Once, it was the home to the witches of Dathomir, otherwise known as the Nightsisters. Tucked away in from the rest of the galaxy in an isolated cluster, the Nightsisters were able to draw energy from the planet itself, and pursued a type of ritualistic magic. They ruled over the population of Zabarak—Nightbrothers—and used them as a warrior caste to serve their purposes.

Then, the Clone Wars. The Nightsisters were pulled into the conflict due to the machinations of Mother Talzin and her rival Darth Sidious. This ultimately lead to the eradication of the Dathomarians and their settlements. The desolation was claimed by the Confederacy of Independent Systems after the last Nightsiser fell.

Now, the planet known as Dathomir is a haunted skeleton of its former greatness. A perpetual crimson glow coats the planet. The bleak world has become an amalgamation of ruined forest, decrepit swamplands, and withered mountains worn to the sands of time.

In the desolate swamps, faint echoes haunt the graves of the long-dead witches, infusing the green fog that spreads above the damp ground. Dreadful whispers rumoured to be lingering incantations defend the world from intruders. Tall tales and rumors of zombies and ritual sacrifice alluding to grisly flashes of imagery.

The trees, large and misshapen, promise misery to those who touch their tortured bark and open themselves to the memories of the place. Eerie as the voices over the wind, the water beneath the fog appears red and bubbling, as if the land itself were pockmarked in cauldrons of blood to keep the incantations alive.

Creatures unaffected by the purge of the Nightsisters still remain. Snakes, reptiles and insects of varying lethality wander the wasteland. Reports have even said that rancor still roam freely.

This is Dathomir.

There was beauty in every world, or so Cora used to think. That was before spending time on Dathomir. The muggy swamps, creepy dead trees, eerie fog banks and perpetual crimson glow dampened the young Pantoran’s artist spirit. There was so much life on Dathomir, but it was all the kinds of creepy-crawly things that made him desperately want a hot shower and fresh clothes. Beyond the unsettling wildlife, Dathomir had an aura about it that the young Jedi couldn’t place,

“Of all the places in the galaxy to break down, why did it have to be on this awful swamp?” Cora pondered silently as he sat on the durasteel ramp of the now-inoperable YT-2000 that had brought him here. He could hear GR-1N-DR muttering somewhere instead in the ship. This was to be his first Jedi mission since the war on Nancora, a joint mission with his Arconan husband. Unfortunately, it seemed the universe was conspiring against them; the Collective presence they were sent to investigate turned out to be nothing more than bad intelligence. They had gotten lost in the swamp and the ship his master had loaned him for the mission had a critical engine failure. He and Ruka were stuck waiting for a mechanic team to come with the necessary spare parts and they were several hours away; nothing to do but wait.

Ruka nearly dug a rut pacing back and forth between two sulking trees. The frustration of the mission’s fruitlessness and the ship mishap was clearly getting to him. Cora could always tell when his better half was deeply frustrated because he would start muttering curses in Miralian that the Pantoran was now fluent enough to understand. Usually such moods passed quickly, but it had been a long and trying day trudging through the swamps, fighting off insects and snakes only to come up empty handed. The Jedi understood his partner’s frustration completely because he shared it. What they needed was a distraction.

Cora jumped up and walked over to where Ruka was still pacing like a hungry manka cat. The Jedi deliberately intercepted his partner and placed a hand on the Miralian’s shoulder. “Ru, are you doing alright?” He inquired with the cutest stare he could muster with his golden eyes, knowing it was a weakness of Ruka’s.

The Arconan huffed and slowly exhaled. “Yes, I’m just so fed up with—” He paused for a moment, not wanting to complain too much in front of his prince. “It’s just been a long day and I’m ready for this to be over with.”

Cora ran his fingers down Ruka’s arm and squeezed the Miralian’s hand. “I know babe, but we’ve got a few hours to pass and I have an idea for something to take your mind off of today.”

The Arconan’s face turned a slightly darker shade of green for a moment as his mind suddenly shifted gears. He grabbed Cora with both hands and pulled him close, his right hand slowly migrating south to the Pantoran’s backside. “What did you have in mind?”

Cora was breathless for a moment as his initial purpose became clouded by temptation. The moment passed, but he definitely filed that thought away for later. “Well, you’ve gotten so much stronger lately and I was wondering if you would spar with me, like no holding back sparring.”

The Miralian was taken aback. Cor wasn’t one who enjoyed fighting; combat training was something he forced himself to work through when they were in training together. Why now? It seemed so out of character for him.

“Uh, sure I guess, but why?”

