Chapter Text
There was a ringing in Kleya’s ears.
It was sharper, more painful than the radio static that had become so familiar to her over the years. She could decipher static, could sort through the little cackles and chirps for those rare but precious pieces of code. It’s a tapestry, she’d once told Luthen. And if she listened hard enough, she could untangle all the little threads of the larger pattern.
But there wasn’t any rhyme or reason to the ringing in her ears. It just hurt. Set her teeth on edge. Made it that much harder to concentrate—
She stumbled a little. Over a broken pipe or someone’s severed leg—
No. It was just a log.
Because she was in some kind of forest. An endless jungle. And the ground was unforgivably uneven.
And those dark pools forming in the natural dips and hollow places at her feet—it was rainwater. Not blood.
Kleya shuddered and kept moving. Slowly. One painful step at a time.
God, her body ached.
She didn’t understand why she kept seeing things that weren’t really there. Why her heart had leapt in her chest when she’d passed a particularly twisted tree—why for a moment it had looked like an Imperial Trooper hefting a blaster.
That shouldn’t have phased her. She wasn’t even afraid of Troopers.
Hadn’t been since Luthen had put a pistol in her hand. Gave her the tools to fight back.
But she kept seeing them. Despite the rain. Despite the growing dark and the way her vision kept blurring slightly. She kept seeing ghosts. Faces of her sisters. What had been left of her mother. Kept seeing him. In the trees. In pieces on the ground.
And her ears were still ringing. Almost drowning out that haunting sound of screams and blasterfire. She couldn’t trust it. It was out of place. Something from memories buried down deep. And ever since the stun grenade—since that explosion of pain in her temple—they kept resurfacing. Wouldn’t go away. Kept trying to drag her back to that place. To that fear.
When she’d first met Luthen it had been so loud, a cacophony. Too much all at once to untangle. Screams and pleas for mercy. Shouts and explosions. Her own frightened, ragged breathing. A gruff voice chanting in a language she didn’t understand, Rosh ne luts. Rosh ne luts. More screams. More explosions.
It had been so loud. And then when she’d left Luthen, left his body on that table where they’d tried to erase that final battle cry he’d carved into his gut, it had been so—
Kleya stumbled again. And this time she tasted blood when she bit down on her own tongue.
She could still hear him. Louder than the ringing. Louder than the screaming.
Move!
So she kept moving. Kept walking.
The rain had soaked into her clothes. Down into her boots.
She was soaked to the bone—but she didn’t feel cold. Just numb.
When it rained on Coruscant—it was so dirty. Full of smog and smoke. Tainted. She had always kept her head down and her hood up when it rained on Coruscant. Had hated the acidic taste of it on her tongue.
But this rain felt clean. Fresh. She liked the gentle sound of it falling on the leaves over her head. And in her hair. The drops slid down her cheeks like tears. Dripped off her chin.
Kleya wondered idly if Luthen would scold her for being sentimental. Or if he’d call her ungrateful for turning her back on the Rebels who had risked so much to get her to their secret base. A place they had both known they could never belong.
Kleya didn’t see why she should be grateful. She didn’t know what she was doing here. Andor could have delivered Luthen’s message just fine on his own. He didn’t need her. No one did. All of those assets they’d had in play, she couldn’t help them. Not now. It was all gone. Burned. There was nothing left but to—
Move.
Kleya’s breath trembled as she changed direction at random. And kept going.
Deeper into the dark. Into the yawning maw of the forest.
Away from that pitiful camp of ragtag soldiers and their infirmary of machines that beeped just like the ones that had kept Luthen alive against his will.
“Kleya?”
Kleya didn’t stumble this time. And even though she couldn’t be sure she hadn’t imagined it, this voice that was far too immediate to have come from that well of haunting screams in her mind—she looked up.
And her feet did falter a little when she realized there was a light ahead. And a shadowy figure watching her.
She’d thought she’d just been wandering aimlessly, but her feet had somehow kept her on a well-beaten path. Walking precisely where dozens, maybe even hundreds of others had trod. And worse, there were more lights up ahead. Perhaps a whole other encampment. And she hadn’t even noticed.
A few days ago, she would have been angry with herself for letting her guard down so foolishly.
But now, she just accepted it as another facet of her failure. Another burden to carry.
It had been less than a day and she was already forgetting the most important things Luthen had taught her.
