A Lesson in Secrets

[Lúka Jibral]

Things had changed, again.

That weighed on Lúka. He wasn't averse to change: change was merely part of life, and he was more than adept at adapting to it when needed. But there was change, and then there was change. If the parameters of your mission changed due to unforeseen circumstances or new information coming to light, there he could adapt. If a war carved the galaxy in two, if shifting borders drove you into reassignment, or if the masters you respected staged a coup that branded you and your kindred traitors, there Lúka could adapt, and had. Those changes were waves, tidal or otherwise; either you adapted, or you drowned. There was no other choice.

But some changes weren't waves, they were ripples. They disturbed the surface, jostled your ship, maybe splashed up against the banks a little; but then they subsided, and things seemed to be the same. Except they weren't always. Sometimes the ripples were just drops of water. Sometimes they were rocks being hurled in by someone on the shore. Sometimes they were signs of predators lurking beneath the water. Lúka hated such changes, because his mind thrived on connections and patterns. It had to understand where each ripple led: where it came from, what gentle nudges it would cause, whose shoes would get damp from standing too close to the edge. It consumed him. Distracted him. It often led to nothing.

That was the situation that Lúka found himself in now: utterly consumed with thoughts of Anastasia Xivelle. She was a new variable in Lúka's life here at the Citadel: an ally on the face of things, and yet a mystery at the same time. He had known her as an asset of the Inquisition. She had spent time at the Black Archives, studying and experimenting. He'd seen her work, and he'd seen her work. He'd glimpsed her mind, her morals, and it only led to more questions. And now she was here, embedded within the faculty of the Citadel, the mad scientist suddenly in charge of the health and welfare of the Imperial Knights.

He could ask her why she was here, and what her intentions were. She might even answer him. There was a faint chance she'd even do so honestly. But Lúka didn't work that way. Lúka wasn't the kind of predator who stalked his prey and demanded answers with his claws around their throat. Lúka was a sarlacc, hidden in the sand, waiting for secrets to stumble into a maw that they would never escape. Seeking answers through torture and interrogation was the work of others. Lúka would find his answers the way he always did: he would watch, and he would wait.

Fortunately, watching Anastasia Xivelle was hardly a hardship.

Lúka kept his tone casual as they walked through the lower levels of the Citadel. It was strange to be here, strange to see Imperial uniforms instead of Padawan robes walking these corridors, strange to see Imperial banners hanging on the walls of the Jedi Temple that had once been his home. He understood why the Imperial Knights had taken up residence here. Emperor Palpatine had built his throne atop the Temple, a sign of victory over the treacherous Order he had defeated; but Empress Tarkin was more subtle, more interested in rebuilding than in destruction. That was what the Imperial Knights were, at their core: a restoration of the Jedi, as unwaveringly loyal as they should always have been.

"Is this your first time at the Temple?"

Lúka winced ever so slightly, annoyed at himself for having referred to it by that old name once again.

[Anastasia Xivelle]

It felt strange to be on Coruscant once more, even more so at the prospect of it being a decently lengthy if not permanent position. Since her induction into the Inquisitoriate Doctor Xivelle had been shipped off to the far reaches of the Empire's control, to the places cast in shadow, to the assignments that were not meant for public knowledge. To be back here, the center of it all, a city planet that was once her home, felt surreal. Far more so was the promise that some of her theories and research were more accepted now, much like the Knights themselves were. It might have been considered ironic or quaint if she allowed herself to attribute any sense of humor to it.

Then there was the additional curiosity of her current assignment that also meant that she was to be the primary physician for the Knights of the Citadel. It wasn't that Anastasia hated Force users, no far from it, but her fascination with them did make for a rather interesting choice. There were reasons for it all, she suspected; silent expectations and the like. Not that she would be allowed carte blanche with her new subjects - that was very clear as well - but this was far more than Xivelle had ever hoped for. She idly wondered if this was a reward of some nature, or a punishment she hadn't fully realized.

At least there were some familiar faces about. And if newly minted Lord Jibral was to be the visible aspect of a leash she was no doubt on, then at least they had chosen someone she was marginally comfortable around - even if he remained more mystery to her than she would have preferred.

"I was here once before, though not for long. I think it was just before I was assigned to the Archives." The reply was followed with a slow wry smile that drifted across her lips. "It's certainly different from The Maw."

[Lúka Jibral]

Lúka breathed out a ghost of a laugh. Different was an understatement.

"Sometimes I miss the quiet."

It was an odd admission, both literal, and a reference to the clamouring noise inside his skull that came from being on such a densely populated world. Amid the black hole cluster that had surrounded the Black Archives, there was barely a stray thought or stray feeling within range of his senses. There were starships more populated than the Archives had been, and while it was not the only facility that the Empire had concealed within the Maw's labyrinthine gravitational fields, the others had been too far away for Lúka to ever realise they were there. It had been isolated, and lonely at times; but also tranquil. Soothing, in a way. It had been like being in space for the first time, after a lifetime on light-polluted ground utterly unable to see the stars.

The Black Archives had been peaceful; and most of all, they had been his. Not like this place, where he was one among many. Lúka didn't resent the loss of authority, but he did miss the clarity, and the control. Here at the Citadel there was so much that was out of his hands. So much that could be done better; or at least, so much that might be more efficient if it was done his way. It wasn't arrogance: at the Archives, Lúka's natural flair for analysis had been respected and utilised. Here it was unnoticed, unexploited, his greatest asset reduced largely to a teaching tool. He both resented it, and didn't. Understood it, and despaired over it.

Anastasia being here was a comfort. She knew what he had been, and what he was capable of. More than that, her thoughts were calm, and her feeling subdued. Here in the Citadel, where emotions ran high by design, she was like a cold compress amid Tatooine sands. Lúka was more glad to have her here than he would ever admit.

"I grew up here."

The words were out of his mouth before he realised he intended to utter them. It was a strange thing to admit so openly, but the state of the galaxy had changed enough that he found himself actually able to do so, safely. Force users were not hunted and disappeared the way that they had been under Palpatine's rule; now they were all potential recruits, evaluated and sent here. Lúka was not the only Knight to have survived the Jedi Purge, and that was no longer a secret that he was required to guard. So strange to have concealed something for so long, and then to find yourself no longer needing to. He missed that, as well, in a strange way. Secret released into the world, his mind still felt the imprint of having clung onto it so tightly.

"It was very different back then. Brighter. Less -"

His brow furrowed, lips pursing pensively as he searched his mind for the right descriptor.

"- grey."

[Anastasia Xivelle]

The revelation that Lúka shared wasn't entirely a surprise. There were few who had his talents of his age who were not associated with the antiquated Jedi ways in some fashion. To have been a student here, however... the concept was too foreign for the Doctor to even begin attempting to relate to. And yet...

"Do you prefer it this way?"

The question wasn't meant to belittle his nostalgia, and she immediately clarified.

"I rather like it. It's... simple, clean. Reminds me of the university I attended."

[Lúka Jibral]

It was a question that Lúka didn't have a ready answer to. Did he prefer it?

Things were certainly more ordered, more organised, more efficient than they had been in those days. The rules were clearer, and more easily understood. People knew how to walk in the halls. People knew when and where to talk. There was more structure. More precision. More schedule. There was a clearer purpose, too. Everyone knew why they were here, what their aspiration was, what their purpose would be when they achieved it. At the Temple, you were there because you were there; because the Jedi Order had vanished you away from your families in the dead of night, to indoctrinate you into their ways. The objectives were abstract. Spiritual. Understanding. Inner peace. All in the name of becoming a Jedi, a meaning that seemed to change depending on whatever mood the galaxy was in. Not so with the Imperial Knights. They were the enforcers that the Jedi had become at their end; except these enforcers were loyal to their Empire, not beholden to the whims of their cult masters.

"I'm a different man than I was back then."

It wasn't an answer, and yet it was. The Lúka of then may have preferred the Temple of then; but the Lúka of now was exactly where he belonged.

He threw a glance in Anastasia's direction, thoughts straying to what he knew of the Doctor's own past.

"I imagine you can probably relate."

[Anastasia Xivelle]

The soft and brief hum that left her wasn't entirely an answer in its own, but it was on par with the response she had received from Lúka - an answer without an answer. Doctor Xivelle wasn't entirely certain just how much of her past - even as much as her own peculiar and slightly suspicious situations regarding her joining the ranks of the Empire - but she suspected he knew a great deal more than she was comfortable with. Not that Anastasia was particularly engaged in keeping a mysterious appearance, she just didn't enjoy feeling exposed.

"It's a natural thing, you know. The Galaxy changes and so we must adapt to survive. Even now with this Knights business."

She glanced back towards Lord Jibral as they continued on.

"It must be refreshing in a way, to no longer have to hide your true nature."

[Lúka Jibral]

Refreshing. That was certainly one way of looking at it. He let out a soft laugh.

"I spent most of my career at the Archives, Doctor Xivelle."

Jibral's words paused as they turned a corner, offering a curt nod to a small cluster of Cadets marching past in the opposite direction. Even with the Imperial-issue helmets (http://vignette3.wikia.nocookie.net/starwarsrebels/images/9/9e/Breaking_Ranks.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20140928091349) covering their faces, Lúka could have identified each of them, had he wanted to. Heights. Postures. Subtle tells. Ripples through the Force. He chose not to. The mask of anonymity that the Empire wrapped around it's soldiers was important. As Imperial Knights, the Cadets would one day need to cultivate their individuality, mastering their own specialisms and skills, and that set them apart from the rank and file who traded helmets for faces and numbers for names; and yet it was still important for them to understand their place, to realise that they were simply a small component in a larger whole, an atom in the foundation of the Empire. To recognise any of them was to undermine that; to single them out made them a defect within that structure, and such compromises to the Empire's integrity would bring it all collapsing around them.

For a moment, he wondered how different he might have been, had he gone through the same training. The Inquisitors had their own incarnations, of course. Some sacrificed their identities to become Brother, or Sister, or Grand Inquisitor. Matching armour. Matching lightsabers. Their own unique brand of starfighter. Lúka had lived through those years, experienced the Inquisition's attempts to turn their entire order into a singular feared and revered identity. Such ambitions hadn't lasted, of course; but at the time, Lúka had envied them, longing to be part of that collective instead of the one the Archives had placed him in. He wondered how different it would have been to have such peers, to have Brothers and Sisters of his own.

The Knights, he supposed, were that for him now. His fellow Lords and Ladies, tied together by the ice-white crystals in their 'sabers, and the same mysterious scope that reached out across the Empire to grasp or throttle whatever the Empress needed it to.

A faint glimmer of a lopsided smile formed on Lúka's lips as he turned more fully towards the Doctor.

"There was barely ever anyone around that I needed to hide it from."

[Anastasia Xivelle]

The slow smile once more formed and she let the slightest of laughs leave her.

"Yet you hid yourself all the same. Maybe not to an extent that others have..." Her voice drifted as the Doctor glanced back over her shoulders at the passing cadets; children she was now in charge of the care for. How cruel and apt.

Her attention worked it's way back to Lord Jibral. For all that he was in charge of portions of The Archives he seemed somehow more at ease in this setting. Perhaps he was simply good at covering what he felt but it seemed more appropriate in a way, not to have a man of his skill locked away on the far side of the Galaxy. If he was anything like her there must have been a side that railed against this confinement, this mediocrity that was now designated by necessity and to be considered among the rest of the Empire's finest. Peace had taken away who they had been and designated new titles upon them, familiar and yet not: Knight. Doctor. - titles both had vied for before the Empire had claimed them and now they had been granted them utterly and fully. Not that they were not earned, they were simply more solid now. And yet somehow all the more hollow for it.

"I suppose I misspoke, though. We all still hide in one way or another, don't we?"

[Lúka Jibral]

That was true, Lúka supposed. Everyone had something to hide, and the two of them more than most.