The Pantoran sighed as he struggled to find the words, “I was just thinking what if we had found Collective here or something worse. Would I have been able to defend myself? To defend you if I had to? I’m a Jedi; I have to be able to protect people, especially the ones I love. I know I’m not made for fighting but I have to get better.” He looked at the scars on his husband’s face with sad eyes. “I almost lost you once, I don’t want to go through that again. I want to be ready.”

Ru didn’t quite know how to respond. They had trained side-by-side but never really sparred against each other more than a few times. It was a strange request and one that broke the young Sith’s heart to hear. He just wanted to hug his prince and take the graceful Pantoran’s fear away. “But you were ready. You saved me remember? You held off that huntress until help arrived. I’m alive because you’re so amazing.”

While Ruka was being completely genuine, he was leaving out one tiny detail. A detail Cora soon pointed out. “You almost died saving me from that grenade. If I hadn’t been so foolish—”

“—Shh mi amor, we’ve been through this already. It was a war; there was nothing more you could have done.”

Cora pulled away from his husband, “I... I still need to be a better fighter for when you and others need me to be. Please help me.”

There was no power in the universe more irresistible to Ruka than Cora’s pleading eyes. All his passion and fiery will crumbled before that golden gaze. “Okay.”

Ru scanned his nearby surroundings for a relatively flat piece of ground to start their sparring match. Cora followed and took a position a few feet away from his Arconan partner, just as they had in training all those months ago, stopping to do a few warm-up stretches. The pervasive crimson of the Dathomir evening soon gave way to an emerald and sapphire glow as each ignited their lightsabers.

Cora twirled his emerald saber with a practiced flourish as he assumed the ready position with his blade in his right hand and his left hand behind his back. Ruka paused; he never ceased to admire how elegant his husband’s movements were. They exchanged bows, like they were taught on Kiast, and began. The Mirialan charged forward with a blatantly telegraphed horizontal strike which his Pantoran opponent easily parried away with a flick of his wrist. It was clear Ru’s heart wasn’t in it.

The Jedi made two quick jumps backward to create some space, his normally cheerful expression now a stormy scowl. “Stop holding back! I’ll never improve if you don’t take this seriously.”

"I'm taking this seriously," Ruka muttered, but still his next lunge was hardly noteworthy, not even really meant to eat up the distance between them.

"You're not," Cora countered, advancing to thrust smoothly at the other boy. The Mirialan darted back, and Cora flowed after, slashes precise and thrusts pinpoint. Ruka's saber was a constant of motion, and yet it wasn't doing anything, not cutting towards the Pantoran or exploding with a series of unpredictable attacks as was normal for his partner. He was practically just waving it around.

The Jedi's already upset expression grew positively thunderous. He stopped in place, allowing Ruka to trip a bit over a fallen branch when the Mirialan lurched in surprise, having been too busy avoiding his partner.

"This isn't practicing and you aren't taking it seriously," huffed Cora, only resisting crossing his arms because he had a meter of deadly plasma in hand. "This is...circling! Or something! What are you doing?"

"I'm...nothing. What you wanted me to do!"

"This is not what I wanted and you know it," shot back the Pantoran. He felt himself flushing, words rising unbidden even though normally he'd never think such a thing, "Are you...you're not mocking me, are you? Is this a joke?"

"Cor, no, of course not!"

"Then what, hmm?"

"I— look, can't this wait? When we get back you can spar with the others, I'll help you. We can meditate in the meantime."

"You said you'd help me now. With this. What's going on?"

"Nothing!"

"Ruka!"

"Cora, nothing!"

"Then fight me already! Seriously!"

Ruka threw up his hands, swearing in a long bout of his own language before saying, "Stop asking me to actually try and hurt you!"

"Why won't you trust me enough to handle it? Do you think I'm weak?"

"No! It's not that! Stop it."

"That IS what you're saying, whether or not you think you're saying it! I thought— I thought we were past this already, that you'd let me help! I thought you trusted me, WHY WON'T YOU TRUST ME?"

"THIS ISN'T ABOUT YOU!"

"YES IT IS!" Cora shouted back, splotchy purple from his face all the way down his neck. "I CAN'T LOSE YOU AGAIN! I can't lose anybody else, I won't, why don't you get that? Why won't you HELP ME?!"

"Corazon, I would do anything for you, you know that, I'll always help you, but—"

"Then fight me, for real! COME ON!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"NO!"

"FIGHT ME!"

"NO! STOP IT!" The scream tore out of the Mirialan's throat, surely tearing flesh with it. "I won't be the kind of man that lays hands on you, Cora, I will never lay hands on you, so stop asking me to be that man. Please, love. Please."

