“So, how do we come at him? How does one hunt a Shadow?” Obi-Wan considered, eying corridors carefully.

“Well, you have to think like a Shadow. Like an assassin or spy,” Dooku explained, typing something into a command screen on his wrist. “Like a sith.”



To Quentin’s great fortune, there was a terminal along that path, three rooms in. Guarded, of course, by a unit of combat droids, but not even of the same caliber of the group he’d already dispatched. These would hardly slow him at all. Hardly stop him from reaching the terminal and making use of it.

Of course, what he couldn’t be expected to know, was that all the terminals now protected by an anti-intruder system. Without a code known only to Dooku, Kenobi or Asajj, anyone accessing the terminal would activate the room lockdown and gas subroutine. The terminal would appear to function normally, while an odorless stun gas would be pumped into the room. If the intruder managed to discover the subroutine before passing out and attempted to create their own exit from the room, the secondary electroshock deterrent system would kick in and conduct electricity through the saber to the user.

Now it was only a matter of waiting for the Shadow to trigger it.
 
Pressed against the bulkhead wall, Quentin studied the next room in the Force. It was a trap, that much was clear. There were only a dozen of the standard CIS B1-series battle droids - he hadn't fought on the front lines, but he still knew the model. They'd be a threat to a squad of regular infantry, but hardly to a Jedi. No, clearly they were merely the first piece of the trap. But they were a piece he would need to deal with before he could disarm the rest of it. So he concentrated, tugging and pulling at vital components within the droids. Electronic wails and screeches filled the air, and one after another they collapsed. Finally, with the last one down, he sighed heavily and wiped sweat from his brow. Non-Jedi often believed that wielding the Force was effortless. They didn't understand how difficult it could be.

Cautiously, he entered the room. There was always the chance he'd missed something, after all. Some CIS droids could conceal themselves, after all, and it was far more difficult to sense the presence of a machine in the Force. He held his lightsaber ready as he crossed the room, ready to attack or defend as necessary. But no attack came, and he found himself staring at the terminal. "Now," he mused aloud, "what would I do, if I were designing intrusion countermeasures?"

Staring at the terminal, he thought hard. Biometrics, and a mandatory security code, were an obvious security design. Something that would trap an unauthorized user until security could arrive. Possibly something that would incapacitate or kill the user as well. He thought a moment longer, then circled the room and inspected and then closed each door in turn. Then, circling the room once more, he used his lightsaber to cut out each of the doors. None of them had secondary blast shielding, being combat doors on a warship already, so they wouldn't be able to seal him in.

Finally, he accessed the computer and began cycling through menu commands. Soon he'd located the layout of the ship, and the location of the nearest hanger. Memorizing the path, he tapped in a few commands. As he did, he felt himself growing light-headed. Yawning, he braced himself on the wall, fighting for consciousness. As he did he called on the Force once more, increasing his metabolism and fighting off the fatigue. Soon enough his head cleared to the point he could finish his command sequence. Now a ship was ready for his use, and all he had to do was...

Everything seemed to spin wildly, and for an instant he feared the unknown cause was overwhelming him. Then he smashed heavily into the console and bounced, tumbling uncontrollably as he hurtled across the room and crashed into the bulkhead. His lightsaber dropped from nerveless fingers as he gasped, feeling the air explode from his lungs with the force of the impact, and then he was spinning uncontrollably again, smashing into wall and floor and ceiling. At last, he slammed brutally into the floor, head spinning and vision dimming from the pain and the effects of the soporific. Gasping and struggling for consciousness, he stared up at the flame-eyed figure of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

"Not bad," the fallen Jedi laughed. "But, it seems, a Shadow does not quite think like a Sith." Then his foot rose, and crashed into Quentin's head.


Pain was the first thing he could feel when consciousness returned. Agonizing pain, his entire body feeling like a single bruise and a horrible sort of stabbing scrape when he breathed. Broken rib, he thought, trying to focus. Keeping his eyes closed, he took an assessment of his situation. Suspended again, he knew. But no fields this time. No, there were manacles gripping his wrists and ankles, holding him spread-eagled and upright.

"You may as well open your eyes," Kenobi said. "I could sense you waking up."

Quentin opened them. The room was dark, lit by an ominous ruddy glow from behind the black-robed figure of Obi-Wan. Count Dooku watched impassively from the other corner as his apprentice inspected him. "I began thinking," Obi-Wan said aloud, lifting a small, hooked object and examining it. "I know where your daughter is, but... killing her wouldn't cause Scarlett to suffer. Not as much as I want her to."