For Lúka, it was his dealings with Khalid; his side missions, and the assets he had begun to cultivate in order to facilitate them. He rationalised it as a necessary secret. Classified. Secrecy was part and parcel of Imperial life, or at least the understanding of it that his life had provided, and so on most levels it struck him as normal. Comfortable. Right. Yet, part of his mind nagged in protest. He was an Imperial Knight now, not an Inquisitor, nor an Agent of the ISB, or of whatever secretive aspect of the Empire the illusive Khalid represented. The Black Archives, and the items that had once been held there, still felt like his responsibility; but their protection was no longer his duty. It felt like a connection improperly severed; an amputated limb still hanging on by a strand, dragging behind him, leaving him vulnerable. Lúka was comfortable being guarded, comfortable controlling the appearance he displayed; but his comfort did not negate the fact that it was necessary. He volunteered, but was required to do so either way. He wondered what would happen if that changed; if he changed; if the affect that the Cadets had begun to have on him continued. He wondered who he would be when that transformation completed, and what that would mean for the secrets he kept on the Empire's behalf.

As for Doctor Xivelle, Lúka did not know where to begin. There were ways to find answers, both active and passive, in person and otherwise; but Lúka chose not to. He had researched the basics, of course. Read files, studied her research notes, delved into the aspects of her past that were readily available; but he hadn't pushed. He had told himself it was because of protocol. His security clearance and his analytical skill were tools for the Empire's use, not his own personal gain. He did not need to know, and therefore he should not. That was how things had worked in the Archives, and that was what felt correct here. Yet, part of him knew that wasn't the whole truth. Part of him knew that beneath and behind that justification, there was something more. Respect, perhaps. Respect of a peer, of her work, and of her privacy. Perhaps it went further still: the challenge she presented, the guarded exterior that worked so hard and so effectively to keep everything concealed. What victory was there in unearthing her secrets that wasn't exceeded by hearing them from the woman herself?

"Everyone hides," Lúka countered. "No matter how honest, no person is truly the version of themselves that they put out into the world."

A little more of Lúka's smile managed to creep through.

"And thank the Force for that. If everyone was truly what they seemed, then this entire Citadel would be filled with nothing but uptight assholes."

[Anastasia Xivelle]

Now she genuinely laughed. It was clipped short so as to keep it controlled but he had elicited the genuine response nonetheless.

"They do all have certain chips on their shoulders, don't they?" Ana brought a hand up to her lips to aid in the stifling of the unbecoming mirth. "Like mini Mal'achis running about with their pompousness."

Her free hand echoed the running motion with a wiggle of her fingers before Doctor Xivelle fully managed to regain full composure. It ended with a sigh, not entirely nostalgic but the sentiment was there. Things were easier at the Archives, as secret as it all was. Far from ideal, if Anastasia was honest with herself on the matter, but in a way there had been a simplicity to it all that did not exist here on Coruscant. There were rules, certainly, but they didn't feel as defined as they did here. Something about terra firma made everything different, even without all the changes to nomenclature that went along with it. Freedom in a cage, or some similar analogy.

"I suppose you will cure them of that in time. Perhaps we both will."

[Ivy]

Unit Jibral never had the opportunity to comment on Unit Xivelle's talk of curing, apt as such a notion was escaping from the lips of a Doctor. Perhaps the conversation might have continued longer, were Unit Jibral not observant enough to notice Ivy the instant the Droid stepped out onto the walkway ahead of them. Ivy was relieved to see the two organics come to a convenient halt: his calculations of what would transpire if he attempted to reverse course and fall into stride with them had not yielded promising results.

"Ah. There you are."

Ivy sounded flustered. It was an illusion, but an apt one. Unit Jibral was not currently in the correct location; nor was he in any of the obvious logical locations that Ivy had searched thus far. It had taken a triangulation of Unit Jibral's secondary comlink to find him. Such a triangulation wasn't possible for Unit Xivelle, but fortunately the two organics were in convenient proximity. Of course, things would have been considerably easier if Ivy had been able to simply contact Unit Jibral via the device in question. Secrecy protocols unfortunately made that something of a problem: an Imperial Knight potentially receiving a communique on a secret second comlink in view of peers or Cadets could cause all manner of problems.

The droid leaned forward as if about to whisper some deep secret, though the necessity of addressing two individuals made it unviable to reduce his vocabulator volume at all.

"We have received a transmission from Chimera. It would be prudent to depart the confines of the Citadel at the earliest opportunity."

[Lúka Jibral]

Chimera.

If there was one word guaranteed to get Lúka's attention, it was that one. It came as a slight surprise, hearing that Khalid had reached out in a manner that didn't involve any sort of home invasion. Perhaps this represented a potential change in their interactions from here onwards, though Lúka doubted it. More likely he was simply too busy with some other nefarious deed. Lúka glanced in Doctor Xivelle's direction, wondering if she too had ever awoken in the dead of night to find their dubious benefactor had been watching her sleep.

Ivy was right to keep things discrete though, and to suggest leaving the confines of one of the Empire's most secure and most securely monitored facilities before they discussed their extracurricular activities in any specific detail. Such an absence would require justification, however. Imperial Knights were not confined to the Citadel the same way that Cadets were, but two members of the Citadel staff disappearing together was bound to raise questions of one sort or another.

Perhaps though, those questions were a blessing in disguise.

"Thanks, Ivy," Lúka said with a curt nod to dismiss the droid. "I'll get right on that. You'll have it in time for your next class."

Whether Ivy was confused or not, Lúka couldn't be quite sure; but to the droid's credit he played along with only the briefest hesitation, excusing himself from the duo and trudging off in the direction the two of them had come from. Lúka watched as the droid departed, glancing both ways up and down the corridor, waiting until the barest moment before the next group of Cadets appeared around the nearby corner: late enough to stand a chance of being overheard, but quick enough that he could have plausibly missed their presence.

"Ana, I -"

Lúka's hand rested itself gently against Anastasia's upper arm. Into his voice he injected a slight hesitation and a hint of nervousness, his expression deliberately fluctuating from the cusp of a smile to a ghost of a frown and then back again, teetering back and forth between the two.

"I can't tell you how nice it is to have a familiar face here at the Citadel, especially one that is so -"

He trailed off again, glad that the performance didn't require him to rise to the challenge of describing Doctor Xivelle's hardly objectionable features in the space of a single word. He released a faint laugh instead, falsified nerves weighing his gaze down, forcing it to climb hesitantly back. His expression shifted, projecting the impression that he already foresaw the inevitable negative response.

"Do you maybe want to grab a drink after hours? Dinner, maybe?"

[Anastasia Xivelle]

For the slightest of seconds Anastasia was perplexed. Not with what STE-IV had relayed to them, though she could only begin to guess what exactly it was that Chimera wanted now of all times. But rather in Lord Jibral's offer. It didn't take long for her mind to catch up to his, however. The tactic was quite sound. Whatever it was they were being summoned to was away from the Citadel, and that meant it also needed to stay away from the prying eyes and ears that had done away with such secretive nature - or so most believed.

Instantly her mannerisms shifted, from clinical to outgoing, a nervous laugh followed with a brush of stray hair behind one of her ears.

"Is that sort of thing even allowed between colleagues?" The question came out teasing, a touch of flirtatious nature that had her teeth graze across her lower lip. The doctor shifted her shoulders and glanced down towards where Lúka's hand rested on her arm. "I'd be delighted. It would be good to catch up in a less formal environment."

[Lúka Jibral]

Lúka added a few extra degrees of smile to his lips. Another faux nervous glance scanned Anastasia's eyes, catching sight of her understanding of and acquiescence to the ruse.

"That's great!" Lúka enthused, with enough uncertainty in his voice to imply that he hadn't quite been ready for that response. Another shuffle of nerves seemed to hesitate on the cusp of moving closer. His hand slid a little further down her arm, coming to rest just above her elbow. He glanced away again, and then back, noting the way her hair had been tucked away behind one ear, all part of the deception for their potential audience. "So, I guess I'll -"

He leaned forward, somehow both slow and sudden, lips pressing against Anastasia's conveniently exposed cheek. He lingered for a moment longer than was necessary, voice dropped to little more than a whisper.

"Front entrance. One hour. I'll find us a speeder."

Pulling away, Lúka wished he was able to make himself blush on command. A skill to develop in the future, perhaps; but words and actions would have to do for now.

"So, I'll, I guess, pick you up after your shift?"

Lúka didn't wait for a response, answering the question himself.

"Great. Fantastic. Right. So I'll be -"

He gestured off into the distance, a nervous laugh and a seemingly irrepressible smile staged for added affect. A quick "Bye," was offered before he stepped away, pace quicker than it normally would have been, with just enough of a spring in his step to really sell it. He thought about whistling, or maybe just a little bit of a tuneful mumble under his breath, but that would have overdone it. Instead he glanced back, letting another smile take over his features; one that lasted for two turns and a hundred yards of briskly-paced corridor, before he allowed himself to settle back into his usual neutrality, mind already contemplating how to re-engineer his previously considered strategies to slip away from the Citadel to now include the Doctor as well.


* * *

Obtaining a speeder had been surprisingly easy. Lúka's first impulse had been to find a nearby apartment whose residents were currently absent, slip into their speeder bay, and liberate something convenient and inconspicuous for the evening. While that approach might have served him well in the past, it came with a number of complications this time around. Of primary concern was that for the subterfuge to work, offering a plausible alibi for himself and Doctor Xivelle, their departure from the Citadel needed to be seen. A stolen vehicle would be problematic if it earned any kind of scrutiny, particularly when Lúka did not currently have one registered his name - something he would have to remedy, if this was a situation likely to repeat. While it came a distant second, the perception of Lúka's instructor persona was important as well: the image he had cultivated was that of a man who would presumably make an effort if he was taking an undeniably attractive woman out to dinner.

Fortunately, this was Coruscant, and on Coruscant there were always options. A comfortable, vintage speeder had been easily rented, and delivered directly to the Citadel: not a breach of protocol per se, but certainly irregular enough to create the kind of notice that would feed into the performance. Lúka had even made reservations at a relatively quiet out-of-the-way place: some where that a man like Lúka Jibral, Imperial Knight Instructor would deem appropriate; quiet enough to talk; private enough to avoid prying eyes; nice enough to lay a potential foundation for a second date, but inexpensive enough that a failed first date wouldn't be too costly; and discrete enough that a few credits deftly wired to the maître d' would ensure that any "private investigators" would not be informed of their absence, should Lúka fail to arrive with a woman who was most certainly not his wife. He'd even planted a computer worm within the restaurant's finance system that would generate a receipt and charge his official account at an appropriate time, and had a similar program ready to create reservations at and charges from a nearby hotel, should they need to extend the subterfuge into the following morning. There was much to dislike about Coruscant; but even with the Galactic Senate disbanded, the things the city would allow the right kind of bureaucrat to get up to discretely made Lúka's work pleasantly simple.

The part of Coruscant that he and Doctor Xivelle had ventured to however was a very different kind of seedy. The restaurant had been chosen because of a convenient blind spot in Coruscant's sky traffic monitoring network, allowing Lúka to drop down unnoticed and venture into Coruscant's lower levels. That was where Chimera's cryptic transmission had led them: not a mission, nor a clear objective; just an address.

Lúka had spent the drive speculating what might be waiting. Was this a safehouse, somewhere Lúka and Xivelle could be lured to together rather than breaking into their bedrooms, a necessary measure because he could not - Lúka hoped - be in two places at once? Or, was this a target, the location of a lost Archived item that had somehow found it's way to the very heart of the Galactic Empire? Worse, had Lúka and Xivelle both outlived their usefulness, necessitating their discrete disappearance to preserve the Empire's secrets? Lúka was painfully aware of how under-equipped he was; and perhaps that was by design. Only the weapons he was able to carry on his person; no heavier ordnance, no back-up; not even his usual blaster, which he had insistently pressed into Doctor Xivelle's hands as soon as their course had forced them to abandon their speeder and venture inside a labyrinth of dark corridors.

