Work Text:
The mission was supposed to be simple.
Having endured four years of training (almost ten if he counted the “unofficial” kind) under a Jedi Master who was prone to slacking off on the job, Megumi had learned to give his full attention to their briefings, taking note of all the details he’d inevitably have to regurgitate to his easily distracted Master later. It was supposed to be a quick, in-out job. Retrieve the artefact and return to Coruscant — and certainly no funny business.
That was why, gliding over the purple wilderness of Onderon, Megumi frowned when Master Gojō turned to him from the pilot seat of the Limitless and said, ‘By the way, we’ve got company down there. Just a heads up.’
As the Jedi eased the ship into the tiniest clearing carved out among the dense undergrowth, tucked away from both sight and sound, Megumi made a valiant attempt to disguise how intently he was watching Master Gojō bring the Limitless to a standstill. Not for the first time, he quietly marvelled at the man’s ability to make the impossible look not only possible but easy.
Flashing Megumi a grin that said he knew exactly how impressed his Padawan was, Master Gojō hopped up from the pilot seat and skipped over to the boarding ramp, jamming the button with a little too much enthusiasm. He’d barely even waited for the thing to come down before he started marching out into the jungle without a word, prompting an alarmed Megumi to scramble out of his seat after the Jedi.
‘Do we have a plan?’
At Megumi’s alarmed shout, Master Gojō popped his head back around the shuttle door at the exact same moment the boy rounded the corner. Colliding with the impenetrable fortress of a man, Megumi ricocheted off his chest and onto the floor, landing in a crumpled heap at Master Gojō’s feet.
The Jedi leered down at him with a smug grin on his face. ‘When do we ever have a plan, Megumi?’
‘You said we’ve got company,’ Megumi grumbled, clambering to his feet with no help from his Master. The way the grown man was bouncing on his heels made him narrow his eyes. ‘Isn’t that exactly the sort of time we should have a plan?’
The perfectly sensible question earned him a pat on the head, as though he was five rather than fifteen. ‘Always such a worrier, my little Padawan,’ Master Gojō sing-songed. ‘It’ll be fine.’ His teasing smirk softened into one that spoke of a casual confidence too assured to reasonably call arrogance. ‘I’m Gojō Satoru.’
Rolling his eyes heavenwards, Megumi let out a pained sigh. Still, he dutifully followed his Master down the boarding ramp, calling out after the man rapidly being swallowed up by amethyst vegetation.
‘One day that won’t be enough!’
He didn’t believe it though. After all, Master Gojō was the strongest.
---
Megumi had never visited a Sith temple of old, so it was difficult to say whether the oppressive energy that emanated from the towering stone structure before him was typical for these ancient strongholds of darkness. Even dilapidated and overgrown, enshrouded by the surrounding jungle, the temple had a presence of its own. It dominated the natural world around it rather than existing in harmony with it, even as vines tore the stone asunder.
It was a curious contradiction — so curious that Megumi wondered if it was unique to the temple on Onderon. He asked Master Gojō as much.
‘Oh, it’s not the temple.’
He said it simply, like it was supposed to reassure Megumi, rather than send a shiver down his spine. When the Jedi disappeared into the gaping maw of the temple’s entrance, strolling in like he hadn’t a care in the world, Megumi found himself half-running to catch up, chasing the soothing balm of his Master’s light.
‘What the kriff is that supposed to mean?’
He got his answer soon enough.
Even caught in the shaft of light filtering through the collapsed ceiling, darkness clung to the man like a great shadow, rolling off the Force user in noxious waves that were almost stifling. He was strong — by far the strongest darksider Megumi had ever encountered. His presence alone felt like despair; the young Padawan thought he would have drowned in it, if not for the light pouring off the Jedi Master at his side.
