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That's more like the Merrin he knows, and yet he can sense the... Well he's not quite sure how to put it. There's an anxiousness there, and he feels he can relate. Weeks ago they'd shared a past, they'd been coworkers, friends.

When she releases his hand, Cal almost starts to reach for her own as she retracts it. He remembers a cool night, a crowded party, how beautiful she'd looked in that red dress...

"No, that's not-" he blurts, as though just remembering to speak again, feeling his face flush. "Thank you."

This awkwardness between them is... strange, and new, and it doesn't settle quite right in her chest, especially since she's always felt comfortable around him before. Well, maybe not always, but... still. It's confusing.

Her head tips curiously to the side, seeing his face flush red—almost as red as his hair, she notes—since blushing is not a feature of Nightbrothers. But she doesn't say anything about it, instead nodding in response and curling her hand at her side, as if that could capture the warmth of his touch a little longer.

"It's strange," she says, purposefully aiming for a thoughtful tone. "To have memories of you when we were children." That's definitely been one of the weirder parts of all this—having what felt like two sets of memories, and then having to remind herself which set is fake. "It is sometimes difficult to remember they aren't real."

His fingers trace the what remains of the burn, hardly a scar compared to the others he still wears. He breathes a brief laugh as Merrin muses aloud. "Yeah...isn't it? It really is confusing with them still there. I'd have thought it all would have faded when everything snapped back to normal."

Cal looks over at her again almost hesitantly. "It's been pretty distracting. I'm not sure if it's because they're still fresh memories, in a way, but they just keep coming up. I thought it was easier to just focus on something right in front of me, work on things until I could straighten things out in my head." It had worked for a while anyway.

"...I know it wasn't something we'd actually lived out, or that we'd asked for, but it was...nice, in a way. Being able to know how a normal childhood might have been like. Well, normal in that world, I guess."

"It was... yes," she says after a pause, though she's not sure nice is the word she'd used so much as different. Of all her real memories, her childhood ones are her happiest—when she was surrounded by her sisters, and everything was still as it should be.

It was similar in the city, if even happier with the addition of Cal, but the real difference for her was what happened after her sisters had died, and her life had changed in an instant.

"You were not a Jedi at all?" she asks curiously. "Not even kept as a secret?" No training, no Force, nothing? How odd. Both that he was "normal" and just the idea of Cal not being a Jedi at all—it seems intrinsic to him, in her eyes.

'Different.' That, he'd definitely agree upon.

"No," Cal says, shaking his head. "I was just...a regular person, trying to get by." The latter was a path he knew well enough, living and working on Bracca for several years, but that was an extreme compared to the relatively tame life he'd experienced.

He laughs lightly, shrugging a little. "Weird, right? But even as it was, there was just something that felt kind of...I don't know. Off. Unfulfilling, maybe. I wonder if I paid more attention to that feeling, if I would have realized things weren't supposed to be like they were."

So odd. Even having seen it for herself, right in front of her eyes, she still can't quite fathom Cal without his Jedi identity—probably because she'd faced his strength and purpose head on, had fought alongside him. Even so, she'd still...

"I know. It was the same for me," she says, her brow furrowing as she leans her hip against the edge of his worktable, arms crossed. There were definitely moments where things didn't feel right, like cognitive dissonance, and then the moment would pass as quickly as it came.

"But it was... easy to ignore." She sounds kind of annoyed, really, but the annoyance is directed mostly at herself. It was magick, an illusion, well-trod by Nightsisters. If she hadn't given up so easily, maybe she could've fought.

The lack of a distinct purpose had made things strange. Much of the hardship that they'd gone through is what had shaped them, painful as it was. It certainly brings a lot of perspective to things.

"Yeah," Cal nods, sharing the sentiment. "I think we just kept getting distracted by how...all right things were, or that they could be. And it wasn't entirely bad an experience. I just don't know that I'd have willingly chosen it, not like that." For all the loss and pain and regret, he can't just throw those things away.

That's the thing, and that's what she's so torn about. In general, Nightsisters believe that suffering is a teacher, and that struggle begets strength. After seeing what her life could've been like, if she'd been shown kindness and understanding and love after her sisters' deaths, can she really say that she'd been weaker for it?

