Chapter Text
The shadow of the Empire fell over the city again. Its iron fist would descend for a time to crush anyone unlucky enough to get in its way, then withdraw just as fast once the point was made.
You were used to the pattern. You’d seen it in a dozen cities since the Republic fell. Since the Jedi fell. There was nothing you could do, a reminder repeated over and over. You weren’t even a fighter at the Temple. Any attempt to help the poor souls caught up in their cold hatred would only end with you snuffed out like your friends, your mentors, your old Master.
Stormtroopers hassled someone else as you passed them on the street, your face shadowed under a hood in the heavy rain. The pull of the Force needled at the back of your mind. The fear around you. You cast your eyes to the ground and walked on.
The streets were nearly flooded. The water splashed over your boots as you wound through the streets to the edge of the city. The slums that bordered the wild swamps rarely drew the Empire’s attention. Your home would be safe.
But fortune didn’t smile on you. The Stormtroopers crowded the streets close to your home as well. The iron fist squeezed tighter. It was unusual, the Empire turning out to a backwater planet in these numbers. They cut off any path to your door. The dark lenses of a white helmet turned in your direction, and you pressed into the dark corners of the street and edged away.
A night on the streets wasn’t unfamiliar to you. Better that than another encounter with a Stormtrooper. Showing your identification, a good forgery but not a great one. Revealing the location of your home, setting yourself up to be taken in the night.
You turned down an alley, climbing up the ladder on the side of a boarded-up shop. A rusted metal awning jutted over part of the roof, and you tucked yourself out of the rain. The best you could hope for, cold and wet. The heavy raindrops drummed on the awning above you.
You must have fallen asleep. The next thing you knew, there was chaos in the streets across the city. The fiery plume of an explosion billowed up. Blaster fire echoed in more than one direction, the glow reflecting off the sheen of water that clung to every surface.
Phantom sounds haunted you in the cacophony of blaster fire. You could almost swear you heard the hum of a lightsaber. Those ghosts came to you in the worst moments, prodding and pulling through the Force. A faint thread spurred you toward that chaos in the streets. Madness. Suicidal madness. You’d wandered the galaxy alone for so long that the ghosts wanted you to join them.
The blaster fire grew fainter in slow ebbs. Reinforcements would be headed toward the chaos. Maybe there was a route open to your home. You could get warm. Change into dry clothes. Sleep in your own bed. It was worth risking the run.
You slipped back down the ladder, turning onto the path toward your door.
But the Force needled again, that thread pulling the other direction. It wasn’t fear you could sense this time. Pain echoed through that distant thread of connection, cutting into your mind as if the agony was your own. Someone in need of healing. Before the fall of the Jedi, never a call you could ignore. One you were made for.
You had more practice ignoring the call since then. You took a step toward your door. There was nothing you could do.
Hands tensing at your sides, you turned around, toward that faint call.
No. No. You weren’t that person anymore. The Jedi was dead, and she should stay dead. Outside of the safety of the Order, the galaxy would make sure you paid dearly for your compassion.
If you kept ignoring the call, maybe one day, you’d no longer hear it.
You weaved through the back alleys between you and your home, away from the faint retreating din of Stormtroopers. The streets were silent except for the slosh of your boots and your own panicked breathing. Your neighbors had the good sense to hide away. You paused at the edge of every block, scanning for any sign of danger.
The static of a Stormtrooper’s radio hissed at the end of a street, and you pressed yourself against a wall until it passed and you were enveloped in silence.
Finally, an opening. You darted to your door. Shutting it behind you, you were finally safe. In your warm, dark home, the comforting earthy scent wafting over you. Jars and vials of ground herbs and leaves and flowers lined the shelves. Collected during your wandering in the wilderness, scoping the land in the same way you had on faraway planets during the war when the infirmary’s resources ran dry.
The Empire could kill the Jedi, but not the healer. A skill that afforded you enough money to survive as you moved through another place you could belong for a week, a month, a year.
It was time to put away this awful day, get dry, go to bed. Nothing good would come of a night like this.
You curled up in your cot. The cold night air washed over you. The drip of water leaking through the roof began again, a steady patter cutting through the oppressive quiet of the room.