"Kaydia," Quentin spat. "Her name is..." Pain exploded in his skull as Obi-Wan gestured at him.

"I find I don't really care what you call her," Obi-Wan said, voice deceptively gentle. "Kaydia, or Scarlett, or Vynne Armaia, or Nyamelo Cordfay, or whatever alias she is using." His eyes hardened. "She betrayed and slaughtered Satine, and she will suffer for that." He smiled. "And what better way for her to suffer, than to look upon you and know you failed. That the person she trusted to find her daughter failed her, and she will never see her again?"

Forcing himself to ignore the small hook Obi-Wan had finally settled on, Quentin stilled his breathing and looked inward. It would be harder, this time, but he could still escape. Even if he was welded into his manacles, they would have a weak spot. A focal point he could exploit. Pain was a thing of the body, and he could ignore it as he worked at the bonds.

"Wait, my apprentice." Quentin froze, sensing the movement in the air as Dooku rose. What was the Sith Lord playing at? "Torture is pointless, when your subject is strong in the Force."

"Then," Obi-Wan replied, sounding puzzled, "what would you suggest?"

Dooku walked closer, and Quentin tried to pull back as his warm hand rested on his chest. "Watch, my apprentice, and learn. What you will see is an ancient Jedi technique, refined and transformed by the Sith." Chains rattled as Quentin tugged, trying to get further away from the warm hand and the feeling of dark, cold power gathering in it. "Nomi Sunrider used it, once, to end Ulic qel-Doma's reign as Dark Lord of the Sith. Watch."

Ice flooded through every cell of Quentin's body, burning ice that lacerated his flesh and shredded his nerves. Helpless, he screamed and convulsed for what seemed an eternity before collapsing heavily against his bonds. The pain continued, burning and freezing, making him gasp and sob helplessly, then scream again as it grew worse. Finally, when he began to hope that he would die and be spared further suffering, it ended. He hung there, every muscle aching with remembered pain, the sour taste of his own vomit lingering in his mouth. He drew a shuddering breath, reaching out to the Force to deaden the burning ache.

Nothing happened.

"What..." he gasped, eyes wide as he looked around. He reached out again, grabbing for the lightsaber that hung at Obi-Wan's belt. Brute force wasn't his strong point, but he could still cut his way... The saber hilt didn't stir. He couldn't feel it in his mind. Couldn't feel... anything. "What?"

Obi-Wan nodded, understanding lighting his eyes. "Ah. I see." Then he advanced on the shaking Shadow, lifting the hook in his hand. "A riddle to contemplate, Master Quentin. Something to occupy your mind as you suffer." Quentin whimpered helplessly as the hook tore into his eyelid. "What is a Jedi, if he has not the Force?"
 
“Are we close?”

“Coming up on the target, thirty meters east.”

“I think I see him.”

The speeder slowed to a stop just before the crumpled mass, and two men in crisp grey uniforms got out. They rushed towards the figure, one gently turning him over, only to hiss and gasp at the extent of his injuries. Two bloody hallows set where his eyes once had been, and his unresponsive body sat limp in the agent’s arms. The other shook his head.

“Is he even alive?”

“There is a pulse. Weak, but it’s there. He won’t last long if we don’t get him treated right now, though. Load him up, and we can contact Queen Breha.”


Onderon,
Iziz, capital city​

Kaydia picked at her meal, unable to enjoy it. Not while she focused on Senator Mina Bonteri, sitting just three tables away. By now she had acquired a copy of the senator’s schedule and had developed a dozen potential plans for completing her mission. Just in case Quentin needed more time to find and free their daughter. Now it was just a case of waiting for him while keeping up the pretense of completing her missions.

Though, to be honest, it was just the act of stalking the senator that distracted Kaydia. Ever since she and Quentin had reunited, their bond was stronger than ever. Even now, with him wherever it was his search had taken him, she could feel him. Distant, but it didn’t matter. She could feel him again, and it had been a comfort. At least until this morning, when pain and panic and despair flowed from his mind to hers. Now she was beside herself with worry, wishing she could have been by his side. She had every faith in his abilities, but they were stronger together.

