The Captain had summoned her to the brig.

In their latest endeavour — to settle an old score with the Trandoshan smuggler king — they had come across a Jedi. Not a very smart Jedi if you asked her: he had stowed aboard the cargo ship alone without a means of escape and if he had called for reinforcements, they never came.

The Captain, being the opportunist he was, decided there would be value in a Knight of the Republic and had the crew take him aboard the ship. He didn't come quietly. She had never understood why cornered animals fought so hard when escape was so futile. Never understood why they wouldn't just surrender to a power greater than their own, bide their time, wait for the right moment to strike. Until she saw the look in that Jedi's eyes. He wasn't afraid — quite the opposite really — it wasn't self preservation but pride that begged him fight. The indignation of such a majestic creature being bested by lowly pirates was too much for someone of his standing to bear.

It was strange to see the Force so strong in one so brazen. Although she hadn't seen it herself, the two crew members who had escorted (read: dragged) him to the brig were now in the med bay with concussions and several broken ribs. That fact alone made her eager to see him herself.

As she descended the metal stairs down to the brig in the bowels of the ship, the first thing she saw was The Captain — Rolfe Harlock, known by name to only a few. He stood tall in his red double coat and tricorn hat, every bit as imposing as he had been the day they met. His eyes were hard and unyielding, the first lines of age had appeared; the prologue of the history written on his face, depicting every storm he had weathered, every battle he had seen through to its bloody conclusion. She both respected and feared him, exactly as he desired.

"-welcome you to the Reaper, the best cruiser credits can buy. Fit with all the most desirable amenities like prison cells and caged arenas." She halted her steps and stuck to the shadows, listening as the Captain gave the 'welcome' speech. The features he listed were among the more morbid aspects of the ship, but he always referenced them as a tool to invoke fear — though something told her a Jedi wouldn't be so easy to frighten.

"The best ship stolen credits can buy." The Jedi countered. His voice was low and cold, if she could have seen his face she knew he would be scowling. It was a sharp change from his voice on the cargo ship. He had been so breathless and thankful that she almost felt bad that she wasn't there to save him, as he had hoped.

The Captain laughed lowly, he found the concept of allocated wealth and stolen goods amusing. To a pirate, everything was yours, if you were bold enough to take it. And she had never been shy.

"Son, everything in this galaxy is stolen from one person or another. And someone is always hurt in the process. The only way to truly determine ownership? Who wants it more." Rolfe recited their own, dark creed to the Jedi, who was ignorant of what it really meant. Yes, it was usually illegal in just about every sector. Yes, innocent people got hurt. But this life, the life of a pirate, demanded you fight — tooth and nail, blaster and sword — for what you wanted, be it wealth, adventure, glory.

But all she had ever wanted was freedom. And she would kill to keep it.

"Ah, you've arrived." The Captain remarked as she finally stepped into the light, snapping on the mask of the dutiful second in command. She came to a stop on his right, two steps behind him. She was always two steps behind.

The Captain turned to speak to the Jedi in the cell bars and she took a moment to properly study their guest. She didn't recognise him, though he couldn't have been much older than her — which was inconceivably young to be a fully-fledged Jedi. She knew he was tall despite his currently reclined position on the cell floor, she couldn't see whether he was chained or if he just didn't care enough to stand. He wore the traditional robes of a Jedi Knight, dark in colour rather than the typical white. His hair was brown and brushed his shoulders, but what really drew her attention were his eyes. He shared her blue irises, but where her's resembled the ocean at midday, his eyes reminded her of the sky just after dawn. The colour would have been beautiful, if she could look past the ire that clouded it. The scar, an old wound that slashed through his left eyebrow and continued part-way down his cheek, only made him appear that much more menacing. It was an old souvenir from an even older war; a war she wanted no part of.

"This here is Seaflyer." She turned back to the Captain as he spoke to the Jedi, "She is my second in command. And your new guard." Her eyes widened in disbelief and she almost protested. The Captain gave her a sideways glance that promised severe consequences should she undermine him now.

"Consider her pretty face my gift to you." She bristled at his words but said nothing, her self-made shackles keeping her silent.

The Jedi slowly slid his gaze from the Captain to her. They stared at each other for a long moment, a silent battle of wills was waged to determine who would break first. The Jedi chuckled, looking back to Rolfe.