The overhead lights flickered mournfully, uncomfortably out of sync with the persistent drip of moisture from somewhere nearby. Lúka almost regretted even attempting to activate them, for all the good they did - more distraction than aid. The floor had been carpeted once, though the Knight wasn't sure if the grime-sodden covering beneath his boots still qualified as carpet: fibres that might once have been red were mashed together into almost a plastic texture, fused with dust, damp, rot, and neglect, and other substances Lúka had absolutely no desire to imagine. It might have been an apartment complex once, or perhaps a motel, if the faded stencils of numerals beside each door were any indication: not the place that someone lived or stayed by choice, but because they had no other option. What little furniture remained was old, and broken, much of it strewn alongside refuse and debris throughout the rooms and corridors. The condition of the doorways made it clear the complex had been looted: some were fully open, others partially, and on some the doors themselves were bent and broken, telltale signs of brute force and crude explosives used by those determined to get inside.

Lúka led the way, peering through the darkness in search of Room 113. Odds and evens flanked the corridor on opposite sides: an easy path to follow in principle, but as Room 111 past by on the left, no room was there waiting opposite 112 and 114. Rooms continued from 115 and beyond, but in place of a looted room stood an elevator, doors already parted and waiting, a pulsing light and rhythmic click conspiring with the jarring brightness within to confirm that it was indeed functioning.

The Knight's attention shifted to Doctor Xivelle. "I have a bad feeling about this," he muttered, unclipping the lightsaber from his belt, the slugthrower he already held no longer reassurance enough on it's own. A pang of responsibility twisted in his chest: Xivelle's protection was his concern, and whatever awaited them beyond this elevator, his ability to reliably protect her felt dubious. "Perhaps you should wait out here, where it's -"

He almost said safe.

"- marginally less dangerous."

[Anastasia Xivelle]

"Nonsense," the word left her almost as dismissively as her following action may have seemed.

Doctor Xivelle rather boldly entered the pristine elevator, stepping past Lord Jibral to do so. She was not the sort who took the threat of danger lightly, nor was she foolishly brave, but reason told her that if Chimera had called them here then there was little that could be done to avoid the fate he had planned for them. It was a matter of practicality and in a way an attempt to still be in charge of what befell her. It was perhaps a foolish notion considering how very little she actually had to say in regards to her own life since joining The Empire, but still one the Doctor clung to.

She did note how Lúka prepared the weapon of his order and did the same with the blaster he had forced upon her. Not that her chosen attire for their mock-date was exactly the sort of thing she would consider to be ideal if the situation became dire. Even if she had made the move to the elevator first, it would be his instincts she would rely upon should the need present itself.

Her finger hovered over the number 8 until Lúka joined her. The sudden jolt at the elevator sprang into motion was far from reassuring and Anastasia glanced over at her colleague. Some sort of rude comment regarding Chimera's methods lingered on the tip of her tongue but ultimately went unsaid as the elevator came to a stop before it could be fully realized.

As the doors slid open, the feeling of unease only grew as only darkness greeted them. There were vague shapes that could be made out, but just barely in the light that spilled out from around them provided by the elevator. This time, the Doctor could not hold her tongue.

"Must everything be so damned mysterious with him?"

[Lúka Jibral]

"It's standard Imperial protocol."

Lúka lingered in the elevator just long enough to offer Doctor Xivelle a small flicker of a smile.

"They even offer classes on it at the Citadel."

The lit interior of the elevator had been a problem, robbing Lúka of any adaptations his eyes had made to the dimness of the corridors upstairs. Fortunately, the Imperial Knight had more senses to rely on than just vision, and reached out through the Force, senses advancing through the darkened space beyond. He felt nothing untoward; but that meant little, all things considered. Lúka had learned long ago that a room devoid of creatures that he could sense through the Force was not necessarily a room devoid of danger; and he doubted that, if Khalid wished him harm, it would come in the form of a conveniently readable squad of death troopers waiting in the shadows. At least, he hoped that was the case - if Khalid ever used such a pedestrian method to try and kill him, Lúka was likely be quite insulted by the lack of elegance and imagination.

Using the elevator's glow, Lúka's eyes studied the ground before him, looking for the telltale indications of pressure sensors or trip wires that might trigger some sort of ambush lying in wait for them. Finding nothing, he took a tentative step forward and raised his lightsaber aloft, thumbing the trigger. The pure white blade indicative of the Imperial Knights burst into life, becoming a beacon in the darkness. Something flickered in the distance, almost in response.

"Recognize. Jibral. Lúka."

Something else flickered, and then another, and another, lights beginning to blink on at scattered intervals across the dark cavern. Lúka watched as the lights slowly began to define shapes (http://vignette4.wikia.nocookie.net/westworld/images/0/0d/Behavior_lab_at_night.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20161101024851), dim pathways weaving between dimmer glass-enclosed chambers, glimpses of machines and equipment looming through the darkness like statues in the night.

Lúka advanced a step further, moving into a wide central corridor that the glass walls defined. He peered upwards, searching the grid-like pattern of the ceiling for anything it might attempt to conceal; from somewhere, the ambient light seemed to steadily increase, and yet aside from the first scattered sources that had initially responded, the Knight couldn't quite tell where the illumination was coming from. It was almost as if the entire space faintly glowed, a mere fraction lighter than the black the surfaces seemed to be.

The same simulated voice that had heralded Lúka's arrival cut through the silence again. The Knight couldn't quite place the source, as if the sound was coming from everywhere.

"Recognize. Xivelle. Anastasia."

Lúka turned behind him, casting a glare in Xivelle's direction; the Doctor didn't seem phased by it in the slightest, and Lúka sighed, shaking his head as he turned back towards the path ahead. His mind and his attention were drawn down the central concourse, an office (https://i0.wp.com/media2.slashfilm.com/slashfilm/wp/wp-content/images/Westworld-Episode-6-Trailer-The-Adversary.jpg) waiting at the extreme end of the room. His arm lowered, power to the lightsaber extinguished, relying on the dark space itself to provide visibility.

The office appeared closed at first, manual hand grips the only indication of where an entrance might be. The join between the segments of doorway seemed seamless and invisible; but as Lúka drew closer, a razor-thin slice slowly parted, the doors swinging silently open save for the faint hiss of equalising pressure. The room stood empty, untouched and undisturbed, as if abandoned and forgotten long ago. Yet, one thing stood out amongst the dated trinkets that littered the desk: a simple sheet of crisp white fibreboard, folded to a peak, adorned with the dark curling shapes of handwritten letters, spelling out his name. Tentatively Lúka reached for it, lifting it delicately lest it spring another hypothetical trap.

Nothing happened. Nothing changed. Lúka's brow furrowed as he regarded the fibreboard, studying it from all angles. Within the fold, more hand-scribed letters provided a simple message.

Use it wisely.

[Anastasia Xivelle]

Ana remained close to Lúka, trailing his footsteps as they walked into the slowly illuminating space. It didn't quite feel like a room, or a corridor, not with the transparent walls that sequestered various areas and the fact the light seemed to purely follow them. Already the distance they had crossed from the elevator was fading back into darkness, not total and complete, just not nearly as lit as their present location. It was ingenious in a way, efficient and precise, a sign of not wanting to waste resources. On the other hand, the Doctor couldn't help but wonder if the effect had been manufactured purely to intimidate and make those within it's walls feel all the more isolated.

She held the obvious questions as nothing about Jibral's posture seemed to reflect he knew anything more than she did about this place and followed him into the office area. As he moved towards the desk she hovered near the door way and cast a glance back in towards the dimly lit space they had passed through. From here she could clearly see most of the transparent walls that made up individual rooms and cells. There was computer and other equipment sparsely populating some areas and a few of the smaller rooms looked like they had some sort of cots or bunks. All in all she could only scrutinize it and let the word interesting float amid her unusually quiet mind.

Turning her attention back to Jibral was easy for as much as Anastasia had an intrinsic curiosity about her, she knew how to keep it in check and she was getting the feeling there would be ample time to explore later. A few steps brought her close to the Knight's side and a quick glance at the note in his hand brought a small snort of amusement.

"So, no guided tour then?" He asked with a hint of sarcasm.

They should have known that Chimera wouldn't actually be here the second they stepped out of the elevator, but she had held out some hope. If for no other reason than he could prove witness to her unamused expression. The Doctor cast a glance upward and briefly considered the possibility of hidden surveillance conveying that anyway. Another small breath of of a laugh left her, bordering on an annoyed sigh.

As if in response to her own question to the Knight, she turned back towards the main area and prepared to exit the office when something against one of the actual duracrete walls caught her eye. A crate of some sort, it's appearance not quite matching with the clean and crisp nature of it's surroundings. And atop it, another folded piece of fibreboard, this one with her name scrawled upon it.

"Oh look, more gifts," she spoke quietly, not quite to Lord Jibral though knew her voice would carry to him.

The piece of fibreboard was unfolded, though unlike the note that Lúka had received, hers was blank on the inside. The Doctor rotated the sheet in her hands looking for something other than just her name but came up empty. She glanced back towards Lúka and shrugged a shoulder.

"Guess we'll just have to open it?"

[Lapis]

Voiceprint Recognised.

A resounding clunk shuddered through the storage crate, the ominous sound of magnetic latches disengaging. In a space as vast as the shadowed facility, it should have echoed; but it didn't, the sound muted by the barely seen barriers of glass. More muffled sounds came from within the container: soft beeps, faint clicks, a whir or two; and then a thud, so intense that the whole container shuddered. Another, and another; internal impacts so intense that the container's lid began to shift out of it's sealed position. There was an ominous pause, and then one last almighty thud was unleashed, flinging the container open with such force that momentum took hold, the entire ensemble tumbling over backwards, it's contents spilling out into the open lid and out onto the floor beyond.

"It's about bloody time!" a voice exclaimed, as the tumble of components and droid parts slowly untangled itself to reveal a miniature mechanoid. The LEP servant droid floundered on it's back a little, spindly arms struggling immensely to overcome the thigh-heavy shape of it's chassis. In the end the droid surrendered, hitching it's legs up to it's chest, and relying on it's internal dynamos to swing it's body upwards, teetering back and forth on it's pelvic plate like some kind of eternally self-righting children's toy.

The droid's legs eventually unwound, and it managed to get itself to standing. It's hands brushed off an imaginary layer of dust that couldn't possibly have collected on it; but such was it's programming, to set at ease the organic beings it was assigned to serve by behaving as 'alive' as a synthetic being ever could. There were a few flaws and problems however, such as the way it's head snapped around to focus on Doctor Xivelle in an instant, it's body waddling in a far slower circle to orientate itself directly.

A facial analysis confirmed that the large human in front of him was one of the approved beings he was allowed to speak to. Unit Xivelle. Anastasia. Doctor. Bioengineer. Reduced emotional output as a result of a traumatic severance of past relationships and past occupational ties. Former affiliation with the Inquisition. Former affiliation with the Black Archives. Current affiliation with the Imperial Knights, assigned as a senior medic at the Citadel; formerly the Imperial Palace; formerly the Jedi Temple; formerly -

Lapis halted that runaway speeder of data recall. It wasn't relevant. She was approved for unrestricted conversation, and that was all that currently mattered.

"Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting in that bloody box for you and -"

His vocabulator halted, entire body leaning to the side, peering past Unit Xivelle to scan the humanoid behind her. Something about the transparent surface in his field of view interfered with his usual sensors; he accessed a specially programmed algorithm that Unit Chimera had provided, ocular receptors gradually compensating for the interference and succeeding in a facial recognition match.

"- Unit Jibral to find your way down here?"

The droid's spindly arms folded defiantly across his chest.

"It's un-bloody-acceptable is what it is."

[Anastasia Xivelle]

If this was a joke from Chimera, he should have very well known that Anastasia wouldn't find it entertaining. She inherently had nothing against droids, they were useful and even did a better job than most organics at certain tasks, though why programmers felt the need to add in the ability for personalities to develop was beyond her reasoning. To do it once to prove it could be was well within reason, but to allow for such annoyances to exist en mass? To remove one of the components that made thema better choice than other assistants? It was nothing but folly in most cases. The crude way this particular droid had addressed them proved the point emphatically.

