Chapter Text
Running is genuinely one of the worst things that ever happened to you and it’s not even close. Pair that with the weight and rigidity of your armor - which, by the way, is not very breathable - and you’ve got a recipe for misery and despair.
You check your comms for your partner’s location. It pings just beyond your current position, less than halfway down the track from the next station. When the headlights appear, you take a running start and jump, landing perfectly on the next train car.
It’s much smoother sailing from there. All you have to do is make some forward progress while the train moves under you. Soon enough, the blinking red dot on your comm gets closer until you hear the distinct sound of lightsabers clashing. You draw your own weapon. The fight is obscured by some taller train cars, which gives you a perfect entrance. You focus on lowering your force signature as much as possible. In doing so, you won’t be able to sense him until you see him, but judging from the breakneck speed of the fight, his presence is definitely within the realm of possibility.
Taking another running start, you jump, using the force against the ceiling of the tunnel to propel you downwards. Bending your knees, you collide directly with the largest target, one knee to the upper chest, the other direct to sternum. As they start to fall, you use your quarry as a launch pad, arching your back so you flip backwards and land side-by-side with your partner.
“Took you long enough,” Marrok’s voice sounds from inside your helmet. You huff through your nose.
“Sorry I can’t always miraculously be in the right place at the right time,” you retort. If he replies, it’s lost on you when you focus back on your quarries.
One is the pink twi’lek you’d been briefed on. She stands battle-ready, though her face reflects the dire situation she’s in now that you’ve joined.
The other is someone you’d have made good money on if you were a betting woman. No one understands that the man’s much too stubborn to die. Or death just refuses to have him. Either works.
You do not afford yourself time to take in your reunion. You’ll be able to get a good long look at him when he’s bleeding out on the floor of this train car. Or not bleeding, you suppose, since your blade would cauterize the wounds.
Maul’s managed to catch himself on a stack of crates instead of being laid flat out by the entire force of your body weight. Impressive, but it gives you the perfect opening. You rush forward, aiming for a downward slash from his shoulder to hip. Typically, you’d make Marrok take the harder fight since you can’t be assed, but you’re curious to see what Maul’s picked up since you last saw each other. He’s been all over the galaxy, he must have something fresh and entertaining for you. That, and the longer Marrok fights the kid without defeating her, the more you can make fun of him for it later.
To no one’s surprise, Maul manages to raise his lightsaber in time. Yours bounces right off. You pull back to prevent the recoil from sending your swing too wide. Not a moment later, you instinctively block a counterattack that would’ve separated your arm from your torso. Maul, that brute, forces your blade down. The motion brings both your bodies closer to where you can smell the ashy smell of incense on him.
His brow furrows and his eyes lock on something beyond the front of your helmet. If you didn’t know any better, you'd think he could see through it. Before he can think too hard, you hop back and shove him back with a swift kick to the chest.
If you were someone else, maybe you’d take a moment to emote. If you had that moment, you’d have more time with your thoughts on seeing Maul again for the first time in what must be nearly two decades. At this point, you’ve lived without him close to as long as you lived with him. But the notion is ridiculous, so you toss it aside like garbage.
Two clicks crackle from your comms. You drop down into a split just as Marrok flips over you. You slash at Maul’s legs on the way down, which he narrowly avoids. On the way back up, you swing a leg around to engage the twi’lek girl, who you think must’ve been holding her own against Marrok pretty well if he’s choosing to switch, which is hilarious, but will be less funny if you don’t do any better.
She just barely manages to get back in time to dodge your upward slash. Behind you, you hear Marrok’s lightsaber’s auto-spinning feature engage and can’t help but chuckle to yourself. You even risk a glance back over your shoulder to see Maul’s look of disgust and disbelief.
Absolutely priceless. You’re going to replay the helmetcam footage of that expression before you go to bed every night. You knew he’d hate that shit.
You block another slash from your opponent. Deflecting the blade down, you sock her in the face with your off-hand. Her head snaps to the side and you wonder if you should feel bad about cold-clocking a child, but then again, you’d have a hard time doing your job if you had a tendency to feel bad about things.
She attacks, you dodge and before she can recover, you backhand her clean across the opposite cheek hard enough to send her careening into the side of the train car. She catches herself while you wait a moment for her to get up. You wouldn’t want the fight to be over before she shows you everything she can do. Something about her must be special to have caught Maul’s attention.
To her credit, she recovers sooner than you’d have guessed and reengages you. As the fight goes on, your individual battles swap places to where you and the twi’lek are towards the back of the train car. You click your comms twice and take a step back until you and Marrok are back to back. He bends at the waist while you propel yourself over him, bringing a foot down over top of Maul’s head. He jumps back. You miss his nose by a hair, which is unfortunate since you’d be glad to crush in that handsome face.
“I should have known,” Maul grits out. “That one day, you’d be haunting me as well.”
Damn, what gave you away?
