The Jedi Temple, Atton's Coruscant, Early, Early Sunday

[suitably_heroic]

He woke at three in the morning with a brimstone voice whispering in his ears: "I will remake you, so that when I look upon you, it shall be like a mirror."

That wasn't unusual.

Unfortunately.

Ignoring the sound of his own heavy breathing, Atton sat up in bed and ran a hand through his hair. And again, just for the grounding sensation of something touching him that was him, not something else. And a third time, just to be sure.

Then he slid out of bed and grabbed his pants. There was no way he was sleeping again tonight. Experience talking.

There wasn't really much he missed about his life before the Jedi Order, not truly, but if there was anything he did miss, it was having a functioning shield to keep this poodoo out of his head. Couldn't even look in the mirror when this happened; he saw shadows everywhere.

This was the part he didn't tell anyone about. The few people who cared, well, he had plenty of other stuff to throw at their feet. Right now, he needed quiet.

He pulled an easy tunic over his head, then reached into the pocket of his jacket with trembling fingers, tugging the packet of cigarettes free. A few steps, and he was out the door: roaming the halls of the Temple like a restless ghost. It wasn't aimless, really. He already knew where he was going. Temple gardens, grass beneath his feet, pretty plants everywhere.

He hadn't been to Alderaan since the war started. The first one. He had no idea why he cared that this place reminded him of it. Guys like Atton Rand didn't come from places like Alderaan; they came from Corellia, maybe - an idea he'd always deliberately nurtured in other people's heads - or the Outer Rim. Hives of scum and villainy. Not the Shining Star of the Galactic Core.

He let out a sigh and shut his eyes. Maybe if he got in some of that meditation he'd learned from Anakin, he'd be able to put Sion back in his little cage in his head, and he'd be able to get some sleep.

"Are you all right?"

"Nobody asked you, Mical," Atton said tiredly, without looking. "Get back to sleep."

That didn't dissuade the man - of course it didn't - because a moment later, Atton could sense the guy stepping up beside him. "I wasn't sleeping," Mical said lightly. "I have been trying to come up with a plan of attack for a particularly difficult engagement."

That was better. Talking about Mical's difficult engagement. That was a distraction. "Yeah?" Atton's eyes flicked open. "What's going on with that?"

"G0-T0's destruction has not dissolved the Exchange, as you know," Mical said. "But several other organisations have sprung up in his wake, and they are now threatening to unite and drag several systems back into... well, I suppose chaos isn't the right word..."

"Instability, maybe?" Atton could've suggested something more vulgar. But he was tired, and off his game, and not in the mood for another pointless fight. Let irrational, headdesking Atton take a nap tonight; he didn't have the energy for that mask right now.

"Instability," Mical agreed. His eyes darted briefly to Atton's face. "Unfortunately, dismantling it will not be as easy as simply disabling any particular organisation," he said. "I had hoped diplomacy would be the answer."

Atton snorted. "No," he said. "You don't usually kill momentum like that so easily. We could go in and wipe them all out, of course, but you remember how much of a pain that was on Citadel Station alone..."

Mical's glance was rather more pointed, this time. "No," he said, after a moment, "I had discounted that as an option already."

"Or you can destabilize it from the inside out," Atton said. "I mean, these are separate organizations, right? Right now? I'm willing to bet there are elements in each one that don't want this merger to go down. We'd just have to poke them into action. I could probably go in, make some friends, threaten some people--"

"No," Mical said.

The word came out sharp. Which was weird.

Atton tilted his head at him and raised his eyebrows.

"Destabilizing them is a good idea," Mical said. Not answering the asked question, apparently. "Perhaps if I ask Mira to bring in a few key individuals..."

"...They might just fill in the gaps and keep going, unless you're absolutely sure who the right people are," Atton replied. "Seriously, you should send me in. I used to do this kind of thing all the time-- well, to the Jedi, not to smugglers and mob bosses, but you get what I mean."

"You're not going, Atton."

"Why not? I'd be useful, there." Again, he was looking at Mical. "Let me be useful," he said quietly.

He kind of needed that. If only to drag things like mirror images and Dark Lords of Pain out of his head for a little while.

But Mical shook his head. "No," he said quietly. "You are right, of course: it is an area in which you have the most experience of all of us. But that's why you shouldn't go." He looked at Atton with sympathy in his eyes, which made Atton want to punch him. Hard. "You have been working towards stability for some time, Atton. You are making good progress. I can't in good conscience let you put that in jeopardy."

"You think going undercover around a bunch of thugs is going to make me... what, stumble back into the dark side?" Atton said, throwing him some side-eye. "Come on."

"You do have the highest casualty count out of any of us, this past year," Mical pointed out.

"All bad guys who were trying to kill me, I'll remind you." Atton slipped a cigarette out of the pack and put it between his lips. He needed that right now.

"I know," Mical said softly. "But your darker side lingers close to the surface, still. I know you want to be rid of it. I cannot let you walk into a situation in which you could do yourself lasting harm--"

The lighter's flame was a nice point of distraction right now. "I'm made of 'lasting harm'," he said. "That ship has flown. So I can do this stuff, make those calls, do what Mira can't get herself to do. Be the strongest of us, when I need to be."

The flame flickered under the force of Mical's sigh. Atton raised it to his cigarette.

There was silence, for a little while.

"You can be, perhaps, the strongest of us," Mical said, every word measured carefully, then dispensed. "But at this present time, you are also the most fragile."

Atton blew out a breath of smoke. "Hey, who are you calling--"

"Atton," Mical said, "Spare me the overblown mock outrage; you've overplayed that card."

Damn it.

"I'm here in the middle of the night because I am agonized by plans, by work," he continued. "Why are you here?"

"I'm not answering that," Atton said flatly.

Mical's mouth twitched, but in which direction, he couldn't really tell. "Then Mira is going, not you," he said. "Good night, Atton."

That, there, was something Atton wasn't going to dignify with another answer. Instead he would stand here, and wait until Mical's footsteps faded back into the Temple. And then he would sit down, and kill his cigarette, and let the thoughts of the planet supplant the thoughts in his head.

That felt about right.

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