As much as the little droid clambered for attention, she denied it and instead turned towards Lúka.

"I assume you're familiar with this one? Any idea why we're now responsible?" She avoided the urge to ask if it was always such a rude little creation. After all, testing her patience could have been a test of some sort.

[Lúka Jibral]

Lúka had abandoned the office, pushing back out into the larger space to continue his sweep. No doubt there was valuable data to be mined from the office terminal, but Lúka wasn't yet convinced that the space was safe and secure. Best to wait until they were sure there were no traps or lurking assassin droids before they went and sat around firing up computer systems and potentially triggering a whole different layer of security and traps.

It was probably best to wait before they went opening mysterious containers that might be filled with explosives or biotoxins as well; but as Lúka looked back in response to the tumbling sound of a droid exiting a container, and Doctor Xivelle's voice calling out to him, he was relieved to see that they'd got lucky on this front.

"Looks like a LEP unit," Lúka called in response, offering a shrug as he peered through the faintly tinted glass.

Lúka frowned for a moment, noting that as the ambient light in the dark space subtly increased, so too did the transparency of the walls. It was as if every occupied room became easier to peer into, while those left vacant remained darker and more concealed. Lúka understood the technology: starfighters and starships used photoreactive compounds to let viewports and cockpit canopies vary their opacity to shield against stellar proximity, weapons fire, and all manner of other factors; but seeing it in this space, dividing the area into, what, laboratories? Containment cells for test subjects? With all the pressurisation and the equipment scattered around, the space certainly had the feel of some sort of science or medical facility; but it didn't match any Imperial facility Lúka had ever visited. It seemed too old for that, left neglected for too long.

"They build them out on Coachelle Prime, hence the lagomorph chassis configuration. Separatists used to use them as protocol droids, or servant droids, or something along those lines. Not exactly the kind of deadly weapon that would have swung the Archives' way."

[Lapis]

Oh, by all means. Ask the human. You want information about the droid, so naturally, your first inquiry is directed towards the only person in the room who is not said droid. It was a prime example of the strange organic logic that proved so taxing to the protocol subroutines of a droid like Lapis, but fortunately he had been programmed to be patient with such things. More patient, at least, than being sealed inside a transport container for what his internal chronometer informed him was several days, awaiting discovery from these two sanctioned individuals. He supposed it was not their fault, though. They were organic units, and this was a secure and hidden facility, one that would have taken time to find and access, not to mention the time taken to safely extract themselves from their current assignments to do so covertly, nor the time that Unit Khalid was so fond of dedicating to theatricality and timing.

Now that he was liberated, Lapis allowed himself the opportunity to resort to his basic programming. His stance shifted, dactyl manipulators clasped in front of him, back straight, ears straight; the model of what many races considered to be good servile conduct. The LEP droids of Coachelle Automata were hardly the most prestigious and widespread of servant droids. Cybot Galactica cornered much of the market in terms of protocol, translator, and butler droids; but LEP units had carved out a modest niche for themselves, catering to Confederate Generals who needed something to help them feel a sense of importance, but who weren't in reality important enough to warrant the expense of a droid with any real monetary value.

Unit Xivelle was no Separatist General, however; and while Lapis was in no position to analyse the appropriate financial value of the Doctor and her work, he was also no mere servant droid.

His head tilted slightly to the side, ocular receptors blinking momentarily as he began to analyse the human and her responses. An analysis of vocabulary choice and microexpressions revealed a faint hint of hostility and displeasure. She felt responsible for him, not grateful of his presence and potential assistance. That would not do. Despite all the modifications and customisations to Lapis, his programming, and his chassis, underneath it all he was still a dutiful and obedient servant droid, to those he was programmed to obey. Currently, that list included a singular name.

"Perhaps I can offer some clarification in that regard, Doctor Xivelle. I am Special Tactics Experimental Prototype Two, though my colloquial designation is Lapis. I am -"

A momentary lag spike caused his oculars to flicker ever so slightly, as Lapis began to scrutinise a large section of Unit Xivelle's past correspondence, composing a linguistic algorithm that would echo the vernacular and structure with which she appeared most comfortable.

"- ingratiated to you for releasing me from my temporary captivity."

[Anastasia Xivelle]

STE-II. That designation alone answered a few of Anastasia's questions, though also created a few more in their wake. Thankfully the little droid seemed more than happy to clarify such things, perhaps he wouldn't become a nuisance after all. Though how much the droid had been cleared by Chimera to tell... Well, that would prove to be seen. It also made her slightly question just how ignorant Lord Jibral actually was regarding the unit, it may have never made it's way to the Archives but surely he was familiar with the rest of the Special Tactics Experimental Prototypes. Or perhaps he wasn't. The conversation had never really come up, after all. Not that the Doctor would push the issue, not when the Knight seemed more content on exploring the rest of the floor plan than giving any merit to the droid.

She couldn't help but glance towards the empty box, now wondering just how long had Chimera been setting this up, and furthermore, just how long had STE-II been imprisoned for? What was the purpose of such a thing when he could have been free to roam around instead? His familiarity would have been beneficial...

"Did our mutual benefactor give you any orders regarding this place? Or... explain why it was he could not release you himself earlier?"

[Lapis]

The droid's eyes dimmed as he diverted power towards processing those simple-sounding yet complex questions. Humans had a unique talent for such things: soliciting a large quantity of information with a disproportionately small amount of words. It was both vexing and fascinating, and in truth Lapis was pleased to have the opportunity to converse with another organic being. Interacting with the same few individuals had become deeply unsatisfying: once you managed to construct a 93% predictive algorithm for a particular individual's responses, there was very little value to be gained from speaking to people at all.

Of particular interest was the term mutual benefactor. He supposed it was an accurate description of Unit Chimera, but based on his interactions with other organics with whom said unit had interacted, and his understanding of word-meanings in basic, he was not convinced that Unit Khalid possessed the necessary benevolent nature to be considered a true benefactor. That said, the organic had seen fit to bestow Lapis' assistance upon Unit Xivelle, and that was certainly an action worthy of gratitude and positive interpretation. Lapis set aside a recording of Unit Xivelle's statements on the subject, for later analysis and comparison to determine if it had been uttered in genuine gratitude, in sarcasm, or conveyed some other as yet non-understood definition.

"I have been instructed to provide you with all pertinent information on the history and function of this facility," Lapis stated, answering the simplest of the questions first. The Doctor likely required and desired more than such a simple answer, but Lapis' operating system had learned that oversharing in response to such queries often resulted in a less-than-ideal reaction from organics. No doubt Unit Xivelle would clarify herself and request more information should she desire it.

"As for the circumstances of my release -"

Lapis fell silent, considering his options. His earlier outburst of frustration had been part of a program that simulated "life-like" behaviours, in the hopes of ingratiating himself to the organics he was assigned to serve. This had met with a negative response from Unit Xivelle however, and that caused something of an internal error. His operating system chose to prioritise user satisfaction over all other functions, and answer the question in as objective a manner as he could manage.

"This facility is programmed to minimise energy usage, as part of an effort to avoid notice and detection. My presence within the structure would have registered as an operational unit within the facility, and thus would have caused the operating systems to switch into an active state. The power drain from the lighting and life support would have been minimal, but the same subroutines also activate the central computer network, as well as other systems. Since the main reactor for the facility has been manually disabled, this could have placed a significant drain on the auxiliary batteries, potentially leaving the facility non-functional when you arrived."

Lapis paused, analysing his vocal delivery for relevant information that he may have missed. A tiny sliver of Lapis' sentience emulation software managed to creep through.

"In addition, Unit Chimera felt that finding me in a wee box would help convey the idea that I was intended as a gift, and didn't want you to have to wait for me to run through the start-up cycle that would have followed if he'd placed me in shut-down mode. I complied, of course, but perhaps I might not if he'd been more forthcoming on the amount of time I'd have spent locked in there."

[Anastasia Xivelle]

"Yes, he does have a way of withholding information that would be useful but that he's probably determined is unimportant for whatever reasons," Anastasia replied, her voice carrying only the most subtle hint of bitterness and understanding.

What the small droid told her made sense, however, and gave far more insight into the facility than viewing it alone did. She was far from an engineer but she could appreciate the level of sophistication this place seemed to have in order to keep itself hidden. How that would change now that Lúka and she had access, however, would have to be seen. Or inquired about, she reminded herself as the Doctor looked back to Lapis. Security wasn't exactly her primary concern, however, this was all some sort of gift from Chimera, apparently, that alone spoke enough regarding that.

As she stepped out of the office, Ana beckoned STE-II to follow her. She kept her pace slow, taking the time to look into each partitioned area.

"So what all can you tell me-" She glanced over at Lord Jibral. "Us, regarding the primary functions of this facility? What exactly does Chimera expect us to do here?"

She already was formulating her own theories about that, but it was best to cross check with fact if it existed.

[Lapis]

There were times when Lapis lamented his inability to form facial expressions. A simple frown would have conveyed a far more apt reaction to the secondary part of Unit Xivelle's query than his vocabulator was capable of. He shifted the position of his ears in a crude approximation.

"Unit Chimera is aware of your recent acquisitions."

For a moment, Lapis contemplated if that phrasing was too subtle.

"He is aware that Unit Jibral has retrieved and/or liberated a small number of artefacts and subjects previously housed within the Black Archives, and that they have not yet found their way into the hands of the -"

Lapis halted his verbal construction algorithm, directing a breach of operational security a few words ahead. He almost stated Imperial Intelligence, but as yet Unit Xivelle - and more importantly, Unit Jibral - had not been cleared to know which agency had taken over custodial responsibility for the contents of the Black Archives. He supposed it was a simple enough piece of deductive reasoning: if not the Imperial Knights, there were few alternative agencies who might be entrusted with an influx of the Empire's secrets and prototypes. Even so, protocol was protocol.

"- intended recipients. At this time, Unit Chimera is satisfied with this arrangement, and has even gone so far as to run interference with said recipients to keep the circumstances of Unit Jibral's activities hidden for the time being. For such an situation to succeed however, it is essential that the articles and subjects in question be housed in a facility that is suitably off-the-grid. Hence, this laboratory."

He paused for a moment, complying with the formatting and vocal structure that his narrative subroutines outlined; a hesitation between one segment of information and the next, allowing the recipient organic minds the opportunity to process and catalogue the data.

"As for the facility itself, the specifics were once classified under the auspices of Republic Intelligence. Unit Chimera took it upon himself to ensure that those details never transitioned across to Imperial Intelligence. In essence, this facility does not exist, as far as the Empire is concerned."

Lapis quickened his pace slightly, using his physical presence to subtly guide Unit Xivelle towards one of the translucent chambers. A robotic hand reached out, pressing against the glass; in response to the detected contact, a diffuse light began to emanate from within, rising from the floor and drifting down from above, the walls growing subtly more transparent to allow a clearer view of what was contained within.

"This laboratory was constructed by a bio-research division. The intended purpose is unclear, but given the nature of the facility's safeguards and capabilities, it seems likely that it was intended to facilitate the containment and study of everything from viral samples to complex fauna and macroflora. As for what Unit Chimera expects -"

Once again, the droid's chassis was unable to convey the simple shrugging body language that would have made this social interaction considerably simpler.

"He expects you to use the facility as you see fit, Doctor Xivelle. What that entails is entirely up to you."

[Anastasia Xivelle]

It was as if a child was handed the keys and a bottomless bag to a candy store - that much, she was aware of. Though unlike a child who would rush into such a situation, Anatastia had had the time to analyze and the experience to not take everything simply at face value. Everything has it's price.

