Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s nighttime on Koboh, and no one knows where Kata is.

She’s not in the basement room Cal still calls his own, not in the upper bunk she has to negotiate with BD every night to claim. The revolving door to the smuggler tunnels has been locked since they returned from Tanalorr, to keep any pests out and Kata in. She’s better behaved than that, Cal thinks. She’d never scare them that way, going into the tunnels alone. 

Making his way up to the main level of Pyloon’s, Cal asks Monk if he’s seen her, maybe asking for a star blossom tart? The bartender droid answers in the negative, though Pyloon’s is pretty busy tonight after a big priorite score, so it would be easy to miss Kata’s small form.

Cal checks every booth, even the one where a mercenary used to sit; that one he avoids as much as possible, after finding the echo there, the one that maps out his best friend's first manipulation of Cal. That friends is dead. There’s nothing in the booth that can hurt Cal anymore. But he's stayed away, regardless. There’s still too much heartache buried in the cushions, like so many useless credits.

He doesn’t touch anything; it’s obvious Kata isn’t hiding among the buckets and knickknacks that clutter the space. Cal moves on.

She’s not in the fresher, the stalls empty of any sapients. Greez watches from his chair, frowning, one set of arms gripping the armrests and the other pulling on his braids. Cal tilts his chin toward the stairs to the second level, and Greez nods, going back to scanning the crowd, ignoring the sweating drink in front of him.

Cal makes his way up, avoiding the creaky third stair, until he can see the giant fishtank, still clean, though Scoova is nowhere to be seen, probably off hunting another mysterious aquatic creature. Zee has a set of paints for BD, but Cal shakes his head, wanting to find Kata. Merrin offers to look with him, but as Cal strokes a finger along the railing, finding the gaps in between prospectors, Cal realizes he knows where she must be.

She’s not one for holotactics, after all. Cal still checks the little room as he circles the fish tank, but there’s no sign of her there as Bhima and Tulli give him nods from behind the table. Cal pauses at the door to the roof, waiting as it winches itself open, and he makes his way up the curving stairs, trailing his fingers along the poster-plastered wall. The upper door whooshes open, and the scent of growing things rushes past him.

The goldenlight moss glows faintly in the light of the Abyss, and the fire pineapples shimmer with the blinking lights of fireflies. Cal smiles at the tranquil beauty of the garden, but it’s the banked warmth seated off to the side, by the tinkling fountain, that makes him turn. 

Kata sits cross-legged next to the fountain, staring at the water. She doesn’t register Cal’s footsteps, or ignores him on purpose, not turning when he scrapes a toe against the rock wall to warn of his presence. Well, then. Cal sighs and folds himself to the ground next to her.

They stare at the fountain for a while, and it’s almost like a shared meditation, Kata’s untrained warmth mixing with Cal’s exhausted fury. They don’t need to talk, letting the flow of water over rock speak for the one who is no longer here.

“I miss him,” Kata says, and Cal inhales, but doesn’t ask who. He knows.

Cal places his hand, palm up, next to Kata; her arms are wrapped around her knees, but Cal wants to give her the option of comfort if she needs it.

“I miss him too,” Cal says, his voice husked with disuse and sorrow. Kata hasn’t moved from her huddled position, but Cal keeps his hand out anyway.

“I know I ought to be mad at you,” Kata says. “You took Papa away from me.”

The truth spears Cal like a carelessly-wielded lightsaber. “I did.” He doesn’t say platitudes like it had to be done or he would have killed all of us if I hadn’t shot him first because those would not help a grieving daughter. And Cal has already said them to himself enough times that the words are almost like a mantra filling his head when he tries to sleep. Kata doesn’t need them echoing in her thoughts—she must know them already.

“But Papa was broken, there at the end. He didn’t…didn’t feel right. He told me that he’d done terrible things to be sure that I was safe, and he—he was never so angry before. He…I could feel him, when he would always be—absent. I don’t know how to feel about that,” she says.

