Gingerly she felt her jaw where Ark's boot had slammed into the side of her face, feeling the pulped tissue with probing fingers before she silently began to heal the damage without comment; the night hadn't gone how she'd planned. If it'd gone how she'd planned it, she'd have been flying the Bucket back to Nar, back to her friends. She wouldn't have knelt before Arkatorn, knowing he was going to attack her and unable to block, to rise, to defend herself. Fingers kept up a light pressure and the pain from her own healing drew a hiss of breath from the woman before she slumped against the closest wall.
She should've kept the datapad at least. Something to keep notes on, distract herself from the circling thoughts running full-tilt around her mind. She felt fractured mentally, damaged aside from the physical bruises she slowly tended, the defeat raw and edged in pain. It wasn't even the physical defeat, the inevitable end to the short confrontation when Arkatorn's patience had snapped and he'd stopped playing the plaintive questioning and helpful confidant. Her mind and emotions were raw and battered and shattered, Aran hearing her own broken admission every time her thoughts stilled.
I don't want to die like this.
She didn't want to die from seeing someone she'd counted as a friend - one more time - do what they decided was better and set her up. For arrest, for imprisonment, for whatever was better for her than letting her be. She didn't want to die knowing she'd become nothing more than a disposable disappointment, finally serving out what purpose she had to the people she'd bled for; she didn't want to die in the shame of captivity, an executed prisoner who'd gone the step too far.
Most of her friends - her old friends, the ones who'd been the first to turn their backs on her, to tell her she was dead to them - had thought she'd had a death wish, disregarding her safety and the wisdom of her peers to do what she thought was best. And maybe, she felt the tissue under her fingers returning to normal and the cracks spidering the bone closing and healing, they were right. Maybe she'd ignored the advice and wisdom from her friends because she knew better, and knew the risk was only to herself and some of them wouldn't have minded if her name had been on the lists of those who didn't make it back from a mission or task.
But she didn't want to die. Not like this, a crushed and broken then discarded toy. She didn't want to die, tossed aside again. Abandoned. Finally seeing the faith in her friends repaid with turned backs, cold shoulders. The precious few she had left Arkatorn was right - with everything she'd done could she lie to herself that they'd stick around, let her remain in their company? Would they understand or accept? If she'd gone back would she find herself at the other side of a blaster, surrounded by jedi again, finally deemed too much of a risk to be allowed to continue, told it was for her own good - it was a what-if that'd haunt her, knowing that was part of why she'd cracked.
I don't want to die like this- and that meant so many things. She didn't want to die with her head bowed to the victor. She'd once dreamed that death would come after she'd finally done something that was enough, enough that the past had been atoned for. But that was impossible, unattainable. Now she wanted to live but she scrambled for something to live for. Maybe... maybe it was time to put aside the devotion to an abstract idea and live because she wanted to.
Aran's hand dropped, shoulders caved inwards as her head rested against her knees. Something had driven her to take Arkatorn's hand that second time, some reason she was still breathing. "They would break you down while I would raise you up." And he was right, wasn't he? Her blind faith, her frail hopes all rested on the fact that her friends would accept her but she told them the half-truths that allowed her to keep that precious illusion. She didn't want to die for the delusion she kept herself in.
"I won't try to escape again." The frantic flight from his ship, bluffing her way through the planet's checkpoints to reach the spaceport she'd first docked the Bucket on, the self-congratulatory cheering as she'd stayed that one step ahead - it'd ended in Arkatorn already waiting on her ship, waiting for her with palpable disappointment. The mockery, the honest confusion as they'd spoken, the laughter. The pain, as his lightning had hit her and run through her body - and his questions. His statement that this was what friendship was, wasn't it. The pain, intolerance, scorn, mockery - because it was what she took from her friends; why should it be any different from him, too? And just when she'd been certain he'd toss in the towel as everyone else had done he'd waited, giving her choice.
He'd humiliated her. He'd broken her thoughts and free will. He'd killed her pet, kidnapped a friend, let her make herself into a joke for his amusement. Even then she believed him when he'd said that he in some measure and manner cared for her, because he didn't kill her when he so easily could have. And she didn't want to die, throat squeezing tight from emotions racing as hot as blood. It'd been hard to leave the Bucket, walk down its ramp and wait for Arkatorn to follow her. It'd been hard to lock the ship and turn, falling into step as he led the way, walking as normally as possible to salvage what pride she had left, falling into silence for the trip back to his ship.
In a thousand little ways it'd have been easier if Arkatorn had taken the choice from her but that would've given her one more lie to tell herself. When they'd arrived back at the ship she hadn't settled her emotions, shaking her head at the offer - again - of materials to study. Our people echoed dully, head finally lifting, arms unwrapping from around herself. She hadn't changed, had she? She was the same woman who over a decade ago had reveled in the destruction of the old Temple. So why let the lies hold her back still? Why hold herself back for friendships she knew hampered her, because when she acted to protect them it always was a step too far? Doc's gang would be a step too far for them, maybe even for Sriia. Would they find out?
She turned the emotions inwards, mixed with her thoughts. She was willing to burn the world for her friends, before, to set everything aside to help them. Even when she knew they wouldn't all have done the same, she had still been willing to do it. Now the world was a darkening place and maybe Arkatorn was still right, that she was so afraid of being alone that as long as someone called her a friend she'd let them use her. She knew he was right, already, a fracture in her thoughts again and she nearly let the feelings consume her before she curled a hand into a fist.
She could choose. She had chosen, voluntarily leaving the Bucket. Now she had to choose again, in her own thoughs and for herself, to live. Because she wanted to.
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