Across the restaurant, Mina laughed and grabbed her husband’s hand. It wouldn’t be long now, Kaydia promised herself, even as Quentin’s distant emotions grew more desperate. Soon Quentin would have Mara, and they’d be a family, for the first time. They’d laugh and flirt and hold hands like the senator and her husband. Forcing herself to focus on her meal, to keep suspicion off her, Kaydia gripped her knife and felt the flood of remote agony flood her nerves. Mara? No…no, Quentin!

Knuckles turned white over the utensil as Kaydia keep the sensation within her mind and off her features. Oh, but it was hard, anguish rivaling her own tortures filling her mind. Eyes screwed shut, Kaydia let the pain wash over her, focusing now only on keeping her food down. There wasn’t room for worries or questions, just a desperate plea to end the torment. Instead, it built, growing to a grim crescendo before ceasing with a dread finality.

Quentin? But he was gone. Torn from her mind, from the force, from existence until only memories were left. No…no! The centering balance, that consistent comforting presence, his love and devotion and acceptance, gone. “No…” she whispered, unable to contain the depths of this loss within her any longer.

Quentin was dead. He died in agony, his last moment's hell before it ended. She sent him to his death in sending him to find their daughter. She had killed him. Breathing became difficult, the weight of this loss heavier than she believed possible. Suffocating, pressing her down. It should have been her! She should have died, not him. He was the light between them, her savior. She was the monster, the one who deserved death to pay for her life of murder. Now?

Now she was the only one who could save Mara. The realization sharpened her resolve, burning orange in her eyes. Letting Quentin’s loss empower her, she reached towards the senator in the force. Her hand clenched into a fist, wrapping around the senator’s throat in her mind. In the present, the senator gasped, clutching at her neck. Scarlet didn’t stop. tightening her grasp as she remembered the impressions of Quentin’s agony. Bonteri’s security surrounded her, attempting to dislodge food they assumed was stuck in her throat, but it would not help. Nothing could have pried Scarlet’s fingers from the woman’s throat now. By now the other guests stared on in horror as one guard pumped the senator’s heart and lumps to get her breathing again and another relayed her condition to emergency personnel.

Once Mina’s heart stopped breathing, Scarlet finally let go, tapping a code into a communications bracelet. “It’s done,” she whispered softly, beneath the horrified cries and panicked murmuring in the restaurant.

“Where’s the tissue sample?”

“It’s not going to happen this time,” she said simply, relaying video of the scene to her client. There was the click of the line going dead, and then the message beep. The next target, one step closer to Mara.

She was all that mattered now.
 
Two months later

The first thing Quentin became aware of was pain. Not the burning, tearing agonies of the tortured that had been inflicted cited on him, though. Echoes of pain. Ghosts of pain. The lingering memory of hooks and nerve stents and Sith alchemies. And behind and around it, the aching hole where his perceptions of the Force should be.

The second thing he became aware of was that he was restrained. By reflex he tried to fight it, struggling weakly against his bonds. Distantly he heard a faint cry of “he’s awake”, and then the hiss of a hypo. And then a cool numbness blotted out pain and consciousness at the same time.

Consciousness returned again, and the pain will th it. Now he was drifting in a wet, blood-warm embrace. Slowly he opened his eyes, pleaded and startled to find he could see. Kenobi has burned them out. Hadn’t he? Or had that been a hallucination? It was a struggle to turn at all, but he could see he was in a bacta tank. A figure loomed into view, blurry from refraction. “Good. You’re awake.”

He struggled to concentrate. “Senator... Organa..?”

“Yes.” The blurry shape gave the impression of smiling. “You remember. We were concerned that...”

“Wh... where?” He tried to focus, gritting his teeth against the dull ache in his eyes.

The smile faded. “Alderaan. There’s... been a lot of changes, Master Quentin.”

“Changes?”

Bail sighed. “The Jedi Order is, is gone. Slaughtered by the Grand Army of the Republic. They were led by...”. He hesitat d. “By Master Skywalker.”

The words sometimes need absurd. He heard them, understood them, but couldn’t grasp their meaning. “K... Kaydia?”

Bail sighed again. “I... there’s more bad news...”

One week previously...

Senator Padme Amidala shifted in her seat, trying to get comfortable - something that was becoming increasingly difficult, no matter how good the chairs were. Not with the bulk and weight of her unborn children pressing into her hips, forcing her to sit back from her desk and constantly try to get comfortable, and then have to lever herself up every time she got comfortable in order to waddle towards the fresher. Holodramas always made pregnancy, even late stage pregnancy, look beautiful and romantic. They never really mentioned the way your bladder compressed.