Still, this was a gift to do as she pleased, to do as Lord Jibral pleased. While Chimera's hands were obviously involved, Anastasia couldn't help but wonder at who else was responsible. This was a far cry from her days of being whispered about during her residency. The Inquisitoriate may have been obsolete as far as The Empire itself was concerned, but surely it's echoes resonated and found places for those who it had held in it's reserves.

Anastasia looked to the droid, her new assistant if she could believe.

"Remind me in a few days time to send Chimera a Thank You card," She let the statement slip with a bit of a smile tutting at the very edges of her lips.

Her wandering eyes eventually fell on Lúka as he continued his own exploration of the facility and for an instant she had to remember this was not a place just built simply for her own use. He was included, as he ever had been during her time in the Archives.

A small test of her own voice occurred internally before she spoke out towards him.

"Well? What do you make of it?" There perhaps was empathy in displacement that passed through her before the Doctor elaborated. "It's a far cry from the Black Archives, but do you think it will suit your purposes?"

[Lúka Jibral]

What did he make of it? Given the abandonment outside, and the style of the architecture within, the facility certainly seemed more Republic than Imperial. The covert entrance and the way the lights had slowly activated spoke of a facility intended to keep it's existence secret; but for what purpose? The various sectional divisions seemed like cells at first, but their translucent walls and the way they fell in the centre of the space, rather than the peripherals with corridors and passageways around and between them, felt more like a space where things were studied, rather than kept. It reminded him of areas of the Archives, where subjects that needed total and constant observation like Orenth and Shen had been kept; but the apparent airtight nature of the cells took things a step further: were they designed for beings with different atmospheric requirements perhaps, or for research that required some sort of pressurised clean room? Advanced electronics? Biohemistry? Pathogens?

He contemplated her secondary question as well. A laboratory was more Xivelle's purview than his; did this fit his purposes, whatever those were? It was somewhere covert; that was always useful, especially when you were planning to conduct activities without notice. This would certainly be a safer space than the Citadel to discuss any other errands that Chimera saw fit to engage him with, and somewhere secure to stow any anything he recovered - anything that wouldn't or shouldn't find it's eventual way into the hands of Advanced Weapons Research, of course - was certainly of use.

But why did he need this? Thus far, all he had done was clean up a few loose ends. He understood Chimeras investment in that - in maintaining the secrecy of the Black Archives in a way that Imperial Intelligence might not be capable or accustomed to doing - and admittedly he felt a similar investment, and a similar difficulty in letting go of past responsibilities. Being able to keep certain aspects of the Archives away from Advanced Weapons Research felt right as well; some things simply should not be weaponsided, and Lúka shared the Inquisition's distrust in the Imperial military to understand that kind of nuance and difference. For now, certain things were perhaps best left in his more experienced care: something Imperial Intelligence might have done well to consider from the very beginning.

This facility was expansive, though. More than he needed; or at least, more than he needed, as far as he currently knew. What did Chimera have in mind, or in store, that would make a facility such as this necessary?

"I'm not sure yet," Lúka answered honestly, abandoning his preliminary survey and returning to the Doctor's side. A grimace tugged at one side of his mouth. "I have a bad feeling about this. Still waiting for the other shoe to drop."

Once again he reached out with the Force, peering through the darkness for anything specific that might be the source of his unease. There was nothing: just shadows and mystery, an ironic betrayal of something Lúka was so accustomed to exploiting to his advantage.

"I need to scout around a little more. There must be a generator or a computer core around here somewhere; maybe that will offer up some more answers."

He hesitated, taking a moment to study the Doctor, trying to gauge her emotional state.

"Would you feel safer up here with your new droid friend, or exploring the creepy darkness with me?"

[Anastasia Xivelle]

Friend? Well that was certainly one way of looking at it. Already Anastasia had taken more of a liking to the droid than she had most people.

"I'm sure Lapis and I will have plenty of time to become properly acquainted." Anastasia's reply came swiftly, along with what was probably a needlessly friendly smile given towards the droid. It wasn't an entirely false act, though it was the sort of thing she would have reserved for a person rather than someone who technically wasn't supposed to be sentient. "Besides, I've never been one to believe that curiosity was entirely dangerous. Hazards of the profession I suppose." A soft shrug of her shoulder suddenly reminded her of the chosen attire for her cover story.

"And if anything should go wrong," Anastasia continued, not entirely benign in her tone, though far from anything that could have been construed as flirtatious. "Well, I'll be with you, won't I?"

[Lúka Jibral]

Whatever intention had been behind Doctor Xivelle's words, something inside him found a different one. Though she had meant nothing by it, and though Lúka had handed her the decision, the notion that she was safer with him than not was something new; and yet not. He was an Imperial Knight, yes, but what did that mean? Protectors of the Throne. Enforcers of the Empire. For all the ceremony, and all the implied promise of a better way, to Lúka it seldom felt different from his time as an Inquisitor. Overt menace instead of covert menace was still menace all the same: warriors prepared to do dark things in the name of the greater good.

But this? This was different. Subtle, and small, and yet far more meaningful than he might have imagined. You didn't feel safe with an Inquisitor: you felt safe with something you could trust, and that? That was not something Lúka Jibral had felt for a long time; and perhaps for the first time since stepping out of the shadows of The Maw, and into the ranks of the Citadel, he felt for a brief moment like the Knight he was said to be.

"Come on then," he said with a matching gesture, perhaps standing the slightest bit taller than before. "Let's go see what other secrets this place has for us."

As he led the way towards the exit from the first chamber, the building transitioning into long darkened passageways, Lúka reached out with his senses, trying to feel his surroundings, and gain a sense of the labyrinth that surrounded them. Unlike the rooms before, the corridors failed to illuminate themselves in response to visitors, and so Lúka held his lightsaber aloft like a torch, a soft white glow reaching out to flicker across the walls around them. An odd sense of familiarity touched on his mind: whispers, shadows, laughter in the dark; he pushed it aside, whatever memory or ghost of the Force was responsible left ignored until later.

Ahead, the corridor split, and Lúka came to a halt, head tilting to the side as his mind attempted to explore their options. One path felt twisted, folding back on itself, leading off towards depth and possibility; a stairwell, perhaps, access to the lower levels. Idly, Lúka wondered if the elevator might have conveyed them deeper, had they been able to instruct it to do so. The other path was more direct, and led to an abrupt end, a vast void continuing on beyond its limits. It could have been anything, and the emptiness failed to grasp his attention; but no, there was something else. Something strange. Something familiar. He fixated on it, letting it guide him as he continued onwards, following the short corridor to its abrupt end at a blast door. Perhaps there had once been a conventional interface, but it had clearly been removed, replaced instead with something sleek and dark, more sophisticated than most of what one found scattered around Coruscant. As Lúka reached for it, hesitantly, the gloss surface flickered, an outline of a hand illuminating on the surface.

He glanced back towards Doctor Xivelle, and shrugged.

"Everywhere else seems happy to see us."

As Lúka pressed his hand against the device, an agonising moment of pause followed before the blast doors began to rumble and recede, sliding apart in the standard Imperial diamond formation to expose the chamber beyond. A rush of breeze raced past Lúka into the freshly opened space, the stagnant air desperate to intermix with that which it had been separated from. Lúka's eyes narrowed, trying to peer through the darkness, but the chamber quickly obliged, lights chasing off in different directions to slowly resolve and reveal the limits of the space. At first, they defined a gantry, suspended around and across the cavernous space, transforming into a series of zigzagging ramps in the distance that seemed to lead down towards the chamber's floor. Then they chased downwards to the floor itself, but something large, something vast obscured them from proper view. Something tightened in Lúka's chest as the vague, hexagonal shape was lit from beneath; and grew tighter as the lights finally spread to the ceiling above, powerful floodlights piercing through the darkness to reveal a ship. But not any ship.

Recognition slammed into Lúka like a wave. The lightsaber extinguished as Lúka's hand fell to his side. A VCX-100. Lúka didn't need to be a starship enthusiast to know that. And not any VCX-100 either: his heart knew it, before his eyes confirmed it. Maelibus. There it was, scrawled in half-faded letters on the side of the hull. Lúka knew exactly where to look: he'd scrubbed those very hull plates enough damn times. This was his past. This had been home, once. This was, was -

Impossible.

Lúka was glad for the gantry and it's safety rail, something to grasp hold of and steady himself. This was a trick. A manipulation. It had to be. Khalid was screwing with him, flaunting his knowledge of Lúka's history as part of a power play. That was the only explanation that made any sense. There was no way Elira would have let herself be parted from her ship; not alive, at least. No way that Quinn, or the Wookiee, or -

He winced, something screaming in his head, a rancor rattling at the bars of its cage, fighting to get loose. Too many memories. Too many fragments of a past he tried so hard not to think about. No. That past was dead, every piece and person of it dead to him. The Maelibus couldn't be here. Shouldn't be here. He shouldn't have been drawn here, led here. Anger tightened his grip around the railing. This couldn't be. This was all wrong.

[Anastasia Xivelle]

Being lead through darkened walkways by Lord Jibral, with only the glow of his lighsaber to light the way, had the Doctor seriously questioning her sanity in decision - as well as chosen attire for their supposed date. The constant echo of the modest heels she wore had her on edge more than anything else, but still, it all seemed benign; her concerns for naught, as they reached their destination.

The importance of the battered ship was entirely lost on her. It left Anastasia canting her head every so slightly as she took it all in, her vision purely drawn to the object and away from everything else. What purpose did Khalid have here? It wasn't impressive by any means, though there was no denying the damn near permanence of a VCX-series in all it's forms. The one thing they did and did well was hold up. That about was the full margin of her knowledge on the subject. Starships had never had much interest for her aside from being a means to getting from one section of the galaxy to another.

It was only when she turned to ask the Knight for his opinion that she noticed something was dreadfully out of place. Not the ship, nor the re-occurrence of the lighting that responded to their very presence. No, it was far more human than that and it was something Anastasia was not prepared to deal with. It wasn't that Lord Jibral seemed anguished by the appearance of the craft, but he was visibly shaken, which was a far cry from anything she had seen exhibited by the man before. She never thought of him as emotionless or heartless, just professionally focused much in the same way she was. Then again, maybe - like herself - there was far more bubbling below the surface that either one of them wanted to admit freely.

In her minds eye she saw herself approach him, gently place a comforting hand upon his arm or shoulder, or perhaps just verge on such a thing. It was the right thing to do, wasn't it? Show concern for a colleague? Yet something within her stopped herself from ever making it that far, something that guiltily wanted to observe the shift in behavior far more clinically than she was qualified for. After all, while some residency had demanded she spend time in a psychiatric facility, it was far from her forte. Still, she wasn't cold, not as much as she had willed upon herself, and she was no stranger to a sudden unexpected event upending your status quo.

So instead she remained where she stood, unsure and even a bit wary that it was entirely possible that Lord Jibral could somehow pick up on the nuanced and conflicted feelings that swam within her. A step was allowed to close the distance between them by half, another more measured one to cut it into merely a quarter. Not that they had been all the separated to begin with, but the proximity was the best approximation of the soothing touch she could make herself give. He wasn't a patient, after all.

"Lúka?" The use of the non honorifics stung in her mouth as if she had suddenly bitten her tongue. For all the correctness of it, she might as well have; but it was too late to take it back. "What's wrong?"

[Lúka Jibral]

"I -"

What was wrong? Everything. Emotions cascaded through Lúka, confused and conflicted. The teenage part of him, long sleeping, reared its head and smiled at the thought of home: or at least, the closest approximation thereof that he had enjoyed during his years on the run from the Jedi Purge. It had slumbered all this time, even amid the surroundings of the Citadel. The repurposed ruins of the Jedi Temple had not awoken the Padawan he had once been from within his memories, so why this?

But that part of him was dead, left to bleed and suffer on Ord Anor until the Inquisition had found him. Not only that, but the affections he had felt for this ship and her crew had died there as well - or should have. His Master, Inyos Aamoran. Their Captain, Elira Asael. Mandan Hidatsa. Atton Kira. Quin-Tain Starwind. The Wookiee, Barbacca. They had relied on each other, cared for each other. They had carefully cultivated the lie that together they were something special: friends, a crew, a family even. But the time had come when they had revealed themselves as nothing more than co-conspirators, fugitives from the Empire with undue cause; and there was no honor among such thieves.