If he’d taken a swing at you just then, you’d have been a goner. His voice was the one thing that wavered in your memories. It had been so long that you couldn’t remember the exact tone. For a moment, you’re a young teenager again and Maul’s grumbling at you for upsetting the old man for the nth time.
What a pathetic thing to remember.
Then the moment’s over and the heat of a blade threatens to singe your eyebrows off. You drop to the ground just as Maul’s lightsaber sails in a round, horizontal arc right past your face.
You spare a glance back and Marrok’s hopped back a car to avoid that strike. He stalks forward while you turn back to Maul, wondering how to best make him suffer before he meets his end. Then the sound of burning metal fills your nose and you look back to see Marrok and the other car getting smaller in the distance, the jedi girl standing at the connection with hot metal still dripping from it.
Well. Can’t say you would’ve thought of that yourself.
You snort. Thankfully no one can hear you from inside your helmet unless you make it so, though you’re sure Maul sees your shoulders shaking.
“Shut up and focus,” Marrok says over comm.
“Have a fun walk back, Mar!” you say through laughter.
“I hope they run you through.”
“Dream on.”
Now that you don’t have to worry about working in tandem, you can afford to get a little rough. With both of them on you, you engage your other blade, detaching the two from each other. You jump straight up in the air, rotating in place to plant a solid kick to the side of the jedi girl’s head. She impressively manages to duck out of the way. The two of them waste no time rushing you when you intercept both their thrusts with either of your blades.
You’d prefer to duel with just Maul to satisfy your curiosity of what he’s learned during your extended time apart. There was a time when he refused to stray very far from the style the old man taught you. Oh well. You’ll get another shot another time.
You duck to avoid the jedi girl’s swing from behind. Just as you do, Maul plants a solid knee into your chest. Retreating from both of them, you clutch your aching breast.
“Damn it, Maul! Are we serious?” Your shout comes out modulated, but not so much that you don’t confirm his suspicions, judging by his sharp intake of breath.
“So it is you,” he says breathlessly. “You’re alive.” You roll your eyes, straightening up with one fist planted on your hip.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” you sass back. “For the record, I never doubted you for a second. Death wouldn’t want you.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“If you need one that bad.”
You glance over at the human boy, who is not too far away, yet is still foolish enough to poke his head out from behind his cover. The twi’lek tenses when she sees your line of sight, but you really can’t be bothered. There will be better opportunities to run them all through. This one lacks aesthetics.
~
Devon fights to keep from trembling when the Inquisitor leans in close. She’d like to drive her lightsaber straight into her torso at this distance, but she can’t even bring herself to move. The other Inquisitor was a savage opponent and would have killed her if Maul hadn’t intervened, but this one? This one slapped her across the face. Toying with her. Like a loth cat playing with its food.
“Hilarious move against my partner just now.” Her voice is jarringly cheery for someone who was just trying to kill them. “He’s going to be pissed about that for weeks.” Then something in the way she holds herself shifts and she leans in close to Devon’s ear. This time her voice comes out freezing cold. “But if you ever do that shit again, I’ll rip off your stupid head-danglies and beat you to death with them.”
Yes, an Inquisitor is a formidable opponent. But at least the other fought her straight up. He’s one who takes his profession seriously. This one makes it seem like people’s lives are but a game to her. Devon had only felt such fear when she first met Maul.
The Inquisitor straightens back up, loose and playful again.
“Well, this was fun. Let’s do this again sometime!” she cheers and gives a mock salute. “See you soon, Maul. Pinky.” Then she vaults over the side of the moving train and is out of sight.
Devon stares after her in disbelief. Rylee creeps out from his hiding spot in similar shock.
“She let us go?” comes his hushed whisper. The boy is unharmed, though visibly shaken by the sight of the two jedi hunters.
Meanwhile, Maul continues staring at the side rail where the woman had disappeared. Instead of launching into another long-winded lecture, he grips his lightsaber so hard Devon thinks he could crack it.
“You’re shaking.” The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. Whatever. He was shaking, even if he stopped the moment she’d said as much.
“Ridicuous,” Maul snaps. His mind seems to stray elsewhere again before he shakes his head like he’s trying to get water out of his ears. “Follow me.”
~
You and Marrok regroup and have an uneventful return to the ship. The shuttle itself is cramped, bare-bones, not designed for comfort. It has two long benches to sit on either side with no seatbelts. If the thing has to brake, you’ll be careening face-first into the glossy white wall. It’s narrow enough to where you and Marrok have to sit on opposite diagonal ends so your knees don’t clack together.
You remove your helmet while you have the time. As you run a handkerchief over your sweaty neck, you feel Marrok’s gaze on you.
“Can I help you?” you ask without looking over. You crane your neck to the side until you hear the vertebrae crack like a glowstick. That’s what you get for not stretching enough before missions.
