#angstfest!

“... Not as bad as you,” Xaja finally said, swallowing back her fear as she gingerly tried to straighten her back against the wall. Pain and fear waged a war in her mind for dominance – for a moment, fear won out as she tried to pull her hands free of the binder cuffs holding her wrists immobile. The metal devices cut cruelly into her skin, tight enough that she didn’t have a hope of wiggling free. “Where… where are we?”

“As far as I can tell, still on-world,” Theron quietly said, frowning. “I don’t think these are Zakuulans who caught us – there’s too many aliens in the crew. Must be just ordinary slavers.”

“Could be taking Zakuulan credits if they figured out who we are,” Xaja finally answered, squirming despite the pain it caused her. “It… it wouldn’t take much for them to find Arcann’s bounty posting.”

Theron scowled. “All hyperlanes do wind up leading back to Zakuul,” he grumbled. “Can you sense anything outside this cell?”

Xaja closed her eyes and tried to reach out with the Force. A second later, her eyes flew open again as panic choked her voice into nothingness. Now she could register the collar on the back of her neck, suppressing her connection to the Force. And most Force-inhibitors could double as shock collars, in her painful past experience… She couldn’t stop the terrified whimper at the memory of her previous capture on Bandomeer, only a few short months ago.

“Xaja?” Theron sounded worried. “What’s wrong? Is it that bad out there?”

“I can’t… I can’t tell,” Xaja finally gasped out, fighting back a terrified sob. “They put a collar on me. I can’t… it’s blocking me…”

Theron swore in a language Xaja didn’t recognize. “Hate it when they’re smart enough to use Force-inhibitors. It’s okay, we’ll… we’ll figure something out.” He paused for a moment. “Xaja? Look at me, baby. Please?”

Xaja forced herself to register looking in Theron’s direction, panicked jade eyes briefly meeting worried amber before squeezing closed again. Every moment of Xaja’s lifetime of Jedi training seemed to desert her, leaving her panicking and vulnerable, in this dark cell, with her wounded boyfriend bound across from her, and with her access to the Force cut away from her. A little voice inside her head insisted that she needed to focus, to get her composure together and figure out a plan of escape, like any competent Jedi Master could do – but how, when she herself was bound so painfully tight, and when she couldn’t sense the Force at all?

“Come on, Xaja. Keep your eyes on me – just focus on me,” Theron’s voice cut through the cacophony of panicked noises in Xaja’s mind. “We’re gonna be okay.” She forced her eyes open again, frantically seeking out Theron’s gaze in the dim light. “There’s my girl,” Theron murmured in approval. “There’s my brave girl. Stay with me, okay? Just focus on me. Sorand and Lana know where we were, and Korin or your dad have probably already sliced into this sector’s security cameras to find out where we were taken. They’ll come for us. Just please don’t panic, babe. I know you hate being tied up and Force-blind, but stay with me. We’ll be okay.”

“I’m…” Xaja shakily inhaled. “I’m glad you’re confident,” she finally managed to whisper.

Theron seemingly forced himself to chuckle. “Hey, I’ve gotten into, and out of, way worse situations than this,” he said, shrugging his good shoulder. “If my arm wasn’t dislocated, I’d probably already be out of these binders and working on getting you free. Hell, we’d probably be halfway to fighting our way out of here already.”

But his arm was dislocated, and instead of freeing himself, Theron was occupied trying to calm a panicking Jedi Master who, frankly, should not have been so panicked in the first place at being bound, and in this dark, cramped cell, and cut off from the Force… Shame managed to cut through the panic enough for Xaja to take a shuddery breath, trying to force herself to focus. “We need a plan,” she finally said.

“Well, good news is, I’ve got a rough idea for a plan already, in case Sorand and Lana decide to take their sweet time in getting here,” Theron announced. "I have a lockpick in the top of my boot. I just need to… get it…" He grunted in pain as he tried to squirm his way to the hidden lockpick.

"And it's on your right side, isn't it?" Xaja asked, frowning in concern. "Your hurt side?"

"Naturally," Theron confirmed with a hiss of pain. "Fuck, that hurts!" He struggled for a minute longer, then groaned and sagged, seemingly taking a minute to focus on his breathing. "Okay… new plan. Can you dislocate your thumbs?"

"I…" Xaja frowned. "I can't say I've ever tried."

"Okay." Theron groaned and straightened back up as much as he could. "This was so not how I wanted you to learn how to escape binders. Do you have any give on your wrists at all?"

"Not really," Xaja admitted, trying to rotate her wrists as best she could. "They're too tight. I can't even rotate my wrists without it chafing."

Theron muttered a colourful-sounding expletive. "Dammit. It'll be really hard to talk you through it when you can't move much." He sighed. "Okay. Hang tight, I'll… figure something out."

"You're injured pretty badly, and I'm cut off from the Force and fending off a panic attack…" Xaja bitterly laughed. "We're kriffed."