“That’s okay that you don’t know,” Cal says. “I’m not sure myself.”

“But you…you made a choice,” Kata says. “You…you shot him.”

Cal stares at the fountain. “I killed your father, Kata. I made the decision to put him down. He would have killed us all instead, if I hadn’t. There’s nothing good or right or happy about that, and I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself for it. Every day I ask myself if I made the right choice. Every day I see his face and the resignation there, and between one shot and the next…Kata, the Dark Side of the Force is something we all have to deal with, sooner or later. It pulled your father down, destroyed his joy, tormented him. Told him that the only way for you to be safe would be his way—“

“How do you know that?” Kata says, her voice so small. “You didn’t exactly have time to talk, between fighting on Nova Garon and there in the temple.”

Cal’s palms tingle, and he looks down at his hands, avoiding Kata’s focused gaze. He rubs one thumb along the crease of the other hand, trying to dispel the ache. “I can feel echoes in the Force: emotions, sensations. Your father left some behind, and I found them—after he died. After he stopped hiding his power. He was so intent on keeping you safe that he ripped himself apart to do it. He betrayed all of us, for you.”

Kata huffs, but it doesn’t hide the hitch in her breath. “I didn’t want that,” she says. “I just wanted us to be a family again. It’s not my fault he did what he did!”

“No, Kata, of course it isn’t. You did nothing wrong. You were the one bright spot in his life. His one joy,” Cal says, his throat closing up with tears.

“That doesn’t mean anything now!” Kata says, pushing to her feet. She doesn’t leave, but stomps a few steps away, then back to the fountain, then away again, toward the garden plot where the cactus balls grow in rainbow spikes. “He’s gone, and there’s no more joy!”

“Oh, Kata,” Cal says. “There can still be joy.”

“How?” she says, and Cal squeezes his eyes shut against the storm of her aura. “How can there be joy when Papa is gone?”

The sound of her tears blends with the droplets of water that splatter against the edge of the fountain basin. Cal turns to her, opens his arms, and she comes to him, slides her arms around his shoulders, lets her head drop to Cal’s hair, wetting it with tears.

“I was a kid when the Order fell,” Cal says. “I survived, just like your Papa. I thought…I thought I would never be able to smile again after I lost my Master. I carried so much guilt over his death that I couldn’t access the Force. I thought I never would. But I grew, I changed, I learned. I made new friends. I found a new family. I found a cause. And I know that’s what your father wanted for you. He wanted you to grow up and learn, and not be oppressed by the same horror that broke him.”

Kata still shakes with tears, but she slides down until Cal can cradle her in his lap. “What if I can’t find it? What if Papa took it all with him?”

Cal rocks them. He’s no parent. The closest thing he had to a father had been his Master, and he feels woefully underqualified to be one. But he took Kata’s Papa away from her, and the least he can do is try to comfort her.

“Maybe it will seem like it’s gone, at first,” he says. “Maybe the only joy you can find right now is the beauty of the water in the fountain. How it speaks to you. How it—reminds you of your father, the deepwater sense of him. Maybe that, that reminds you of the things he did for you, the happy things. Maybe you remember his hugs, his voice, his laughter. Little things add up to a lot, one day. You just have to keep collecting those bits of joy and savoring them. And maybe one day, you’ll find joy unexpectedly—don’t hesitate. Give into it. Don’t be afraid of it. Joy is not made to be a crumb.”

Is Cal saying those words for himself? Maybe.

Kata snuffles against his neck. “That sounds like something Papa would say.”

Cal strokes her hair, its darkness reflecting the crepuscular light of the Abyss. “He was a good man, Kata. He just lost his way.”

“What if I lose my way too?” Cal can barely hear Kata’s words over the flowing fountain. He has to pinch his lips together and frown against the fear he has of that very thing.