“You know Maul. From before,” he states. His unspoken question lingers, though you’d rather he just come out and ask if he really takes issue with it.
Your head lolls over to look at him.
“We’re not really doing this, are we, Mar?” you whine. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about what we were doing before this. That’s, like, the crux of our working relationship.”
Straightening up, you twist your upper body to the side as far as it will go. Your spine popping echoes off the shuttle walls.
“That’s what you get for not stretching enough before missions,” he deadpans, adding insult to injury when he doesn’t deign to dodge the light kick you aim at his ankle.
“Bite me,” you shoot back. You meant what you said when you didn’t want to talk about it. You don’t pry into his past so he doesn’t do the same. But he is your favorite of the other Inquisitors by far and some part of your black heart feels obligated to reassure his, unfortunately, completely valid concern.
Crossing your arms, you sigh and slump a little in your seat.
“He hated me then, I’d be shocked if he didn’t hate me now, and it’s been so long since we’ve seen each other, we’re practically strangers anyway. When the time comes, I’ll kill him no matter our history. Cool?”
Marrok almost imperceptibly tilts his head to the side. He stares in silence long enough that you have to suppress the urge to shift under his scrutiny. Does he not believe you? Does he think you’ll hesitate?
Finally, he says, “I didn’t need your whole life story. I was just wondering if we’d have to swap you out with someone less involved. I think the Eleventh Brother is about to be done with his previous mission.”
You balk. “You’re the one that asked!”
He shrugs. “I just wanted to know if we’re going to have a problem. You knew what I was asking. I didn’t need the extra context.”
You kick him in the ankle again. He lets you.
“I hate you,” you hiss, crossing your arms and turning to face the wall.
“Yeah, yeah. I don’t know why I asked. No one with half a brain would be worried that you of all people wouldn’t be able to kill someone.”
“And don’t you forget it!”
~
Marrok prefers to give the report when you update your superiors, which is fine by you, especially if a mission goes poorly. He’s very particular about admin. Verbal, written, whatever, and in your opinion, if he’s going to be so stiff about it, it should be his problem.
The two of you always draw stares when you walk down the halls of the spacecraft. You, because you act nothing like the other Inquisitors with your hands laced behind your head and an easy stride. Him, because he’s the First Brother, straight-backed and imposing. And he’s tall with a deep voice, so that’s a factor.
“Canteen after this? Or should we go off-station?” he asks.
You raise a brow. Did someone replace him while you weren’t looking? “You’re letting me pick? You have never let me choose where we eat, not even once! You’d order for me if I let you.”
He rolls his eyes so hard his head moves with it. “Never mind.”
“Wait, no, I wanna pick!”
You’re not a square like Marrok, but you shut up when you turn the corner before the conference room. Even you don’t have a death wish. There’s a hiss of pressure when the double doors slide open for you. The two of you enter and take a knee. When the hologram appears, you bow your head in respect. You stay down while your partner looks back up for the report.
“My lord, we can confirm the presence of Maul,” he says.
Right. That. You sure can confirm Maul’s alive and well. Not that you doubted him. He’s always been stubborn like that. As Marrok gives the report and asks your superior how to proceed, the nausea-adjacent feeling returns to you.
For someone who’s died more than once since you’d last seen him, he was just as he appeared in your memory. Maybe his horns were more developed, his figure filled out, evidence of the last almost twenty years painted across his more mature features, but to you, he was the same little zabrak boy that used to tear up with frustration whenever you’d beat him at petty childhood competitions.
Thinking of Maul again causes phantom pain to ghost along the seams of your mind. The old man had a vicious teaching style with a soft spot for psychic rendings. Whenever you made a mistake, you’d be mentally flayed until you ached for days. Whenever Maul made a mistake, you’d get the same. Not to say he never got his, but the old man had a particular sadism he reserved only for you. After Maul’s death, the practice died down significantly since no subsequent apprentice gave a shit about you.
You’ve been refusing to acknowledge the implications of that.
“By your leave, My Lord.” Marrok’s parting formalities cue you to focus back up. Once dismissed, you can’t get out of there fast enough. Marrok, to his credit, says nothing about your haste.
“So what’s the deal?” you ask so you can focus on something, anything else. “We’ve got this covered. They see that, right?”
Marrok clicks his tongue. “Yes, we have discretion. And you– Were you even listening?”
“No.”
Marrok pinches his helmet where his nose would be. “Sometimes I wonder how you ever learned to fight when you have the shortest attention span in the known galaxy.”
You give him a one-armed shrug. “One of life’s many mysteries. Can we go now? I’m so hungry I’m about to go non-verbal.”
“Promise?”
“You’d be so bored.”
“Not at all.” He gestures for you to lead the way and the two of you make for the ship’s exit. Off-station it is.
Your mind has always been one to wander. What frustrates you is the old habit of your mind wandering back to the same place over and over again.
No matter. Once you kill him, you’ll be able to focus again.
Right?