"Not yet, we're not," Theron quickly said. "Besides, being the pessimist is my job. We'll be fine–"

The door to the cell slid open, and Xaja felt herself pale when she saw the four gang members standing in the doorway. Two of them wielded blasters, the third had a wicked-looking vibroknife, and the fourth had what looked suspiciously like the controls for her shock collar in his hand.

"... Never mind, you were right," Theron muttered.

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"Wish that bounty from Arcann had been for me alive and in good shape," Xaja groaned several hours later, her voice hoarse from her agonized screams. The gang members had been very interested in seeing what a Jedi's pain tolerance looked like, and had taken their anger out on Theron when he'd tried to intervene.

He looked even worse now; Xaja wasn't sure how he was conscious. But he still looked up when Xaja spoke and offered a small smirk. "Downsides of having the galaxy's biggest dead-or-alive posting on you." He groaned and tried to shift into a less painful position, an all but impossible task. "Lana needs to hurry the kriff up."

Xaja nodded her agreement, then let her head fall back against the durasteel wall. Her neck hurt, and she could still feel the aftershocks of electricity running through her bound limbs. Her fear of the Force-inhibitor doubling as a shock collar was accurate, as she had painfully found out. "How's the leg?" The gangsters had decided that simply beating Theron for snarking at them hadn't been enough, and one of them had seen fit to shoot him in the thigh. The odour of burned fabric and flesh still lingered in the air.

"... Ow." Theron groaned again. "This would be a great time for someone on our side to show up. I'd even be happy to see your father right about now."

"As long as they have kolto, painkillers, and lockpicks?" Xaja asked with a weak laugh. She tried again to squirm her hands free of the binders, to no avail. "Shit. I'm losing feeling in my hands."

Theron muttered something uncomplimentary about their hosts. "I wish I couldn't feel my leg right about now. If Lana was gonna show up with a rescue, two hours ago would have been nice…"

"Now would be good too," Xaja agreed. "Hells, if they–" She paused, frowning. "Do you hear blaster fire?"

Theron grunted as he tilted his head toward the door. "... I think so," he murmured. "Think the calvary finally arrived. Took 'em long enough."

"Hope it's not a rival gang," Xaja quietly said as she slouched against the wall and anxiously watched the door. It didn't take long, although it felt like hours before the sounds of blaster fire ceased. Red and yellow light suddenly blazed from the edge of the door, running from top to bottom before it vanished, leaving a trail of molten durasteel in its wake.

The door was forced open, and two figures appeared in the opening, one wearing green beskar'gam, and one carrying a red lightsaber. "You two look like osik," Shara announced as she hurried to Xaja's side; behind her, Sorand rushed to free Theron. "What the nine hells did they do to you two?"

"Just about everything they could think of," Theron said with a groan. "What took so long?"

"You know how hard it is to find one gang on this damned moon?" Sorand retorted. The saber flashed, and Theron groaned again as his bonds were cut. "You need a hand getting Xaja out, Shar'ika?"

"Nah, I got this. I can put people in binders an' collars, an' I can get 'em out again just about as easy." Shara fumbled with the collar on Xaja's neck for a moment before the cruel device fell harmlessly to the floor; the binders followed them a minute after. "Let's get you outta here, jetii," the Mandalorian said as she hauled Xaja's arm across her shoulders and stood up, bringing the Jedi with her. "I'll let you get the spyboy, cyar'ika." Sorand grunted in acknowledgment, too busy healing Theron's wounds for a verbal answer.

"Hells it's good to see you," Xaja groaned as she was lifted to her feet. Her legs didn't want to support her weight, and she found she needed Shara’s help to escape the cell, struggling to keep up with the much-taller Mandalorian woman.

"Never been so happy to see a live jetii in my life as you," Shara said; Xaja suspected her sister-in-law was grinning under her helmet. "Sor'ika's got Theron in good hands. We'll get both of you into medical on the way back home. Just hang tight. There's kolto with your name on it on my ship, an' Lana will be bitching for an update on you. You're safe now."

“Fuck,” he whispered as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and dropped his head into his hands. Over two years after Xaja’s murder at Zakuul’s hands, and the grief hadn’t eased at all. If anything, his nightmares about her were getting more and more vivid. He wasn’t sure yet if this was better or worse than the ones he’d been having previously, the ones where his overactive brain decided to imagine what her final moments alone before her death had been like.

At least being alone in the dark as he was, with only Tee-Seven for company, there was no one to witness the tears on his unshaven cheeks, or the shuddering of his hunched shoulders as he tried to smother the grief again. He balefully frowned at the chronometer on his ocular display -- two in the morning, local time. He had a feeling he wouldn't be going back to sleep tonight, not with the lingering fear and grief drowning him.

"These dreams of you are gonna drive me mad," he finally mumbled as he wiped a hand over his eyes and took a shaky breath. He'd all but given up meditating, given how the Force seemed to have drop kicked him over the last couple of years, but maybe trying again now would calm him down after the nightmare. Leaving the bed, he knelt in front of the window that looked out over the Eternal Swamp beyond the city walls. He then closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing as he tried settling into the patterns Master Zho had taught him. In, and out… in, and out… in, and out--

Help me, Theron. Please!