“Kleya.”
The figure up ahead approached, and branches snapped under confident boots. Kleya swayed a little in place as she forced herself to stop moving. Slowly. By degrees.
She kept her eyes on the stranger whose outline kept blurring.
“Kleya, it’s me.” They said unhelpfully. The voice wasn’t particularly gruff. So she knew it couldn’t be Andor. Or the other man who had come to her rescue. And in her line of work there were only so few who could say her name with such warmth. And she thought maybe—she recognized the sharp jut of the nose peeking from beneath the parka hood.
Her eyebrows furrowed as she leaned away, trying to get a larger picture of the hooded figure.
“It’s Vel.”
Kleya’s breath left her in a gasp that was equal parts relief and disbelief—a laugh and a sob all at once. Her chest seemed to crack a little with the force of it.
Vel.
They really were all coming back to haunt her, weren’t they?
For weeks now, every radio frequency had been jammed with that optimistic voice of the boy they’d lost on Aldhani—Nemik. She’d been hearing him in her sleep sometimes. And then Cassian Andor, of all people, had answered her distress call.
And now—Vel.
Vel’s eyes were still hidden in shadow, but Kleya could see her lips moving as she started tugging off her thick outer parka.
“I’m not sure it will do much good,” Vel was telling the puddles at their feet, “But put this on.”
Kleya hadn’t realized her body was shaking—but she could start to feel it when Vel draped the coat around her shoulders. The wet of her skin against the coarse inner lining of the coat felt just as disconcerting as the ringing in her ears.
Another ragged breath escaped her body—Vel was standing directly before her now, pulling the coat more securely around her shoulders, and her hood had been skewed enough that she could see more of her face—the hardened planes of her cheeks. The hollows under her eyes where she carried her grief.
The tip of her nose was a little red. Which Kleya found a little absurd.
And somehow, she managed a weak, watery laugh. One with barely any breath. Hardly any sound, just the physical motion, really. The heave of her chest, the stutter of breath.
And Vel finally looked up to look at her head on.
The last time Kleya had seen her, Vel had been so defiant. Angry. Sharp, broken edges. Her eyes had been angry and sad.
And Kleya was sure it was still there. That anger. It had to be. There had been plenty before her who had raged against the vicious decisions that had had to be made. Who had been broken by the losses. Who’d folded under the pressure. Kleya could remember countless nights manning the comms, forced to hold back her irritation as she tried in vain to be heard over panicked, desperate voices. The way she’d had to reassure assets she’d trained, assets who’d believed in her, in the Cause—that they only had to hold out a little bit longer, that it would all be over soon, even as she flipped the kill switch on the comms board. The calculations she and Luthen had had to make—when to fight and when to fold, not everyone could understand. But Ghorman—that hadn’t been a calculated loss.
It had just been—a tragedy. Senseless.
And it had cost them dearly. Had truly been the tipping point. And Vel—well, her rage had changed her. She had turned from such an eager little puppet, the ‘runaway princess with everything to prove’ as Kleya had once mockingly called her—to a real hardened soldier. Disillusioned. Who had given up everything but the chip on her shoulder. A massive, festering chip with Luthen’s name on it.
And mine. Kleya realized numbly—and her throat closed up a little.
The world was still swaying—Kleya’s head was still throbbing and her ears still ringing. But Vel was a point of stillness before her, her expression had frozen as they regarded each other—even as her hands smoothed down over Kleya’s arms, slicking away some of the rain and then reaching around to shake out the hood of the coat that now clung to Kleya’s frame.
It was such a contradiction—to feel the worry in the fluttery way her hands moved and to see that wariness in her blue eyes.
They had never been what one would call friendly. Kleya had even argued against bringing her into the fold at first, something that Vel had somehow seemed to sense, even in those early days.
But Luthen had wanted her. He’d fought for her. Had probably seen, when Kleya couldn’t, that she would be the key. Not just to Senator Mothma. Or her family’s fortune. But to—getting them beyond where they’d been. Out of the shadows. Out of just planning and plotting. Out of listening to static every sleepless night. And just waiting. Out of clawing for scraps. And pulling strings.
Vel would be the one to finally lift them out of all that, and into action.
Lead them a little bit closer to that far off horizon.
Clearly, Luthen had seen something in Vel—something useful. Irreplicable.