But it wasn't just the physical discomfort. She'd spent the last several months in a daze, feeling like she wasn't quite herself and trying to collect her thoughts. Something about her pregnancy was making her feel passive, listless, not... not herself. Then Anakin would come, and it would all make sense again. Everything would be simpler when he was around. Clearer, somehow. His boundless optimism and enthusiasm, she thought with a smile. But, against her will, the smile turned to a frown. It was all simpler, she new, when her husband was with her. Then, why did she feel so... so uneasy at the prospect of his return? Afraid, almost?

Smiling, she shook her head. Foolishness. Just the fears of a pregnant mother due to give birth soon, afraid for her husband. And he was on his way from the starport. There's been... been something. Something... at Coruscant? Or... Mustafar? Something important he'd had to take care of. But that was done, and he was on his way home, and it would be all right. If she could just concentrate, now. There was... something. Something she needed to do.

The intercom beeped. "Your pardon, Senator Amidala?" It was the voice of Anakin's protocol droid, C-3P0. A prissy, fussy thing he'd rebuilt as a child, before they'd first met.

"Yes, Threepio?" she replied, sighing and setting her dataslate down. This was the third time she'd read it anyway.

"Your afternoon appointment is here," the protocol droid announced.

"My..." she tried to think, tried to remember. "Who was it, again?"

"Miss Lorsha Lestrante, from the Corporate Sector Authority," C-3P0 replied promptly. "Here to discuss your support for their proposal to assist with rebuilding the Seperatist worlds."

"Oh. Oh, yes." She didn't remember, but... oh, yes! That's what she'd been reading about! "Yes, send her in." Settling herself, she watched the door. Maybe Anakin would get back, before Miss Lestrante finished her presentation. That... that would make this easier.
 
In the two months since she lost Quentin, Kaydia had succeed in killing another eight targets. The task had been made easier by the upheaval caused by Palpatine’s reordering of the government after the fall of the Separatists and the “uprising” of the Jedi Order. Simple to move amidst the chaos, striking targets at the first possible opportunity. Kaydia’s qualms died with her husband, and the only thing that could save her now was reuniting with Mara.

The data folder she had been sent with the last successful mission including the usual. Vital facts on her daughter’s development, pictures the girl, and a holovid, just like the others. What stood out with this last holovid was the unseen voice that spoke with Mara, asking her if “she was excited to see her mommy again.” There was joy in her daughter’s voice, and a beaming in her smile, repeating the title, “Mommy!” All of it together inspired her to finish this last mission without delay. Her daughter had been waiting far too long as it was.

“Senator Amidala will see you now,” a gold-plated protocol droid informed her, motioning with stiff movements towards the office. Kaydia rose without a word, moving towards her target. She wondered if she could see Mara today, as her boots clicked on the stone tiles of the office.

“Miss Lestrante, come in. Forgive me if I don’t stand to shake your hand,” the young senator called. The reason why became clearly apparent, her midsection encompassing a massive bulk. Immediately Kaydia’s mind went back to her own pregnancy, waiting with dread to have her child ripped from her body and her arms. Senator Amidala seemed even larger than she had even been. Tapping into the force, she felt for heartbeats, and found three. Padme was carrying twins.

Kaydia froze, the knowledge weighing heavily on her. Could she kill the Senator and spare the babies growing within her? Did her client intend for the death of all three? She’d never killed a child before, and worry gnawed at her mind that she might not be able to now.

“Miss Lestrante?” Padme repeated, a little louder this time. Pregnant or not, it didn’t matter. Mara was waiting for her.

“Apologies, Senator. I had not heard that you married.”

“Marriage is not necessary to conceive,” Padme countered, meeting her gaze with sharp eyes. After a moment of tense silence, she softened the expression by smiling, “My marriage is not common knowledge. I am fiercely protective of my privacy.”

“Of course,” Kaydia murmured, getting herself into the mindset to complete her assignment, “Sorry, just seeing you like this reminded me of my husband. My…late husband, a victim of the Clone War. We were going to start conceiving our second child when he returned from his business trip, but he…never returned.” The words were true, in a way, and a ploy all at once. Get the senator to lower her guard and strike. Padme stood at that.

“I am so sorry for your loss, Miss Lestrante. We have all lost too much from this war.“ Padme’s hand rubbed Kaydia’s shoulder, a brief touch of consolation. In that moment, Kaydia reached for Quentin in the force, seeking the spiritual remains of her husband to dissuade her from this path, but just like every other time since then there was nothing. She was alone now, but once she killed the Senator, she’d at least have Mara.