That certainty brought with it a sense of tranquillity. The swirling emotions in his mind were forced into submission, all aligning with that truth. The crew of the Maelibus had betrayed him. Any memories of them were nothing but data, nothing but trivia, so divorced from who he was now that they were practically irrelevant. If this was a manipulation, a mind game, some trick played by Khalid to test his resolve and commitment, it was a challenge he would overcome. And if this really was the Maelibus? Perhaps it was fitting that she was in his hands now, free of those who had betrayed him, ready to be filled with those he could trust for some greater purpose.

"Nothing, Doctor."

Her sentiment had not gone unnoticed. The desire to comfort. The use of his name. On some level, he appreciated it, but he had allowed her to witness a moment of weakness, and that could not be indulged. His tone was formal, words reminding her of who they both were, and that there was work to be done.

"Nothing at all."

[Anastasia Xivelle]

Her head nodded, a simple gesture to fill the space where words were unnecessary. Anastasia was, after all, overtly aware that she had just watched Lord Jibral stumble, something within his mind - be it memories or otherwise - was being played upon by Khalid. The Knight had risen above the challenge, however, and to draw any further attention to the occurrence was an insult she would not let herself make.

Likewise there was little to react to in the sudden perhaps reprimand that had occurred in the formality in which he had responded to her. Doctor. It was more than just a name, after all, the title representing all of the hard work that she had put towards it, all the sacrifices and changes she had to make. It was not something to be disappointed in being called, but rather an honor, one that she gladly held herself to. Perhaps it even echoed her own offering, her asking after his well being as she was expected to do, and him reciprocating appropriately.

So why did it perturb some nonsensical part of her that she had all but buried?

The thought was shoved aside, almost brutally in it's defiance for the sentiment to even be recognized. It was a weakness to purge, nothing more.

Both parties recovered fully, Anastasia began a slow decent down the ramp leading to the ship beyond. She kept each step steady, making sure to not pass the Knight or make it seem as if she was pressuring him to move forward on her account.

[Lúka Jibral]

Perhaps he should be more delicate with Doctor Xivelle. After all, their expedition was concealed behind the illusion of some sort of romantic encounter. If they were to continue relying on that deception, it would not do for him to offend her; things needed to be amicable between them at the absolute worst. He had fixated on how it might have appeared had he accepted her gesture of comforting familiarity - but to whom? Did he suspect on some subconscious level that Khalid was observing them, watching him like a rat on a maze to see how he reacted to this latest Maelibus trap? Was it the Doctor herself who he was reluctant to show vulnerability to, and if so, why? Some primitive machismo? Some childish need to avoid undermining her confidence in his protective capabilities?

Or was it something more? Perhaps he himself did not want to witness that vulnerability, did not want to see him weakened by allowing closeness and sentiment to cloud his judgement. He had witnessed that, first hand, aboard the very VCX-100 the ship before him purported to be. He had watched his Master, a man he had trusted above all others, compromised because of feelings, distractions, the kind of attachments that the Jedi Order forbade, to the ultimate extent of betrayal. Perhaps that was the lesson here, the test: a reminder not to repeat those same mistakes.

Those thoughts danced through his mind in a dizzying haze as he descended downwards; a blink later, and the hatch of the VCX-100 stood before him, the overhang of the cockpit and nose cannon looming above his head. A moment of hesitation was wrestled aside, his hand reaching out for the controls that would activate the ramp. A security query challenged him. An access code required. Lúka's blood turned cold. Just how deep did this deception run? Surely, the same access codes from his youth on the Maelibus would not function here: surely Captain Asael had purged them from the system long before Khalid had the opportunity to learn of them. Yet, those same alphanumerals, punched in on uncomfortably familiar keys, were exactly what the vessel demanded. The lock screen adjusted, a simple message displayed.

Welcome home.

As the ramp descended, it tore open Lúka's soul, a cavernous space mirroring the vast emptiness of the ship's cargo hold. The sound of it, the signature whine and creak of the servos. Scuff marks on the edges of the ramp itself, ones that no one else could possibly have known the details of or stories behind. The faint scar, painted over, when a practice duel between Master and Padawan had grown overzealous, and a deflected blow had nicked a tiny segment of the cargo bay wall. This was no deception. This was no impostor. Any shadows of doubt were driven from Lúka's mind. This was her. This was home.

Doctor Xivelle was almost forgotten as Lúka stepped inside, almost in a trance. His fingers brushed across the pockmarked walls as he advanced towards the ladder, autopilot carrying him up the rungs, past the observation platform, and through the hatch. He knew where he was going. He knew where he needed to be.

The cockpit was smaller than he remembered, and yet immediately he slipped into the exact same seat, as he must have done a thousand times before. Not his seat, of course; merely the one that he co-opted while others were manning the guns, the place they had instructed the Padawan to sit so that he would be out of the way. Though he'd pretended to protest, he didn't mind it. He liked it back here, watching over Captain Asael's shoulders as she worked the controls, glancing over to Master Inyos and his stern expression, watching the two of them jab and spar with words, as if somehow doing verbal battle was essential to their very survival. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see the knowing looks that Master Mandan threw in his direction whenever Captain Asael said something a little too flirty, and Master Inyos fell into horrified silence. For the first time in a long time, he wondered about them, the fates that had befallen them. Had Inyos and Asael ever found something, ever pushed past the deflector screens that neither realised they had? Or had Master Inyos betrayed her too, leaving her to die alone on a battlefield of her own?

Lúka wasn't sure how long he had sat there, lost among his own thoughts. When he surfaced, Doctor Xivelle was beside him, standing silently, a hand loosely at her side instead of placed on his shoulder, as he wished it might have been. He felt so small, back in that seat, looking up at her. The faintest tug of a sad smile crept onto the corner of his mouth.

"Khalid is messing with me, Anastasia," he explained, a split second decision to regard her as an ally rather than a potential co-conspirator, adopting her earlier familiarity as a subtle hand extended in trust. "This was my home for a while, during the Jedi Purge. This crew, they were -"

Something tugged at the edges of his eyebrows, an emotion that he didn't want to acknowledge or name.

"- the closest thing I've ever had to a family."

[Anastasia Xivelle]

Perhaps it was the tone, or the use of her name, or the sudden show of something other than the expected that caught her full attention away from the cursory glances given to the ship. Either way, it gave her room to pause and to let out a heavy breath that the Doctor hadn't realized she had been holding in.

"He is such an asshole." The thought she had kept to herself regarding their mutual benefactor felt good to let out for all the impudence it unleashed.

The start of a smile that Lord Jibral had given her was reciprocated, a hint of genuine kindness being allowed to leak through that she no doubt would be later mortified by. The concept of a family was not one she was unfamiliar with; her once-proud, now probably mortified parents no doubt still lived in their estate elsewhere on the very planet they stood upon, and somewhere in the universe stood the brilliant cyberneticist Parrus Dal whom Anastasia had once dreamed of beginning a different family with. All of them lost to her in one manner or another, mostly because of her own hubris. It wasn't nearly the same thing that the Knight had gone through, she wasn't as naive to think such a thing, but it was a past she could glean the importance of what it could mean to someone such as he. Things she had always taken for granted and had lost as a result had all but been ripped away from the once Jedi trainee. And truly, both of them had found new surroundings within the Empire, within the Inquisitorius and now the Knights. But their Imperial peers were not family, at least they had never been considered as such by Anastasia and it seemed that Lúka shared that feeling. They didn't offer the same feelings of warmth and acceptance, nor should they.

But still, given the time she had known Lord Jibral, had seen him as a colleague, given all they had shared together, perhaps it was time to remove one of the many heavy stones that lined her psyche. Not enough to truly allow another in, never again, but enough to perhaps allow herself to have something in her life aside from a fellow collaborator and coworker.

She let a sigh of resignation come, as if the tugging free of the metaphorical brick allowed a feeling of fresh air to surge within a space she had considered atrophied. She settled in the chair closest to him and with only a momentary second guess, reached out to place her hand atop his.

"He gave you this for a reason, though. And while his methods certainly leave a lot to be desired, I know you will make the best of them. We are not defined by our past, nor those that were in it. If this is to remind you of those individuals - whatever the reason - make use of that. To emulate or overcome, whichever necessary."

That almost smile formed once more as she considered what she was saying might be taken as mere platitudes and with it Anastasia's tone shifted, her cadence lightened and jargon abandoned.

"Don't let him get to you. If he wants us to make use of this lab, this ship? And he thinks that he can manipulate that by dredging up your past? Prove him wrong. We are not the weight of our memories, Lúka. We can rise above them."

[Lúka Jibral]

As sentiments went, Lúka appreciated the intention. He wished he was able to let it affect him, to let her words have an impact for the better. Such an asshole was definitely a stance that Lúka appreciated, and yet the instant he tried to align himself with that, his mind began to unpack the counterpoints. Khalid was manipulative, arrogant, secretive, theatrical, and all manner of other negative things, yes, but such were the demands of his situation, seated at the centre - or perhaps not even the centre - of a web of machinations and intents that strove to bring about the betterment of the Empire. He had pulled on Lúka's strings many times, but in doing so he had always seemed to steer him in a direction that Lúka found justified, certainly more than his former associates within the Inquisitorious. There was a saying: better the devil you know, than the devil you don't. It didn't quite apply to Lúka - he was acquainted with far too many different devils for that - but the premise rang true. Khalid was a mystery, and an asshole, but for now their paths seemed to be running in the same direction.

Just as his mind unstitched Doctor Xivelle's words towards their benefactor - or malefactor, depending on his mood - they did the same for her attempt at reassurance. Learning lessons from his past, from his experiences and mistakes, rising above them towards greater things, shedding the weight they left him with - it all sounded wonderful. As advice though, he knew it was flawed. The mind did not function that way. You had no choice of which memories affected you and which didn't, and while it was possible through force of will and choice of action to affect the kind of person that you were, the fingerprints of that past and those memories was indelible. People could be greater than the sum of their parts, perhaps, but no one was greater than the sum of their past. History was what forged people, and the weight that Doctor Xivelle suggested he rise above? That was structural, at the core of who he was.

Yet, the sentiment remained. The intention remained. The moment, too, had not fully passed. Effective or not, Doctor Xivelle sought to ease his current suffering, and such gestures deserved rewards.

"They left me to die."

The words were delivered blunt, and factual, perhaps tinted with a little sadness - no, not sadness; remorse, as if they were words of condolence being offered to a victim's loved ones. A faint sorrow, but one from which Lúka detached himself. The words did not sadden him, they were simply sad.

"In those days, we aided the Jedi underground. More people survived Order 66 than you might think, and still more awoke as Force Sensitive in the months and years that followed. Some required assistance. Some required passage. Some alone, some in groups. Families, even, harbouring infants with the choice between being raised as fugitives, or falling into Imperial hands. There were no Knights back then, only Inquisitors - hardly an inviting prospect for a terrified mother and her child."

His eyes found the deck plates, encountering more difficulty speaking the words than he might have expected. His head and heartfelt no particular swell of emotion, but apparently, his voice did in their place.

"An Imperial unit found us, on Ord Anor. I stood against them, buying time for the others to escape. My Master should have been beside me, where he belonged. He was not. I turned, and he was gone; and I alone was not enough to hold them at bay. The Inquisitors found me, broke me of my attachments to the Jedi Order, and then locked me away in the Black Archives with the rest of their redundant relics."

A bitter echoed breath of laughter escaped him.

"The lesson here is that I was not good enough. Not good enough for my Master. Not good enough to stand alone. Not good enough for the Inquisitorious. Barely good enough for the Knights. Now here I am, lurking in the shadows and depths of Coruscant, cleaning up the messes of my betters because I was not good enough for the responsibility of handling them in the first place."