This was enough of a life. It would have to be enough.
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The Force pulled at you, waking you from your frantic dreams of blaster fire and screaming.
That same call, nearer this time. So impossibly near.
You laid back down. The middle of the night wasn’t the time to indulge this. There was never a good time to indulge this.
And you might have gone back to sleep, if not for the strong tug of that connection rousing you again.
When would it leave you alone? You hadn’t felt a pull this strong since… since there were Jedi who needed your aid.
You slipped out of your cot and wrapped yourself in a cloak. Ridiculous. What you were doing was ridiculous. But the weight of that presence was so close and so loud.
You cracked the front door open, staring into the night. Nothing. No one in sight, just another torrent of rain pouring down into the street.
Of course it was nothing. The ghosts playing tricks on you. The blaster fire brought back memories, that was all.
A soft groan sounded nearby. You took a step out into the rain and peered around the corner into the alleyway.
A man shrouded in black was collapsed against the wall. He didn’t react when you approached. He didn’t move at all. Unconscious.
It wasn’t uncommon to hear the call of the desperate through the Force, but there were so many desperate. And you had so few resources to help with. There was likely nothing you could do here.
Droplets of blood diffused into the rainwater, red-tinted pools forming in the uneven stones of the street. Wounded. You knelt beside the man and drew the cloak away from his face.
The weak light of distant streetlamps cast across him enough to reveal horns and tattoos. A Zabrak. His eyes were closed, the faint huff of his breath fast and heavy. If you could get a closer look at the wound…
You drew his cloak aside. And underneath, a familiar gleam of metal. A lightsaber. Unique. Double-bladed.
Your sight focused in the dark. Just as his eyes slit open, their yellow glow gleaming in the night.
Oh. Oh no.
That face. You knew that face. From another life, when you had nobler goals than survival. The stories about him circulated in the Temple.
No wonder the call was strong. You did feel the presence of another wielder of the Force. A Sith. The Sith who wouldn’t die.
His eyes drifted closed again.
Stormtrooper boots echoed near. You needed to get out of here, go back inside. This was not your problem. He was not your problem. In that other life, you would have met across the battlefield. An enemy far more dangerous than the Empire’s footsoldiers.
Now, though… Was he the reason the Empire flooded these streets?
You had to leave. He’d survived this long. Leave him to his fate. Leave him to the Empire. If he didn’t kill you, he’d lead the Empire straight to you, one way or another.
A shiver passed through him. He was soaked to the bone, the rainwater turning red as it washed over him. He’d… he’d be fine. His pain wasn’t… It was fine. You could ignore it. Your vows were made long ago, to an Order that no longer existed.
His gloved hand raised weakly and caught your arm, grazing a light touch along the inside of your wrist. Answering old instincts, you clasped his hand between both of your own. He dropped into unconsciousness, his hand pulling away with a lifeless heaviness.
You sighed. Shutting out the call of the Force was a necessity. Ignoring a dying man at your doorstep, even an enemy…
The healer wasn’t dead. Though she might be soon with the ideas you were entertaining.
You pulled on him and let his dead weight fall against you.
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You were so unbelievably stupid. That admonishment repeated in your head as you flitted around the house, snatching the right medicines from your shelves and dropping them in your pockets. Clean water. Bandages. If only you had bacta here, the healing would be easier.
He took up the entirety of your small cot. As you stripped away the cloak, the wounds were obvious. You had your work cut out for you. A deep gash across his abdomen, still bleeding. Burns across his left arm and side.
The blood washed away. Next came applying the herbs that should speed the flesh regrowing, nectar that would prevent infection.
He didn’t wake, but he groaned in pain with each touch. You uncorked another vial, an extremely strong sedative. The powdered roots of a flowering shrub, only found deep in the marshes. It would dull the pain, though you’d have to be careful with the dosage.
A small dose of sedative applied to the wound, into his bloodstream, and the tension melted away from him in minutes. Muscles unwound and relaxed under your hands as you worked. He rested easily, his breath slowing.
As you bandaged him, you scanned for more wounds. His legs were mechanical. Less for you to monitor. He was lean and muscular, in a fighting shape you’d only seen in the finest duelists. Another cut slashed near his eye. Shallow, but you were nothing if not thorough.
