iii.

THE HAPPINESS OF CERTAIN MUNDANE ACTS

I wanted to seize her by the shoulders. Whatever you do, I wanted to say, do not be too happy. It will bring down fire on your head.

Madeline Miller, Circe

BORN at dawn fifteen years ago, Scout Danae found the world full of wonder. The early years of his childhood were spent among the stars. The Starship Avalon traversed the galaxy, and the Danae family lived in contentment on the ship for five years. With five years full of enchantment and the reflections of a thousand nebulas in his eyes, Scout Danae was adventurous, bold, and undaunted. A raw, resonating pulse ─ the seeker of the wild thrum, of the hot thrill of the chase. His heart was still full of five years of his mother's rebukes and his father's stories of adventures. He still remembered the softness of his mother's shawl and his father's gentle hands. The lullabies of his mother's home planet and the thousand stars glittered across the black sky, he still remembered them. He still remembered the nasally sound of the alarm on deck, the lights washing the whole scene in red, the anxiety in his chest clenching like a fist. He still remembered the feeling of falling as the Avalon went down. He remembered his mother whispering to him that it'll be okay.

And then, he remembered waking up in the aftermath. His face covered in soot and his lungs filled with smoke, he pulled himself to his feet in the midst of the debris. And he searched. For what seemed like a lifetime, he searched. He limped his way around the scorched earth and the burning Avalon. He climbed over broken pieces of his home, hobbled his way across the disaster, and fell to his knees. His mother's shawl. He reached for it, the fingers fisting the cloth, and tugged at it but it was stuck. Under the fallen piece of the bridge, he could see his mother's silhouette still wrapped in it. He was moving at once, pushing the piece of Avalon with all his might. Move, his soul was screaming. Move.

And that's when he felt it. It felt warm. It was like every star in the galaxy was reaching out and wrapping itself around Scout. All the light in the world filled his heart. There was so much light, so much purity in his effort that he could no longer see from his eyes. Feel, a voice in his head had said. Reach within. And Scout had. He had lifted the bridge off his mother and up in the air. His hands outstretched and the light blinding him, he felt something in him click into place. As if a piece in a puzzle. Then he had heard his mother's voice, trembling and weak. Scout, she had said. His vision came to him at once and he felt weak to the bone. With his last effort, he pushed the bridge away and as it crashed behind them, Scout slid to his knees and cradled his mother's head in his lap. Mom, he had cried. His mother had moved, but just barely, only to put her hand over her grown belly holding Scout's unborn sister. Mom please, just look at me. And his mother had looked. She had gazed over her son hard and long, drinking in every curve of his face. She was leaving him now. He was going to be alone. There was so much she never got to tell him. So many more adventures left unconquered. She touched his face. He felt warm. Warmer than he ever had been. If she had not been dying, she could have sworn he was gleaming like an angel. Live, she had muttered. Scout had shaken his head. Mom, he had said, don't speak. Save your strength. I'll get help. I'll ─ I'll ─ His mother had sighed a trembling breath. Pity, she had said, no stars. I thought there'd be stars. And Scout had cradled her as she took her last breath. Held her for what felt like days, just crying, until someone from the village found them.

He kept the shawl. He still had the shawl, buried at the bottom of his trunk under his bed. It was a reminder of a promise. He had promised his mother that he would live and that's exactly what he was going to do. Every moment of his life he was going to be extraordinary. He was going to be content. He was going to be happy. 

Scout was elated. And his glee did very little to soothe Medea's annoyance. He was beaming at her as she did her best to ignore him, yet he hovered around her like a pest asking a million questions none of which Medea answered. She sought refuge in the library but Madam Jocasta was particularly unhelpful today when she let Scout ramble on about his love for pirates. She never let Medea and Anakin do that. Medea then figured a little meditation might help but every time she closed her eyes, she could feel Scout's gaze stuck on her like resin.

"What do you want?" she asked finally, still sour about this whole ordeal. 

"When are you going to start teaching me?" Medea could hear the giddiness in his voice even without opening her eyes.

"I am not going to teach you," she told him. "There's been some mistake. I'm not taking a Padawan."