But at the same time, it hadn't been her life. Her real life. Her real circumstances, her choices, her... mistakes. It may not be perfect, but it's still hers.

Her thoughts feel like they're spiraling again, and she's not exactly sure how to articulate it. So she's quiet for a moment, her gaze focused on one of the little pieces—a bolt of some kind—on his worktable, her fingertips idly tracing the ridges, back and forth, while she thinks.

"It... no, I would not choose to forget," she says, her voice quiet. "My sisters, Malicos, you, Cal Kestis—it is all a part of me now." It all shaped her—she wouldn't be the same person she is today if it wasn't for everything unfolding the way it had, and her alternate life in the city is proof enough of that. "But," she adds, because there was always a but coming. "It was... nice. To see what could have been. I was... happy."

Her gaze is back on the bolt, avoiding his, because the admission feels... uncharacteristically vulnerable for her. Cal seems to have this funny way of making her open up more than she normally would.

A point of focus. Given he'd been employing the tactic earlier, he can only guess that such is what Merrin's seeking when her hand reaches for the bolt there. Cal nods, turning slightly to lean his hip against the workspace, letting his mind call up whatever memories are prompted by Merrin's mentions, even if that meant revisiting an unhappy moment on Dathomir. Still, it's real.

"Knowing something of that past you had back in that other world, it just made me happy knowing you'd been able to find something to be happy about again," he admits, running a hand through his hair in that idle way of his, a need to do something when there's nothing to do. Given the galaxy they'd come from, the experience of a city life as the one they'd had wouldn't have been possible any other way, not in that extent. You didn't just rewrite pasts to fit with other people. You could forge futures, however.

"I'm not sure how much trouble it'll be, trying to keep facts straight with the memories we have. But I think at the core, at least it was still us."

Her eyes track the movement of his hand sweeping through his hair, temporarily distracting her—he does it a lot, and lately it feels like she's noticing more and more. Not for the first time, she wonders if his hair is as soft as it looks—but this time, it's accompanied by the urge to find out for herself.

She doesn't indulge in it—in fact, it feels like her thoughts have turned traitor on her. She remembers standing outside the charity gala venue with him, also wanting to run her fingers through his hair then, the warmth from his jacket seeping into her skin in spite of the chill in the air. There was a warmth inside her too, a buzzing in her chest whenever he was around that must have been the city playing tricks on her—might still be playing tricks on her, honestly.

Because that warmth is still there, hearing him say that her happiness made him happy. It's the kind that... makes her feel a little unsure what to say, almost shy, though she does send him the gentlest of smiles, brief but sincere.

As usual, she tries to deflect. "Yes," she says finally. "You were not so very different, even as an... intern." Her teasing tone makes it sound like that could be a bad thing, even though she truly thinks it's anything but—he was still the kind, earnest Cal she knows.

There is one thing that kind of sticks out in her mind, though— "That is what you were like as a child?" With the memories in her head, she can picture him in her mind's eye as a small, gangly child that she often dragged around. Even when she was young, she was headstrong and outspoken.

There are varying degrees of her smiles, mostly subtle, a lot of the time teasing, but overall rare. But she'd still been offering them a lot more, and even when they're so brief, it's those soft, sincere ones that warm him in their own way. Cal smiles back, his thoughts drifting back to conversations in another life with Cobb.

"Hey, you were an intern too, you know," he points out, brow arching, smile still in place, if quirking slightly. Having her company sure made it easier to deal with the menial tasks they'd been given to make use of the time.

He breathes out a laugh then, recalling some of their adventures as children, perhaps even a little sad that those hadn't been real memories. "For the most part, I guess?" He had little experience with play, but even in his thoughts his child-self from those memories had been quick to pick up on things, eager to please, and to explore new things. He wonders that he would have done as much if Merrin hadn't been the one instigating. He's pretty sure they'd wandered onto private properties on more than one occasion in the name of adventure.

That's one thing she can say wasn't at all bad: her childhood memories with him. They were kind of... nice, actually. Carefree and innocent, in stark contrast to how completely everything changed for them. Even now, and even knowing they're not really real, she looks back on them with fondness. And now she gets a glimpse into what Cal was actually like, back when he was... whatever Jedi are when they're young.

