"In your light, in your horror, I let myself go."

— Henri Michaux

He always knew when to find her.

In the aftermath of securing an important vote in the Senate, when her body was flush with triumph. At night after meetings with Queen Tatia when she would walk the long hallways to her chambers alone, bleak with uncertainty about the future of their small, mineral-rich planet.

Today he found her with the setting sun, divested of her heavy senatorial robes by the small shrine in her bedroom, her mind hot with anger.

"Don't you ever tire of their games?"

As familiar as his "visitations" were his voice never failed to catch her off-guard.

"Why are you here?" She asked, turning to face him - or the image of him projected by the Force. For though he stood before her tall and black-robed, his eyes steady and penetrating as ever, his true form was on some ravaged planet with his Sith brethren and sistern, meditating on the Dark.

He smiled half a smile, revealing the familiar lines in his face. "You always ask the same question, and my answer never is it that has you so angry?" he asked, when she cut him a glare.

"Oh? I thought you could read minds," she said.

Lord Klaus, who had once been Niklaus Mikaelson - she had called him Nik in those days, when they had been friends on the cusp of more - laughed gently. "I need not exert my powers to glean what is written all over your face. Tell me, was it Chancellor Saltzman?"

Bonnie felt him lingering at the door of her consciousness, serene and inquiring, but without letting himself in. Like he expected an invitation.

"I'm tired," she said, in a tone like bolting a lock. "I suggest you return to your meditations."

A shadow of red passed his eyes, the Sith's nature stirred by denial. But he only bowed his head and melted into the gathering darkness. Relief sighed through her body as she crawled into bed, the feeling of safety, of emptiness.

The dream was vivid as flesh. An intimate table, platters of her favorite foods, and Niklaus smiling at her with red in his eyes.

Hunger flooded her mouth with salt, but she made no move to eat.

"You deny yourself too much, too often," he said, watching her closely.

"I won't glut myself while my people live on rations," she replied, but could not wrench her eyes from the dewy grapes, the jewel-bright jellies, the dishes of fragrant meat. The very air seemed thick with opulence - to merely breathe was the headiest of actions.

"I have a gift for you." Niklaus walked towards her and lifted the silver cloche off a tray. Chancellor Saltzman's head sat there, eyes stuffed with grapes.

She started awake, soaked in sweat, a hand clamped over the rumbling in her stomach.

Years ago, when Niklaus first began visiting her in dreams and visions, Bonnie had sought help from Gloria, a Jedi master who had resided for a time on their planet.

Gloria had suggested a variety of remedies - amulets made of kyber crystals, stronger force fields around her rooms, meditation so she could govern her mind and repel Niklaus' incursions. Bonnie had made note of each one as she talked, but the truth already sat like a stone in her chest. None of those remedies - even if she were able to procure them - would be strong enough.

"My lady is discerning. Amulets and shields will not prevail. To truly deny the Sith, you must venture into your own mind - cut out the root." The Jedi gave her a kind if pitying look. "Desire."

"Let me end it for you, you know I will," he said, after another frustrating Senate meeting that led nowhere. Her people were near starving. The queen wrung her hands and fretted. Her advisors pontificated on baseless solutions. And Chancellor Saltzman still refused to negotiate with the blockaders. "We do not negotiate with terrorists," he declaimed to loud applause in the Senate while Bonnie bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. The Chancellor did not have to see the hungry faces of children lining the streets, smell the burning fields, hear the wailing of farmers' widows at night.

"And you also know I won't accept help from the Sith," she replied.

"Then take it from an old friend," Nicklaus countered, his image sweeping closer to her and surrounding her in quiet shadows.

"Nik...,"

The air rippled at the sound of his name, a name that only she called him now, that cut across the many years and anger and betrayal and grief to bring them here, to this moment.

"I won't change my mind," she insisted, quietly, watching his eyes flare red, the color of volcanoes, of unforgiving suns. She recalled the same eyes, fierce with conviction during their academy days, from their arguments that lasted long into the night.

So much, and so little, had changed.

Bonnie turned her back to the apparition and the shadow of him came around her, enveloping her in darkness, as though drawn by the dull ache in her chest. It all came flooding back - how he would listen to her opinions about the future of the Republic with serious attention, even if he countered her seconds later. Them laughing at the engineering students who fancied themselves a cut above the political cohort. Their hands clasping impulsively, fervently, as the sky lit up with fireworks. Things had been so simple then, and precious.

