I'm good at shooting people, cracking wise, and pretending to know how to fight.

The week had flown past; Mical hadn't even had the time to have the 'are you okay?' conversation with Atton before the first crisis had popped up, and Atton had been sent off to deal with it. Without Mira, they were short-staffed - Brianna didn't fight, Mical's attention was needed for diplomatic issues, and Deesra had never been a combatant. That had just left Visas, and there were things you couldn't ask Visas to do.

Atton knew that he could easily stay here for another few months without even realizing it. That was why he'd put his foot down: he'd be home at least on Sundays and Mondays, to see his Caritas shift through and to get some breathing room.

He slung his duffel over his shoulder and looked up at the Hawk. Yeah. Time to go home--

"Running away again?"

That voice-- Atton half-turned and found Mira's Padawan - what was her name again? Asida? - standing there, glaring at him. "Going home for the weekend," he drawled. "I'm strictly a nine-to-five kind of Jedi."

Asida snorted. She was relatively tall, her hair long, and her hands-- were balled up into fists. "Mira didn't take breaks," she said. "She didn't just take off for months and months. She knew what the job was, and she did it."

Atton sighed. "I know," he said.

"Maybe if you weren't so lazy and took so many karking vacations she'd still be here," Asida snapped.

I know.

"What kind of a useless Jedi are you, anyway? You have no Padawans, you barely ever stay here, you don't even talk to the rest of us..."

"Yeah, yeah," Atton interrupted her. "And Mira's a loss and you wish I was dead instead. I get it. I mean, I do, too, probably more than you do. Take a swing at me next time, see how you feel, but I've got places to be."

He turned around on his heel. Kind of wished she took a swing at him anyway.

But she didn't, so he left.

[[ establishy ]]

"It's good that you're here," Mical said quietly.

"Why?" Atton asked. "Did you have another lecture about healing ready for me?"

And here he was, just sprawled out in one of the nice chairs out in the nice conference room that didn't look like it was hewn out of marble for the specific purposes of destroying Jedi bone structure. It was not a great setting to talk about the massive gaping hole in his chest.

"I was going to ask if you were willing to speak to Asida," Mical said blandly.

Atton looked up and squinted at him.

"Mira's Padawan," Mical said patiently. "She's not coping as well as the others. In fact, I would say her coping strategies rather remind me of you."

The squint turned into a grimace. "Thanks," Atton said flatly. "I always love being psychoanalyzed. No word on the remains of that giant-ass starship yet?"

"No," Mical said, and now he was the one to sag back into his seat. "Visas has been looking, but it appears as if it has disappeared into thin air."

"Or it's been vaporized."

A short silence.

"That is also possible."

Atton pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why are we even trying?" he said. "We've been mopping up every scrap of bantha poodoo the last few generations left behind for years now, and all we've got to show for it is dead Jedi. Where does this end, huh? I thought we were in this to make things better. I know Mira was."

Why was Mical smiling at him?

"Stop that," Atton ordered.

"This is why in some ways you are more Jedi than I, you know," Mical said. He was still smiling. The bastard. "There's an idealist underneath all that cynicism that cannot help himself but wish for an optimal outcome." He sat forward. "I am a historian," he said. "And I look at these past hundred years as a constant exercise in hubris. The Jedi Order, the Sith, even the Republic - perpetually grasping for more, causing only more pain and destruction in their striving."

He shook his head.

"If all we manage to do in our tenure is to sweep up the debris that the past generations have left us, we will have done more for the galaxy, as Jedi, than those who came before us," he said. "To return not greatness but stability to the Republic... that is why we are trying. That is the best that we can accomplish. Mira's death is a tragedy, and we will mourn her forever. But she saw that clearly, and she acted on it."

Atton closed his eyes.

"As they say on earth," he muttered, "You are such an asshole."

All he received was a shrug. Space, Mical was learning.

[[ establishy ]]

The Jedi Temple sat but a short walk away from one of Coruscant's several Portalocity stations, but even if it hadn't been, it was hard to miss. The massive structure rose high above the Coruscant skyline, the nearest similar landmark so far away that it seemed to be almost alone in its size.

It was also mostly empty, and Mical had the absolute worst time finding cleaners willing to clear the cobwebs from abandoned passages and dusty libraries. Still.

He had visitors.

[[ open to those who know who they are ]]

Atton tossed the helmet down at the table. "You're joking," he said. "Mical, I missed out on hosting a class for this."

It earned him an aggrieved look for his trouble. Of course it did. Karking Mical-- "I said I wanted you to run backup on this mission," Mical said. "I never claimed that you would be sent out to deal with this organisation yourself--"

"You know I've wanted to go after these guys for over a year."

"And you know how I feel about your plans."

"I am not going to go tumbling over into the Dark Side just because I want to take these guys down more proactively--"

"You know how I feel." Mical frowned severely, but his jaw was set. "The answer remains no, Atton."

Atton pulled his hands away from the table. "Too bad," he said flatly. "It's not your call. We just like to pretend it is because you keep shouting and nobody wants to make you cry."

"... What is that supposed to mean?" Mical asked, staring at him. "Atton--"

"No, I'm done," Atton said. "These guys have now claimed five more solar systems, just in the past month alone. If we keep doing things your way, they're going to be ruling the galaxy by the next bank holiday!"

Mical rubbed his forehead. "I will put Mira on it," he said. "Now if you'll excuse me--"

"Yeah," Atton said, practically ripping the helmet back off the table. "You're excused."

He turned around. Marched right out the door.

Screw Mical.

[[ establishy. nfb, nfi. ]]

After Sparkle had left last weekend, Atton'd spent one glorious half day rolling around in ignorance for as long as he could. The next day, the then-upcoming date had struck him, and he had hidden away in his apartment and gotten spectacularly drunk. The day after, they had held a small, respectful mourning ceremony, and they had sat together and traded stories about Meetra for hours.

Well, the others had, anyway. Atton had mostly brooded in the back.

On Tuesday, he'd beaten the hell out of holotargets for hours. On Wednesday, Mical had yelled at him for aggravating his healing wounds, and shoved him in a kolto tank. On Thursday, still reeking of kolto, Atton had resumed lurking around his apartment.

Now it was Saturday, and Sparkle was showing up, and while Atton had only ten percent of his usual motivation to do this, he had left his apartment. He was sitting on the steps of the Temple now, smoking an Earth cigarette and glaring at passers-by. A more difficult exercise than it seemed; most foot traffic kept a respectful distance of the Temple itself. Still, he managed.

Somehow.

[[ for the kid, and phone calls, what have you. ]]

The great upside of having a knack for deflecting Jedi telepathy was that, when you really wanted to, you could in fact sneak into the Jedi Temple without a single one of your Jedi friends noticing. Okay, there was still the risk that somebody would look out the window at the wrong time, but that was easily avoidable. (Maybe he should talk to Mical about getting some of that Sith stealth technology shipped in. That was one thing he did miss about his Sith assassin days - the cloaking belts.)

But nobody looked, and he made it into the Temple gardens with ease. He needed to be here, both to clear the last of the mess from his head, and to find some kind of connection to everything. If he couldn't, he might as well change his mind.

( That was the beauty about the gardens, though: it always worked. )

[[ establishy! ]]