Theron swore and flopped onto his back as Xaja's voice whispered in the back of his mind. "Never mind," he groaned, "I've already gone mad." When he had said he would have done anything to hear Xaja speak to him again, he hadn't meant being haunted into insanity by dreams of her. It shouldn't have been you. It should never have been you…

"Fuck, I miss you," he brokenly whispered to the empty air above him. "I want you back." He bitterly snorted. "Why can't I hallucinate you lying beside me where you belonged?" If this was the Force's way of giving her back to him in some form, it was a cruel comfort. He was pretty sure this counted as proof that the Force hated him personally.

"I'm sorry," he finally mumbled, squeezing his eyes closed as he felt tears trickling down his skin again. A low hum emitted from the corner -- no doubt Tee-Seven offering his concern -- but he couldn’t respond. He could only shake his head. "I need you back, Xaja. Never should’ve let you go to begin with. This just... hurts too much without you." He took in a shuddering breath. "I don't know what to do without you here."

So much for not getting attached, he thought with a snort of sarcastic amusement. He tried to tell himself to not risk it with the pretty Jedi during their time together on Rishi or Yavin IV, and that was even during happier times when she had still lived, a bright spot in his galaxy. He clenched his jaw in an attempt to smother down his grief and tried to think about something else… anything that had the hope of getting his mind off of Xaja, his dreams of her, and the regrets he carried with him.

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Hours later, as he was sipping a mug of lukewarm caf and scowling at his datapad, he gave a start at Tee-Seven’s sudden beep of warning. The droid’s sensors had picked up someone walking down the alley toward Theron’s cramped residence -- someone walking quietly, but not exactly sneaking about. Frowning, Theron got to his feet, setting the caf down and reaching for his blaster. No one should have known he was here; no one had reason to be knocking on his door, the raps echoing in the stillness of the apartment.

Cautiously, Theron cracked the door open -- and a second later, wasn’t sure if he was relieved his visitor wasn’t one of Marcus’ operatives coming to track him down, or more uneasy that this was an Imperial asset looking him in the eye. “Nine,” he sighed, easing his grip on his blaster. Cipher Nine might be a notorious sociopath and an infamous Imperial spy, but Theron was at least reasonably sure that the old man wasn’t here to end him. If Reanden Taerich had wanted him dead, he could have killed him easily enough on Nar Shaddaa last year.

“You’re a pain in the ass to track down, you know that?” Reanden dryly said by way of greeting, shifting his hands into his jacket pockets. The older spy’s hair had gotten more grey in the last three years, and there were new lines on his face, but those calculating dark eyes were still as sharp and piercing as ever.

“Apparently still too easy,” Theron grumbled. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. What the blazes had Cipher-kriffing-Nine been looking for him for? He settled for a direct approach. “What brings you out here?”

Reanden paused, dark eyes glancing to the alley for a moment. “That’s a conversion best not had out here,” he finally said, his voice low. “You mind?”

Barely keeping from rolling his eyes, Theron stepped back to allow the old man inside. His tone was acerbic as he gestured to the shabby room. "Make yourself at home." The door was secured behind him.

Turning, he watched Reanden survey the one-room apartment with its scarce furnishings, lazily shrugging one shoulder. "I've seen worse," the old spy as he sat in the one chair in the room. Somewhat surprised to not hear a snarky comment from the old timer, Theron found himself sitting on the bed as Tee-Seven started happily beeping upon recognizing their visitor. Even more surprising, he watched as the elder man patted the droid’s chassis with something approaching affection. "So this is where you ended up."

"Busted him off Coruscant when I left," Theron shrugged casually. "He was being wasted in a military hangar."

"Same time you took the Serenity?" Reanden offered a tired smirk as Theron started. "Heard about that through the vine."

"... Xaja would have hated her ship being left to rust in a hangar," Theron protested, for a second certain that the old man was ready to tear him a new one for stealing -- no, liberating -- his late daughter’s starship.

"She would have," Reanden agreed, his voice quiet, sombre, and definitely not the verbal fight Theron had been expecting. “Definitely the Corellian in her.” 

Theron frowned as the old spy looked down at his hands, the normal snarky demeanour fading into a familiar heartache. “You didn’t sneak onto Zakuul for a social call, old timer,” he finally said. “And you definitely didn’t drop in to catch up with me.”

“Bite me, kid,” Reanden muttered, glaring up at Theron for a second before seemingly standing down and sighing. “There’s a lot of people searching for your hide in particular, but, no, that’s not why I’m here. I’m here on unrelated business -- only just figured out you were onworld about two hours ago.”

“And you tracked me down because…?”

“Because I figured you’d have a personal interest in this.” Reanden unflinchingly met Theron’s gaze when the younger spy frowned in confusion at him. “Sorand… has a theory that he’s asked me to look into, and I believe Lana will only be a couple of steps behind me on this.”