The room went quiet. Medea finally felt the Force embrace her in calmness. To her, the Force had always felt like serene waves of water on a shore. Always reaching out. There was tranquility here. Feeling the Force around her was like standing on the shore of a vast, never-ending ocean. It felt big, bigger than life, and yet it calmed Medea. There was stillness at the shore, disturbed only by the ripples that delicately touched the white grains of sand and then dissolved. Medea had spent countless hours, meditating on this same shore in her mind that coming back to it felt almost like coming home. But this peace, this long dreamt of peace, made Medea uneasy. She always felt like someone was behind her when she was alone with the Force, alone with herself and her thoughts. Alone? Medea's eyes opened at once. She gazed around the mediation room, one corner to the next, but there was no sign of that mop of green hair. Good, she thought, at least he won't bother her any longer. She closed her eyes again. Water, she thought, placid water. Peace ─ Ugh. Her eyes opened again, a look of annoyance painted on her face. Medea might get into more trouble if he got lost around the Knight's Billet and someone else found him.

Looking for Scout proved easier than Medea had thought. She had only looked down three hallways and had been making her way down the main hallway when she came to a stop at the end. Through the transparisteel window, she looked inside the exercise pen to find the mop of green hair. She stood there for a moment, curious eyes stuck on the young Jedi who gripped a wooden sword in his hand, practicing strikes on a dummy. She observed him. All his moves were deliberate and precise, but he struggled still as if he were carrying a weight too heavy.

She walked in and doors slid close behind her. Hands behind her back and eyes narrowed, she said, "Your opponent won't be so still in a real fight, you know."

Scout didn't respond. He didn't have much experience with the feeling of being unwanted. It was new to him and it felt awful, and all he wanted to do was drown out the feeling in the fight. He always came back to it. The fight. His whole childhood was now built around this war. He would never be able to forget the right way to hold a weapon, something he wondered if a fifteen-year-old should know or not. But these were trying times. The fate of the world rested on the edge of a blade.

Medea approached the rack of the training swords and picked out two. Her gaze then fell on the counter and the ends of her mouth lifted in amusement. Tucking her pair of sticks under her arm she grabbed another and tossed it towards Scout without looking. When there was no sound of it hitting the ground, she caught his figure paused in the act of catching the stick that was wrapped between his fingers. "Nice," she said, half impressed.

Medea's fingers threaded the black cloth between them. Scout looked at her, his eyebrows drawn. "What's that?"

"This," Medea tied the cloth over her eyes, blindfolding herself, "is warm-up." She eased into stance then, a wooden sword in each hand. "Come on," she said to Scout, "hit me."

Scout looked at Medea as if she were asking him to jump out of a ship in hyperspace. Hit her? She had a blindfold on! And she wasn't even looking in the right direction! With her left flank facing Scout, Medea readied herself, but the Padawan shook his head. "No. What, hit you? You can't possibly ─ "

"Come on!" Medea urged. "Hit me!"

And so Scout tightened his grip on his swords and swung his right hand towards Medea. She felt it before she heard it. A ripple in the Force, the slightest movement as if someone had blown a petal from a flower. The air around her stretched and whispered. Scout felt the force of the resistance before he realized Medea and moved and blocked his hit. He blinked and looked up. She was staring straight at him now, and even though she couldn't see through the blindfold, he could feel her burning gaze.

He swung again, his left hand, and Medea's free right one came up to block. Scout pushed and Medea resisted, both her swords pushing Scout's towards the ground before she twisted them around his to free them, took a step back, and Force-pushed Scout back all in the same motion.

Scout hit the padded wall with a grunt. He looked up to find Medea smirking. "Come on," she huffed cockily, "best you can do?"

An absurd chuckle left Scout's lips. He pushed himself off the wall and attacked her at once. Both their swords met, making music. The tapping of wood against wood filled the room. It bounced back from the walls to confuse Medea but she persisted. The wind around her whistled and she moved her head just as the end of Scout's sword came to a stop at her previous position. Something felt very alive in Medea as she blocked and parried the young one's relentless hits. The pads of her fingertips felt charged with energy.