The Pantoran recoiled as if he had been slapped. All the anger suddenly went out of him as he gaped, shocked. "Ru...Ruka. Ruka, honey, I would never...you would...I know you'd never hurt me, angel, I know that. You're not that kind of man, you never have been. You're so much better than that."

"I have though," the Mirialan's whisper was miserable. "That time I got in a fight with my dad, or that other time with the muggers, or right now, look at you..." He gestured, and Cora realized there were hot, angry tears on his cheeks. "I get mad and I end up hurting you," Ruka went on, sounding like he wished for death. "So please, please, don't ask me to risk that."

For a moment, the only sounds were that of the awful swamp, the rusted groaning of dead branches and the bubble of blood-tinged mud and the cacophony of buzzing insects and screaming wildlife and the wind moaning like ghosts.

Then, splashing footsteps on the squishing, loamy soil as Cora strode over, saber deactivated, and stood in front of his husband, taking his face in his hands. Ruka let himself be handled, head lifting to show eyes bright yellow with Dark-touched hatred; but only for himself.

"Ruka," the Jedi said, solemn and firm, speaking only while they held one another's eyes. "I trust you with so much more than my safety — I trust you with my life, and my heart, and my family, and my dreams...everything, you hear? I have never been afraid of you. You've only ever made me feel safe, angel. I know you don't trust yourself but please let me trust you enough to do this, alright? I'll believe in you enough for the both of us until you can believe in yourself the way I do. Please do this for me."

Ruka shifted as if to hang his head again, would the Pantoran's hold let him. Instead, he bit his lip, rocked by a full-body shutter, and then gave a shaky nod.

"Okay. Okay, mni ahimaa."

Cora didn't have time to relish in the relieved tenderness he felt; the Force screamed to him, and just as his body coiled with the sudden spike of adrenaline, he felt himself flying.

The blue-skinned boy hit the ground hard, once, twice, rolling, landing with his face buried in watery muck and gasping in a mouthful out of reflex. He gagged and choked and spat, gulping in air and whimpering with shock and pain. His whole front ached, head slightly fuzzy, eyes not quite focusing as he looked back over his shoulder, disoriented, to see Ruka reactivating his lightsaber and stalking towards him.

His heartbeat thudded in his chest so hard he thought it might stop.

The Light was with him though, even in this dismal place that tried to crawl under his skin, and he followed its whispers, scrambling to his feet and pushing his senses out to seek his fallen saber. He stuck out his hand, calling the weapon to his palm and flicking the green blade to life just as Ruka leapt at him in a Force-augmented jump, arcing high. Corazon spun gracefully aside of the blow, footfalls flowing as he retreated another few paces while Ruka stood up from where he'd impacted like a comet and shook mud out of his hair, wiping at his face. One hand behind his back, the Pantoran leveled his blue blade across his frame, elbow tucked to his waist, waiting.

The Sith charged, lashing out. Cora elegantly riposted, turning away the strike and making a quick, precise jab that the Mirialan had to jump back to dodge. Their blades hovered between them, Cora not allowing the distance to close as he continued to dance away and straif aside, never quite there for his partner's more ferocious attacks to meet. Ruka's shoulders grew tighter and tighter with each unsuccessful swing until, with a furious howl, he threw himself forward, lashing out in a riptide of rapid, sparking strikes. The Pantoran barely moved his weapon in time to keep the Mirialan from impaling himself on his first lunge, and so was sent stumbling further and further back, crying out each time his blue blade blocked and was immediately assaulted again. His arm trembled, the muscle jumping, and he lost his grip just long enough for Ruka to batter the saber to the ground with a splash.

Cora fell back, away from the spear of plasma suddenly rushing for his chest, landing on his backside and throwing up both hands.

Ruka staggered to a full stop, eyes going wide as his limbs all froze and his own lightsaber slipped out of his suddenly immobile fingers. He tried to catch it, but was unable, motion little more than a tremor as his nerves misfired.

The Pantoran wasted no time, twisting upright and knocking into his husband as he sprinted back to more stable ground. He searched for his saber as he went, squinting, but his senses were already buzzing and the bog was dark and dank and the red haze confused his eyes.

Come on, come on, concentrate! Ashla help me...

A shuffling noise reached his ears. He took a deep breath and spun around to face his opponent, arms held out loosely at his sides and ready to counter, legs curled to leap away.

Ruka was dripping even more mud as he stomped after, utterly drenched with it; Cora realized he'd probably knocked the Mirialan over while he was stunned a moment ago, and felt a flash of guilt that was quickly overrun by fear-fury-instinct-excitement. The Sith's face was enraged under its goopey covering, and he was running at the Jedi like a predator about to tear out its prey's throat.