Master Gojō was always a beacon in the Force, but he burned impossibly brighter then, cutting through the shadow that surrounded them like a hot knife through Bantha butter. When those tendrils of hopelessness brushed up against his consciousness, Megumi felt the need to meditate — to cling to the light with everything he was — but the Jedi Master was seemingly impervious to the affliction that ailed his apprentice.
There were rumours of darkness in Gojō Satoru. There were rumours that he was sentimental in a way that was dangerous for a Force user of his stature. There were even rumours that some members of the Jedi Council considered him a threat to the Order.
Looking at his Master then, the Padawan was certain the old bats were simply afraid of him, because the man was ablaze with light. Not for the first time, Megumi wondered why Gojō Satoru had chosen him as his apprentice. The Jedi was simply radiant — so radiant that the dark couldn’t even get close to him; bright and brilliant like the grin on his lips.
It didn’t stop Megumi’s heart from sinking—
—because why the kriff was Master Gojō grinning?
‘Well, well, well!’ came the Jedi Master’s voice, as if in answer. ‘Would you look what the Lesser Lantillian spat out!’
The man’s shoulders tensed a little, but rather than seeming petrified by the prospect of facing down the greatest Jedi in galactic history, he simply looked pained by the pitch and volume of Master Gojō’s voice.
Against all the odds, Megumi found he could relate to the guy.
The darksider inclined his head in their direction, more a jerk than a nod, and some of the silky black hair that wasn’t secured in a knot at the crown of his head fell forward over his broad shoulders. It was somewhat mesmerising to watch, the way those onyx locks danced around his features like the shadows that danced at his back.
Glancing at the shock of stark white hair atop his Master’s head, Megumi almost laughed — would have laughed if his vocal cords weren’t seized with fear. It was just that the pair of them made for such emphatic embodiments of their respective polarities in the Force that it was actually comical. It seemed unimaginative — if the Force had an imagination.
‘Master Gojō,’ the man said stiffly.
Unlike Megumi, his Master had no trouble summoning a laugh — a loud, grating thing that bounced off the temple walls. It was unbecoming on a Jedi and, though he should have been used to it, Megumi found himself wincing in synchronisation with the darksider standing before them.
‘Master Gojō now, is it?’
At the Jedi’s taunt, the man’s eyes flickered across to Megumi. The young Padawan froze under the malevolent weight of that gaze, but he saw no violent red staining those golden irises. Not a Sith then.
Huh.
‘Well then, Lord Getō.’ Master Gojō dragged out the sounds, sarcasm dripping from every single syllable. ‘Why don’t you hand over the talisman so we can all go on our merry way?’
The man — Getō, Megumi supposed he was called — stared at Master Gojō, lip curling ever so slightly. When he didn’t answer, the Jedi continued, blabbering on like he was haggling with a Toydarian in the markets of Batuu, not facing down a darksider.
‘You know, that little trinket you’re holding—’ Daintily, he poked a finger in the direction of the golden scarab in Getō’s grasp. ‘—is worth an awful lot to the Jedi Order.’ It was the same sing-song voice he’d used on Megumi not twenty minutes ago. ‘Think how many young Force users could benefit from its teachings. Isn’t that a worthwhile cause?’
Getō clicked his tongue. ‘I have no intention of arguing with you.’
From the bored expression on his face — as well as the rehearsed tone of Master Gojō’s instantaneous response — Megumi could almost be forgiven for assuming the two men had had this discussion before.
‘And I have no intention of fighting you, so where does that leave us?’ When he didn’t receive an answer, Master Gojō grinned, extending a palm towards the darksider and beckoning for the talisman with a crook of his fingers. ‘Hand it over, Suguru.’
Suguru?
If Megumi had been entirely discombobulated by that, nothing could have prepared him for what happened next. The darksider’s lips quirked and, when he spoke again, his voice was so disgustingly soft and so disgustingly fond that Megumi couldn’t reconcile it with the hulking shadow of a man before him.
‘Always so demanding, Satoru.’
Suddenly, the rumours about Master Gojō started to make more sense. In the shock of it all, Megumi somehow found his voice.