Scout felt something open inside of him, just the way it had opened the day his mother had died. He felt it touch every muscle, bone, and nerve in his body. He felt it guiding his strikes and felt it overflow in him when he struck at the position Medea was going to be a moment later, not where she was now, and felt his stick hit against muscles. A surprised quiet gasp escaped Medea's lips. Scout Danae was strong with the Force.

Medea pushed the sword against her torso away and blocked the oncoming hit above her head. Scout twisted his sword about Medea's and dropped it out of her hand. Medea took a step back, falling into stance with just one sword gripped tightly in her right hand. She twirled it once, feeling the wrapped cloth around the handle brush against her palm. Then Scout attacked with his left weapon, and Medea blocked. Both her hands gripped the handle of the wooden sword. She sensed his thoughts before it happened. It felt like a rush of adrenaline. A kick. And Medea jumped as Scout swung his other weapon at her feet. She twisted the left one out of his hands and it clanked against the floor, sending echoes. Each with one sword, they now dueled, circling around each other and making a song of wood against wood. Until, Scout turned his back to Medea and caught her arm over his shoulder, grabbing the blade and flipping her over.

Medea felt her stomach turn over as she went over his head, but before she could hit the floor she grabbed his shoulder. Scout froze. Medea balanced on his shoulders, feet in the air as if she were an acrobat balancing on a rope, then pushed herself off and landed nimbly on her own two feet. Turning back towards Scout, she reached out with both her hands and pulled on the sword in his hand. It came slipping out of his grip like a piece of paper and as Scout moved to grab it, he felt something against the base of his throat.

He looked down. Hovering just in front of his neck was Medea's sword, having levitated off the floor. He gulped and felt the rough wooden end of it brush against his skin. Then he looked back at Medea who was now grabbing his sword having Force-pulled it out of his hands. She twirled it in her hand and asked, "Too close?" With her free hand, she pulled down her blindfold and cocked her head to the side, staring at Scout. Then she shrugged. "Hmm, not too close."

Scout pushed the sword away from his neck with his hand before she dropped it, and it hit the ground with a clank. He looked up at her and saw stars in her eyes. A look of awe had made its home on Scout's expression as he admired the ease with which Medea handled the weapons. He'd never had someone to look up to because he'd always thought he didn't have much to learn from anyone. The way he'd grown up, his adventures and tragedies, not many fifteen-year-olds had such stories to tell. He was the best swordsman in his clan, swift and precise. He moved like the wind, shaking everything in his path. But Medea moved like a whisper, soft and deadly. Unlike him, she didn't seem to have trouble against the resistance that Scout experienced every time he picked up his lightsaber. As if there was someone pulling on some string inside him.

Medea's forest-green eyes met Scout's. She frowned. Padawans weren't always assigned to their masters. Before the beginning of the Clone Wars, Masters chose their Padawans. It was a sacred thing and the moment Master Patreya had picked Medea held a very special place in the girl's heart. But since the dawn of war, no such ceremony could take place. There just wasn't enough time. But students still needed teachers, so now they were assigned. Medea wasn't sure if she was right for Scout. If she was right for anyone. She wasn't sure she would be a good teacher. Master Maitri Patreya was the calmest person in any room, the smartest too, though not always the wisest. Medea's affinity for trouble had to come from somewhere other than her best friend. Maitri Patreya had taught Medea control. She had taught her that nothing was impossible. She had said, Patience is a talent. You'd be amazed at what a person can do with a little bit of purpose and an abundance of patience. She had taught her that the key to defeating the enemy was knowing when to strike. Brute strength was no match for quick wits and intellect.

Medea wasn't the most patient but she was trying, although the war certainly did little to help. "You plant your feet too hard. You should always stay in motion when fighting." Scout just stared at her, and Medea felt self-conscious. How does one teach? Before she could say anything else though, the doors of the training room slid open, and Fetch came trilling in, hit the bump in the mat on the floor, and toppled over himself. Medea sighed. "Oh, Fetch." Fetch beeped in the same sentiment. She helped him up straight and cringed back when he started spinning around in his spot. "What? What happened? What's going on?"