Cora focused briefly and directed torpor upon the other boy's body, dragging his advance almost to a standstill. Ruka growled, lips pulling back, and the Pantoran shuddered as a chill clawed up his spine, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He could practically taste it in that second, the Darkness of this place, steeped like blood and bile into every pore of the land; seeping into his husband. Ruka shuddered, then lifted his arms, and though the motion was still painstakingly slow, the intent was vicious and clear.

The Jedi braced himself and turned both palms outward again, breaking his hold on his partner to instead envision a protective sphere coalescing around himself, strong and safe. The Force answered his call, a steady friend while the world writhed around him. For a second, just from the corner of his eye, he thought he saw all the poison-looking plants bending towards Ruka. Then, a storm burst from the tattooed man's black-nailed fingertips and exploded across the air between them.

Violet-white lightning streaked from the Mirialan's splayed left hand even as he raised his right, balled in a fist as if to strike. The clawing tendrils of electricity dispersed harmlessly over the shell of Cora's barrier, creating a breathtaking corona of clashing light and casting his expression in a celestial glow as it contorted around a grimace. That grimace turned to a yelp a moment later as Ruka ducked forward, chasing the tempest that had emanated from his fingers with a telekinetic burst that tore across the space between them. The hammer blow shattered the Pantoran's barrier with a sound like cracking glass, swamp water spewing up behind him.

Ruka staggered and tipped forward, landing on one knee, panting, his eyes still frozen gold and the veins in his face popping with strain. Cora rightened himself from where he'd stumbled and reached out instinctively, worried, but his husband merely gave a growl and jerked his chin, the small, Force-fueled push shoving Cora back. The Pantoran turned his stumble into a half-pirouette out of sheer muscle memory, scowling back at his partner.

"You wanna fight, then don't feel bad for your enemy," Ruka spat, heaving himself upright with a deep breath.

"Right," Cora replied, channeling his frustration and concern into his free hand and raising it high. "And don't stop to try and talk them down, right?"

"Damn ri—"

The Mirialan's sentence cut off with a shriek as a blinding burst of light burned through the broken clearing.

For a fleeting moment, Cora was shocked his flash had worked. Ruka stumbled, instinctively reaching toward his eyes and presenting his opponent with an opening. Both their lightsabers were lost in the mud of the Dathomir swamp; perhaps the Pantoran could declare victory and end this exercise. He knew better though.

The Jedi’s thoughts raced, What would I do if Ruka’s life were in danger again? What if this were a huntress or an inquisitor? He knew a real fight wouldn’t end this easily. For a split-second, he considered charging his disoriented husband head on but thought better of it. Cora knew Ruka was far better at hand-to-hand combat. He thought back to the lessons of his former master Turel Sorenn and how to use deception and guile when raw strength could not carry the day.

Cora darted toward a slumping tree behind his sparring partner, the sludge of the swamp sloshing behind as he run. The Miralian’s vision had started to return, and he heard the sound of his husband rushing toward him. Ruka tensed his muscles and dove toward the sound of the Pantoran’s movement when he thought his opponent was within striking range. The Jedi deftly dodged the Sith’s clumsy attempt at a blind grab and jumped into the tree, taking a position on a low, but sturdy branch. Cora focused all his concentration on calling upon the Force to make his body disappear. The Pantoran exhaled, and a translucent shimmer slowly enveloped him from head to toe, and he faded from view.

Ruka fully opened his eyes and began to quickly scan his surroundings. He had heard Cora slip past him while he was blinded and thought he perceived the sound of nearby branches shifting. The Mirialan slowly approached the droopy tree with both arms up, ready to respond to an attack.

Please don’t see me, Cora thought as he tried to remain perfectly still and focused on keeping up his Force-enhanced hiding place. Then, he began to doubt himself. Ruka was wisely keeping his distance, pacing around the tree like a predator who had cornered a meal. Going up in the tree seemed like a good idea at the time, in the split second he had to make a decision. Was it the type of thing Turel would have done? The Pantoran tried to remember his master’s various lessons on fighting smarter, not harder.

Cora’s thoughts were interrupted by his opponent pointing both palms toward the base of the tree and losing an invisible sledgehammer of Force energy at the trunk. The blast found its mark and shook the tree just enough for the Jedi to lose his balance and start to fall off the branch. The surprise and split-second panic caused Cora to drop his cloak.

“Gotcha!” Ruka exclaimed as he moved to intercept where he thought his partner would land.

The Jedi sprang off the branch in the direction opposite Ruka, landing on his feet with the practiced grace of a cat. A network of roots extended out from the base of the tree, intertwining with other plants to form a more stable patch of ground in an otherwise muddy swamp. For a moment the two sparring partners stared at each other, breathing hard.