You cleaned the blood from his face in gentle strokes. He shifted in his sleep, and you nearly winced away. But he only turned his head toward your hand, pressing against your palm. You stroked your thumb along his face while you finished applying a balm to the cut.
Everyone was the same at death’s door. He reached for anyone who was near. You couldn’t forget that this man would kill you if he knew what you were. Without mercy.
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It wasn’t safe to leave the house anymore. The Empire patrolled the streets regularly. Not that you had much choice in staying close at hand, with your patient sedated in the bedroom. The medicines should last. A supply run wouldn’t be necessary for at least a few more days if his condition remained stable.
A Stormtrooper passed near your window, and you let the curtain fall back into place to hide your watchful eyes. You returned to your worktable to finish mixing another balm. The steady work of your hands always brought you peace. The solidity of something real in your grasp, crushing and stirring and diluting, more calming than anything you achieved in the Temple’s meditation chambers. The sharp, cooling scent of the herbs wafted over the room.
He would need the wounds cleaned and tended to again soon. You wandered to the bedroom, still stirring the balm.
And the bed was empty. Oh. Oh, that was a big problem.
In the split second while you evaluated your options, your back slammed against the wall, and he was in front of you. His forearm pressed against your throat to immobilize you. His iron grip seized your hand, the balm slipping from your grasp. You had the foresight to hide the lightsaber away, or you’d be having this conversation at the end of a blade.
Your heart pounded harder as he applied the slightest pressure to your throat. He was strong. There would be no fighting your way out of this mess. But he wasn’t in the most effective position to kill you.
You steeled yourself, raising your eyes to meet his. His unsettling yellow eyes were unfocused and distant. He wasn’t lucid. Still under the influence of your sedative, but not enough. The pain radiating through his wounds was sharp enough for you to sense.
For now, he was just a patient. Not the first time a patient had threatened you in a feverish haze.
“Lie down,” you ordered, with only a slight shake in your voice. “You’ll undo my work.”
He blinked, fighting to focus. But his arm hadn’t moved from against your throat. You couldn’t wait around for his decision of whether or not to murder you.
You reached into your pocket with your free hand and uncorked the vial of sedative powder. Then you held your breath and shook the vial toward him, throwing the powder into his face in a thick cloud.
He staggered back, releasing his hold on you. He slowly collapsed, falling to his knees with a dull, metallic thud before hitting the ground.
He shouldn’t have woken up yet with the dose you gave him. The willpower required to fight his way out of that… you understood how he survived a Jedi’s blade.
And now he was lying unconscious on your floor. And he would definitely be angrier the next time he woke. This was going well.
You slid down the wall to sit on the floor next to him, clasping your hands together to stop their shaking. He was just a patient. Breathe. Get him back in the bed and treat his wounds.
You were in too deep to do anything else.
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Your makeshift bed in the corner of the main room made your bones ache more each morning. The austerity of the Temple and the long nights sleeping in doorways after its fall prepared you for discomfort. Curling up in a chair with a threadbare blanket was hardly the worst condition you’d slept in. That didn’t make your spine any happier.
A sharp knock at the door woke you from fitful sleep. Sunlight streamed through the curtain, shining on the motes of dust your movement stirred up. You uncurled with a satisfying stretch and crept to the window. Peering through the sliver of uncovered glass at the edge of the curtain, your breath caught.
A Stormtrooper. Knocking on your door.
They didn’t go door-to-door for nothing. They knew what they were looking for.
And you had a strong suspicion what they were looking for was in a medically induced coma in your room.
The bedroom door was closed. It would take a couple of minutes before they figured out they had the right house. Then your poorly constructed identity would fall apart, along with any hope of getting off this planet alive.
There was no pathway through this conversation that didn’t end up with you in a cell. Or at best, hunted down in the streets with no escape.
Exactly as you pictured from the first moment you took him in.
They would break down the door if you didn’t answer. Drag you out. It would be worse. You still had the illusion of control for now.
You threw the door open.
“Can I help you?” you asked.
“Stand aside.” The Stormtrooper’s commanding voice hissed through the helmet. “We have orders to search this area.”