He shrugged, resigned to the truth as he saw it.

"There is no lesson here, Anastasia. No uplifting twist to be found. This ship is a reminder of who I am, who I am not, and the limitations that are beyond my capacity to exceed."

[Anastasia Xivelle]

This was precisely why Anastasia had always preferred wounds of a physical nature. If the Knight had a deep laceration that cut through a portion of his aorta, or had a foreign object pierce his chest and cause one of his lungs to collapse; that she could have handled, that she knew how to cure.But this deep seated regret, this sense of betrayal? They were beyond her abilities, beyond her knowledge. She felt as utterly useless as the first time she had interned in the emergency ward, guided towards aiding those suffering from traumas she had only read about. Yet even then, she had felt better equipped than she did now.

Knowing of Lord Jibral's past and hearing the very beginnings of details pass from his lips were two very separate things and while she did not remove her hand from where it rested, she felt as though having it remain intruded, that she was exhibiting a falsehood that was undeserved. Yet this was how friendships were formed, weren't they? The baring of ones soul to another, even if just the tiniest sliver. Still, it wasn't as if she was entirely thrown into an unknown arena. There were similarities she could draw on, albeit small and perhaps insignificant in the face of all the Knight had been through.

"If Khalid meant this as some devious monument to your failures? Then, at least you are not alone in that."

She sighed and sat back in the seat and let her eyes wander away from the Force gifted individual.

"If this ship is your reminder, then the lab upstairs is mine. Lapis stated that it should be used as I see fit, but I hardly know what that means anymore. I've been called a great many things because of my areas of interest; a dreamer, a blasphemer, a monster even. I'm sure you've been targeted with similar things. When the Inquisitorious took interest, it was because I knowingly put everything I had on the line. I knew the odds of being ostracized were astronomical, that the odds were not in my favor. I did it anyway and somehow it paid off."

The smile that tried to linger on her lips wilted, poisoned by her own admissions.

"At least, I thought it had. While the Empire saw fit to elevate me to a member of it's own ranks, everyone I knew did the opposite. They had warned me, certainly, but I figured since I had the backing of representatives of the Empress herself it would prove my theories had merit, that they could freely and openly continue contact with me on a cordial nature at the slightest. But no, everyone I had known turned their backs on me."

A bitter sting in her words had her considering just how far to elaborate and idly the fingertips of one hand rubbed around an indent no longer present on her second to last finger on the other where a ring had once sat, where at the time she had expected it would remain as they had promised - forever.

"Abandonment is universal. It always hurts. And when what you found in it's stead shuffles you off to some forsaken portion of the Galaxy as if they too are ashamed of you?"

Slowly her gaze swung back towards the Knight, attempting to appraise if her ever so slightly cryptic descriptions of her own experiences registered. If they even mattered, if she should have kept them as close to her as she felt was necessary.

"But, I suppose, neither one of us are locked away within the Archives. Perhaps this is a new beginning, a chance to prove ourselves once more?"

[Lúka Jibral]

"Prove to whom?"

Lúka's eyes were still downturned, but they had chosen to focus their attention on Anastasia's hands rather than on the floor. He understood what that indent meant; or at least, he suspected that he might. Factually, the implication was clear, but emotionally? Parrus Dal was her Inyos Aamoran. Fiancée and Padawan were worlds apart, and yet for both of them, they had been betrayed and abandoned by the man they trusted most in the world.

He wondered if she felt about Parrus the way that he felt about Inyos: missing, without longing; an absence without any desire to know what had become of them. There had been a time when Lúka had imagined what it would be like to confront his Master, what he would say, what he would do; imaginings that his Inquisitorious conditioning had encouraged and cultivated. Now though, that anger had simmered into almost nothing. He no longer cared about the fate of Inyos Aamoran. Alive or dead, his Master was dead to him. He found himself hoping that Anastasia felt the same, though he was not entirely sure why. Solidarity, perhaps, or a desire for her to share in his semblance of closure.

"We are sat on a secret ship, in a secret lab, where our secret benefactor wishes us to conduct secret research and secret missions. The Knights are not watching us. The galaxy is not watching us. So who, then. Khalid? Ourselves? I am not sure I have it in me to care about such things."

Those words might have meant more if he had been able to bring himself to look at her, but Lúka's attention was transfixed. As he fell silent, he found his other hand joining hers, settling atop to bring a halt to her idle attentions. Only then did his vision manage to climb its way back to her eyes, liberated perhaps now that the distraction was halted. The smiles had gone, both his and hers, something more solemn taking their place.

"Who do I have left to prove myself to?"

[Anastasia Xivelle]

There was something to be said for physical contact, and while she had initiated it in an effort to convey sympathy, Anastasia would have been lying if she said the effect wasn't working on her as well. It was such a simple thing, a kind gesture. It meant something, but she just couldn't entirely make out what.

His question bothered her as well. If he could not himself a worthy enough target to instill confidence with, then who? And really, was she any better when it came to her feelings of her own self? She had not grown so sour to think nothing of her own opinion, but reaching the level she wished for herself? It would have been easier to find some way to cause the galaxy itself to implode upon itself. Perhaps they both had set the bar too high a long time ago and now all it left was this shared feeling of doubt and inadequacy.

"I don't know," She answered, her voice softer than usual, the barest hint of melancholy creeping in that she couldn't help but find distasteful but couldn't manage to remove entirely either.

Anastasia was torn between keeping her gaze softly meeting with the Knight's and looking elsewhere for no other reason than to not run the risk of him truly seeing her. It was a precarious position they both were in, speaking how they were, being as close as they were. Still, she didn't feel nervous, or ashamed, just wary. But why was another matter entirely. It wasn't that her emotions were still attached to another, more that they had been cleanly severed and she had never been entirely sure they had grown back as they should have. She certainly didn't feel like they had.

Maybe that explained her next impulse. The contact of his hand atop hers had been welcoming, proof that she could still feel something and maybe there was a desired experiment to see just how and well truly undone she had made herself. It was perhaps not the most sound idea, one even now her more rational mind was telling her to avoid, but she felt vulnerable for the first time in a long time that didn't feel like an utter betrayal of all the hard work she had done to prevent herself from being so.

The Doctor shifted in her seat, leaning towards the Knight, her eyes still fixed with his.

"Perhaps, if no one else, we can at least prove ourselves to each other?" It came out in an uncertain whisper, so unlike herself.

Then again, so was the continued movement of her body towards his, her eyes leaving his for the briefest of moments to glance at his lips before the purely instinctual took over and she leaned forward and her eyes closed, a final test to see if the contact of their hands could be outdone; if it even should be.

[Lúka Jibral]

Lúka could feel it; sense it; in her, and in himself. The intention. The desire. The conflict. He prided himself on perceiving it: people's impulses, people's thoughts, betrayed by their movements and subtle gestures as much as by the subtle disturbances in the Force around them, like ripples in a pond. He saw the way her body moved closer to him, subtle and slow; felt how achingly vast the distance between them was. He felt the almost imperceptable shift of the weight of her hands within his as she leaned, and the far greater weight of what they signified.

He wasn't oblivious to anything about this situation. Anastasia's past; the way her separation from Him had torn through her like someone falling through ice; the way the void had frozen over, but was still brittle and fragile, still visible as a translucent scar in the surface. Like an iceberg, he knew that the true extent of her conflicted feelings stretched far deeper than he could readily perceive; and it was one thing to know how much weight existed below the surface, and another entirely to truly comprehend that. The knowledge filled him with conflict, as it must have with her as well, and yet she still leaned closer.

There were other complications as well. While the pretense for their expedition tonight had been the illusion of a burgeoning romance, it was another thing entirely to entertain such a reality. They were colleagues and coworkers; but also co-conspiritors. There was a comfort that two broken people could offer to each other, but also a danger, a potential for vulnerability - a vulnerability that Lúka could feel already existed within Ana, but that he wasn't sure was even possible within himself any longer. And yet, she was smart; from what he had already explained about himself, what he had already shown, she must have understood those risks. Smart, and shrewd, refined, fascinating, entrancing, intoxicating, breathtaking - and closer still.

Her eyes deviated from his; Lúka's followed, his heart beginning to quicken as her lips became only a breath away from his. It was an instant away, one momentary decision, one small brave effort. He would have been lying to himself if he tried to believe that he hadn't considered it, hadn't entertained the notion; not just within the moment of first seeing her in that dress, with her hair that way, but before that as well. This was her reaching out, her lips an invitation, and all it would take was a single moment of blind faith.

He drew backwards the smallest fraction, his gaze falling away from her entirely. "Wait."

[Anastasia Xivelle]

Wait. All it took was the single word and she stopped. The attempted contact, the thought of it, even her breath for a passing second. Foolish, her inner voice chided. Naturally this course of action wasn't to be allowed and while she certainly felt the sting of shame take hold of her, outwardly it came at a bittersweet smile that and held for a moment before it too was tugged back within.

"I'm sorry," she muttered as Anastasia got to her feet and gently pulled her hand back and away to meet with her other. Her fingers didn't exactly nervously engage each other, but the movement was far from casual.

What followed was an attempt to revert, to close up any possible opening within her the Force sensitive had taken notice of. It would require a proper serum to be fully fruitful, sadly the test batch of which she still had back within the safe confines of the Citadel.

"I should probably return to the lab," the words felt hollow no matter how proper they were, but before she could give more thought to the reasons of why his perfectly understandable and reasonable rejection of her selfish and witless advances had effected her so, the Doctor quickly turned and left the cabin.

She heard him say something to her as she exited the ship far more hastily than she had planned to, but if anything it was probably just an acknowledgement of the line she had crossed, maybe at best some form of reassurance that it would never be spoken of or acknowledged in the future. Yes, that was for the best. No need to linger on mistakes, simply learn from them.

[Lúka Jibral]

Just like that it was gone. Broken. Shattered. Just like us.

Lúka sat in stunned silence as Anastasia - or was it back to Doctor Xivelle now? - extracted herself from him, and fled. "Wait," escaped from him again, uttered differently this time, a faint hint of apology, a slight hint of pleading. It stung as he realised how that word must have seemed, must have felt; that wasn't his intention. This wasn't. This was the opposite, in fact. Wait, are you sure about this? That had been how the sentiment was supposed to continue. Wait, what is this? What do you want here? What do you need?

He was on his feet and in pursuit of her, out into the Maelibus corridor. He'd made a mistake, an error, one that he badly needed to be repaired. Why had he even questioned? Why had he interrupted the moment? Those questions could have come later. After. If this was to be something complicated, they could consider it when there was actually something to consider. If this was to be nothing, physical, medicinal, then it wouldn't have been the first time Lúka had provided such a service. That was his function. That was his drive. Understand how people function, and provide them with what they need.

His longer strides closed the Doctor's head start in moments, intercepting her before she reached the ladder that would lead her down and out of the ship. What happens on the Maelibus stays on the Maelibus. Old words in a familiar voice, echoing in the back of his mind. He could have reached out for her, grabbed an arm, grappled her with the Force; but she wasn't some fugitive he was pursuing, she was a person, a friend almost, and Lúka could feel the wound that he had inflicted, radiating back at him like heat.

Carefully, he positioned herself in her path: not enough to block her escape, but enough to draw her attention.

"Ana, wait."

This time, the words came at their softest yet, and through his eyes he tried to convey everything that he had intended. An eternity passed between them, or perhaps just a second. He ventured an iota closer. "I said wait," he uttered, not an instruction this time, but an explanation, and apology all in once. There was a flicker that almost wanted to be a smile on his lips. Powered by instinct, a hand reached out, gently brushing against her cheek. Another half-step closer and his other hand ensnared hers, gently but firmly, a subtle indication that he didn't want her to flee. "I didn't say no."