A personal interest for Theron that Cipher Nine would be involved with… and on Zakuul…? Maybe, he thought, the old man had an idea to kill Arcann directly for what he’d done to Xaja. And Darth Imperius was clever, with his own reasons to hate Zakuul -- perhaps father and son had figured out a plan. Or had Korin gotten into something? “What’s up? You find some sort of a vulnerability in that half-metallic bastard?”

“Not yet.” Reanden opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, paused, then shook his head. “What do you know about Force bonds, kid?”

Theron frowned in confusion. This was not where he’d expected this conversation to go. “Not a lot. Connections that form between Force-users, usually people close to each other.”

“Like a student and their teacher; a parent and child,” Reanden slowly agreed, “or siblings.” Theron felt his frown deepen as the older man looked at him. “Sorand had... formed a bond with Xaja, presumably some time during the Revanite incident. He’s been having intermittent dreams since…well, since the attack; they’ve been getting more intense over the past few months.” He sighed and raked a hand through his hair, an uncharacteristic sign of anxiety that Theron wasn’t used to seeing from him. The next statement left in a rush: “He believes there’s a chance that Xaja might have survived the attack. He suspects that if she's still alive, she’s probably on Zakuul, and she's in some sort of danger that he can't identify.”

For a second, Theron felt hope flare within his chest, his heart in his throat -- then reality kicked back in, and he felt his shoulders slump. “Dreams? If dreams were real, Taerich, I’d be piloting a Hutt pleasure barge overrun with gizka. The only dreams coming true now are nightmares.” He blindly gestured with one hand toward the wall, and the Spire beyond it, as if to prove his point. "You saw those reports of what happened to Marr’s fleet. There's no chance she made it."

"He swears up and down that he can feel her, or at least feel something where his bond with her was -- and he says it feels nothing like the broken bond he had with his mum.” Reanden grimaced, shifting forward in the seat. He rested his elbows on his thighs, fingers interlaced over his knees. “Look, I'm about as Force-sensitive as you and have no idea what a bond is supposed to feel like, but I trust my kid. He wouldn’t… offer hope where there isn’t any. He’s not that cruel." He shrugged. "At the least, I promised him I would do some snooping. Figured you'd be interested."

Sorand was a pretty sane, reasonable Sith, Theron knew. Unless the siege on Dromund Kaas had driven him completely insane… but Reanden, even with his clear biases toward his surviving children, should have been able to recognize that. So if Cipher Nine thought Imperius' hunch concerning a long-dead Jedi was worth investigating…

But if they're wrong? Theron raked a hand down his face as he stood up and paced to the window, then back again. "I can't do this," he heard himself whisper. "Getting my hopes up, and then finding out it was a false hope… I can't do that and lose her again." He had done that enough with the first reports of the infamous Outlander assassin, whispers of whom indicated they matched Xaja's description, unless there were other tiny, feisty redheaded women with blazing green eyes and blue lightsabers. Nothing had come out of that.

"What makes you think I can?" When Theron glanced over, he was struck by the tangible grief in Reanden's dark eyes, the sorrow making itself evident in the stoop of his shoulders. This wasn’t the Cipher Nine of legend, infamous saboteur and assassin -- this was a grief-stricken father. "My children mean everything to me, my daughter included. I need a confirmation, one way or another."

"Fuck," Theron muttered as he stared out the window for a moment longer, then finally looked back at Reanden. "If he's wrong and we're chasing a false hope, and she's still de-- still gone…"

"And if he's right, and Xaja's alive and in some sort of distress? Could you live with yourself if you didn't even try to help her?"

Help me, please…

Theron groaned and sat back down on the bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. Weird coincidence that Nine would show up with this new theory after last night's dream, he thought, and felt himself frown. The Force didn't operate in coincidences like this, did it? He wished he had Master Zho's guidance right then -- or Hells, even his mother. Somehow, he felt like Satele would at least offer some sort of advice. And he would take any answers he could get right now.

"I... dreamed about her last night," he heard himself admit quietly, before his brain quite caught up to his mouth. "It was different than the normal nightmares about her. She was… she was scared, and kept saying 'he's hurting me'. She didn't say who 'he' was, but…" He bitterly laughed and raked his hand through his hair. "And now I'm hearing her voice in the back of my head. I think I'm losing it."

When he finally looked back at Reanden, the older man was frowning in thought, clearly considering what Theron said. "Sorand thinks he felt her fear too," he added at length. "Said he could feel pain and cold -- thinks they might have been from her end of the bond. He didn't say anything about her being hurt by anyone though. I haven't been in contact with Korin, so I don't know if he's having dreams too."

"And you haven't…?"

"Pfft. Do I look like the type of person to have dreams from the Force?"

"You're as likely as me, old timer."

"One of us didn't get thirteen years of Jedi mind training as a kid." Reanden shrugged. "Not to mention you've been onworld longer. If Sorand's right, and Xaja's here, proximity probably can't hurt."

The idea that maybe, just maybe, Xaja was somewhere on this damned rock turned the spark of hope into a tiny flame in his chest. Theron closed his eyes against the sudden desperate yearning to have her in his arms right then, and for a moment was grateful Reanden couldn't sense his feelings. "You've got some sort of plan for looking, right?"