That couldn’t happen. You scrambled desperately for a reason to turn them away. And in your desperation, you reached out. You hadn’t reached for the Force in so long, it might choose not to answer.
“You already searched this house,” you said, with more calm than you felt. “You found nothing.”
The silence lingered for agonizing moments.
“I already searched this house,” he answered. “I found nothing.”
He turned with a dazed hesitation and moved on. His footsteps retreated to the next house, and you held yourself together for long enough to shut the door. Leaning against the closed door in the temporary safety of your home, you gasped a few shaky breaths.
You got to live another hour. If you did your job, he would soon be well enough to get out of your house. But not soon enough.
—————————————————————
The evening settled in abruptly, or at least that’s how it felt as you lost yourself in distractions. You hunched over the worktable and didn’t pick your head up until the streetlights glowed brightly.
Time to tend to your patient, changing the dressings again to keep the infection away. You slid from the stool, lit a candle to guide your path, and headed into the bedroom with your supplies.
And as you passed the threshold, the faint glint of yellow eyes caught the light of your candle. He was awake, lying still. Only watching. A shudder passed through you, the primal fear of sensing a predator in the brush.
You couldn’t show him the fear. You couldn’t let on how much you knew of him.
You swept on, holding the flame near another candle to catch the wick alight. The room brightened with a soft gleam.
“Where… am I?” he asked. His voice was low and resonant, but perfectly calm.
“My home,” you explained. “I’m a healer. You were badly injured.”
His gaze searched over you, burning with intense focus. “I… remember. To a point.”
“You collapsed in the street. This was the easiest place to take you.”
The only place to take him, but he didn’t need to know that. He still inspected you like he could unravel the mystery around this strange encounter.
Time to change the subject. You shifted the supplies in your hand. “I need to reapply the bandages.”
You drifted over and perched on the edge of the bed next to him, clinging tightly to the gauze in your hands as if it would protect you. He sat up with a stifled groan to make your work easier. He shouldn’t be up yet. He shouldn’t be awake yet, not with that extra dose of sedative.
He was closer to you this way, the heat that radiated from his body warming your skin. You stripped away the old bandages, steady hands brushing along his abdomen and around his back as he watched you closely.
“Is it your practice to take in strangers?” he asked.
“Should I have left you to die in the rain?” you answered. The wrappings cast aside, you inspected the wounds. Healing quickly, but not quickly enough. Now that he was awake, the risk wasn’t only in the street.
“Many would. I should be grateful for your generosity.”
“You should be?” You wound the fresh bandages over the wounds, more careful now that he was awake to feel it. “Are you not?” Underneath the wounds, there were layers of other faded scars. The pattern of tattoos hid many of them, clear only under your touch.
“Generosity is rarely offered without a motive and a price of repayment.”
Your eyes snapped up to meet his. He was suspicious of you. He had the nerve to be suspicious of you.
“Are you alone here?” he asked, his tone turning darker.
Your hands fumbled the bandage, and he grabbed your arm in a firm grip. You flinched away from his hold. “What business is that of yours?”
“Who else should I be grateful to for this generosity?” His attention was locked on you. He leaned in to close the distance you created, even though the movement would still hurt him.
You jerked your arm from his grip. “No one. Healing is a duty. I take orders from no one.”
He drew back, looking you up and down. “And you consider me naive enough to believe you are motivated by nothing but your own compassion?”
The interrogation was spinning out of your control. You dropped the bandages and scrambled to your feet. Distance was the only tool that would save you if he decided to punish you for this good deed. “You came to my doorstep, and you question me? You have no idea what I’ve risked to help you.”
“Your doorstep?” A hint of a smile played at his lips. He had caught you in an evasion.
Your hands drifted to your pockets, searching for another makeshift weapon. Nothing.
“Foolishly compassionate,” he mused. “And eager to evade the Empire.”
Your eyes widened. How long had he been awake?
“I should have known,” he said, dropping his voice lower. “Jedi.”
Your whole body stiffened. No point in denying a truth he had managed to uncover in minutes. But you couldn’t show him fear, even now. Especially now. You wouldn’t make yourself an easy target for his wrath. You would meet him on equal ground.
“And what use is that information to you?” you asked, straightening your spine to face him. “Maul?”