After all this time, I should know better. But sometimes, things just....slip.

And when things slip, they tend to slip badly.

I know my grrls like I know myself. And while, from one moment to the next, they leave me bewildered as my mind tries to pin some reason or rationale on their behavior, I *know* them.

Their hearts, their souls, what makes them laugh.....and cry.

And I know what must be done to move beyond this impasse with Emmy. But Jedi or no, I would wager that my stubborn streak equals her own.

I do not understand her a good share of the time. Perhaps my words, in the heat of anger and frustration, were poorly chosen. But my offense at her demands and expectations remains.

Yes, very stubborn.

My former Master would most likely chide me for such immovable indignance.

Then again, maybe he wouldn't. I see that look on his face every time one of them steps beyond his boundaries, as much as he tries to hide the thoughts from me.

It's ridiculous, really. I don't even remember what our fight was about, how it began. "It never requires a cause with her, though, does it?" I mutter quietly as I lean back in my chair and sigh.

Ah yes. Her clothes.

Drawing lines in the sand over something as silly as the clothes she wears and my memory of them, or lack thereof. The way she marched into my office, a look of determination on her face, showing her readiness for battle.

She came looking for a fight.

I growl unintelligibly as I stand quickly from my chair. I don't know what frustrates me more, her penchant for riling me up or the simple fact that she can, and I always seem to be unable to control my irrational responses.

It is this way with all of them.

I spent the better part of my life learning to control my emotions, to think calmly, to behave rationally and with judicious prudence.

And all it takes is one word from any of them to throw decades of intensive Jedi training out the bloody window.

I definitely need to go for a ride.

~*~

As my thoughts are preoccupied with feeding my own feelings of betrayal, I yet again mindlessly march down the hallway. Thinking only of escaping to the outside world, the fresh air, and my need for solitude, I round a corner and immediately halt my progression as another presence suddenly enters my field of vision.

If I were in a mood to be attuned the Living Force, I would most likely think that it kept crashing Emmy and I together in the hallway for a greater purpose than to mutter apologies and then turn our separate ways.

"I'm sorry, I didn't see you." I say for the third time in as many days.

"Figures," she replies as she has done twice before.

My chest tightens in frustration and disappointment at her tone. She is so invested in holding me accountable, in punishing me for my perceived wrongdoing. So certain that she was in the right, that she will freeze me out until she is proven as such. More concerned in being right than being reasonable.

And then, like a distant but distinctive mental slap, the Force nudges my own perceptions ever so slightly. Before I can even choose to do it, my eyes meet hers for the briefest moment before she hastily steps aside. And in that moment I see something I had not seen before.

Dare I call it fear?

Unable to instantaneously process what I am now asking the Force to reveal to me, I place my hand against her arm, hoping to stop her impending retreat.

And I am startled by what I sense in her. It is not anger, or pride, or arrogance, or drama, as I had so heartily convinced myself.

I sense traces of heartache, and insecurity, and, yes, fear, hidden and locked away so far behind the confident and righteous persona she presents.

I had forgotten this about her. In my own need to be right and proud, I forgot her frailties.

"Emmy," I say, trying to somehow stop her as she moves quickly away from me.

"Make an appointment," she snaps, slipping her arm away from my grasp and hastily continuing down the hall as I stand and watch her retreat, her emotions flowing more freely from her once she cannot see me, once she allows herself to exhale.

And I inwardly curse myself. This is not about clothes at all.

It is about her longing to feel special to someone. To me. And her fear that she is less in my heart than I am in hers. And afraid to let anyone know how much she needs to be loved and understood, more willing to alienate, via threats and outbursts if necessary, and create a great distance around herself than to risk that her fears may be founded.

Casting aside all bravado, she is strong and possesses a fire in her soul that continually draws me in. And because her own strength fortifies me, I forget those parts of her that are fragile and so easily broken.

Yes, when things slip, they slip badly.

I stand silently in the hallway, unsure exactly how to get out of this one now that I finally see that it is much more complex than I originally thought.

But isn't that how it always goes? No matter how many times we find ourselves hurting each other in the same way, splitting ourselves apart in the same manner, it is always an unfamiliar path back to reconciliation.

I *definitely * need to go for a ride.

~*~

She has a new love now. I hear her cooing to him late into the night through the wall that separates our rooms. She speaks to him in a way that I have never heard from her before.

And now, as I walk along the tree-lined path on the outskirts of the campus, I finally see them together for the first time. No doubt she has brought him all the way out here to keep all judgement from the others at bay, perhaps not willing to let anyone, especially me, see her like this.

I experience a flash of irrational jealousy at the uninhibited laughter that he draws out of her, and I am unable to recall the last time I made her laugh like that.