‘Wait, you two—’ Two pairs of eyes landed on the Padawan and Megumi suddenly realised that the attention of what were almost certainly the two most powerful Force users in the galaxy was entirely on him. He squirmed, voice faltering slightly when he worked up the courage to finish his question. ‘You two know each other?’
‘We know each other,’ Master Gojō replied simply — but his lips twitched at the same time Getō looked away with an honest to stars blush on his cheeks. Between the pair of them, it was all too suspicious.
‘Know each other how?’
The look the two men exchanged spoke volumes, heated enough to evaporate Megumi’s fear like morning dew on the grassy plains of Yavin 4.
‘Oh, for kriff’s sake,’ he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose hard enough to break it. There was no point trying to reason with a darksider, so he directed his ire at Master Gojō instead. ‘That’s a serious violation of the Jedi Code!’
There is no passion, there is serenity.
He repeated it like a chant in his mind — because the self-satisfied grin the Jedi Master shot his way made Megumi want to take out his blaster.
‘You gonna tell on me, Megumi?’
At that, the young apprentice flushed. They both knew where his allegiances lay first and foremost, and it certainly wasn’t with the Jedi Council. Dimly, he realised it probably made him an accomplice in their eyes — not that it really mattered when Master Gojō could take them blindfolded, probably without a lightsaber, too.
‘Anyway, I know you’re not pointing fingers over violations to the Code, little Padawan.’
The Jedi levelled him with a mischievous look and Megumi’s flush deepened, cheeks turning the same shade of pink as the hair of a boy back on Coruscant. A boy afflicted with a dangerous curse of Dathomirian legend — one that was supposed to be dealt with using the firmest of hands. A boy that Megumi had asked Master Gojō to protect regardless.
Accomplices to each other, then.
‘Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it, Megumi.’ He nodded towards the darksider. ‘Suguru and I go way back.’
Once again, he seemed to be under the illusion that his words were reassuring. Incredulous, Megumi asked, ‘How far?’
Where Getō at least had the good grace to look embarrassed — as someone who had turned away from the Jedi Code, Megumi could only assume he was ashamed of his choice in partner rather than ashamed of any forbidden attachment itself — Master Gojō tilted his head from side to side, weighing it with an easy smile on his lips.
Finally, he settled on, ‘Far.’
Stars, he was infuriating.
‘When you said we had company, I thought you meant—’ Megumi threw his hands up, because there was no point even finishing the sentence. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before we got to the temple, idiot?’
‘Idiot?’ Getō piped up, seemingly amused by the admittedly blatant show of disrespect towards the Jedi Master. ‘Your Padawan has too much anger, Satoru.’ His voice was the purr of a loth-cat. ‘That’s a darksider trait. Aren’t you supposed to stamp that out of him?’
And Master Gojō’s eye actually twitched.
‘Well I’m doing things differently. That was an option for you too, Suguru.’
There was more than a little snark to his tone — and Megumi was more astounded by the sight of the usually unflappable Jedi ruffled than he was by the realisation that the pair of them had serious history. It was ironic considering the topic of conversation, but although the darksider’s smile had pulled a little tighter at the corners, he was still cool, calm, and collected compared to the man across from him. Looking at Getō then, Megumi found it wasn’t that hard to imagine him in Jedi robes after all.
‘Don’t start now, Satoru.’
Despite the arrogant jut of Master Gojō’s chin, he actually listened — and Megumi found himself more petrified of the darksider than ever. What kind of monster did it take to make Gojō Satoru listen?
‘Speaking of apprentices, where are your girls, Suguru?’
‘On the ship,’ Getō said smoothly. ‘Unlike you, I actually give a shit about the health and wellbeing of my apprentices.’
‘Well, unlike you—’ Master Gojō’s snarled retort came without hesitation. ‘—I have an apprentice who’s actually strong, so I don’t need to worry.’