"I've got about forty percent of a plan," Reanden acknowledged. "You and Tee-Seven share what you've turned up so far, and we might have more of a plan before Lana turns up."

"Forty percent isn't much of a plan," Theron dubiously pointed out, not mentioning he was pretty sure he only had about five percent of a plan to search for Xaja himself… and only thirty percent of a plan to kill Arcann, which was rapidly being bumped down the priority list.

"This coming from the guy who blew up a Sith warship in his underwear."

The officer paused, looking at her for a moment before finally sighing. "My wife and I gave a child to the Jedi years ago," he quietly said, ignoring how Xaja's eyes widened in surprise. "Be about your age now. I want assurance that my kid is alive and safe."

How the blazes… a Jedi child?... Xaja shook her head to clear her thoughts. Checking on someone's Jedi child was a small price to pay for escaping this hell, even if the child's parents were Imperial. "What's their name?" she whispered. 

The officer hesitated, then shook his head. "It’s not safe here," he whispered. "I'll tell you when we get you to your ship."

Xaja nodded and followed her rescuer as he opened the cell door, and immediately fought the urge to flinch when she saw the Pureblood looming in the corridor. The Wrath, her mind supplied, as he spoke to the officer, paying her no heed. "Her status?"

"Perfectly stable and compliant, my lord," the officer answered, his voice the same cool, even tone that Xaja was used to hearing from Imperials. "No problems at all."

"Good." The Wrath nodded and turned to walk off. "Escort her to the interrogation chambers for her training session. Tell the overseer I want an appraisal as to her progress from you directly."

"Yes, my lord." The officer saluted and started walking in another direction, Xaja trailing a step behind, her heart in her mouth. The Wrath hadn't acted like he suspect anything… was it a trap? A pair of contacts and a robe shouldn't have been enough to fool him. Was the officer working directly for him?

Focus, she heard Master Orgus whisper in the back of her mind. She shuddered and quickened her pace to fall into step beside the officer. Was this what Master Orgus has been talking about?

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"The Wrath ordered me to give him an analysis of her status, Overseer. Directly."

The overseer scowled. "She's mine to break and train! The Wrath should trust my judgement, as should you."

"With all due respect, Overseer, I'm more afraid of the Wrath than I am of you." The officer didn't sound scared in the slightest. "He is the one who speaks for the Emperor, after all."

"Fine," the overseer finally snarled. "But stay out of the way. I will not have you causing a distraction." He turned to Xaja, then pointed at the rack. "Today, we test your ability to extract information from the enemy. One of the scum you arrived with awaits interrogation. You’ll conduct it while I watch. You will use the tormentor device for this."

Xaja wanted to kill the overseer with her bare hands for that, or to plead for mercy for Kira on the rack. But over the overseer's shoulder, she saw the officer minutely shake his head, and resigned herself to this. "Yes, Overseer," she quietly said; apparently he was satisfied with that, and let her approach the console and the victim on the torture rack, not seeing how her hands trembled. Oh, hells, Kira, she silently cried out as she saw her Padawan, what have they done to you? What have I done to you? 

“Good,” the overseer said as he followed Xaja to the console. “It’s a simple device. Three inducement settings, each inflicting greater pain on the subject. The tormentor monitors the subject’s vital signs...” Xaja had to tune him out at that, lest she strangle him. But she couldn’t look directly at Kira’s eyes either, not without the guilt crashing down on her for what she had presumably done. Master Orgus had said this wasn’t her fault, but...

"Come on," Kira frantically pleaded as Xaja stepped up to the controls, "I know you're in there. You’re not one of them! If I beat him, you can too!" Hells, Xaja couldn't remember ever hearing her Padawan sound that scared, or that desperate. Fragments of blurry memories made her feel nauseous. Had she been made to torture her Padawan and her friends while in this hell? She was afraid of the answer being yes.

She set her hands on the control console, fighting to keep quiet as she heard the overseer’s instruction to start on the lowest pain settings. Don't draw attention or suspicion, the officer had said. But hells, she couldn't torture Kira! But if the overseer realized that the Jedi wasn't under the Emperor’s mind control…she could see the control for the shock collar at his belt. He would use it if he suspected she had broken free.

An idea glimmered in Xaja's mind, and she jumped on it. "I'm sorry, Overseer," she said as she made a show of pressing buttons on the console and tried to not let her voice shake. "There appears to be a problem with the controls."

The overseer snarled and marched up to the console. "Blasted technicians," he muttered, scowling. "Step aside, I’ll have a look." He knelt to access the cables running under the control panel, and Xaja saw her chance. Her foot flew up in a kick before the Sith saw the attack coming, striking him hard enough in the neck that she felt bones snapping under her boot. He fell in a limp heap, and Xaja frantically fumbled to find the release controls for the rack beside her.

"... Well, it’s about time," Kira shakily said, her voice higher-pitched with relief. Oh, that was Kira, trying to make a joke even in this hellhole. “Get me out of this thing, will you-- who is that?” she added, giving the officer a suspicious look as he approached the console.