Fetch rolled back as if presenting something just before the doors slid open again and Anakin stepped inside. Medea gasped in surprise and took off running, tackling Anakin in a hug. He lifted her off the ground and her legs wrapped around his waist. She was smaller than him, much smaller and Anakin loved making fun of her height but on occasions like these, he found it incredibly pleasant when he could embrace her in the best of hugs. And he had been told that he did give the best hugs. Medea laughed in his ear, a sound of pure joy. Oh, how he had missed hearing it in person. As she pulled back and out of his embrace, he set her back on the floor. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you missed me," he said, the corners of his mouth pulling up. She elbowed him in the stomach. "Hey!" he said offended.

"Of course I missed you," she huffed. "There's no one else I can mess with."

Anakin smirked. "Oh, no, no." He shook his head, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "You're not getting away with this." Before Medea could assess what was happening, Anakin was lifting her up and placing her on his shoulder. Half of her body hung over his shoulder, facing his back and her legs kicked in front of him in protest.

"No, Ani, put me down!" she demanded. "Right now."

"Sure, Red," Anakin shrugged, not really paying attention to her. His eyes rather landed on the green-haired kid in the corner of the room watching their interaction with curiosity.

Scout Danae had heard the stories, legends rather, of the force connection between the greatest Jedi warriors of the Order. Anakin Skywalker and Medea Centauri. Like most stuff of legends, they seemed larger than life in the stories whispered at night in the clan dormitories. When he heard those stories, Scout always imagined them to be as fair as moons, luminous beings of light, two souls so connected that they were one person. Songs about their battles would always sing of victories. That's who they were, the stuff of stories and stardust. To Scout, they had never seemed so real. Not until now. He could not imagine having someone who made you that happy. Scout had always been content in his life because he had promised his mother he would be so. But he had never felt that kind of happiness, the kind of happiness that was as warm as the sun. The kind that overflowed and drowned you in it. The kind where you felt like your heart might leap out of your chest. And it drew him in, the idea of it, of being connected to someone like that, the way all dangerous and beautiful things about the Force drew him in.

"Aren't you a little too young to be a Knight?" Anakin asked Scout who was so lost in admiring the warriors that he had forgotten they were real and they were here. When he didn't answer, Anakin pressed, still trying to get Medea to stop kicking her legs. "What are you doing here?"

Fetch answered in Scout's stead. He rolled back and forth and trilled and beeped, his tiny mechanical arms gesturing expressively. Anakin's eyebrows raised. "Padawan, huh?" he said. "Whose?"

Fetch beeped and stopped moving, his gestures dripping with sarcasm. Anakin couldn't help but laugh. "Medea's? No way," he said. Medea, still hanging upside down, could feel the blood pooling in her head. Her arms crossed and cheeks puffed, she rolled her eyes as Anakin set her down. She grabbed his arm as soon as she felt the blood rush back down, and blinked. "You?" Anakin said in a tone that sounded unsure. "A Padawan?"

"Why?" Medea huffed, feeling apprehensive.

"Nothing," Anakin shrugged. "It's just you don't seem a very Master type of person, you know."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Medea bit back. "If you can have a Padawan, why can't I?"

"Well for one, I actually have something to teach people." He smiled his signature smile, the one where one corner of his mouth went up higher than the other. The one over which women fawned over. Then one which melted Medea's worries.

"What is that?" Medea retorted. "Stupidity?"

"Hey!" He protested, arms opening in a gesture of Why am I being attacked here? What did I do?

"You know what," Medea said, crossing her arms, "yes he is my Padawan. And if you have any problem with that, then well good."

"I don't have any problem with it," Anakin mumbled. Medea elbowed him, he elbowed her back, so she elbowed him again. As they continued to tussle, Fetch trilled in a manner that seemed to mean Cut it out. They both stopped and looked at the droid who rolled out of the room surrounded by an air of authority. "He's getting bossy," Anakin commented.

Medea rolled her eyes. "It's because he's been spending too much time with your droid." Anakin shrugged. The thought seemed indisputable. Medea looked over her shoulder at Scout and gestured for him to follow. "Come on, Scout. Let's go." They exited the exercise pen and the doors slid close behind them. "So," Medea linked her arms with Anakin's, "how was the mission?"

"It went as expected."

"Explosions?" Medea looked up at him, eyebrows raised and an idiotic smile on her face.

Anakin chuckled. "Few of 'em," he nodded.