His head lowered, descending through the few inches that separated their stature. Reluctant to let go of hers, his hand crept behind hers, arm wrapping around her waist as he moved completely into her personal space. Unlike her attempt, her invitation, there was no hesitation this time, and no going back. His thumb brushed gently at her jawline, guiding her chin to tilt upwards before his fingers slid backwards, threading into the hair at the nape of her neck. In the last instants, he flashed her a flicker of a smile, before his eyes closed, and his lips pressed, longingly, against hers.

[Anastasia Xivelle]

A blissful emptying of her mind of the racing thoughts followed that immediate instant his lips met hers; and while the tension and conflict that had been created within her didn't entirely melt, it certainly wavered, yielded to this. Whatever this was. A moment could have been taken to ponder that thought, as a slight gasp escaped from her in the brief moment they separated. Instead Ana found herself not wanting to think. Not now anyway. Instead her hands both raised, a gentle brush against either side of Lúka's jawline before she returned the kiss, not gently or cautiously, but rather in a way that expressed every need she had for the contact, for the shared moment of intimacy with another individual.

One of her hands slid forward, just a bit, enough to be placed behind his neck as the long drawn out kiss was urgently intensified and then finally let go of, it's absence filled with several delicate yet no less desperate touches of her lips to his that left her entirely breathless.

She wanted to speak, to explain, to perhaps even apologize once more, but the words simply wouldn't come. Instead as her eyes opened and met with his again she felt herself shrug off the efforts of whatever mental wards one such as her could place. If this was to be something, anything, then she refused to let herself strain to keep anything at bay. It didn't matter if she needed him, or wanted him, or some combination or neither at all; if he wanted to tell her to stop, she would more than acquiesce, but for now? For now her eyes closed as she pulled herself to him again as their lips were once more locked.

[Lúka Jibral]

Lúka felt it, the thoughts rising and then breaking like bubbles on the surface of her mind. He felt them washed away, disappearing down a stream that wanted to continue flowing. That was a desire that Lúka was more than willing to oblige. Perhaps it was cheating, an unfair advantage he had over other men, to feel some sense of Anastasia's desires without her needing to utter them; but for that injustice he had no care or apology, just the desire to continue until Ana felt the need to stop.

He wasn't sure when they had moved, or even why. He felt it as the bulkhead of the Maelibus made contact with his arm, just in time to provide a buffer for Ana as he pressed her against it. One kiss became several, each one aborted by the urgent desire for the next to start. While the hand at her neck shifted to cradle her cheek, the hand at her waist explored, feeling the supple curves of her hip that teased and taunted him from beneath the fabric of her dress.

A stray thought pressed his lips into retreat, escaping from hers to flee instead along her jawline, leaving an eager trail of kisses down the taut length of her neck. His lips found their way to her shoulder, yet another frontier of exploration denied by her dress, pressing his lips back into a reversed course. Words were snatched between kisses, as his lips advanced their way upwards.

"Just think it, and I'll stop."

[Anastasia Xivelle]

"No," It wasn't a plea, but hardly just a request, either.

If she stopped to really consider the potential results from this, she may have asked him to. There would no doubt be complications of some sort, but as far as even remotely trying to process what they would be, Ana wasn't even making an attempt. A few quickened breaths were stolen and with each one she felt herself drawing ever closer to him, pressing as much towards him as he apparently seemed intent on pinning her between himself and the bulkhead.

The sudden pause was more than enough to allow for her hands to leave where they had cradled his head and instead worked towards the lower hem of his shirt and with one swift motion that she was quite glad to find that he didn't protest against, the piece of clothing was removed and dropped to the floor. Their lips met again as one of her hands splayed across his chest, the other returning to it's former place against his cheek.

"Just, please," the words felt too heavy when they finally managed to escape and as another kiss disrupted them she recalled what he's said - Think it.

Don't stop.

[Lúka Jibral]

Lúka didn't stop, and the mental urging came both as a relief, and a licence for more. His kisses didn't stop, almost a hunger and desperation creeping into them. His hands didn't stop, sliding down her body until they found the lower edge of her dress. They crept beneath, tentatively at first as his fingertips brushed across the band of lace that hid beneath, and then more eagerly as they passed beyond onto the skin of her thigh. What might have been awkward, lopsided even, saught assistance from the Force as the dress was slid upwards, both his hands and the Force straying downwards to hitch her legs upwards, and wrap them around his waist.

A grin crossed his lips as he pressed the two of them more firmly against the wall, a hand rising up to snare both of Ana's arms, and pin them to the wall as well above her head.

"Just please?" he echoed, a teasing tone weaving playfully through his voice. His lips broke free again, a reckless and eager trail across her cheek so that his voice, barely more than a whisper, could be uttered directly into her ear.

"That's exactly what I had in mind."

[Anastasia Xivelle]

It had been far too long since she had felt wanted. On any level, really, but this went far beyond a desire for her pretense or her aptitude. She wouldn't deny having the occasional consideration, not quite daydream, of something similar to this. Long hours working alone with Lúka back in the Black Archives almost insisted that this sort of thing should have happened before this. But for whatever reason, they'd both denied themselves in favor of professionalism. But here in this secretive place, while maybe not entirely private, it felt the edgings of a new beginning; and just as she had said, a chance to prove themselves. Not as far as capability, but merely in the ability to be human.

Whatever the reasons, she couldn't help but find a playful smile tug at the edges of her lips each time they weren't occupied by his and even more so as the whisper brought just the slightest shiver along her spine.

"You said this was your home once," Ana spoke, careful to not edge into any unpleasant memories, merely speaking a truism and throwing full caution to the wind. When she spoke again, it wasn't merely a tease, but rather a full offer and the extent of the meaning was formed fully within thoughts she wishes she could project as clearly as possible. "We should move this to your bunk."

[Lúka Jibral]

* * *

Silence. Not an empty silence, but a full one. Contented, but also reluctant. Not complete, either: from the moment they had emerged from the Maelibus, their air of professionalism had descended once more, two co-conspirators exploring the final vestiges of the secret laboratory they had been directed towards. They had discussed plans, and potential, talking as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired. But if the Maelibus ramp had been their threshold, it had been a difficult one to cross. Kisses had chased them all the way to the cargo bay, and more than once they'd almost turned back, undone the already reluctant and almost aborted process of pulling back on their clothes. When the final kiss had come, it had felt like a goodbye, tragic and grateful in equal measure; and then she had taken those few backwards steps down the ramp, set foot on laboratory ground instead of the diplomatic immunity of Lúka's former home, and that had been that.

Part of him wondered why that was. It hadn't been spoken: there had been no conversation about it, and yet both had instinctively understood that their moment - moments, enough to add up to a considerable fraction of their evening, in fact - needed to be set aside as soon as they passed beyond the ship's hull. Perhaps it was an unspoken understanding that Khalid might be watching, monitoring their activities within this space. It certainly seemed like his style, luring them into a concealed location where a false sense of security would make them comfortable, and allow him to more easily observe whatever tasks he set for them. Granted, the same monitoring could have been in place aboard the Maelibus, but that ship had sailed; if Khalid had seen, he had seen, but if he hadn't, there was no point being cavalier about it.

Perhaps there was more to it. Perhaps the threshold of the Maelibus was psychological as much as anything else, a literal compartment within which to compartmentalise whatever had just transpired - mistake, distraction, respite, beginning, or whatever else it transpired to be. That was the problem, the struggle that Lúka wrestled with silently. He was having enough trouble understanding what it had been to him; what it had been to her was a deeper mystery, and yet the unspoken agreement to remain silent prevented him from the easiest line of enquiry.

The laboratory and the motel complex that concealed it were long behind them however, and amid the roar and wind of a speeder soaring through the Coruscant night, any concerns of being overheard had faded. Now, the only concern was in the receipt of answers he did not like.

"So." He winced a little at how sudden, how abrupt, his voice sounded. "We should probably talk."

[Anastasia Xivelle]

As much as her being Ana had ended and Doctor Xivelle had stepped fully forward again the moment they had left the Maelibus, she couldn't deny that something had changed. Maybe it was in the fact she felt calm, far more at ease than she had since... Well, as far back as she could remember, honestly. It was silly to think that it was just the results of their physical activities, though that sort of thing was known fully well to have such effects. It wasn't just sex, though, it'd been something far more beneficial. But just how far that was, she couldn't exactly decide. There had been no sense of regret that came over her as they resumed their normal roles, no lingering embarrassment, but there was still something there.

She had hoped the open night air would billow the last remaining uncertain sentiments away, and in a way they had. Her eyes had closed and leaned back against the headrest in nothing even remotely contemplative so much as peaceful. It was nice, if she was truly honest.

Lord Jibal's voice didn't shatter that sense either, so much as drag her back from whatever meditative trance she had been nearly slipping to. Her eyes opened slowly and her head turned to regard him, knowing he couldn't very well do the same when he was driving - even if more for appearances than actuality, The Force would probably grant him more than enough skill to manage both speaking to her and keeping them from crashing.

"Yes, I suppose we should." It was mere agreement, although not without a certain amount of dread. Trying to decipher exactly what she was feeling or slowly withdrawing from feeling wasn't something she wanted to exactly tackle as it was still a curiosity. However, there were always benefits of comparing... though part of her was unsure of exactly how she wanted the Knight to view their little tryst.

[Lúka Jibral]

Where to start? What to say? All of the concerns that Lúka had felt before came crashing back, except they had morphed and changed. His concerns became about what she thought, what she felt, what she would want, and how she would see things. For Lúka, it was formless. Malleable. He would adapt to suit the circumstances, as he always did; but unlike normal, those circumstances were clouded, hard for him to understand and discern.

The weight of everything came crashing down around him, like flood waters breaching a dam. First it was a slow trickle, and then a cascade. Her ex-fiancé. Her career. Her normal life. Everything washed away, in a tide that had swept her along with it. He'd been alongside her for some of it - more than she realised, in fact, thanks to the Inquisition's desire that she be monitored, and their estimation that Lúka was useful for little else - and he knew enough to guess that perhaps this was a first, a needed milestone to demonstrate that she still could. Though he had never truly felt it - not in a romantic sense, at least - he understood the premise of heartbreak, the feelings it provoked, and the kind of scars it might leave in a person. After relationships such as the one Ana had lost, it was not unusual to seek someone, some sympathetic source of physical comfort, to reassure and rekindle what might have felt like it had been extinguished.

It was the easiest explanation, and one that allowed other factors to fall readily into place. It explained the silence, and the conflict that he felt. It was not an easy conversation to have with a person, he imagined, explaining to them that they had been a curative and nothing more. His grip tightened on the steering controls, determined to spare Ana the unnecessary discomfort. He was Lúka Jibral, after all: he had no heart left to wound.

"I know that this wasn't -"

He trailed off, surprised that his normal way with words had chosen this opportunity to fail him.

"I know that this was just once. It was something you needed, and that I needed, and we're both the better for it, but don't -"

A flicker of a laugh snuck out, mostly absorbed without fanfare into the Coruscanti air.

"You don't need to worry about hurting my feelings, Doc. I don't have any."

[Anastasia Xivelle]

Was that all this was? A relief of stress, a one night stand? It sounded right, and yet it didn't. Yet there was a hint of finality to his words that caught her off guard, the way he phrased it was even more alarming. Not in what he had said precisely, but in the fact she had been considering the exact same sentiment. This is fine, if that's all this was. Don't worry, you can't break my heart, I don't have one anymore.

It should have been more disturbing to hear such an echo come from his mouth, but considering the shared pain they had expressed earlier... These things happened for a reason.

"I suppose that makes two of us." She offered, a slight smile edging the bittersweet words.

It wasn't a lie, not even a veiled one. There was a blunt refusal she felt to allow this to be more than just what it had been. Enjoyable, certainly. Beneficial, of course. Meaningful, however...

Anastasia cast a final sidelong glance towards Lúka. There was a whole lot of possibility within the man, but at the end of the day they were still what they were, tools of the Empire, coworkers, co-conspirators. They may have had their own little secret now, but it was one they both would keep even from themselves. It was better that way, more efficient. And there was nothing the two of them were if not that.