“Let me tell you a story,” Cal says. “When I went looking for your father, after he…after he betrayed us, I was angry. Your Papa, he hurt me, hurt those I care about. That hurt felt powerful, helped me chase after him when he ran with you. There were Imperials in my way, and I—“

His throat closes around the words, but he forces them out anyway. “I took them out. All of them. Yes, they would have imprisoned me or even killed me or handed me over to the Inquisitors, but I could have made my way through without going through them all. And then when you escaped with your Papa, and Denvik found us—“

“Creepy Uncle Denvik,” Kata says, snuffling.

Cal has to snort. “Yeah, he’s creepy all right. Denvik found us and at that moment all I could think about was how it was him who was ultimately responsible for sending your father on his mission to betray us. All I wanted to do right then was crush the life out of him, crush his tiny, measly connection to the Force into so many shards of glass. But do you know what happened then?” 

Kata shakes her head against his shoulder. He wonders if perhaps this story is too gruesome for a child, but he’s already said the words so he plows forward. “Merrin talked me down. She saw that I was hurting, that I was about to make the wrong decision. That I was about to lose my way. Had probably already lost it, honestly. She pulled me back. I don’t think I’d be sitting here right now with you if she hadn’t.”

“So you’ll watch out for me?” Kata says. “Even though Papa wanted to hurt you because of me?”

Cal sighs, his heart aching. “I’ll always look out for you, Kata. You know, he told me it was okay, there at the end. He taught me some of the signs he used in the Clone Wars, back when we first met, when I thought he was just another soldier, not a Jedi. I didn’t really see it then, but when I think about that fight, I see it every time. Every time, such a subtle thing. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe I’m just making things up because I want the ending to change so badly. But I saw the truth on his face. He knew it was his time, and he signed that it would be okay.”

Kata huffs and pulls out of Cal’s arms. “Papa would never leave me like that. He would never say it was okay to kill him.” She stomps away, hovering near the terminal that runs the watering system for the garden, arms crossed, her aura a rumble of thunder in a clear sky.

Cal levers himself to his feet, takes a step toward her. “Your Papa wanted what was best for you. He wanted you to grow up free, free of the Empire, free of fear. I don’t—I don’t know what he was thinking there at the end. I can’t know. But he only ever said that everything he did, he did it for you.”

“You’re not my father,” Kata says, spitting the words. “You killed him, and you think you can speak for him?”

Cal falters with the venom in her aura. He opens his mouth to say something, but he can't think of any speech that would make this situation better. He raises his hands in surrender to her words. She's only speaking the truth, after all.

She's not looking anyway, her child-bright anger and frustration and sorrow beating at him in waves, so he lowers his arms and moves behind her, trailing a finger along a wet leaf hanging over the fountain. They both stare out at the roofs of the Reach, at whirring fans and sparking wires, and the cliff walls beyond. "I can't be him, Kata, of course I can't. I can only speak of what I know. What I saw. I know he loved you. You were his entire world. Everything he did, he did for you. And I hope—void, I hope—that one day you'll see that his sacrifice was made out of great love. And that maybe you'll be able to forgive me for taking that love away from you."

Somehow Cal's able to get the words out without his voice breaking, but he can't stop the tears. He still rails at the Force sometimes, at the unfairness of taking the life of someone he dared think of as a friend. Of eliminating one of the last Jedi from the galaxy. He clenches his fist on the railing, his other hand hovering over the blaster that has remained in its holster since that fateful day on Tanalorr. Cal can’t bring himself to touch it; Merrin had retrieved it for him, before they left, and had gently, reverently, slid it into place on his thigh. He doesn’t know if there’s an echo. He doesn’t know if his decision to take the second shot is etched into the soul of the thing as surely as the betrayal on Jedha is scribed in a circle on his shoulder. He doesn’t know if the hasty, hidden echoes of a spy will spring up on the blaster’s cold metal housing, like the caught-breath beckoning others Cal has found while wandering the paths they all used to take on Koboh.