As they passed by the snack gallery, Medea turned to Scout and gestured him away with her hand. "Go on, you. Go have some food."

"When will I see you again?" Scout asked with a sliver of hope in his tone. Maybe she would train him. Maybe it wasn't a mistake. Maybe, maybe. The whole galaxy tilted on the edge of maybe.

Medea rolled her eyes. "I'll send Fetch to get you, okay?" She still wasn't completely sure of Scout, of having a Padawan. "Go have fun. Shoo." Scout grinned and ran into the room while Medea turned back to Anakin who led them further down the hallway, back to their room.

"He's a kid, not a Lothcat," Anakin laughed.

Medea made a face. "Hilarious," she said monotonously. "Have you seen Padmé yet?"

Anakin shook his head. He opened the door to their room and looked at his shoes. A melancholy strand of hair hung over his forehead. "She wasn't home," he said quietly. Inside their quarters, he always got quieter.

"Hmm," Medea said, taking a seat at the edge of his bed and looking up at him. "Must be working. She's very concerned about the relocation of war refugees." Anakin's eyes met her in question. Medea shrugged. "We talked."

In the seclusion of their quarters, Anakin became less life-like. He seemed more like a war-torn hero, carrying some heavy burden in his heart. He was sad. When there were others around him, he seemed to hide it well. He'd always hidden it well. Even from Medea for a while. But she'd had climbed all the walls he'd built around himself. All those nights, staring at the stars they'd made their home in each other. Medea had dug under his skin and found the sadness like a river pumping in his veins. He carried everything with him, it was his nature. Letting go had never been Anakin Skywalker.

And in turn, it wasn't Medea Centauri. When he thought of her, he somehow always came close to tears. Medea was Anakin's friend. His best friend. Sister in arms. They could never stray far from each other. They were like binary stars, stuck in each other's gravity fields, destined to circle around each other until oblivion. Countless lonely nights when he had missed his mother too much, he'd always had Medea's tender arms to fall into. All his dreams about the angel he'd seen on Tatooine, Medea knew. Every part of him was a part of her. And so, in spite of his own sadness, hers was distinctive to him in the Force. "Are you okay?" he asked, sitting beside her on his bed. It was too soft. He felt he might sink in. But that was the result of sleeping numerous times on the Jedi Cruiser.

"What?" Medea looked up from the floor and blinked at him. "Yes, I'm fine."

"It's just you seemed miserable the last time we talked and today you seem, well, less so."

"I was feeling homesick, I think," Medea sighed and shuffled further back on the bed leaning against the pillow and the wall. "Coruscant does its best to lift your spirits."

Anakin gave a small smile though he was not fully convinced. "That it does. Have you had breakfast yet?"

"No. I was with the Council."

"What happened?"

"New mission," Medea said. "Protective detail for the future Queen of Premiscara until her coronation."

"Well, that's . . . " Anakin hesitated.

Medea groaned. "You can say it."

"Boring."

"I know," she whined. "I'd much rather fight a battle."

"When do you leave?"

"Tonight, I think," Medea shook her head. They never stayed on Coruscant long enough.

"Are you taking you're new Padawan?" Anakin asked. Medea went quiet. The air around Anakin swelled like a wave rushing towards him. "Hey," he turned to her and placed his hand on her knee, "I didn't mean to upset you."

"No," Medea shook her head. "No, it's not that."

"Then what?" Even though his arm was replaced by parts of a machine, Medea felt the warmth of the touch. It always managed to quell the ice in her heart. Unlike Cato who always felt colder, Anakin was golden. His soul might be the sun. She'd never met anyone else whose soul was the sun.

"You're right," she told him "I just ─ I'm not the right person to have a Padawan. I don't think I'd be a good teacher. I mean," she chuckled mirthlessly, "I can barely keep myself alive on a battlefield."

"That's not true," Anakin shook his head. He turned to face her fully, folding one leg on the bed. "You're a great fighter." He smiled, "I'm not sure you're a good babysitter, though."

"Well, I've been watching you with Ashoka. Maybe I picked up some things," Medea shrugged. "But ─ " she hesitated. She knew it was wrong. It felt wrong. Being with Cato. Sure it was against the Jedi code, but still. It felt heavier than it should. Their relationship was built on lies and deception. Medea's love for Cato was bleeding red. Blinding devotion. It's what she owed him. "You know about Cato and me. What if I mess it up?"