"Looks more like a seaflea to me." She raised an eyebrow, slightly impressed at his gall. She wasn't used to being insulted, let alone by a captive. Perhaps, this would be an interesting task after all.

The Captain laughed, full and loud, the kind of laugh he only did when he smelt blood on the wind — the promise of a violent battle to come. Whose blood it was? She didn't know yet. "You two are going to get along famously."

The Captain tossed something to her and she caught it instinctively. In her hands, she held a red apple. He spoke quietly as he turned towards her. "You know what to do."

As he left back up the stairs, she inspected the fruit in her hands. In their code, various objects and images had meanings, useful in situations where verbal communication wasn't possible. The apple meant information. Rolfe wanted to know why the Jedi was there, and he wanted to know how he could profit.

She met the Jedi's eyes, and took a bite of the apple.

She made her way over to a metal crate against the left wall and jumped up to sit on it. A metallic clank sounded as her back met the wall and she winced in discomfort. She folded her legs under her and looked back at the Jedi.

He had never taken his eyes off her.

She supposed this was one of his scare tactics; the silent, brooding warrior who threatens to break your spine with his gaze alone probably sent most low-life thugs running. But that wasn't the Jedi way, and she didn't scare easily either. Besides, there was just something about the plasma bars between them that detracted from his ability to intimidate. Perhaps he thought if he glowered at her enough, she'd crumble and let him go. She wanted to laugh. Let him go where? There were dozens of cut-throat pirates on this ship alone and even if he managed to handle that, which she imagined he could with his lightsaber, where would he go then? They were currently in the middle of dead space. And no one was coming for them here.

She smirked at him, the ache in her cheek still raw and stinging, and took another bite of the fruit. His eyes tracked the movement, snagging on the unusual way the skin pulled around the wound, the crusted blood still gave the impression her eye bled red. She had left the gash there, open and bloody, for a reason. Two could play at theatrics, and between the both of them, she had the finer skill for drama.

"How's that cut healing?"

"Don't ask like you can take credit." She replied wittily, resisting the urge to prod the wound, even from the darkness of her mouth — where he wouldn't know the broken skin bothered her. If she went past her teeth and pushed her tongue against the inside of her cheek, the seams of her skin would split, and she'd bleed all over again. But then, maybe she liked to bleed.

"So," she began, "What was a Jedi doing on a smuggler's cargo ship?"

He said nothing for a moment, likely debating the repercussions of sharing any information with her. If his training in heroism had been anything like her training in piracy, he would know the merits of friendly relation with your enemies. A parley could save your life and little did he know, she needed him to trust her too.

"I was... concerned about the cargo." Her brows furrowed in confusion. However, she didn't have to ask him to elaborate. Though if she had, she doubted he would have complied.

"Were there slaves on that ship?" He spoke the words slowly and carefully, like it pained him to ask anything of her, but especially this. Frankly, she was genuinely surprised he cared. The Republic was always so busy defending against the Separatists that they couldn't defend their own people from themselves. Slavery was the keystone of the intergalactic underworld; it brought in the most profit. And cost the most lives. It made her sick. The Reaper had transported all variety of goods over the years, from exotic creatures found only in the far reaches of the universe to stolen heirlooms from a royal treasury accessible only from a single window. But never slaves. She was many things, many horrible despicable things, but she was not a slaver.

Her silence must have concerned him. He shifted forward, all he would do to draw her attention without knowing her name. Of course, he could call her by the name the Captain gave her, but she doubted he would feel dignified calling her by a code. Seaflyer was, of course, a moniker, a name spoken by her comrades and those unfortunate enough to meet her blade. Everyone on the Reaper was required to have one. All pirates were wanted in one sector of the galaxy — she was wanted in almost all of them. As such, identities needed to be concealed even from each other.

Seaflyer had been her identity for what felt like a lifetime. It had taken over, buried the fragile, broken girl she had been, and forged her into something new — something more than what she was, but somehow still less than human. She'd had a name once, but the girl who came to mind when she spoke it was gone.

She shook her head, banishing the lingering tendrils of her past and looked back at him. "There were no slaves." She said simply, intrigued by the subtle relief that washed over his features. Tension released in his jaw and his brow relaxed; with his question answered he seemed content. As content as you can be in a cell, at least.