But then my rationale returns to me, and I cannot help but smile as she flops down into a large pile of fallen leaves, and he bounces jubilantly on top of her, all four legs buried by leaves and grass as he nips at her hair, tail wagging with unbridled joy as he returns her affection in spades.

She laughs again and covers her face with her hands as she is besieged by a flurry of canine kisses as this little creature persistently expresses his adoration for his new mistress.

Smart dog he is.

"I don't believe that we have been formally introduced," I finally say, stepping forward and bravely interrupting this perfect moment.

I hear her gasp as she suddenly sits up, a look of surprise on her face. But then my attention is suddenly turned to the mass of boundless energy at my feet, bits of brown grass comically accessorizing his smooth, black coat, his entire body gyrating as he revels in the excitement of my mere existence.

I am beginning to understand her fondness for this creature.

I look back to her as she stands, leaves catching on her clothes and in her hair, her cheeks rosy and eyes bright from her laughter. She has gone silent now, but her happy energy lingers in the air.

And I smile again, feeling it into the depths of my soul. She is glowing.

And then, almost on instinct, it kicks in. The memory that we are at odds.

And her face drops slightly, her eyes shifting away from mine.

"What did you name him?" I ask, trying the route of small talk.

"Lasher," she says, still looking down at him as he dances around between us, trying to pull us both into his uncomplicated world.

"Ah," I reply eloquently, unfamiliar with the name.

"It's a book," she says. "About witches....Lasher is.....well.....I dunno, seemed appropriate for this time of year."

"I see," I say, with a slight smile.

"And for all the havoc this little guy is creating," she says with a somewhat proud lilt to her voice, still not raising her eyes to me.

"I was just going for a walk," I say, reaching forward to pull a leaf from her hair. "I would love to have some company."

"Yeah, so were we," she says, stepping back onto the path. "I have to try to wear him out as much as possible so he doesn't keep me away all night."

"It's a wonder how something so small can be such a responsibility," I say.

"Yes."

We walk quietly side by side, the leaves crunching beneath our feet as Lasher runs ahead and back, never letting himself get too far away from her, always backtracking to remain safely near her and then bounding ahead again for a comfortable distance.

My hand happens to brush against hers as we walk. Saying nothing, we continue on, enjoying the autumn sunshine and cool, crisp air, the uncomfortable discord of the past few days slowly dissipating.

"I suppose we should talk," she finally says, slowing to a halt and turning her head toward me with a somewhat hesitant expression.

I reach down and take her hand, lacing my fingers with hers, a sense of relief lightening my heart as she returns my squeeze of her hand with her own.

And then she surrenders her guard, leaning first against my shoulder and then slowly turning until she is pressed against me, her face buried in my neck as she unlocks her hand from mine and embraces me.

I sigh into her hair, circling my arms around her and holding her tight.

What words could never express I share with her by reaching out to her heart, using one of the few skills my Temple training is useful for in this world I have chosen, allowing the energy of my emotion to flow into her and hers into me.

As she relaxes against me, her fears gradually assuaged, I offer her a mental picture, closing my eyes to clarify it and assure she receives what I am intending to show her.

It is a picture of her, on the day that she first entered my life. And more than my memory of her physical appearance, an image permanently fixed in my mind, I add the bright, beautiful energy that instantaneously hooked me, what feels like so very long ago, seeming as it does that we have been a part of each other forever.

And perhaps we have.

And then I offer her another picture of a few minutes prior. The vision of her as she rose to her feet, eyes and face aglow with rare joy.

Her arms squeeze me tighter as she realizes that both pictures are the same, the eyes through which I see her and the heart and soul that render these images remain steadfast and, despite everything, completely lost to her.

This tender reverie is suddenly interrupted by an obviously incurable case of puppy love as Lasher barks and lunges against our legs, unable to even reach up as high as my knee. A mutual amused chuckle breaks our own silence.

Then her fingers caress along my cheeks, and she pulls me into her kiss. And I am instantly reminded of how completely I have missed her.

Too soon for my preference, she pulls away from me with a laugh as the new object of her affection barks again and dances around her. She bends down and scoops him up into her arms, holding him up for my inspection.

Or, more likely, she is offering me for his inspection.

It doesn't take him long to reach a decision as he quickly scrambles out of her arms and onto me. I raise my arms to catch him as he noses my face, and she laughs again as he nips at the stubble on my chin.

"Look," she says, calming him slightly as she speaks and strokes his head, "he thinks you're his daddy."

I arch an eyebrow, giving her a dubious look.

And she returns a slightly resigned smile to me, accompanied by her own wishful look that I indulge her.

I return the bundle of energy back to the ground and he charges ahead, satisfied with my acceptance.

And then I turn my attention where it truly matters, placing my arm around her and kissing her forehead as we continue to walk.

Of course I will indulge her.

And all of my grrls.

I am their General. I can do no less.