The wail of why, why, why threatens to break free from his throat and Cal clamps his mouth shut. He’s let himself spiral around that question far too often, and it’s fruitless; he’ll never know all the reasons why the man he thought of as a friend, and maybe, in the most secret place of his heart, something more, felt he had to keep so much truth locked away.

A wild wind blows the scent of fire pineapples and bluebell squishes over to them, and dries the hot tracks of tears along Cal’s cheeks. It sets the chimes hanging next to the fountain to singing, the trembling notes sounding a melody that seems familiar. Cal closes his eyes when Kata hums the lullabye that haunts him, and grief grips him hard enough that he goes to his knees, one hand curled around the railing to keep from tumbling, boneless, breathless, to the ground.

His breaths are sobs, harsh things he can’t keep contained, until Kata’s small hand lands on his hair. She pets the length of it escaped from its bun, taps a finger on the loop of hair still tied back, and it’s soothing until Cal realizes she’s comforting him when it should really be the other way around. Cal has only lost a friend. Hells, he’s lost so many. But Kata lost her father.

“If you never forgive me, I understand,” he says, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “I can’t replace him.”

“Oh, Cal,” Kata says, and sighs, heavy with sorrow. No child should have to make that sound. “That’s not what I meant.”

She ducks under his arm until she can wrap her thin arms around Cal’s neck. “I’m sorry. You were just telling the truth, and it hurt, even though it’s the truth. Papa was always telling me to be truthful, and that even though he had to tell lies he only did it to keep me safe. I know Papa was broken. But we’re all a little broken inside, right? Little cracks that no one should see. But sometimes someone says something that makes a little crack burst, and I just get so angry and there’s no way to let it out but to say something horrible.”

Her breath hitches and she buries her face in Cal’s neck. He wouldn’t be able to hear the low hum of her lullabye if she was any farther away, but it buzzes against his skin and his heart aches for this little girl who’s lost everything, everyone close to her. And yet she’s still willing to be close to Cal, her sad signature gradually strengthening back into a watery sunlight that warms him even in the twilight breeze.

Cautiously, Cal reaches out with his own Force, offering a candle flame for her to cradle with her aura or blow out with a breath, whatever she wants. Kata pulls back, just a bit, so she can see Cal's face, cup his blaster-scared cheek with a small hand like the metaphorical one she accepts his Force with. Cal's heart aches to think of her father doing this for her, showing her the beauty and wonder of the Force, and how pale of a reflection Cal must be for her. 

"We'll keep trying, won't we," Kata says, "trying to find balance?"

Cal nods into her hand. "Even Jedi Masters have to face their fear, maybe over and over and over again, until they overcome that fear, or fail. Your father wasn't the first to fall to his, and I doubt he'll be the last, even though there are so few of us. So yeah, we'll just have to keep trying to stay in the Light."

The chimes by the fountain sing out again as the wind stirs them, and this time they truly do sound familiar. Kata smiles, a beautiful, tremulous thing, and hums a bar of her lullaby. She closes her eyes, listening to the chimes for a moment, her hands pressed over her heart. "Do you think the Force is singing to me because my papa can't, anymore?" she says, opening those eyes that look so much like those of the man Cal killed.

Cal sucks in a breath. "That's very possible, Kata," he says. If anyone could manage to send his care for his daughter to her even after his death, it would be her father.

She keeps humming, her aura brightening just a fraction. "The dead deserve a song," she says, looking him in the eyes. "Will you sing with me, Cal?"

Cal gapes at her for a second. How did she get so wise, so young? He huffs out a breath. He knows who taught her. "You'll have to teach me the words," he says, accepting her help to get to his feet, even if he doesn't actually need it.

Together they stand at the railing and Kata hums a melody and speaks words that come thready in her little voice but strengthen as she teaches. Cal hums along and mouths the words until he knows them.

And then the two of them sing a song in hitched voices, soft and sad and echoed in the Force, about questions and loss and love and hope, darkly tarnished but never broken.