It was one of the few times Kleya could admit, with hindsight, that her jealousy had clouded her judgement. She’d been—vocal. About her disapproval. And—antagonistic, some might say. To Vel in person. Not that their spats had ever had any real—heat to them. It had been more like a game. Just some fervid verbal sparring to keep things interesting.
Kleya supposed she’d seen Vel as a rival. Had almost been hoping that she would make a mistake.
So she could hold it over Luthen—show him that he’d been wrong and she had been right.
But the mistakes that haunted Vel, that had torn them all apart—they weren’t her own. And yet, she still carried them so gracefully. Like the princess Kleya had teased. The leader Luthen had somehow known she’d be.
Kleya wondered again if she was imagining her. This wasn’t exactly how she would have imagined a reunion. She would have thought there would have been a lot more shouting.
“Hey.” Vel’s voice was still firm—but it was the gentle press of her palms to Kleya’s cheeks that truly brought her out of her darkening thoughts. There was no skin-to-skin contact, but somehow—when Vel pressed against the hood to frame her face, it was like she drew some kind of warm bubble closed around them.
The ringing got quieter. And Kleya drew a deeper breath as she searched Vel’s face for the hatred she was so sure she’d been bottling up all this time. But it wasn’t there. Not even the resentment she was sure would be justified.
There was just—concern. Acceptance. Something familiar.
Her eyes were like oceans.
“Come on,” Vel said with a slight jerk of her head—back the way Kleya had come. Back toward the lights of the base camp. “You can’t stay out here. Come on.”
It didn’t sound like an order. Didn’t even sound authoritative.
But still, Kleya allowed herself to be turned by the shoulders. Allowed herself to be led.
And somehow they managed to make their way back, practically retracing Kleya’s footsteps, over the very same bumps and through the same puddles in the mud—but this time, with Vel a sure presence by her side, Kleya didn’t stumble.
There was tension between Vel’s shoulder blades as she helped Kleya up the stairs to the bungalow she shared with her cousin. The other woman wasn’t difficult to maneuver, by any means. She was still holding herself so rigidly upright, even if she was trembling—and she was strong enough to keep going. She only needed occasional prodding, occasional re-direction. But it really was that stillness beneath the trembling—that dull, blank look in her eyes as she stared dead ahead, that had Vel worried.
She was afraid that at some point, whatever flame was lending Kleya strength was going to burn itself out and then she’d just shut down completely.
And that Vel would then have to leave her lying there in the mud to run back to the base for help.
Vel and Mon’s domicile wasn’t the most isolated (no, Cassian had her beat on that front) but they were situated at the quieter end of camp. With only one neighboring yurt a few yards away that was more often than not empty because it was reserved for visiting dignitaries like Senator Pamlo or Organa. They were deep enough into the jungle that only the top of the main temple and a few satellite disks were visible from their porch. Which meant they had to walk a bit father than most of the others of similar rank and responsibility to make it for morning drill and breakfast, but Mon had never complained about that. She seemed to prefer the peace to be found among the trees, just like Vel did.
Vel was glad Mon had stuck with her. Even though she knew General Draven and the other leaders had been so grateful to Mon when she had arrived that they would have built her a palace right in the middle of the main hub if she’d asked. But she’d waved them off. And chose Vel and the humble little shack where she’d stored her blaster and exit pack to start her new life.
And Vel didn’t really mind that Mon had changed the place so much—that it had somehow expanded overnight. And now had an upper level. And a terrace with feeders to attract those irritating songbirds Mon loved so much. That it reflected more her cousin’s tastes than her own, with far more reminders of Chandrila sprinkled throughout than Vel would have preferred. It seemed a small price to pay to have Mon finally with her.
She made the loneliness a little easier to bear.
Not that Vel blamed Bix for leaving, or Cassian for taking so many off-world missions lately. They had each made the choices that made the best sense for them. And she respected that. It was like Cinta had said—the Cause came first. They all had to do what they had to do. It was just—
Vel didn’t like being left behind.
“Almost there.” Vel tried to encourage her companion as they pitched forward on that final step into the warmth of the bungalow.
She didn’t exactly expect Kleya to respond. The woman had always been, and Vel suspected always would be—an enigma. She’d always held her secrets close to her chest and deflected with a cheeky smile. And of course—she was a consummate liar. An actress. Difficult to read. A masterful puppeteer.