“You can’t always run away! Sooner or later you’re going to have to attack me.” Ruka had been reluctant to agree to this bout at first, but he was beginning to see his husband needed more combat training. Cora had scored a nice hit with the blinding attack earlier but instead of finishing the fight then and there he chose to flee, or so Ruka thought.

“Right,” Cora whispered to himself, attempting to steel his resolve and overcome his aversion to aggression in combat. He replayed that terrible moment on Nancora in his mind, reliving what it felt like to cradle the love of his life in his arms as he almost bled out.

”I won’t let you hurt him!”

The memory echoed and the young Jedi found the will to fight. Cora shifted his body low and forward as he began to charge toward his husband. Ruka planted his feet firmly on the ground shoulder width apart in response. The Pantoran ducked and weaved from side to side in a steady rhythm as he closed the distance, as if he were moving to music in his head. Once the Odanite got within striking distance, he swiftly brought his right palm upward as if to strike at Ruka’s chin. The Mirialan raised his left forearm for a block only to find no blow connected. Instead, Cora withdrew his arm and weaved in the opposite direction, with his body moving in a U-shaped motion. The Pantoran shifted his weight to one leg and brought his left foot high for a swift kick to the side of Ruka’s torso.

Ruka flinched as Cora’s kick connected, but his balance remained unshakable. He was momentarily impressed that his partner had actually attacked. The Jedi used the momentum from the kick to shift backward from his opponent in a semi-circle path. Standing at the edge of striking distance, Cora resumed shifting side to side in a dance-like maneuver. The Pantoran attempted a few quick strikes at Ruka’s flanks as he moved, which the Mirialan deftly parried. Cora went for another high kick, but this time Ruka called upon the Force for a little extra speed and caught the foot with both hands. Having few options, Cora leaped up off the ground with his free leg and attempted to kick his partner’s now undefended head. Ruka dodged while holding onto Cora’s left leg then pushed, sending Cora flying onto his back.

Ruka followed up the push by jumping onto Cora’s chest and placing his right forearm into the Pantoran’s neck. The Jedi struggled, and for a moment Ruka was taken aback by the fire in his husband’s normally gentle golden eyes. It was a side of Cora he had not really seen before, and he found it immensely attractive in the moment. With adrenaline still coursing through his veins, Ruka’s mind pivoted from the fight at hand to other physical activities. He shifted a little more weight into Cora’s throat.

“Do you yield?” The Mirialan inquired with a growing smirk.

Cora growled and continued to struggle, his mind still firmly in the fight. Ruka leaned forward and quickly pressed his lips to the Pantoran’s. Cora’s struggle abated in confusion and Ruka relaxed the pressure on the Jedi’s neck.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this feisty before. I like it.”

Cora’s face turned a lovely shade of purple. “I got a little carried away I guess.”

“No, that’s a good thing.” Ruka got up off the ground and helped his husband up.

“Well, if you go back to the ship with me and take a shower I can show you some more feisty,” Cora remarked in his awkward flirty manner.

“Lead the way highness.”

Corazon didn't pause while his husband doubled over and clutched at his face, even though it tore up something in him to do so; he turned and sprinted from the clearing, deeper into the morass. His steps were light but strong. A fallen tree with branches sagging and crooked like claws stood in his path, but he sprung effortlessly, practically floating in mid-air, and landed softly like a balloon on the other side in a perfect dancer's turn. His only audience now, though, were the ghosts of the swamp and the biting insects.

He thought of those ghosts and shivered slightly in anticipation as he quarter-turned and tucked himself up against the other side of the tree, hunkering low to the mess of gnarled roots exposed to the air. Expelling all of the air in his lungs in one long, slow exhale, the Pantoran willed the Force around him like a cloak, knowing he would appear to vanish in seconds.

Then, he waited, still and silent.

The footsteps were easy to hear when they came, crashing through the underwood and splashing in puddles. Out of the corner of his eye, the Jedi spotted his lover stomping around and slashing at hanging vines and too-thick, too-tall thickets of reeds with his amethyst-colored blade. The Mirialan drew a bit closer, and Cora could see how underneath the mud plastering his form, the other man's eyes were strangely large, all but swollen in his face. Ruka paused with a frustrated noise nearby, scowling tightly like he was struggling to concentrate. His head swiveled, and he looked directly at Cora.

The Pantoran's breathing stuttered.

Ruka squinted at him, but his gaze passed right on by and searched the forest, the swamp. He muttered a string of Mirialan and then set off again, moving in Cora's direction, yes, but far afoul of where the Odanite actually crouched. The Sith wandered well past, disappearing rapidly from sight in the dim, overgrown bog.