“I’m the only one who can protect our child now,” she whispered, drawing Padme in closer. “So, I hope you understand why I have to do this.” Before Padme could question or even speak, force fingers tightened around her neck, squeezing the delicate flesh until no air could escape. The horrified look of betrayal stung, but Kaydia didn’t relent. “Shh, don’t fight it. You will be with your children in the force soon. There will be no more pain or suffering anymore. Just peace.”

But Padme didn’t succumb, struggling against the invisible hand that was squeezing the life from her. Feeble fists slammed into Kaydia, trying to disrupt her. There was a fire in her eye, a fire that cut through the tears, a fire that cut Kaydia to the core. No, she couldn’t do this.

Kaydia released the force with a sob, pulling a chair up behind Padme without a thought. The senator gasped desperately, hate and confusion in her eyes as she looked for answers in Kaydia. “I’m so sorry…” Whether the words were to the woman she nearly strangled to death or to the daughter she failed, Kaydia didn’t know.

“Why?” Padme managed to gasp out. Why did you try to kill me or why didn’t you go through with it?

“I have to go…” Kaydia said, unhelpfully. “Before they realize I didn’t kill you, and kill her instead.”

“Who?” Padme demanded, grabbing Kaydia’s arm.

“My daughter.” Kaydia pulled away from the gasping senator, determined to reclaim her child before it was too late.
 
“Your... daughter..?” Padme rubbed at her throat, trying to think. It was difficult, because her throat aches and every breath was dull razors rasping over brushed and broken flesh. But, paradoxically, it was also easier. The pain cut through the fog that seemed to fill her mind, the results of weeks of poor sleep as the twins made it impossible to find comfort. Or was that it? Because it seemed as if she was thinking ever so slightly clearer ever since Anakin left. “Your... daughter?”

It was the same question twice, but the meaning was different. Lorsha was dangerous, yes. Murderous, even. But... if she was telling the truth, if her daughter was really the reason... she could be reasoned with. “Wait,” She croaked out. “I can... I can help...”. Bargain. That was the key. “Who... who has her? Can you... find her?” The look of despair in the assassin’s eyes told her the answer. “Hold... hold on, then.”

Stumbling back to her desk, she poured herself a glass of water with shaking hands. How close had she come to death, just then? How close to losing no just her own life, but those of her children? But, could she blame Lorsha? What would she have done differently, in her place? The water was cool as it went down, clawing over and then numbing her aching throat. “I have, contacts. Intelligence officers, in the Naboo Royal Guard. Men and women, further trained by, by the Grand Army. I... they can... help you.”
 
Padme really was something else. Kaydia had nearly killed the woman, and still, she was offering to help her. An offer Kaydia knew she didn’t deserve. An offer that would make little enough difference.

“I appreciate the offer but…it won’t help. My husband was one of the best intelligence officers in the galaxy, A Jedi Shadow, and he was killed trying to find our child.” Kaydia folded her hands over her face trying to think for a moment. Mara’s life was on the line now.

Your husband was a Jedi?” Padme asked, but Kaydia pushed the question aside. It didn’t matter anymore.

“Fuck, if I had Sednzine, maybe I could fake your death, the same way we faked Bail’s but there is a chance it could hurt the twins.”

“Wait, Bail’s not dead?” Padme asked, eyes wide. “And you were behind that?”

Kaydia shook her head, “He is in hiding, with his wife. He agreed to help me, just long enough to find my daughter, and he was going to use the evidence I gave him to push back against the ever-expanding power grab by the war hawks. But now, after everything that’s happened?” Kaydia wiped the tears from her eyes, “The Republic is over. The Jedi are over. My husband is…gone. I have to find Mara. I just have to.” She pushed up now, blocking Padme’s voice from her mind. Focusing on her daughter.

It was a terrible thing, but since Order 66, there were far fewer force users in the galaxy. Seeking Mara was easier now the field thinned out, as it were. She wasn’t dead, not yet. And she wouldn’t be. But reaching into the force, Kaydia didn’t feel Mara’s presence. There was someone else, someone closer. Someone powerful, someone made even stronger by a choking miasma of darkness. She spent enough time hunting Sith with Quentin to recognize the vile stench and burning cold. Who though, and why now? Dooku had been killed in battle a month back, and Kenobi had taken up the mantle of leadership of the CIS. And Skywalker had turned on the Jedi when Palpatine declared them enemies of the Galaxy.