He drew one leg up to his chest and rested his arm on it, silently watching her. His eyes swept across her, from the tangled brown hair that flowed to her chin, the grey blouse covered by her signature blue coat that hung loosely, down to the form-fitting black pants and the leather boot swinging aimlessly over the side of the crate. She noted, curiously, that he had mirrored her in demeanour. She narrowed her eyes slightly, unsure of exactly what he was doing.

She said nothing, letting him devise whatever scheme for information he could. In honesty, she was curious; he was not what she had expected. She expected his first words to be the de-escalating philosophy that was so common of the Jedi or sweetened promises of wealth if they released him. Instead, he had insulted her the first chance he got.

Her ego wasn't wounded, of course — he didn't have that power — but it made him very interesting. And yet, she realised, he was nameless. Perhaps he preferred it that way.

"Why were pirates on a smuggler's ship?" He asked, finally.

She raised an eyebrow, surprised by his boldness and yet she should have expected it. "You are aware of who is on the questioning side of these bars, right?"

He rolled his eyes and sighed like she existed solely to antagonise him. She grinned briefly. Pain flared on her cheek and she let the smile go.

"Fine," he closed his eyes momentarily and huffed, "A question for a question."

She chuckled. "Negotiating? Maybe you're not a Jedi after all." He laughed quickly, and she realised with a start, that he had a face made for laughing. She shook her head, pushing the thought away.

"Alright, Jedi. The first question is yours."

He nodded, the only cementation of their agreement he could offer, and repeated his words.

"The Captain had a blood debt to settle with the Trandoshan smuggler king. He had been in hiding for a long while but recently resurfaced. We couldn't risk him disappearing again so we cut him down the first chance we had." She stated simply. The slaughter that had occurred turned to mere matter of fact through her words. It was no longer a massacre, just business.

"My turn," she watched with a small amount of glee as he prepared himself for whatever question she would ask that he should definitely not answer, "Where are you from?"

He looked up in surprise. She smiled slightly, waiting for his answer. He stared apprehensively for a moment, trying to find a trap where there was none. Truthfully, she didn't know why she asked him that particular question, the words had formed on her lips before she had a chance to think them through.

"I was born on Tatooine."

"Tatooine? I've never been."

"Yeah well, don't." He said, a slight edge to his voice. Not directed at her, she somehow knew, but at whatever memories lay buried in the sands of the desert world. She tilted her head to the side and filed that piece of information away for later.

"How did you become a pirate?" He had been surprised by her seemingly innocent question, but didn't spare a moment to contemplate her motives. She was clever with her words from what he could tell, and he couldn't force her tongue — at least not from behind these bars.

Her face fell for a moment as the words passed his lips, and that familiar riptide grabbed hold of her; tried to drag her bones to rest on the seafloor. As soon as that bluish blackness emerged she forced it back and smiled, the expression unconvincingly sewn on, and answered. "I wanted an escape and there's no greater freedom than the lawlessness of piracy."

She winked at him and he rolled his eyes in kind. She wasn't being wholly truthful and he knew that, but perhaps there was understanding even amongst enemies; some wounds should remain closed, no matter how poorly stitched together they were to begin with.

"How did you get that scar?" She gestured to his face. She showed no signs of malice or teasing, just curiosity. Curiosity had been the catalyst for her entire life, and she had yet to decide whether it was a blessing or a curse.

His face showed the barest hint of a smile as he answered, "Three years ago, my former Master and I were battling a Sith acolyte named Asajj Ventress. She got the better of me during the battle and left this as a parting gift." He shrugged like it didn't bother him, like the Sith had earned the blow and deserved to live after delivering it.

She couldn't understand how it didn't plague him. Even though she had ended the Trandoshan's life mere moments after he had marked her, she was still unsatisfied. Like she hadn't repaid the blood he had spilt, even though he now lay cold on a hanger floor while she sat here, contemplating a ghost. It felt like the cavern in her chest (to the left of her heart) where her rage resided was empty, as though it had never returned there after the battle. Instead, it had lingered in her bloodstream, setting her nerves, her cells alight so that every piece of her begged more — more carnage, more bloodshed. The violence had become like a second skin she wore in place of the humanity that had once encased her. Like she didn't know who she was without a blade in her hand.

It occurred to her that perhaps it wasn't the Trandoshan at all that caused her bones to burn, but the fact that she had been arrogant enough to let him hit her. She had become so caught up in the battle, in the power that coursed through her veins when a blade was in her hands, that she had forgotten she was still mortal. She was supposed to be better than that. She had been trained better than that. Speaking of training.