Cora let out a sigh and eased himself upright, making a mental note to encourage his husband to train his senses when they were home. For now, though…

Surging up onto his toes, the Jedi ghosted off in a perpendicular direction to where his partner had gone; hopefully, he could circle back around and catch the Mirialan unawares again. Preferably after recovering his lightsaber.

A twig cracked behind him.

Corazon spun around, nearly leaping into the air, gaze landing on Ruka behind him. It was an illusion, he realized, feeling a surge of pride for his husband's creativity even as the Arconan man recovered from his loud misstep, moving in for a grab. The Odanite reacted almost on instinct, sliding sideways with both knees bent, then springing into the air with legs straight and together, dodging the Mirialan's tackle. Ruka swung back around and struck out an elbow at the pit of Cora's stomach, and though the Pantoran jerked aside, pain still exploded in his gut at the glancing blow. He hissed out a breath, staggering, fumbling, and Ruka hesitated.

The pause was just long enough. Cora focused and inhaled the Force to assuage the ache, moving through the remaining discomfort as he so often had in his lessons. He tensed, then kicked upwards, right leg thrust into the air; in the same motion, his left leg followed underneath, beating against the first leg, sending it higher. He landed on his underneath leg as the working one slammed into Ruka's chin, snapping his head back and sending the Mirialan reeling.

Cora pivoted away in a fast sequence of half-turns, stepping onto one leg, balanced on his toes, and completing the turns by stepping onto the other. He was running again even as he stepped out of the last twist, needing to put some distance between them.

The Pantoran's path took him through a thick copse of brush, around more trees, down a muddy slope and over a speckling of what were almost tiny islands made of root systems in the marshes, then up an embankment—

And, abruptly, into deep waters.

The Force tingled across his skin just too late, the sensation quickly replaced by the sting of pungent, cold liquid as he plunged into a lagoon. The brackish, stagnant marshwater swirled all the way up to his ribs, his feet sinking into soft silt and kicking up thick clouds of mud that swirled underneath the surface, turning the ripples around him into an impenetrable brown murk. Cora gasped, flailing backwards as the sludge seemed to suck his legs deeper and falling against the slope behind him. Slimy mud sloshed under his collar and down his back, and he slid further down, chin nearly slipping under the water. He caught a mouthful and choked, sputtering, heartbeat racing while his limbs tried to work in the swimming motions he loved so much; but his boots were caught and he kept sliding lower and then there was water in his ears and stinging in his eyes and—

A whoosh of water-muted sound and motion from behind him thrust him forward and down, deeper, and then fingers clenched in his robes and hauled him up and out.

Cora choked and spat, throat burning, mouth full of foul dirt. He heaved and coughed as slippery arms crushed him too-tight against a familiar chest, and tried to pull away, to get room to breathe. The hold around him loosened only slightly, letting him take a few steps back, but the hands stayed to right him as he gained his footing.

It took him a solid few moments to recover, minutes spent shaking from head to toe with the spike of panic-driven adrenaline that had rocked his system. Ruka held onto him the entire time, speaking quickly but lowly in soothing Mirialan, trembling himself, likely out of worry.

By the time he had a hold of all his limbs and his breathing, Cora absolutely hated himself.

The Pantoran wrenched wordlessly out of his husband's embrace, sloshing over to the nearest, flattest strip of the bank and climbing up onto it, then clawing his way back up the slope.

"C-Cor, wait!" Ruka cried behind him, but the Jedi kept walking, lip caught tight between his teeth to keep in his miserable hiccups. His shoulders shook again, this time not from panic or even from the discomfort of being soaked to the bone and covered in sludge. "Cora! Cora!"

The Mirialan caught up to him damnably quickly, grabbing his arm to pull him to a stop. "Cor, hold on, are you oka—"

"NO!" cried the Pantoran, wheeling around. Tears were flowing and he wanted to scream— why couldn't he keep them back? Why did he always fall apart so easily? Why was he so stupid and weak? "Obviously! Ashla, Ruka. Leave me be, I want to go back to the ship, I'm done with this, we're through, you won!"

"I— wait, what?" the Sith said helplessly, dirt-covered and completely confused. He gaped, reaching out again. "Won, what, Cora…"

"Don't touch me!" shouted Cora, and his husband recoiled slightly. The Pantoran crossed his arms over his chest, hugging himself, hunching his shoulders. His neck burned with shame.

Ruka wilted. "I...I'm sorry." He squeezed his eyes shut, stumbled backward, yanked at his hair. "Dammit, dammit, dammit, godDAMMIT, I knew this would happen if I— I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Cora, I'm so kriffing sorry, I—"

"What are you apologizing for?" the Pantoran snapped. "I'm the one who messed up! I'm the one who can't take care of himself, or us, like always, I'm the one you had to rescue, like always."