Megumi glanced at the Jedi Master, horrified to be dragged into the conversation. From the stormy expression that overtook Getō’s face, his affection for these unknown girls ran deep. Was it deep enough that he would consider striking Megumi down in retaliation?
In a heartbeat, the darksider was in Master Gojō’s face. ‘This conversation is over,’ he hissed, their noses practically touching. ‘Step aside, Satoru.’
The way those impossibly blue eyes flashed was familiar to Megumi, but that didn’t make it any less unnerving. ‘Or what, Suguru?’
Getō was tall for a human, but still not as tall as Master Gojō. Face to face with the Jedi who blocked the passageway back to the jungle beyond, drawn up to his full height now, the darksider faltered slightly. ‘Or…’ Those amber eyes once again flickered to Megumi — and Megumi nearly shat his pants. His Master, meanwhile, barked out a laugh.
‘Is that your attempt at humour?’ His posture was casual, easygoing, but there was a dangerous edge to Master Gojō’s expression when he said, ‘Even if you could bear the thought of harming a single hair on his head, you’d never get close enough to try. I wouldn’t allow you to lay a single finger on him, Suguru.’
For all the problems his Master gave him, Megumi believed those words with all his heart and soul. The relief of it was short-lived, however, because then the idiot decided to open his mouth again.
‘Unlike you, I protect my apprentices.’
Up until that point, anyone without Force-sensitivity could have been forgiven for assuming that Master Gojō was the darksider when he’d been the one growling and hissing and snarling throughout almost the entire confrontation. Now though, Getō’s rage was unmistakable, churning the currents of the Force around him like the Akkadese Maelstrom. It was as frightening as the Akkadese Maelstrom, too.
‘What the kriff is that supposed to mean?’
In the face of all that anger, Master Gojō didn’t even flinch — and Megumi thought that made him even more terrifying than Getō. It was impossible to judge the depths of his Master’s seemingly bottomless wells of power, except for in moments like these where Megumi realised they reached even further than that. What kind of strength was at his fingertips to be able to stare down such immense power and know, sure as night follows day, that he would win?
‘You know exactly what it means,’ Master Gojō growled. ‘If you actually gave a shit about them, you wouldn’t have led them down that path. At the very least, you’d let them come with you on missions. Push their limits and make them strong instead of condemning them to certain death.’
Getō’s hand flew to the lightsaber at his hip. ‘Say that again, Satoru.’
Master Gojō’s hand, too, flew to his weapon. ‘Megumi,’ he said, overly casual tone betrayed by the tight line of his lips. ‘Why don’t you wait in the shuttle? I’ll be along shortly with the talisman.’
He simply had to be joking. ‘I think I’d prefer to stay here, Master.’
The way the Jedi’s eyes blazed when they rounded on Megumi made him startle a little. With his hand still on his lightsaber, he said, ‘Megumi, I won’t tell you again.’
Unlike everyone else in the galaxy, however, Megumi wasn’t afraid of Gojō Satoru.
‘You didn’t actually tell me. Anyway, if you think there’s any chance I’m missing out on this—’ He gestured vaguely at the space between the two impossibly powerful men, practically vibrating with excitement at the prospect of witnessing what would probably be the greatest showdown the galaxy had ever seen. ‘—you’ve lost your damn mind.’
There was a stretched out moment where Master Gojō stared at him, mouth agape in shock — then his lips twitched ever so slightly and the tension broke like a wave on the shores of Kachirho.
‘You’re such a little Sithspit.’
At that, Getō scoffed — and not kindly. ‘Takes after his Master in that respect.’
That seemed to delight Master Gojō, who beamed at Megumi with a grin that threatened to break his face and said, ‘That’s my boy.’
In a single moment of utter insanity, Megumi seriously considered taking on the two strongest Force users in the galaxy alone — because he didn’t want to take after Master Gojō and he certainly didn’t want to be “his boy”. He was about to tell them as much when an unexpected presence pricked at the edges of his awareness.