By the time Kaydia made it to the starport, the ship had already landed, and the dark miasma seeped into her nerves. Blocking Mara from her senses. She stood frozen, watching the hooded figure descend the ramp.

“You!” Anakin growled, igniting his saber. “What did you do to Padme? What did you do to my wife?”

Shit, Padme was married to a Jedi? No wonder she kept the marriage secret. Kaydia just ducked under the vicious slice, pulling the extra saber from Anakin’s belt towards her. Not just any Jedi, she considered, but the one who turned on the Jedi and the Republic. “I didn’t kill her and I don’t want to fight you!”

“Lies! I remember you. You killed that Senator, all those years ago. You’re an assassin.” Anakin’s blade burned crimson, screeching as it struck hers. His booted foot caught her in the abdomen, sending her tumbling back several feet. “Sending an assassin to kill my wife? Palpatine was right to dismantle the Jedi! I was right to kill them all!” Anakin raged. An overhead slash came down, and she rolled away, saber burning into the metal just beside her. Shit, He was one of foremost sabermen in the galaxy, and this had never been her forte.

Anakin followed up with another strike, and Kaydia just jumped away, trying desperately to put distance between them. Escaping wouldn’t be an option, she would have to win. But how? What would Quentin do?

“What’s wrong, assassin? Can’t kill someone who is fighting back?”

That’s right, Quentin would goad. Get the opponent off balance. “Like the younglings? Did they fight back?” Kaydia snarled, calling upon cargo boxes to block Anakin’s attacks.

Anakin howled with each slash, his motions wild and uncontrolled. “A lost cause! The Jedi already brainwashed them. And you have no call to judge me, Scarlett! How many have you killed?”

“I’ve never killed a child,” Kaydia asserted. A box crashed into Anakin, swaying him a little, and Kaydia leapt to the attack. She had to survive, just had to. For Mara!

But Anakin recovered from the box that hit him, swiping at Kaydia’s legs as she jumped over him. One clean slice cleaved through both at the same time, mid-thigh, just above her knees. The dead limbs fell uselessly to the ground and Kaydia fell not far from them. The pain was distant, a burning ache drowned out by the horror of failure. She couldn’t rescue Mara. She’d never see her daughter, or hold her in her arms again. Anakin turned on her, features made grotesque by the glow of his red saber. Once more, Kaydia reached for Quentin, reaching for the comfort of knowing she’d join him soon.

“Ani!” The name got both her and Anakin’s attention. It was Padme, leaning against the doorframe, reaching her arm out, “Don’t kill her. She spared me.” Anakin took a few steps towards her, holding his saber down at his side.

Still, Kaydia couldn’t reach Quentin. Couldn’t feel anything but burning hatred. It wasn’t Anakin, she realized. It was her. The monster that had always been inside her. Scarlett. Scarlett was the only one who could save Mara. Focusing, she called upon all the pain of this life, gathering it together. Giving her rage shape in the force, feeding it the pain years of torment and suffering.

Anakin shook his head at Padme, “It doesn’t matter. The Jedi betrayed the chancellor, betrayed the Senate. Every last one of them must die. For the Good of the Empire.” Turning back towards Kaydia, he lifted his saber. Before she could see the bright blade come down, she released the growing darkness within, until there was only darkness surrounding her. Darkness, and then…

Nothing.
 
Quentin stared blankly at the holoscreen, unable to process the news reports. Unable to process what Bail was telling him. Unwilling to process it. “Kaydia...” he whispered, trying to reach out to her through the Force. But he couldn’t find her, couldn’t feel her, couldn’t feel anything. The absence of the Force gnawed at him, an ache as sure and persistent as the pain Dooku and Kenobi had cut and torn into his very bones.

As sure as the burning of the implants that replaced his destroyed eyes.

“She... she’s dead,” Bail said, helpless. “Killed by Darth Vader, the Jedi who...”

“Not a Jedi,” Quentin whispered. “Not calling himself Darth.”

“The one who slaughtered the Jedi in the Temple on Coruscant,” Bail continued. “Teachers and students alike And his troopers would have killed me too, if...” He swallowed. “A, a padawan. He could have escaped, as he fled the temple. But he, he turned on them. Gave me time to escape.”

“What unit?” Quentin asked, listlessly.

“What?”