"Hm." The hum is wry, her eyebrows arching, and then she adds mysteriously, "That does not surprise me." Her gaze sweeps over him, not subtle at all, sizing him up now against the child she remembers. "You were much shorter." Then it lingers on his face, her eyes narrowing slightly. "And you had these..." What's the word? She doesn't actually know it, so she goes with: "Spots."

(Freckles. She means freckles. It's not something her kind have, women or men.)

Cal mirrors her expression, brows lifting, although his own gaze is fixed upon her face as he folds his arms, lips twitching in faintly amused smirk. "What's that supposed to mean?" Of course Merrin defaults to her purposely vague responses. He tilts his head, waiting.

"Short comes with being a child," he says. "I think I was still taller than you." Maybe about the same height. But hey, if she's going to be teasing, there's no reason he can't. And then she says 'spots' and he snorts a laugh. "Freckles," he corrects.

"Freckles, yes," she repeats, as if she knew all along, something warm lodging behind her ribs hearing him laugh. She... likes making him laugh, alright? It's nice.

She studies his face a moment longer, leaning forward a little bit—now that she's looking for them, she can see that he still has his freckles, very faint compared to when he was a child—and that's not to mention his scars, even more pronounced to her now that she has an image in her head without them. She wonders if she looks any different to him, after he'd seen her without her tattoos?

"Hm," she intones again, arch, leaning back and crossing her arms over her chest. "It means that I am not surprised. You have not changed very much, Cal Kestis." After all, he's still a quick learner, eager to please, and maybe a little too curious and adventurous for his own good—at least in her opinion.

It's still strange to talk about such things, of a past that hadn't been real and yet still held some truth to themselves. But Cal doesn't feel he minds it, although as Merrin stares at him again he can't help but feel a little self-conscious. He also can't help but look at her in turn as she leans in, his hand starting to lift from its crossed position as though he'd bring it to her face, the idea caught and aborted with a brief but confused smile as he readjusted his folded arms.

Her skin had a warmer tone in his memories, but she'd always been naturally pale. She smiled a lot more as a child, but then they didn't have much to worry about then, and even later on her smiles didn't have the almost mocking edge of the one she frequented here. Certainly she'd teased, but it was more natural since they'd supposedly known each other for so long. But there was still a gap for the time she'd left, moved away after the unthinkable had happened to her family. Those had been sad, empty days.

"Was that pretty close to how you were, as a child?" he asks. Hard to change her mind once she'd gotten set on something, a bit of a competitive streak. She had that bit of curiosity and hunger for adventure too.

Unlike Cal, she doesn't get self-conscious at all, no matter how long he might happen to stare at her. That abortive movement he makes with his hand, though—no, she's trying not to think about it. It feels like dangerous territory, for some reason.

Her gaze slides away from his, something a little wistful in it. "Yes. I was..." Stubborn, independent, direct. All things she still is, but back then... she was softer, quick to smile and laugh. Perhaps that's what happens when you mature, but she can't help but feel like that little girl was stolen away from her the day her sisters were massacred. She'd certainly turned into someone her younger self would barely recognize—first by grief, and then by anger and vengeance.

"As you remember," she finishes, just a little subdued. She has to force it back out of her tone, forming it into something lighter, more teasing. "Do you think I have changed?"

Those were harsh circumstances that no one would normally ever expect to happen. It saddens him that even in a made-up place, Merrin's past followed closely to what she knew.

"At least I was able to share something of it with you." Was that a strange thing to say? Having already left his lips, Cal doesn't regret saying what he has since he means it. He's glad to have gotten some glimpse of how she'd been, that she'd had some happiness at least, even if she'd already told him a little about how things had been for her and her sisters, before everything.

His hand lifts again, but this time to tap her lightly on the nose with a finger. "A little," he says, but with those kind of circumstances, it would have been difficult to not be affected by things at all. "But you're still you."

Is it strange? If it is, she doesn't mind. The opposite of minding, actually—hearing him say that makes her heart feel suddenly full in her chest, and a warm smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. "Yes. It is weird to have these memories, but not unwelcome."