Luthen had always been the frontman, a dramatic showman when he needed to be. An unforgiving strongman when pushed. A distraction so big and loud that no one ever noticed the woman who had been right behind him all along, working from the shadows. She was always watching. Always plotting. Pulling invisible strings to make miracles happen.
For the first year that Vel had worked for Luthen—she hadn’t even known Kleya’s name. Had dismissed her as she was sure she’d been meant to, as the always smiling, but meek and mum assistant who was oblivious to Luthen’s brilliant plans of subterfuge. It had taken her so long to realize that the voice she kept hearing; the one on the radio, the one with the messages, the one giving her the orders—that the voice and the quiet little shop assistant behind the counter were one and the same.
So she knew Kleya could hold her tongue when she had to—and that when she did choose to speak, her words could be so sharp. Eviscerating.
But even knowing that—that one little thing in the vast sea of things she didn’t know about Kleya—Vel was a little unnerved by the fact that she hadn’t said a single word on their hike back across camp. She hadn’t asked any questions. Hadn’t offered any snarky comments. She just—hadn’t spoken.
Vel didn’t really know how to describe it. Except to say that it just felt—wrong. Kleya had always been so—controlled. The backbone of the network. Unyielding like iron. Everything about her was so precise and careful. Vel had always known that. Had always envied how well it suited her.
But now, all of that was just—gone.
Vel had seen soldiers freeze up before. And she herself had practically been swallowed by her own grief in Ghorman. She could still remember that moment so clearly—the way everything else had faded away as soon as she’d found Cinta lying there. It had felt like the world just stopped. And everything had gone small--laser focused on this agonizing moment that stretched for an eternity. The woman she loved had been ripped away from her and she'd lost all sense of purpose. Suddenly, nothing made sense. Nothing was working. All of her necessary motor functions had seemed to shut down. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. She’d been moving in slow-motion. Fighting against an invisible force that had teeth and claws and a weight that she couldn’t shake.
She could remember the look on the faces of those soldiers. And the look in her own mirror. Inside, she’d felt so empty, but outside—she’d been able to see the helplessness so clearly.
But this—the way Kleya had just stood there, shaking in the rain, barely a flicker of recognition on her face until she’d suddenly seized with incredulous laughter—this was something else.
She hadn’t just looked lost and disheveled—she’d looked as if she didn’t trust anything around her. As if—she believed herself to be trapped in some kind of dream. And was still hoping—to wake up.
Vel’s worry for Kleya only increased when she noticed how ashen her face had become, as if all of that exertion to get up those four steps had sapped what little strength she had left. It made the blood oozing from that cut on her forehead and those scrapes on her cheek stand out stark and visceral.
“Right then. Over here.”
Vel took Kleya by both shoulders and steered her across the floor to the nearest chair—and made a mental note to find out whoever had been on patrol tonight and beat them over the head with her rifle. No one should have let Kleya get as far away from the camp as she had—not in her condition.
In fact—she should probably have a chat with the field nurse too. She’d like to ask her why in the hell her most important patient had been left unsupervised.
Didn’t they know what she’d been through to get here?!
“Just hang on, I know we have some pain meds around here somewhere.” Vel was throwing open cupboards, which was a little bit reckless of her but she blamed the alcohol.
The urgency burned through her veins with a familiar kind of heat and she knew her movements were erratic—she knew Kleya flinched at each and every one of the little crashes and slams she caused. But she couldn’t get her heart to stop racing until her fist closed around a familiar blue vial and syringe—only then did that tension in her shoulders relax a little.
“Got it.” Vel turned as she said it, forcing herself to move more slowly now. She thought Kleya might hear her better if she spoke slowly.
She lifted the vial, to let it flash in the light, so that Kleya would know exactly what she was up against, before taking measured steps over to Kleya and dropping down beside her.
“Sorry we don’t have anything stronger.” Vel said conversationally as she gently pushed the parka she’d lent Kleya off her shoulders—she hoped Mon would forgive her for letting it drip all over the floor. She’d mop it up later, after she got Kleya settled.
“They’re pretty strict about doling out the good stuff. Saving it up for combat missions.”
Vel wasn’t only talking aloud for Kleya’s benefit. It calmed and—distracted her. Her mind was racing. Trying to reconcile everything Cassian had told her with—with what was in front of her.