The three of them looked in the direction of the disturbance in the Force at the same time, sensing the malevolent will of the approaching intruders simultaneously.
‘Sith,’ Master Gojō muttered.
‘Probably Children of the Star,’ Getō confirmed. ‘A few of them though.’
That made Megumi frown. ‘Aren’t they with you?’
At his perfectly reasonable question, the two men looked at each other like he’d said something deeply amusing. ‘Does he look like some loony cultist to you?’ Master Gojō snorted. ‘Don’t ask silly questions, Megumi, you’re embarrassing me.’
Considering the approaching shouts that echoed off the stone walls of the chamber, the Jedi Master seemed awfully laid back as he turned to jab a finger in Megumi’s direction.
‘You should have gone back to the ship when I said, young Padawan. Find somewhere to hide.’
The suggestion made Megumi bristle. ‘But I can fight!’
At that, Master Gojō blinked. His sharp features softened into a smile — and the faith gleaming in his eyes as he looked at Megumi made the apprentice want to crawl out of his skin.
‘I know you can, but there’s no need this time.’ He jerked his head towards the darksider and, impossibly, his smile grew even softer. ‘We’re the strongest.’
And looking at the pair of them, feeling the immense power that rolled off them in waves, Megumi couldn’t argue. Reluctantly, he listened to his Master, hurrying in the opposite direction to the approaching voices. Tucking himself among the rubble of a toppled pillar, the Padawan slipped behind a boulder that only barely covered his form. The thing was, he wanted to see — desperately.
The Force users were standing much closer than they had been before. Though Megumi couldn’t hear what they were murmuring to each other, he didn’t need to. The trust that flowed between the two men was plain to see, implicit in the hand that clapped Getō’s shoulder, in the secret smile they shared. It was somehow both unnatural and the most natural thing Megumi had ever seen, dark and light alongside each other like that.
When the Children of the Star filtered into the vaulted hall of the temple, the Force users didn’t step away from each other but instead drew themselves to full height. They were an imposing pair — both tall and broad and terrifying, even without the storm of light and dark seething around them.
‘Shiu Kong,’ Master Gojō called out, letting the natural confidence he possessed bleed into infuriating arrogance. ‘It’s been a while.’ He waved a hand at the cultists filtering out of the passageway behind the near-human who led the charge. ‘Thought you were done with this lot!’
As his companions encircled the two Force users, Shiu Kong ignored the Jedi, opting to direct his attention instead to Getō.
‘And I thought you were done with this lot.’ He nodded towards Master Gojō. ‘You a Jedi again, Getō? Pick a side already, for kriff’s sake.’
‘I’m not on anyone’s side,’ Getō replied smoothly. ‘Except his, maybe.’
Though the darksider wasn’t as brash as his Jedi counterpart, he was certainly no less arrogant. In response, the cultists drew their weapons.
‘Sure you want to try this?’ Master Gojō started cackling. Not for the first time, Megumi was glad that he didn’t have to face the Jedi Master on the battlefield — because he couldn’t imagine anything worse than staring down that exasperating grin and knowing that there was killing intent behind it. ‘If you actually think you stand a chance, you deserve to die.’
‘Satoru,’ Getō chided, bizarrely. Still, Megumi saw his body shift into a fighting stance as the pair of them turned until they were back to back, facing down their opponents together.
If it were anyone else, Megumi would have said they didn’t stand a chance against the Children of the Star encircling them with bloodlust in their eyes, outnumbered as they were. This wasn’t just anyone though — it was the strongest and they each wore matching deranged grins on their faces then.
There was a moment where the hall fell silent, and Megumi didn’t dare breathe. Then, simultaneously, the two Force users drew their lightsabers — and the deadly hum of death in a plasma blade rattled off the stone walls of the temple. The tranquil blue of Master Gojō’s lightsaber, the same intense shade as his eyes, was familiar to Megumi — but the kyber crystal of the man at his back couldn’t have surprised the young Padawan more.