"W-what?"

Cora threw his hands up. "You heard me! I just nearly drowned myself in all of two feet of water, and I'm a fantastic swimmer! Yeah, some Jedi. I'm so stupid." His voice cracked. "I'm so useless. This was pointless, I'll never be able to protect us properly…"

"Are you insane?! Bogan, Cor, I thought— I thought I'd scared you or really hurt you, or...don't be stupid! Don't call yourself stupid! You're incredible, you've got to know that—"

"Real incredible, needing to be pulled from a puddle—"

"—so you were surprised, so what, that doesn't mean—"

"It means everything, it's exactly the problem! I try but then I'm not strong enough or brave enough—"

"Shut up, you're the bravest person I know! You're amazing and so kriffing smart and an incredible Jedi—"

"—would you STOP complimenting me?! I don't want you to spare my feelings, Ruka, I need—"

"—do you think I'm lying? Cora, listen to me, franging listen for a second—"

"NO!"

"Corazon, gods help me!" With an exasperated noise, Ruka snagged Cora around the waist and yanked them together, clutching harder than a normal person was capable of even when the Pantoran struggled to get free. He forced Cora to turn towards him with a hand on his jaw, and shoved their foreheads roughly together, making their skulls ring and teeth clack. It stilled them both for a moment.

"Ru, what are you, let me go, what?"

"Love, please, if you won't listen to me, I— can I just try and show you?"

Cora hesitated, breathless and aching. He had no idea what the Mirialan was talking about at this point, but there was a desperate earnestness in the other man's tone that made it sound like he was begging for his life, not for his husband to hear him out.

Seeing him waver, Ruka pushed on. "Please let me try this, like Vorsa and Turel do, or Satsi and Uji...I need you to know..."

"Know what?" the Odanite sighed, finally stilling. He slumped into his partner's hold, and Ruka's arms tightened.

"That you're not weak. That you're already enough, that you don't need to be, to be doing anything better or whatever. Please?"

Violet eyes, finally back to their normal color, plead with him. Cora chewed on his lip some more, but now that he had bent a little, he was much too exhausted to keep fighting for no reason. Sighing again, he nodded.

"Okay."

Their minds brushed, so much more tentative than normal, feeling foreign and fragile and fearful; feeling like somehow they were meeting for the first time. Cora sucked in a breath even as Ruka exhaled, and with their mouths so close, it was like they were sharing each other's air: in and out, in and out.

Ruka's eyes shut, and his scarred face grew smooth with stony concentration. Several heartbeats passed. The skin of their foreheads hitched as they shifted in place.

And slowly, the impressions came. Just that, vague impressions, but they resolved almost into a memory—

A voice was calling. A name? Such a pretty voice. Such a pretty, pretty voice. Pretty wasn't good enough. Beautiful. Sunshiny. Melty. Like grilled, gooey cheese and warm cookies and hot baths. It wrapped around and swaddled and tugged on, insistent.

Tugged on what?

"...ay...with me..."

Man, that voice wasn't happy about something. Had it not heard itself? It should try it. Very comfortable. Very nice. And really pretty too. Would be prettier if it were less sad.

Listen to yourself, voice. You'll feel better.

"...stay! ...ka!"

It was calling something. Someone. Was it? Yes. Whoever it was had better get their ass in gear because the level of upset in the voice was not okay. Non-negotiable. Oh, no. There were tears in the voice, and that was just unacceptable. He was going to punch somebody if they didn't answer it soon.

Wait. He? Was he a he?

"...uka, please, please."

Well, selfness was certainly a useful thing, because it meant he could lay out flat whoever had made the voice cry.

"Stay with me... Don't leave me..."

I'm right here, voice. It's okay. You're not alone. We can wait for this jerk together. Just keep talking, yeah? That's really nice, here.

"Ruka, Ruka...Ruka, please, hold on, just don't leave me, hold on, Ruka! Ruka, open your eyes! Please!"

Oh. That name. It is a name and it does... something. A thing. It makes the warm feeling the voice gives kind of jerk, like it's been slapped. Stand to attention. Turn head. It's important. It's a name and it's important and it's very important to the voice, apparently. Is that who the voice is calling?

Ruka, you nerfherder.

"...Ru...open your eyes, Ashla, Bogan, Gods, please...Ru, Ruka, angel, love, stay with me. I love you. I love you, please."

Love you too, Cora.

...oh.

Huh. Cora. It's Cora. Cora's voice. Corazon. Yes. Mine. Or I'm his. I think. Sounds like it. Maybe?