"He's a friend," Xaja quickly answered as she disabled the restraints on the rack, letting Kira escape the device. "He helped me get this far. Are you all right?"

“I am now,” Kira nodded as she gave Xaja a hug, one tight enough to make the redhead's ribs ache. “I knew you’d come back. You’ve been fighting him enough…”

"We're not done yet, ladies," the officer interrupted as he opened a supply cabinet and pulled out another robe, holding it to Kira. "Get that on and keep your head down. The hangar isn't too far away. The rest of the Sith here don’t know that you’re back to normal, but that won’t last forever."

"What about the rest of my crew?" Xaja asked, worriedly looking at him. "... they're still here, right? They aren't…" I haven't killed them? Force, please…

"Still in the docking bay, locked in cages. We’ll get them out and get the lot of you on your way." The officer waited for Kira to pull the hood over her head, then opened the cell door and looked out. "Coast is clear for the moment. Hurry, before someone finds that psychopath."

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Of all the sounds Xaja had expected to hear as they approached the hangar, blaster fire was not one she had anticipated. "What's going on?" she hissed.

"I'm not sure," the officer whispered, drawing his blaster pistol. "Stay behind me. You," he added to Kira, "duck. Your saberstaff is on the ship."

Xaja grimly nodded and tightened her hand on the Sith saber she carried. It felt so different from her right lightsaber, too bulky and jagged in her hand; but it would do to defend her unarmed Padawan. She rounded the corner after the officer, took a look at the commotion in the hangar bay, and for a second felt panic when she saw the Wrath, and a few Imperial soldiers, some of whom were already dead on the ground, and oh no, Doc and Rusk and T7 all on the ramp of the ship, wielding blasters…

The Wrath held his hand up, and the remaining Imperial soldiers were raised up by their necks, struggling and gasping until Xaja felt their life forces blink out, letting silence descend on the hangar. The Pureblood looked up as the officer entered with his charges, eyes widening minutely in surprise. When Xaja looked over to the officer, he appeared equally startled, both by the Wrath’s presence and the unexpected turning on other Imperial assets, and seemed to be deciding whether or not to shoot the Sith.

The Pureblood finally inclined his head in an understanding nod, which the officer returned as he holstered his weapon. "The alarm will be raised in minutes, Jedi," he said, sounding like this was a perfectly reasonable situation to be found in. "More guards will come, besides the ones I killed freeing your crew. Shall we go before they arrive?"

Xaja’s eyes narrowed as she considered the scene in front of her. The Wrath turning on his own faction to save her crew, aiding and abetting their escape… but he was the fucking Emperor’s Wrath! And she still didn’t trust her own mind or judgement. “Free Master Tol Braga and the rest of my strike team, and I’ll consider it,” she snapped, and ignored the officer’s quiet groan of exasperation beside her.

“If they were here, Jedi,” the Wrath answered as he turned to face her, “I would have liberated them as well.” Xaja tried hard to not reveal her intimidation as he stepped up to her, towering over her petite frame, forcing her to tilt her head up to look him in the eye and trying to ignore the ache in her neck. “Had I wanted, I could have killed you on Quesh. Did you never wonder why I hesitated?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I have waited over three hundred years to see the face that came to me in a vision. Your face.”

“... I’m never going to understand Sith,” the officer muttered under his breath, sounding as perplexed as Xaja felt.

Xaja shook her head firmly, trying to clear her mind. How the blazes had she shown up in a vision three centuries ago? “You might have mentioned this on Quesh, or in your master’s fortress.”

“I needed to be sure the time had come,” the Wrath answered with a small shrug. “Now I know. There are only a few beings who have ever broken the Emperor’s domination. You and that girl are special,” he added, nodding at Kira.

“Thanks,” Xaja dryly answered, and for a moment felt confused when she sensed a tiny spurt of pride mingled with worry through the Force, not her own emotions. That couldn’t have been from the officer, could it? “And we have the power to destroy your master.”

“Not yet,” the Sith corrected. “Not without my help.” He seemed to sense the confused looks everyone else was giving him. “Though the Emperor conceals his true plans, I have seen them, and that vision has driven me to this.” He didn’t hesitate as he knelt in front of Xaja, ignoring the way her jaw dropped, or how the officer seemed to put his arm out instinctively as though to protect her. “I pledge my loyalty to you. Take me to your Jedi Council on Tython, and I’ll reveal why.”

“What the blazes…” Xaja frowned. “How do I know this isn’t a trap? You’re the bloody Wrath!”

“And I seek to save this galaxy from annihilation.” The Sith sighed when Xaja didn’t seem swayed. “And without my help, your ship will never escape. I can guide you to freedom.”

“... He may have a point,” the officer finally said, his voice low as he spoke to Xaja. “He’ll have codes to get out of this station’s security that not even I have. And not that it might matter to you, but nobody has ever seen him kneel to anyone else over those three hundred years. Even the Emperor himself is questionable.”