It was—a lot to take in. An awful lot.
Not just the fact that Luthen was dead—which she’d decided wasn’t going to bother her the moment Mon had told her—but also that he’d died as he’d lived, a right stubborn bastard.
Cassian had told her everything. Everything that Kleya had told him.
That apparently Luthen had stayed in Coruscant longer than was good for him specifically to get some crucial piece of information from his ISB plant. He’d known—sensed—that there was something big coming. Something worth burning the entire network for. Which was—not really so hard to grasp, but it was just—how quickly it had all happened. How suddenly everything had turned. Because almost as soon as Luthen had learned this crucial piece of information, that bloodhound Meero had moved in. And he’d—
Made the choice. To stay behind. And cover his tracks. Tie up loose ends.
Cassian had said that Luthen had been caught just as he was destroying the last pieces of Rebel tech in the gallery that could lead those bastards here to Yavin. Or to their allies.
And that he had tried to take his own life to keep what he knew out of the Empire’s hands. That he’d—stabbed himself right in front of that smug ISB bitch, probably still philosophizing about the Empire’s imminent demise.
But that—as usual, his grand plan had hit a snag. And it had been Kleya who had had to cut those final strings.
Vel had hated Luthen for three years. She’d had to walk out of rooms whenever she heard the man’s name mentioned. And had very nearly had her first ever fight with Mon when she’d tried to talk about the “good” he’d done.
There were a lot of things she would never forgive him for.
But as much as she’d come to loathe Luthen, as much as she’d cursed him on her darker nights alone with a bottle of that stronger ale she’d traded from a friend in Gold Squadron—she didn’t know if she could have done what Kleya had had to do. Even knowing, on a cold, practical level just how necessary it would have been—because of how ruthless the ISB agents were, and how good they had gotten at extracting information from people. Even knowing that Luthen himself wouldn’t have hesitated to burn her for the Cause, the same way he’d burned countless others, if the roles had been reversed—
She just didn’t know if she could have done it. And that—terrified her just a little.
Once, she’d been hard and fearless. She would have died and killed for the Rebellion.
But things were changing. Losing Cinta—had changed her.
She wasn’t sure what losing Luthen was going to do to her yet. She was seriously starting to question whether it had actually sunk in. But clearly—it was already tearing Kleya apart.
Vel was determined to be careful with her.
“You’ll feel a prick here,” Vel explained as she took Kleya’s arm and turned it to reveal the softer flesh beneath. Vel swallowed and pressed her index finger between the two puncture marks that already marred the smooth skin—there were circular bruises around them. As if the field nurse hadn’t been particularly gentle. “But I promise it’ll be quick.”
Kleya nodded almost imperceptibly. Her brown eyes were more focused now, watching Vel prep the needle with her lips pressed together.
And Vel wished Cinta were here—she’d always been better at this. She’d told Vel in a whisper, one starry night on Aldhani, that as a child she’d wanted to be a healer like her mother. That she’d always believed her mother could heal anything—anyone. Until the Troopers had come with their blasters. And razed the fields where her mother had grown everything for her tinctures. And filled everyone she’d loved with more holes than anyone could ever hope to stitch back together.
Cinta’s hands had always been incredibly gentle when dealing with hurts. She could spot an infection a mile away. And probably could have filled this syringe with her eyes closed.
But Vel—had never had that skill.
She’d lacked the patience.
Swallowing around a new lump in her throat, Vel leaned forward and jabbed the needle into Kleya’s clammy skin before she could second-guess herself.
“Sorry.” Vel murmured in sympathy as she pushed the medicine through.
But Kleya just stared at her blankly—her wet hair hung in a mess around her face, strands of it coming away from what had once been a bun at the back of her head.
“I can’t feel it.” She said dully.
Vel had half-expected her voice to be raspy from lack of use or maybe a touch more scratchy from weeping—but Kleya’s voice was just as she remembered it. Calm. Measured.
Completely passive.
It was just—a little less now.
Vel frowned and set the syringe aside—reached out to feel Kleya’s forehead with the back of her hand.
“That’s ‘cause you’re cold as ice.” Vel tried to keep the worry from her voice even as she straightened and shucked out of her own coat and darted across the cavernous space toward Mon’s half of the home—her blankets were much softer. “Don’t worry though, we can take care of that!”