Sharra is tired and annoyed and her feet hurt and she's pretty sure someone is trying to kill her and she hasn't eaten since the night before and —
"Is this some sort of mass murder suicide thing??"
"...not something I ever learned. But that sounds plausible. I always had trouble controlling my emotions, and that made my connection to the Force powerful. Unstable, but powerful. I spent a lot of time in meditation. I can see how pain would act similarly."
"I hurt so many people. I've. They did it for a reason. At this point I've lived more of my life without. I don't. I can't."
She reaches up to touch his jaw. Needs to shave.
"So we run. Sell this ship, they know we have it now and we could get a lot of credits for it. Then... just you and me?"
She kisses him, then turns to look out to the doorway.
"If you're going to eavesdrop and have opinions, you should just come inside, Isk."
They will do just that, then!
<Not leaving without this droid,> they tell Sharra.
<Ship difficult to trace,> they add. <For smuggling. Comm scramblers. Fast. Many licenses. Compartments. Change paint? Change name?>
"Isk, I understand where you're coming from. I appreciate everything you did for us on the station, things would have gone a lot worse if not for you and T3. But it's been twenty years. I'm not a padawan anymore. Not a child. I can't help you or the Republic."
She closes her eyes, slightly overcome with anger, frustration and pain. Then:
"Pick a new name. I'm not a Jedi anymore and I haven't been for a very long time."
Sharra shakes her head and tucks back against her Atton. "How's my shoulder? Am I getting a fancy new robotic arm?"
"It's fine. Could have done with a dip, probably, but it'll heal. You'll have a scar."
Giggles!
She wraps around him more and squeezes, as much as she can with one arm.
"I love you."