… Shit. Xaja sighed and fixed the Wrath with a hard look. “If you’re coming to the Jedi homeworld with us, you’ll be under guard at all times. Don’t attempt anything.” She could sense Rusk sharply nodding his agreement to her left.

“Your flattery is pointless,” the Wrath dryly said as he stood back up, offering the officer a small nod. “I do not seek your people’s deaths -- only their cooperation. But time is a luxury we no longer possess. We must go -- now. I will navigate us through the defense grid.”

I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m bringing the Emperor’s fucking Wrath on my ship and back to Tython. But if I don’t… if he’s right about the defense grid… Xaja frowned, then offered her crew a terse nod. “Load up. He’s right about needing to leave five minutes ago.” 

“I really hope you know what you’re doing, Red…” Doc muttered as he joined Rusk and Kira in running up the Serenity’s ramp, T7 close behind. The Wrath followed, at what was probably to him a leisurely pace, at a stride that Xaja would have almost had to run to keep up with.

Xaja made to follow the Sith into her ship, but paused on the ramp when she realized the officer hadn’t made to join them. "Are you not coming with us?" she asked, turning back to face him. "What if they find out you helped me?"

He shook his head and offered her a small, tight smile. "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. I have a cover to maintain here, and I’ll be able to slip away in the chaos of the Wrath vanishing. Get going. Don't stop until you're back on Tython."

"Wait--" Xaja hesitated as he paused in the middle of stepping away from the ship. "... Our deal? You said you had a child in the Order you wanted kept safe? Who am I looking for?"

The officer sighed heavily and finally turned to face Xaja fully. "Yes… yes, I did give my only daughter to the Order as a child." To Xaja's surprise, he smiled, even if the gesture was bittersweet. "You get back to Tython safely, and I’ll consider our deal met. That will be enough for me."

What?... Xaja felt her mouth fall open in shock as she tried to process the officer's words. Impossible! He isn't… he's your… how?...

The officer -- her father? -- smiled as he stepped back toward her, setting his hand on her arm and gently squeezing, his eyes soft and kind like she would have never expected to see from an Imperial officer. "You look just like your mum," he quietly said. "She would have been so proud of y--"

An alarm started blaring, ruining the moment. The officer sharply looked back at the hangar entrance, then gave Xaja a firm push up the ramp, his gentle touch vanishing with sudden urgency. "Go!" he sharply whispered, quickly stepping back off the ramp and reaching for his belt. Xaja heard the flick of a stealth generator as she tried to reach back for her resc-- her father, and barely saw his wink before he had completely vanished. His presence in the Force disappeared like he had never been there, and Xaja hesitated for a long moment. How had--

"Red!" That was Doc's yell from up the ramp. "Let's go!"

Xaja shook her head and ran back up into her ship, lingering for one moment longer as the ramp drew up, trying to get one last glimpse of the man who claimed to be her father. Did you know who he was, Master? she silently asked Master Orgus' spirit, and got no answer. If-- when she got back to the Republic, she would have to try and find the identities of her parents, the nebulous father and mother she had never really thought about before. My father's Imperial? Am I Imperial? Why did he save me then -- or give me to the Jedi in the first place? Is he with the SIS? What about my mother? Why did he sound like my mother is dead? 

She had to push her questions down as Rusk piloted the Serenity out of the station with the Wrath navigating -- no, Scourge, as he insisted on being referred to -- and into hyperspace at a speed that could be called reckless. And she had to focus on her questioning of Scourge and why he insisted on leaving the Empire with them -- and no, he said he hadn't known who the officer was. And he wouldn't give her any details as to why he had left with them, which frustrated her. But she didn't have it in her to argue more with the Sith who had helped her escape. She would have to get her answers with the Council's briefing.

The questions about her father came rushing back when she finally staggered into her quarters and threw the terrible Sith lightsabers into a corner, planning to shower until she had scrubbed the touch of the Empire from her skin. The Imperials wouldn't have raided her ship and taken her Jedi clothing, would they? She would burn the robes and lightsabers she had now when she got to Tytho--

Two lightsabers she had never seen before rested on her bed, neatly side by side. They looked to be worn, yet well-maintained, with old signs of weathering distorting some of the decorative engravings in the silver hilt. Xaja cautiously picked one up and ignited it, and felt relief when the blade was bright blue, not crimson. These weren't her old lightsabers (and who knew where those were now. Odds are the Imps would have destroyed them.), but they were still Jedi weapons that would work just fine for her. Better than the Sith ones she had thrown into the corner, at any rate. The one she was holding felt perfect in her hand, as though it had been made specifically for her -- their crystals seemed to resonate with her as though she had chosen them herself on Ilum.

Then she saw the note on the flimsi sheet under the sabers, in someone's strong, neat handwriting. Her heart in her throat, she deactivated the lightsaber in her hand and picked up the note.

These used to be your mother's. She wanted to pass them down to you, if she ever had the chance. I've been holding onto them since she passed in case I got the chance she never had. I wish it had been under better circumstances. 

She would be so proud of you, and the Jedi you've become, if she could meet you. I'm proud enough for both of us. Stay safe, little one.