"...he needs help, please! Ruka, I'm here, stay with me. Don't go."

Yeah, I definitely love him. But I could love him and he might not be talking to me. Seems legit. Who wouldn't love Cora? He's really worried about Ruka.

"Ruka..."

Oh, kriff, I'm Ruka, aren't I?

Gods, I suck.

Okay, buddy. Come on now, get your kark together, Cora needs us. Listen to him, he's crying, we've gotta hug the hell out of him.

"Open your eyes. Ruka."

Right, see? There! Action plan. Get with the opening. Eyes. Open them. You can do this.

It was hard. Everything was so far away and he didn't know what direction was what or where and everything was dark. Dark and cold, and it only got colder the harder he tried to struggle. But Cora needed him to stop being an ass, so he pushed and clawed and flailed through the dark and past the cold even when it was so franging freezing it hurt and then there was a crack in the dark and he just, went for it. Light spilled in, kind of fuzzy, dark at the edges. It took him a long minute to see, to blink, to adjust to the light and focus though the blurriness and the weight dragging him back down down down into the quiet floating numb dark.

He saw Cora's face. His hands. They were both smudged in red and gray where pure sweet blue should have been. His fingers glowed. He was sobbing. His eyes and nose streamed shiny and wet. And he kept talking in his everything-good-in-the-world voice.

"Ru? Ruka!"

"It's okay," Ruka tried to tell him, didn't remember when he'd gone back to having a tongue too thick for his mouth but tried anyway. What came out was sort of, "Blugh."

But that seemed to be okay because Cora lit up like a freaking sun and just started talking louder and faster at him and he still sounded really upset but less sad and that was good. Not great, but better. Had to be good enough, because Ruka couldn't really hold himself up anymore, and having Cora's voice to carry him back down into the dark was really comfortable after all…

It took Cora a long moment to realize he had curled up into a ball crying. Again. The Pantoran shook off the sense-memory that had come with the telepathic touch and grasped more tightly at his husband's shirt as he recentered himself. They were on the ground, and he was in Ruka's lap, and Ruka looked like he'd had his brain dragged out of his ears and nose, all pale and sweaty, but he was looking at Cora with so much intensity that it made the Pantoran's throat close up.

"Corazon, I need you to know that I didn't survive because you got me help, I survived because you called me back. It was you. And, my love, I was lost with you." The Mirialan's voice grew rougher from its urgent, tender timbre. "I always feel so lost, like I'm going to just snap apart and drift away, but you, you always give me a place to go. You always bring me home. You make me a better man with a place beside you and I— Cora, don't you ever think that you aren't saving me every goddamn day."

"Ruka," Cora said, because he could. Because Ruka hadn't died that day, and they were together. They were both alive. Here. Now. And this thing between them, their whole relationship, viewed from the outside, was deemed insane. He knew that. What they were doing was insane and terrifying. But Cora thought that it was them, and that for all its insanity to anyone else, it was perfect to them, Dark and Light together. One of Ruka's hands made its way up to his throat, curling there, thumb brushing where his pulse was pirouetting under his skin. "Ruka," he said again, needing the reassurance.

The low, unhappy noise that Ruka emitted told the Pantoran that he wasn't satisfied either — and then Ruka was leaning in and kissing him, backed up against the twisted tree, waist held almost too tightly in the Mirialan's hand, and when had they moved? It didn't matter. Ruka kissed his husband like he never wanted to stop, all open mouth and hot, wet tongue. Cora knotted a hand in the remains of his partner's shirt, the other curled up into his mud-crusted locks. They groaned together, all mess and bruised edges, and Cora pushed harder into the kiss, feeling the rasp of bark behind him and hot skin and muscle under him, against his skin, and the way Ruka tensed like he wanted to hike him up against the tree then and there. But he was restraining himself. Cora whimpered and their lips broke free.

"Tell me if you don't want this," Ruka murmured, biting the words into his jaw.

Cora didn't have to ask what he meant, because it's them, it's everything. No, he wanted to smack his husband again for even questioning. Instead, he yanked Ruka closer with a smooth undulation of his dancer's hips and a the hook of his calf, kissing him again.

"There's nothing I want more," the Pantoran tried to say, but he had a tongue down his throat and was really quite enjoying it. Eventually, he managed, "Ship. Now."

Everything else, they could remember and care about later. For the moment, they were all there was. Ruka didn't need to be told twice. He grabbed Cora's hand and hauled them into the underbrush.

Dathomir was a place of nightmares, corrupting and corroding, but Cora had waded into the blackness of it and, somehow, found peace. He had gone into the Dark and found good. Found love. Found solace.

Perhaps, when one thought about, it wasn't so surprising at all.