Anakin sighed. "As much as I don't like Cato, I don't think having someone who you care about makes you a bad person."

"No," she huffed, "it makes me a bad Jedi."

"You're a great Jedi. One of the best." Anakin took her hand. She looked into his eyes, the bluest of blues. "You could never mess it up."

"Thanks," Medea whispered. Holding his hand, the human one at least, felt like holding a heartbeat. Like holding something completely and undeniably alive. If Anakin was the Sun, she was the planets revolving around him. All her life, she'd always been her happiest with him. Even though each of them carried sadness under their skin, misery did love company. And the company of a best friend made misery seem like happiness. It was a miracle, but so was friendship. Medea sensed in him an inkling of sadness like an afterimage left imprinted on the soul. She gently nudged his knee with her feet. "What's up with you?"

"Hmm," he looked up at her, then shook his head. "Oh, it's nothing. I just had the dream again." Anakin focused on the floor. They still hadn't fixed the window of the room. It still remained open just a little bit, jammed. The dystopian morning light poured in, washing the room in a faded golden glow. He'd rather not talk about this. He'd rather not have this part of the story be true.

Medea leaned closer and placed a hand on his shoulder. "The one about your mother?" she asked quietly. Dreams had started troubling Anakin more since the beginning of the Clone Wars.

"Yeah," he nodded. "I thought the dead were supposed to leave you alone."

"Ani ─ " Medea's heart broke hearing the sorrow in his voice.

"I keep hearing her voice echo." He grabbed his head with both his hands as if it hurt. "She just keeps saying my name and I ─ I don't understand. What am I supposed to do with it?" He let his hands fall back in his lap.

"With what?"

"With all this sorrow. All this unspent love I have for her. I don't know where to put it or how to take it out of me. And ─ " here he stopped and looked ashamed, and was silent for a moment before continuing, "I know it's wrong. But I don't want to let it go. To let her go. Because this grief is the only part of her I have and I'm not sure I'm ready to say goodbye yet."

"Anakin," Medea sighed his name. She shuffled closer, her legs touching his. Her hand moved up his shoulder and his neck and stopped soft against his cheek. Anakin leaned into her touch. "I know you miss her. I do. But don't drown in your sorrow. Just here stay for Padmé." Lines appeared on Anakin's forehead as if she had touched a heartstring with her words. "Stay for Ahsoka," Medea continued, "for Obi-Wan. And if you ever decide to go," Anakin's eyes opened because Medea's voice had dropped an octave. She was whispering something very important and very heavy, so heavy that her voice wasn't enough the carry its weight. "Then don't leave me here. I'll go with you." Medea threaded her fingers with Anakin's, filling in the spaces between them like pieces of a puzzle. The lines on their hands met in a story that would be told centuries from now. When the children could not sleep, they would insist on this story. The story of friendship. The story of love. It was love that led you down this dark path, the story would go, and only love can save you again.

The words registered deep within Anakin, somewhere very close to his heart. I'll go with you. I'll go with you. But Anakin wasn't the one going. No. He was staying here. Right here. It was Medea who was leaving. She'd be gone tonight, disappearing into the stars on her Jedi Cruiser, and Anakin would be here. He would always be here. I'll go with you.

Without a word, he turned slightly and lowered himself down so that his head rested on her lap. He closed his eyes and hid his face. He'd rather not have her see his unshed tears. But Medea felt the slight tremble of his shoulder. She ran her fingers through the knots in his hair comfortingly. If he wanted to hide his tears, she'd let him. But she'd rather not have him cry alone. So she stayed there, humming some old tune she'd heard in some other life and running her fingers through his hair. Anakin could feel the steady beat of Medea's heart at the ends of her fingertips. The rhythm was distinctively hers, he'd recognize it anywhere. He knew this the way he knew that she was a part of him, the way her breathing was his breathing, and her dreams were his dreams, and her blood was his blood, and when her heart stopped he knew that his would too, and he would be glad because he wouldn't want to live one second in a world that didn't have her in it.