Then he reaches out to tap his finger against her nose, and she stiffens in surprise, caught off guard. The touch, brief as it was, feels like a jolt of electricity running through her—his touches usually do, all the way back to when he put the astrium in her hands in Kujet's Tomb, fingers brushing against hers. At first, she thought that was just... that she'd just lived in isolation for too long, but now...

"It is..." she begins a little awkwardly, after a too-long pause, "good to know that some things in this galaxy stay the same." After everything the two of them have been through, with their entire lives upended more than once, that's actually a comforting thought.

He wonders that he might have overstepped some unspoken boundaries when she abruptly tenses, mentally fumbling for an explanation for his actions and coming up empty. But then Merrin speaks again, putting an end to the awkward silence that had followed, and a brief laugh escapes instead of the quiet sigh of relief he'd meant to expel.

"Yeah..." Cal agrees. He knows it isn't always the case, that sometimes people can change a great deal, and change itself is impossible to avoid. In the end it depends on them, the choices made and the actions taken.

"I don't know how long it might take for our memories to settle, and I think that they're not going to be so easy to just ignore or forget, because they're a part of us now. But so long as we know who we are, and who we want to be, then that's what really matters."

She's quiet for a moment, but this pause is thoughtful, not awkward, and her expression clears as if a burden was lifted from her shoulders. Leave it to Cal to give her some perspective—a nice perspective, one that rearranges her tangled feelings into something meaningful.

He's right. No matter what, she's still her. And perhaps an extra life—a happy life—isn't such a bad thing.

"Are all Jedi so wise?" Her tone is playful, but ultimately very sincere.

Talking it out with her has certainly helped Cal have a better handle on his own feelings and thoughts on things as well. He smiles, giving a shrug.

"We try, anyway," he laughs. "I think what really made the difference was having someone to sound off of, who understands the situation. Sometimes I guess it's better than trying to tackle it yourself." But he can understand the need for some time alone as well.

"I... am not used to relying on others," she admits, and it does feel like an admission, some part of her left exposed. She fiddles with the bolt on the worktable again, rolling it back and forth underneath her fingers, her gaze averted.

After her sisters were killed, she was left alone, with no one to depend on—not even Malicos, really, since he was more than happy to simply manipulate her. It made her learn to fend for herself, but maybe too much—it's why she was so reluctant to trust Cal, at first. Why she felt she had to test him. Why she still tends to try to... tackle things herself, even if it that isn't the best way.

"But I am glad," she continues softly. "That you understand." That I can rely on you.

"I know how that is," Cal replies quietly. She probably knows that, they've talked about their pasts before, about being alone and on their own, unable to trust others so easily. It's been some work learning to extend that trust again, letting himself open up and allow himself to give other a chance to be relied upon.

It's all too easy to fall back to that sort of mindset, but he feels he's come a long way, here. There are good people around him, even other Jedi. But while he's all too aware that whenever they might be sent back to where they're from, when they're from, at least he knows there's at least one person he can still look forward to seeing on the other side of things.

He knows that admission from Merrin isn't an easy one, but that's what makes it mean so much. The smile he gives her at that is a warm one as he nods, an expression that echoes the sentiment of her words.

His smile seems to sink into her, the warmth of it settling into all her dark corners, and she abandons the bolt so that she can return a smile of her own, soft around the edges. It's amazing to her how... easy this is, when someone else understands. She doesn't have to explain herself to Cal, because he already gets it—even if the circumstances are different, their stories are the same.

Maybe it's weird, but there's something immensely comforting in that, and it's kind of... exactly what she needed. Needs.

"It seems we are always connected in some way, no matter the life," she muses, a thoughtful expression on her face. Okay, two instances probably aren't enough to go on, but... she's going with it anyway, wondering what it was that created their story for them, and why. They could've been anything else besides friends—classmates, neighbors, enemies. Strangers. "Is that strange?"

"Maybe it's the Force, maybe it's here," Cal suggests, shrugging a little. It's not lost on him the fact that things could have been a lot worse, but for whatever reason, whether just random or influenced by their already existing relationship, it hadn't.

"I don't know if I'd call it strange. It's not bad though, right?"

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