Dad

Xaja felt herself crumple to the floor, holding her mother's lightsaber in one hand and the note from her father in the other, tears making the letters in his handwriting blurry until she couldn't read it anymore. For a long moment, grief welled up beside her lingering fear and trauma -- grief for the mother she would never meet, and grief for the lost chance to know her father. Odds were she would never get to meet her father again, or thank him for saving her life. How did one of her parents, who hadn't seen her since she had been a baby, manage to track her down as an adult and rescue her? Why would her father have cared about the child he had given to the Order so long ago? 

And if the lightsabers, so obviously not Sith in design, had been her mother's… was her mother a Jedi? Then why had nobody on Tython ever mentioned it?

Filled with more questions than answers, Xaja curled up in a tight ball, holding the only two tokens from her parents she had ever held. I hope he didn't get caught, she silently pleaded to the Force. Please, let my… let my father have gotten out of there safely, please…

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The message from Marcus himself came in a week later -- which was a nice change from the last few messages that all seemed to centre around telling Reanden off for putting official galaxy-altering missions on hold for personal pet projects that had a high risk of getting him killed. "Fine, you did a nice job jailbreaking. The Council is happy to have their star back... even with a hell of a stowaway. My point still stands: you’re still a dick."

“I’m here, Theron.” Xaja rested her hand against his cheek, cradling his face as her other hand rubbed his shoulder. “I’m here, love. We’re okay. You’re safe, you’re safe…” She kept talking to him as she finally started to see awareness in his eyes, finally sensed the nightmare loosening its hold on him. “That’s it, love. You’re okay. We’re on Odessen, and we’re both okay. You’re safe with me, sweetheart.”

Theron’s hand finally raised to grab her wrist as his eyes sought out her own, the panic finally lessening. “Xaja?” he whispered, as though he couldn’t quite believe that she was there.

“Yes, it’s me.” Xaja leaned down to kiss Theron’s forehead, feeling his other hand reach up to touch her hair, then her cheek. “I’m right here, Theron, and I’m not going anywhere. You were having a nightma–”

She yelped as Theron suddenly grabbed her, pulling her close enough to him that she could feel the bandages around his stomach pressing into her own skin. He buried his face in her shoulder; she could feel him shaking. “They had you,” he whispered. “They were… stars, I couldn’t…”

“Shhh.” Xaja raked her fingers through the lines of hair growing back over Theron’s scalp. “You haven’t lost me, Theron. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.” She kissed his hair again as she settled back down in the pillows, soothingly stroking Theron’s ragged hair and kissing him until she felt him calm down again. “It’s okay. We’re both okay.”

Theron finally took a shaky breath, microscopically loosening his tight grip on Xaja. “Sorry,” he whispered, pulling back just enough to look her in the eyes. Xaja felt her heart shatter again when she saw the haunted look in his gaze. “For… for waking you up.”

“It’s okay,” Xaja murmured as she gently kissed his lips. “Better me waking up than you stuck in that nightmare.” She felt Theron hesitantly nod, and stayed quiet for another minute, brushing her fingers over his stubble-clad cheeks and feeling his breathing synchronize with hers at last. “Do you need another dose of the pain meds?” she finally asked.

Theron quickly shook his head, despite the pain flaring in the Force around him. “Not the meds,” he quickly said before hesitating; fear coloured the Force again. “I… I can’t wake up,” he quietly confessed, his voice almost inaudible. “I can’t…”

“Oh, Theron,” Xaja whispered, her heart twisting at his openly fearful expression. Whatever demons he had faced in his nightmare, the monsters he had encountered in the Order of Zildrog, they had to rival her worst dreams of Valkorion to scare him that badly. “C’mere.” She drew Theron back down to snuggle, guiding his head to rest over her chest where he could hear her heartbeat. Her hand reached down to just touch the bandages; Xaja stifled a hiss as she drew on the Force, transferring some of Theron’s pain to herself. Hells, she had hoped to never feel this type of pain again, even if second-hand; but it wasn’t like they had more options.

He frowned, looking up at her as he felt her tense instinctively. “Xaja, what are you–?”

“It’s okay.” Xaja managed a smile for Theron as she kissed his forehead. “Nothing I can’t handle.” Stars knew she was considered one of the experts on being stabbed with lightsabers and surviving to tell the tale. She stroked her fingers soothingly through Theron’s hair, just along his temples like she knew he loved. “Sleep, Theron.”

“But…” Theron frowned, fighting off the drowsiness that already threatened to take him over again. “You can’t… not for…” His grip on her tightened. “I don’t wanna lose you…”

“You’re not going to lose me.” With an effort, Xaja drew more of the pain into herself. Her discomfort was well worth seeing Theron’s face visibly relax as the tension in his body eased. “I’m going to be right here when you wake up, love. I promise.” She kissed his hair again as his eyes closed; he snuggled into her chest, his breathing finally steadying in the slow currents of sleep. Xaja didn’t dare move until she saw the lines in his forehead vanish, his mouth slightly falling open, his Force-signature relaxed and calm.