"Who was your Master?" She asked, interested in his life before fate brought him to this cell and eager to push her morbid thoughts away.

"Isn't it my turn?" He raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on his lips.

She pouted, tempted to stick her tongue out at him. "Fine, ask away."

He stared at the wall in contemplation. There was so much he wanted to ask but he had no way of knowing which question would be the one to break the tentative truce they had. He knew he should be asking important questions while she was offering, questions that could save his life, but there was something he wanted to know more at that moment.

"I've never encountered your fighting style before. Where did you learn it?"

She looked at him with mild surprise; of all he could ask, she had not expected that. She supposed he wanted to know her discipline so he could exploit it should they ever meet in battle, but the way she had been taught could not be replicated. Not ethically.

"Well, my first..." She paused, searching for the right word. "My first mentor trained me to be an honourable warrior. He taught me to respect your enemy even if they didn't respect you, to take victory to your heart and failure to your head. He taught me to look at life like a lesson rather than a punishment, to find what a bad situation might be trying to teach you. He taught me to be noble and brave."

"He sounds like a good man." It was all he could think to say.

"He was," She said, no descrinable expression on her face. Anakin looked up, recognised the tense in her words. The man she spoke so highly of, who had moulded her so, was gone. It was silent for a moment before she continued.

"After that, the Captain found me. At first he was just going to ditch me at the nearest town he could find but we were attacked by bandits along the way." She fiddled with the chain holding her signet ring; it was made of a dark, shimmering metal with the imprinted likeness of a Mythosaur on it — they were the mounts of an ancient race of warriors, if the cook's stories were to be believed. Rolfe had presented her with it after her first raid, along with the swords she still carried to this day. "When he saw my skill with a blade, he decided that my talents would be well suited for..."

"Piracy?"

"Piracy." She nodded with a laugh, "He took me in, trained me his way. That was four years ago," She paused for a moment, felt compelled to continue. "He may not be the best man but... he saved me." She said it quietly, trying to let conviction seep into her words.

Rolfe had saved her, she had been so sure of that once. But the past couple of years, since the clone wars had become more dangerous, more destructive, she had begun to notice the ripple effect of their actions. Raiding supply ships and commandeering vessels carrying senators always seemed harmless at the time, but as the war raged on she began to see the lives their actions cost; the lives her actions cost. She let the ring go.

The life of a pirate had been so different, so freeing, from what she was before, but she was beginning to wonder what that freedom was costing her? What had she given up in exchange for a new identity? Surely when your very being was torn open, rearranged, stitched back together (poorly enough that crevices exist for the wrong things to find a home in the cavity of your chest, to the left of your heart), something was forgotten?

She wondered if the suffering people of the galaxy saw them as no different from the Separatists. The thought alone made her insides feel like both fire and ice, fury and despair. Made her want to scream that they were wrong, and collapse because they were right.

She wanted to turn a blind-eye to their suffering, deem her own happiness — her own survival — more important, but she knew her life meant just as much as those who lived and died by the actions of others. How many had lived and died by hers? Innocent people, who had no choice but to succumb to a force stronger than they could ever be.

Dying was easy, but true death was having to live with the consequences of choices you never got to make; she knew that better than most. She had tried not to dwell on it before, but now wondered how much longer she could hide behind her indifferent heart before that turned on her as well.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice — perhaps she didn't care — that the Jedi was watching her, witnessing her whole life unravelled at one small thread being pulled out of the tapestry. Part of him wanted to give her time, see if she would share whatever made her glass eyes break like that, but he doubted she would trust him. He wasn't sure if he trusted her either.

"What is the Captain planning for me?"

"I don't know." She answered softly, the fragility still apparent in her eyes, in the way her hands shook in her lap. He scoffed quietly, not intending it as a challenge but she still took it as one — or rather, as a distraction.

"I don't." She said again, more assuredly.

She stood, ignoring the pain that radiated through her back, and walked over to lean against the opposite wall, closer to him. There was a ventilation grate above where she had been that carried sound throughout the lower half of the ship as easily as the wind carried the ocean breeze. And for obvious reasons, she wanted this conversation unheard. The Captain may have told her to discover the Jedi's secrets, but he most certainly hadn't meant for her to even think about divulging their own.

"If he has a plan for you, he hasn't told me." Not yet, at least.

He rolled his eyes. "So much for being his second in command."

