Heroes of the Republic
Hero he'd been called once.
Carth sat down in a chair. He was home, he was on Telos. He closed his eyes, merely to rest them, he told himself, but he knew different. He was old, he'd seen his children and his grandchildren go on and have a great life, go on to meet good people, get married and have their own kids.
He wore his old Republic pilot outfit, adorned with all his medals, the Bronze Star, the Order of the Republic, the Wounded in Service. He had almost all of them, and yet they brought no pride as they usually would. He had let his wife die while getting them, he had let his kid join the sith while these pieces of metal gathered dust in a shelf.
Everyone he knew called him a hero, except for the ones he'd traveled with. He was tired of it, He had killed mandalorians, some no older than 10! They just wouldn't give up. They thought there was no honor in dying peacefully, or giving up. He'd saved countless lives, killed countless more, and it all amounted to nothing.
In the end, the one thing he fought for died. His wife. Dying. In his hands. The medics arriving just in time for them to call it. Then he met Revan, a good friend. Revan had been helpful through it all, never once letting Carth fall. Carth owed him for that. Revan was better than him at absolutely everything.
Carth looked at the pistol in his lap, the surface of the planet reflecting sunlight onto it. He picked it up, contemplating his own death.
He put the pistol down, he would go in his own merry time, but not now.
Hero someon had called him once.
Deep thought #1: In the end, everyone dies. No one can outrun time, death itself is always breathing down your neck, just waiting to slip the noose over you. But, in your time of death, what matters is not when or how or even why. What matters is what you do with it. Do you sit down and call it quits, or do you get up, stare your killer and death itself in the face, and laugh copiously, right until the end.