She missed her friend.

A sudden grip came around her waist, a bruising hold. To exert physicality across time and space was strictly forbidden by the Jedi; they deemed it a violation of the boundaries of life. But to the Sith, as he so often reminded her, nothing was forbidden. "I am right here, little love," he whispered.

His touch burned, seeming to dissolve the layers of her gown to find her skin. She felt him - searing and passionate as he had always been, but amplified with the Force, and she found herself angry. Angry at him, angry at herself, angry that it wasn't enough.

His grasp, and presence, were gone just as quickly. Like an exhale after long effort.

She found him in the hangar, standing by his small shuttle. The nightwind stirred his cloak and hair but he stood still as a tree, as though nothing could deter him. A part of Bonnie knew then that he was lost to her.

It was their last year in the academy.

She had only taken a few steps when he turned, as though he had expected her.

"Bonnie."

The news was all over the academy: his youngest brother, Henrik, had been murdered by raiders.

"Nik -,"

"Don't," he said tightly. "I can stand everyone's pity but yours."

She flinched at the turmoil on his face and, unsure of what else she might offer, put her arms around him and pressed her face to his chest. He embraced her slowly, his grasp tightening by degrees until she could hardly breathe.

Everyone left, all her life. Her mother, her father, her cousins who promised to send for her but never did. Her grandmother who died her first year at the academy. And always, she bore it. Shed her tears by night and awoke every day to fulfil her duties. Because in an ordered world, a just world, no one would ever have to say goodbye before their time. People would return, and loved ones keep their promises.

Bonnie felt him shudder as he inhaled deeply from the curve of her neck, as though afraid he might never do so again, and a new realization swept over her. She could turn her face, find his lips - kiss him and turn the key. She could make him stay, not for duty nor for justice, but for her. The knowledge thrilled and frightened in equal measure. It froze her in place.

When at last he slipped from her arms and disappeared into his ship, she watched the sky for long moments, until his vessel was a distant speck of light, then no more, and an emptiness settled into her bones that was also heavy with loss.

In the end, she called him to her.

The people had taken to the streets to protest the blockade, so naturally Chancellor Saltzman sent troops to quell what he called "a planetary uprising."

Bonnie and her fellow senators pleaded in vain - before their eyes Republic soldiers marched the streets, cutting down the very citizens they had sworn to protect. Walled up in the palace, the queen and her court awaited an uncertain fate - dissolution of their role by a higher authority, or violence at the hands of their own besieged people.

Bonnie hardly slept - everyday there were new atrocities to mourn, new deprivations that demanded her attention. She stayed awake long into the night with the Head Treasurer and household staff, rationing food and dispensing what charity they could.

Fragments of a dream followed her waking and sleeping - the Chancellor's grape-stuffed head on a silver platter, the flesh of justice between her teeth.

There came a day when she saw them cut down a child. His mother managed to lift his thin, bloodied shoulders to her chest - then they cut her down too. She died without a tear, with a clean, twisted mercy.

Bonnie lost consciousness, and as the guards carried her inside she saw vague patches of sky, distant blue and rainless, and fatigue like death stole over her limbs. She shivered under the bedding, sick with hunger and impotent rage, and felt something give. When she sensed his shadow beside her she turned into the warm dark of him and let him gather her close. Unlike before, she did not shy away from touch. Her fingers ran through his hair, her mouth sought his. Caught between sleeping and waking, she didn't pause to consider that he remained solid and corporeal, that her nightgown came unlaced in his fingers, that his teeth bruised her upturned neck. And when he asked again the question that he had asked before, when his tongue traced it, rune-like, on the skin beneath her ear - she didn't think twice before answering, Yes, yes.

A/N: SO, this was meant to be a much longer oneshot as a birthday gift to my dear friend, thefudge, but I'm still mired in dissertation work and academic bullshit so I didn't have time to write as much as I wanted in time for our yearly tradition of posting fanworks on each other's birthday (yes, we're dumb bitches, fight me) sooo here's a small slice of more to come. Trust, I have some scenes mapped out that I absolutely cannot not write lol. In the meantime, let me know if y'all enjoyed this little slice and please, join me in wishing the happiest of solar returns to a lovely friend and gifted writer, my twin bird, who's been an invaluable source of fun and comfort these past few years. HAPPY BIRTHDAY GRL! Here's to many more years of grumpy aunt-ing our way through these fandom streets! xoxox