He’d expected red — the bleeding wound of a corrupted crystal bent to his will — not yellow like the sands of Tatooine; like the amber of Getō Suguru’s eyes. The blade was neither smooth nor clean like Master Gojō’s though. Instead, it crackled and hissed and sputtered, as though the kyber was being pulled in different directions.
Megumi wondered whether it was a failed attempt at bleeding the crystal that had cracked it in two. He had never seen it before — it was so rare as to be unheard of — but Master Gojō had told him about it once, long ago. Now, he supposed he knew why.
The fight started without fanfare.
A foolish cultist dashed forward and the two Force users began moving as one — and Megumi had never witnessed anything like it in his life. Master Gojō was always ragging him about good form, insisting that Megumi master all the styles for versatility. That was how he knew that the Jedi Master favoured Ataru — aggressive, offensive, fast — but that wasn’t what he was using now.
No, with their backs pressed together, Gojō and Getō turned lightsaber combat into an art form — into a dance. They couldn’t see each other, yet they moved as though they’d rehearsed the motions enough times that they could do them in their sleep. It wasn’t an entirely implausible idea, but Megumi had the distinct feeling that this was something different. It was effortless, instinctive, the way they cut down their enemies, covering each other’s backs without even looking.
When Getō thrust a hand behind him, Gojō intuitively leaned forward, allowing the darksider to fall onto his back. He gripped at Gojō’s thigh and used their joint momentum to propel his foot forwards through the air. Amplified by the Force — not just the Force that flowed through Getō but the Force that flowed through Gojō, too — he delivered a devastating kick to his assailants in a blow that shook the foundations of the temple.
It was beautiful to watch. Mesmerising, even.
As Megumi looked on, their two distinct shapes in the Force became harder and harder to distinguish from one another, bleeding into each other, blending together until it seemed like they were one. In fact, the longer he watched, the more Megumi became convinced that they were one. A single presence in the Force, dark and light all at once, helplessly tangled together.
No… "Tangled" wasn’t the right word and neither was "helpless". It was more like two puzzle pieces slotting together — a feeling of rightness, of wholeness. Megumi had never noticed the rift at the centre of his Master’s being until it was filled then. Equally, he couldn’t understand how he hadn’t seen the light in Getō all along, flickering there in the darkness. A candle at the centre of it all.
Gojō’s light was Getō’s, Getō’s dark was Gojō’s.
It reminded the Padawan of a drawing — actual carbon on paper — in an ancient Jedi text that Master Gojō had shown him when he was very young. The figure in the image was supposedly the Prime Jedi: neither light nor dark, but a perfect balance of the two. Not half and half, mind, but a synergy between the two sides of the Force that made it impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.
At the time, Megumi hadn’t known whether he’d believed in the Prime Jedi. After all, light and dark warred within him even now, fighting for dominance. How could they exist in harmony within one being? Yet, he believed it then. He even believed that, if the Prime Jedi did exist, they were perhaps right there in front of his very eyes.
Light. Dark. Life. Death and decay, that feeds new life. Warmth. Cold. Peace. Violence. And between it all, balance and energy.
A Force.
The young Padawan was so engrossed in watching the dance of death before him that he almost didn’t notice the combatant creeping up behind him. For a single heartbeat, he thought it was too late and, if it had been, his last thoughts wouldn’t have been about dying but about disappointing his Master. They would have been a Jedi Knight’s voice in his ear — a memory from a time before Gojō Satoru was Megumi’s Master. Before he was a Master at all.
---
Alright, I win again. You’ll never beat me if you don’t focus, Megumi.
I am focused!
You weren’t paying attention. You need to feel the Force around you at all times. Become one with it. Relax into it.
Relax? You just said I need to focus!
You do. Focus and relax. They’re one and the same.
---
Balance and energy. A Force.