"So much for being a Jedi." she bit back, glad to be feeling something other than confusion for a change, "You got yourself into this situation. Speaking of, how does a Jedi Knight get captured by pirates?"

When he stood, he didn't tower over her but she still felt small. Decidedly, he was not chained to anything. He came up to the bars, as close as he could get without being scorched. She almost wanted to deactivate the cell, just to see what he would do. She didn't think he would hurt her — but he was so different from what she had expected and she had no way of predicting his actions.

"Doing something foolish."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

She took her time getting his meal for the night. In the quiet when everyone else slept, the only company she could find was the ship itself. And the nameless Jedi waiting for her in the dark.

He was nothing like what she had anticipated. From what she remembered of the Jedi, they were careful, calculated, and not at all the sharp-tongued charmer she had been subjected to. He had forced her to re-evaluate her assumption twice in the span of five minutes and she couldn't be more intrigued. Despite how diametrically opposed she thought they'd be, she actually found herself drawn to him and his contradicting nature. He was with the Republic but he cared for slaves enough to risk his own life, he came from peace keepers but had hands red with blood if the display in the hanger had been anything to judge by — hands that may be just as red as hers. He bore scars of past battles but had chosen to let go in a way she never could. Perhaps he could teach her how, she thought with a laugh.

Walking back down to the lowest level, she wondered what she was meant to do now. Surely, the Captain hadn't meant for her to be with him every moment and yet... she knew she wouldn't want to be left alone down there.

Her eyes locked onto him as soon as he came into view. His head was tilted back and his eyes were closed, paired with the even rise and fall of his chest he appeared to be sleeping. She didn't know how anyone could sleep comfortably like that but the corners of her mouth tilted up nonetheless.

Her boots scuffed as she came to a stop just before the bars. She breathed deeply but didn't move. She knew what she was meant to do; deactivate the cell for a moment to place the food and then jump back like a frightened animal. And yet, that didn't feel right. A warm, familiar voice that was not her own sung, a bird won't trust the branch until the tree shows its strength. Be strong.

He slitted one eye open, watching the indecisiveness on her face unaware he was its cause. Finally, she made a decision. She pressed a finger to the pad on her wrist and the bars disappeared. She took a large step into the cell before she could change her mind and the bars automatically reactivated behind her. She sighed like the choice had been hard.

She set the tray down and went to sit by the wall opposite him, as far away as she could get.

He watched her curiously and pulled the tray closer. "What are you doing?"

She shrugged, leaning her head against the wall and closing her eyes. "Something foolish."

He chuckled and began eating. She didn't know why she had been nervous; there was no point in harming her outright. But there was something about being so near a Jedi, after all this time, that gave her a strange sensation. It almost felt like longing, but she had often confused the things she wanted with the things she dreaded. Still, she knew that if she wanted his trust, she needed to trust him first — at least that's what Rowan would have told her and she was rarely wrong.

After a few moments she opened her eyes and truly took note of the darkness in the cell. She pursed her lips and looked around, eyes settling on the large circular indent in the wall behind him. She smiled and pulled up the control pad. With a few taps, the walls of the cell began rumbling slightly and a window into the vast, beautiful expanse of space opened. Prisoner or not, everyone deserved to see the stars.

The Jedi grinned at the open sky and shuffled to face the window. They sat in silence and watched the galaxy together for an immeasurable amount of time. Eventually, he dragged his gaze away from the port window to look at her.

"Thank you."

She looked away from the universe that held her heart and smiled at him, "You're welcome... are we at a point where I can ask your name?"

He laughed and she saw again that she was right, laughter was the best look on him. It was a strange sensation to know he laughed for her. "My name is Anakin Skywalker."

His name sounded familiar. Anakin looked at her half-expectant, and for the first time in four years, she wanted a new name. She knew she could never be who she once was — nor would she want to be — but maybe she could be something new.

"I'm Val."

author's note:

chapter two !! finally !! i mean, it's been like a week and a half since chapter one but still !!

not a lot happened in this chapter action-wise but some very important people were introduced!! now that you've met Rolfe, what did you think??

more importantly, Anakin and Val !!     give me your thoughts !!      please !!

i hoped you enjoy chapter 2 !! (that's a lot of exclamation marks i'm so sorry)

chapter 3 will be out soon, in the meantime, tell me all your thoughts, opinions, theories, criticisms, literally anything.

have a wonderful day, everyone !! 💕