“What unit were they?” he asked again. “The clones. They killed the other Jedi they served under, but not this one.”

Bail thought, hard. “The... 501st, I believe. Why?”

“Anakin Skywalker,” Quentin replied dully, puzzlers by things out by reflex. “Darth Vader is Anakin Skywalker. The 501st was his regiment. Skywalker’s Fist, they called themselves.”

Bail watched him as he forced himself to drink some water. “We need you, Master Quentin.” The expression on Quentin’s face frightened him - empty. Expressionless. Beaten. “The Republic is collapsing. Palpatine is...”

“Sidious.”

“What?” Bail peered at him. “What is...”

“Palpatine. He is the mysterious Darth Sidious we’ve been hunting since... Well, since Naboo.” He stared down at his hands. “The Sith have won.”

“We can fight them!” Bail was back on his feet, now. “You can...”

“No.” Straining, Quentin managed to close his hand into a loose fist. “I’m crippled, Bail. Broken, in more ways Han you can imagine. I can’t...”. Kaydia. The name sent a frisson of hate, burning through the despair. He shook his head. “I can’t fight a Sith Lord, not like this.”

“We need someone to rally to,” Bail insisted.

“Then be that person,” Quentin sighed. “I... I’ll help. Where I can. But, a crippled dead man is no help to you.” He forced a smile. “When I’ve recovered, I can train agents. Maybe even help. But...”

But Kaydia was dead. Mara was dead. The Order was dead. “I need... time.”

“All right.” Bail rose. “I’ll check back in with you later. Try to rest.”

Quentin managed to hold himself in check until Bail left the room. Then the grief overwhelmed him, great wracking sobs that threatened to tear him apart. But no tears came. You beaded tear ducts for that.
 
Triggered
  • Index
    • Triggered
    Cerea
    27 BBY    ​

    “When I said I wanted to eat out for our anniversary, this wasn’t quite what I had in mind,” Kaydia teased, biting her lip as her husband dropped to his knees before her. Quentin didn’t speak, just smiled seductively, meeting her eyes as her pulled her pants and underwear off simultaneously. Lips ghosted over her thighs as he lifted one leg over his shoulder, and then the other. The light touches over sensitive areas drove her wild, leaving Kaydia squirming on the couch. Strong fingers opened her to him, tracing her moistening lips. When he reached her clit, and warm wet lips wrapped around it, she let herself fall back into the cushions, unable and unwilling to struggle.

    In the past year, seventeen leads from the Telerath data resulted in seventeen dead ends. Ever since Aldane had perished, Quentin and Kaydia had been running around in circles, discovering facts they already knew. Most prominently, that the Sith Lord at the center of the conspiracy covered every track. And today, one year after their wedding day, they crossed another name off their list of leads. It would take a couple days to get new identities for their next investigation, so why not spend the downtime celebrating an otherwise successful marriage?

    Kaydia’s fingers brushed through Quentin’s hair, breathing deeply before sighing contentedly, “Not that I am complaining. Though, I really am quite hungry.” In response, she felt Quentin open his mind to hers, sending his sensation through the force, so she could taste herself on his tongue. With a gasp and a moan, she added, “I guess you are too.” Her own musky flavor layered upon her own delight, driving her down into the depth of madness and ecstasy. Quentin, ever the attentive lover, took advantage of their bond, used her own sensations to bring her close to climax, before pulling back before she could go over that edge. Again and again, he held her on that precipice of pleasure, dragging out that euphoric moment.

    Kaydia couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, could barely breathe, tightening thighs around her husband’s head. Before she could succumb to her bliss, he pulled away, smiling wickedly with her lust smear on his cheeks. His throbbing cock brushed her needy lips, taunting her yet further. Nearly slipping in, as wet as she was, before pressing against her pulsing clit. Fuck, so close, so very close. He pushed into her, smooth inner walls trembling along every inch of him, relief and nirvana traveling her nerves and–

    Pain. A horrific and familiar shock flooded her senses, chasing her orgasm and echoing her rapture in torment. Memories erupted in her mind, of helpless suffering and crippling terror, flashing too fast to process, but leaving its imprint on her skin. Desperate to protect herself, she pushed Quentin through the force, hard enough the air burst from his lung and he nearly broke a rib when he crashed into the far wall of The Scrapper’s living quarters. She pulled her legs up to her chest, squeezing them tightly, with tears streaming down her face.

    “Why…Why would you do that to me?”
     
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