For the first time in his life, Megumi thought he understood. He heeded Master Gojō’s words, leaning into the Force and letting it guide his movements. It was a close thing — no time to draw his lightsaber, but that was no matter. Megumi had learned from the best.
As his attacker fell forward with a battle cry, he twisted out of the way of the weapon bearing down on him and thrust the heel of his palm upwards while the cultist was still in the air. Thinking of the feat he had seen Getō perform only moments ago, he channelled the Force through his body, letting it collect at the end of his arm and flow out from his fingers.
It was an explosive hit. Though Megumi’s opponent recovered quickly, they had been staggered by the blow. In the end, they sparred for less than ten seconds, with Megumi only requiring a few strikes and kicks to dispatch his enemy for good. The entire thing was clean and quick — after all, almost every fight was child’s play when you were used to training with Gojō Satoru.
As the cultist fell into a crumpled heap on the floor, a strong hand came down on Megumi’s shoulder hard enough to make his knees buckle a little.
‘That’s my boy!’ Master Gojō had never sounded more gleeful. ‘See, Suguru?’
Getō, for his part, looked more than a little impressed. Megumi didn’t know why his cheeks heated under that mildly awed gaze.
‘You’ve been teaching him hand-to-hand combat?’
Something shifted in Master Gojō’s expression. ‘A Jedi is not defined by his weapon.’ There was a humility to his tone that Megumi had never heard before. It was gone as soon as he’d noticed it. ‘At least, that’s what some skughead told me when he managed to disarm me without a lightsaber once upon a time.’ He winked, smirk edging on fond. ‘I think he probably just got lucky.’
The air between the two men crackled then, but it wasn’t sharp and sour on Megumi’s tongue like before. Instead, it was warm and sweet. The darksider — was it even right to call him a darksider anymore? — stared at Master Gojō for a moment longer, eyes glazed with something that Megumi couldn’t place.
All at once, he seemed to remember himself, blinking as he turned to Megumi and said, ‘You fought well, Padawan.’
This time, the boy knew he couldn’t hide his flush. Cackling, Master Gojō ruffled his hair.
‘It’s those Mandalorian reflexes,’ he sing-songed, giving Getō rather than Megumi a wry grin.
In the space of a second, ten conflicting emotions seemed to flicker across Getō’s features as he stared at the young apprentice. Then, his eyes widened.
‘Kriffing hell.’ Why did he vaguely look like he was thinking of throttling Megumi? ‘I knew I could see a resemblance but I didn’t think—’
Master Gojō cut him off with a hoot of obnoxiously loud laughter, hooking an arm around his Padawan’s neck and pulling him close. Megumi didn’t know why the Jedi Master was still touching him at all.
‘Good one, Suguru!’
Except it hadn’t seemed like a joke about Mandalorian armour.
‘Resemblance to who?’
At Megumi’s question, Getō looked at Master Gojō with something resembling incredulity. Ignoring the raised eyebrows pointedly directed his way, the Jedi Master turned to his Padawan with an easygoing smile.
‘Just some piece of Bantha dung bounty hunter we met back in the day.’ He finally let go of Megumi, but not before rifling his fingers through the boy’s hair one last time. Planting his hands on his hips, he shot Getō a wicked grin. ‘Better run along to your girls, Suguru. They’re probably wondering what’s taking so long.’
At once, the other man tensed, hands moving to pat down his robes with some urgency. When they eventually stilled, he looked up at Master Gojō with narrowed eyes — even as his lips curved up into a slow smile.
‘You’re such a little Sithspit.’
Blue eyes twinkling, Master Gojō merely shrugged. ‘I don’t need to fight you to win, Suguru. You should know that by now.’
They stared at each other for a long moment, and whatever Getō was considering, the affection shining in his amber eyes suggested it most certainly wasn’t fighting Master Gojō to get the talisman back. Finally, he said, ‘I suppose this is goodbye then.’
