Conversations with dead people.

He’s by the lake.

It’s frozen over, and there’s snow on the ground and on the branches of the oddly silvery-white trees, undisturbed despite his presence. It’s snowing, but the sky is completely clear - dark and dotted with stars, but not a single cloud.

And it’s silent and still. There aren’t animals, or people, and when he moves, he makes no sound or imprint on the snow. There’s no wind.

“Pretty, innit?”

Atton spins round to look at a man leaning on the trunk of a tree, black coat flapping about him in a breeze Atton can’t hear or feel, high collar hiding most of his neck - It occurs to Atton to be grateful for that.

“Been a while, Zholl.” There’s a vague hysteria bubbling up, but something about the cold and the stillness forces it down again. Atton schools his features into an uncaring stare, wrapping his jacket about him.

Except it isn’t his jacket anymore. It’s long, and black, and on his collar is a tiny marking of the insignia of the Sith, red and gold stark against black clothes and white snow.

“Surprised to see me?” Zholl grins brightly, running a gloved finger over the tree trunk, before moving it up to play with his collar self-consciously.

“Surprised is probably a bit of an understatement.”

“Pleasant surprise, I hope?”

Atton stares at him for a second, tilting his head, fixing his eyes with a stare that eventually inexplicably drifts down to his throat.
“Not so much, no.” He murmurs.

“Kriff, it’s chilly out here,” Zholl smirks, wrapping his coat around him. “Guilty conscience, Jaq?”

Atton watches him closely for a second, managing not to look down at his neck this time, tapping one foot in the snow. It makes no mark.
“I’m guilty ‘bout a lot of things. Killing you isn’t one of them.”

“What about betraying us?” Sharply, and filled with barely restrained anger. “Feel guilty about that?”

“No,” It’s a lie. But Atton’s always been good at that. “Should I? We were cutthroats - ...”

“We were doing dirty work that needed to be done, Jaq. It’s what happens in war.”

“I couldn’t do it.”

“Why the kriff not?!” Zholl’s yelling, almost at the top of his lungs now, but Atton can barely hear it through the whispers coming from the forest. “I saw you, Jaq. You really enjoyed it. I knew that the one kriffin’ person I could rely on to always be there was you, because you’d never leave, you enjoyed it too much. You’d always be there to help me up, set me straight and keep me safe. I trusted you.”

Zholl snarled to himself, pacing away from the tree.
“How’ve you been, Jaq?” It’s gentle, and quiet, and the sudden change leaves Atton speechless for several moments.

“I’ve been ... Sorry, what?”

“You’re the only person I knew who I can reach. How’ve you been?”

“There’s so much wrong with this, y’know.”

“Answer the question, alright? I think I deserve to be indulged a little.”

There are several seconds when Atton considers not answering. Seconds become minutes become some indeterminable length of time that could be anything from minutes to hours.

Eventually he starts talking about joining Kira’s crew of misfits, going to find the Jedi Masters, Kreia (Zholl frowns when Atton talks about what she did, looks Atton over carefully, as if checking for marks), Sion, Malachor V. He talks about finding Milliways during the Battle of Telos, meeting Aeryn, meeting Wes, meeting Gavin (Zholl snickers vaguely to himself when Atton talks about Gavin, and Atton picks a handful of snow up and tosses it at him), Revan, Inyri, her problems with Zekka, Biggs, Steph, Shalla. Everyone he knows. He skims over talking about becoming a Jedi, but he mentions Bob, and his amnesia. Zholl is almost completely silent while he listens.

There’s a moment of silence, before Zholl reaches up and opens his collar to show Atton a long red slash across his throat. For the briefest second, the wind stirs, the snow seems red and the stars flicker.

“Guess I had to die for all that to happen, huh?”

“That was self-defence,” Atton protests, weakly. “You came after me.”

“’Course I did. Traitors can’t be allowed to live, cardinal rule of the Sith,” Zholl agrees amiably. “Watch your step, Jaq. Things have a habit of coming around.”

Atton frowns at him, folding his arms.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You betrayed the Sith, you killed your own men and you skulked off to hide in the shadows while the war finished,” Zholl says softly, the snow coming down thicker and faster. “And eventually, Cap’n, things are going to come around, and you’ll see what it’s like to be betrayed, murdered and left for the Dxun animals.”

“It was self-defence.”

”Self-defence is the plea of those too weak to accept the pain that comes with retribution.” Grating, gravelly tones. Hands drop onto Atton’s shoulders from behind, grey crumbling fingers and Atton twists his face up to look at the Lord of Pain, grey flesh blending perfectly with the monochrome landscape.

“Come on now, Jaq,” Zholl smiles jovially, sharing a quick glance with Sion, slightly warily. “You’re not just a killer by profession, it’s in your nature. Any excuse of self-defence from you is worthless.”

Atton was going to say something. Sion cut in before he could.

”You are almost drowning in blood, Atton Rand, and it’s only so long until a friend holds you under. Always remember that.”

Atton wakes up icy cold and shivering. He doesn’t sleep again that night.