His voice had lost all of its hard edges. In fact, Megumi would have been lying if he said the man didn’t sound sad. Even more surprising, Master Gojō only barely sounded more chipper when he replied, ‘For now, at least.’
A beat passed.
Then they moved, drawn together as though compelled by the Force. As they stepped forward, their hands came up to clasp at the back of each other’s necks and their foreheads pressed together and their eyes screwed shut and Megumi could only look on in utter shock.
It was a platonic gesture — familial, brotherly, one he’d seen in the halls of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant hundreds of times. It didn’t feel that way though. It felt like a kind of intimacy that was entirely unfamiliar to the Padawan. Why Master Gojō would violate the Jedi Code to feel it escaped him, because the power of the thing frightened Megumi. It was terrifying and beautiful. It made his stomach do uncomfortable flip flops — made him feel the need to look away, to give the two men some privacy.
Finally, Getō’s soft voice cut through the silence.
‘Until next time, Padawan.’
Cheeks burning, Megumi looked up to meet that amber gaze, suppressing a gasp at the unshed tears he found there. Getō allowed himself one last glance at Master Gojō, offering a nod that seemed to convey a thousand different things. Then, he bent low and he leapt, springing upward with enough speed and strength to make Megumi startle. He bounced once from the side of a stone pillar, then disappeared into the same shaft of light that had illuminated him when they’d first arrived.
‘That guy loves to show off.’
The Jedi Master at his side huffed out a soft laugh and, for some reason, the sound of it made Megumi feel desperately sad. Unlike his counterpart in the dark, there were no tears shining in the ocean of Master Gojō’s eyes, but somehow that was worse.
There is no passion, there is serenity.
Imagining the untold pain that roiled the currents beneath the surface of those seemingly placid waters, Megumi thought the Jedi Code probably existed for a reason.
---
Later, in the quiet of the cabin, the young Padawan looked at his Master again.
Staring up at the ceiling of the Limitless, bathed in the wash of hyperspace that made his eyes look even more blue, Master Gojō was unusually still and silent. It made Megumi want to handle him with a gentleness that they never normally reserved for each other. He was grateful that the low rumble of the hyperdrive disguised the tremble in his voice when he asked:
‘Who is he?’
Master Gojō didn’t even react, like he’d been waiting for the question. He simply carried on gazing up with that faraway expression on his face and said, ‘My other half.’
It wasn’t that the boy thought it was a joke — the softness with which Master Gojō had uttered those three words betrayed too deep a sentiment for that — but Megumi had only heard them in wedding vows before. If the Jedi noticed his attempt at hiding a splutter behind a cough, he showed no sign. When he finally looked at Megumi, there was neither shame nor humour in his eyes.
‘No, I mean it,’ he said softly. ‘It’s a rare phenomenon in the Force. So rare it hasn’t been seen in a thousand years, in fact.’ Master Gojō breathed out a laugh at the look of bewilderment on his Padawan’s face, but his brow creased ever so slightly. ‘A bond that spans both time and space. A dyad — two halves of one whole.’
He tipped his head forward, lips turning down at the corners.
‘Balance.’
In all his shock, Megumi’s thoughts once again returned to the Prime Jedi — light and dark, inseparable from one another, eternally entwined. When he looked at Master Gojō then, he found he couldn’t unsee the parts of the man that were Getō Suguru.
He wondered… He wondered what would happen should one of them die.
‘So he’s…’ Megumi trailed off, looking for the right word. ‘Your soulmate or something?’
At that, Master Gojō did smile, levelling his Padawan with a knowing look. ‘Sure, Megumi,’ he said, chuckling softly. ‘I suppose you could call him my soulmate.’
When he turned back to the azure glow of hyperspace, it threw his sharp features into relief and, for the first time ever, Megumi noticed how tired his Master looked.
‘More than anything though…’
His eyes had taken on that faraway quality again. Megumi wondered where Master Gojō had disappeared to — if he was seeing some far off world through amber instead of blue.
‘He’s my best friend.’