Disclaimer: The term Star Wars, the Star Wars logo, and all names and pictures of Star Wars characters, vehicles, concepts and items are the property of Lucasfilm Ltd., or their respective holders. There is no attempt to profit by their use. The author is not endorsed by or affiliated with Lucasfilm, Ltd. The author is too poor to be worth the lawsuit.

"You cannot win, Revan!"

The Dark Lord sneered under his mask. How dare this Jedi defy him! He would wipe that smug, self-righteous look off her face. He ignited his lightsaber with a hiss, the blade a blaze of rosy red, almost...pink.

Pink! No wonder this Jedi upstart was so defiant! He, the Dark Lord of the Sith, running around the galaxy with a sissy-pink lightsaber. Hardly intimidating. Who in the five Corellian hells decided that the Sith should have "red" lightsabers, anyway? And why this particular shade of "red"? Jedi conspiracy! Whoever it was needed to die. Painfully. With a slow, crushing force choke. And then throw the fool into the hungry mouth of a Sarlacc to rot for a thousand years for good measure. A pity the fool was probably already long dead. He would just have to take it out on the Jedi before him.

But not before he took her yellow lightsaber crystal from her. Yes, he would make her watch as he wrested it from her lightsaber and placed it into his own. Yellow was a much more fearsome color. No Jedi would dare defy him again! Let the Jedi upstart have the pink crystal. He would make her pose for a holorecording with her pink lightsaber, and distribute the recording across the galaxy. The Jedi would at last be brought to their knees! Let them be shown for the weak sissy fools they truly were! From now on, the Sith would only use fearsome colors like blue, green, and-oh yes!-yellow.

The Dark Lord paused for a moment in his thoughts. What about fratricide? Bah! Any Sith who died of fratricide was weak and didn't deserve to live anyway. Make the Jedi use pink if the thought of fratricide bothered them so much. Malak, however...No, he wouldn't allow Malak to use a manly color. He would make him continue to use pink. Got to keep the backstabber in line. Besides, maybe the Dark Lord would get lucky and Malak would die by fratricide. The thought turned Revan's lopsided sneer into a full smile.

The Dark Lord's reverie was rudely interrupted by a blinding flash of light from the view port. He saw the light reflected on Bastila's face, her eyes shifting to look past him, widened in shock. Darth Revan had only half a moment to turn his head and see the fire from Malak's flagship before it impacted the bridge. And in that half moment, his final thought as Dark Lord of the Sith likewise had the misfortune of being rudely interrupted: I'm going to kill that backsta-

The ground beneath his feet shook. Wait, where were his feet? They weren't on the ground. Where was the ground? His head hit the ground hard. Oh, there it is! His vision went white. Dancing jawas. Blackness.

Revan's eyes fluttered half open. He couldn't move. His body had finally succumbed to the weight of the galaxy he always carried. Pinpricks of light shot through the blackness that shrouded his eyes. The blackness faded as his vision returned. He felt a breath of recycled air hit his face as his mask was lifted away.

Blue eyes. He didn't know jawas could have blue eyes. No, wait. Not a jawa. His blurry vision cleared just enough to make out porcelain skin and brown hair. She was undeniably very beautiful. A hand gingerly touched his face. So gentle, so soft. The hand brushed his cheek and slowly moved its way to the back of its head, as if searching for something. Searing pain stabbed into his skull. The hand had found its target. The pinpricks came back, and the blackness. Dancing jawas was all he knew.

Bastila heaved heavy breaths as she dragged the broken body of the Sith Lord by his ankles, one sluggish step after the next. She had to make it to her getaway ship. Now. This was taking too long. The ground violently shuddered. The ship was falling apart. It could go at any moment. Worse yet, Malak could make it go a moment faster if he had the presence of mind to do so. Perhaps she should leave Revan for dead. It was unlikely his mind would ever recover. She had done all she could to heal him. She had even used all her medpacs on him, when she herself had painful wounds that needed tending. As she had reached into his mind to heal him, she could tell that his mind was utterly shattered. She shook her head in an effort to dislodge the disturbing images of dancing jawas. He was indeed beyond recovery.

But, no, she had gotten this far. She must see this through. For him, and for the lives of her fellow Jedi lost on this mission. A Jedi tries to save life, even the life of such an evil being as Darth Revan. She would drag him to her ship, even if it cost her her own life. A Jedi's life was sacrifice. If she could just get him to Dantooine... The masters would know what to do with him. Perhaps they could heal him where she had failed. Then she could be free of him. And possibly get her knighthood for showing such courage. She almost cracked a smile at that thought but for the inner voice of her conscience-which sounded suspiciously like Master Vrook-warning her to keep a tight reign on her emotions.

"Ughhhh." The near-corpse she was dragging thrashed his head and moaned. Bastila's head snapped up. Was he conscious? It couldn't be! It was impossible! His bloodied head rose to look at his ankles, and then to the woman holding him by the ankles. She dropped his feet in shock.

"Who are you? Where am I?" he rasped.

Bastila rushed to kneel beside him. Her arms wrapped around his head in support. "You were badly injured. Do you remember anything at all?"

The Dark Lord of the Sith shook his head, and then winced at the throbbing pain the effort had caused. "Agh. No."

Bastila frowned. "Try not to move."

"No kidding!" The Sith Lord's head fell back into Bastila's arms.

Bastila debated what to tell him. What he couldn't remember couldn't hurt, right? No, no, she should tell him at least some of the truth. Just enough to gain his trust and drag his body away without struggle. Away to her ship, to safety-and to his inevitable trial for war crimes against the Republic.

"You are on board your ship." she said. "There was an explosion. You were caught in it. You must have hit your head. This ship is severely damaged and could go at any moment. My ship is in the hangar. We're about halfway there."

"But...who are you?"

The moment of crisis. Should she tell him she was a Jedi? What if that triggered his memories to come back? There was no way he could fight her in this condition. Then again, she had thought there was no way he could regain consciousness and hold a coherent conversation. She decided it was best to skirt around the issue.

"I'm a friend. Don't you remember?"

"Ugh... Sorry, no. Don't feel bad. I don't think I know who I am either."

Bastila's eyes widened. By the Force! He didn't remember who he was! "Listen, I promise to answer all your questions after we've gotten off this ship." And after I've got you sedated, she thought. "We've got to keep moving."

The Sith Lord moved his shoulders and found that he could move his arms as well. "Okay... I think I can sit up. Maybe even walk."

Bastila looked unconvinced. "I don't think that's a good idea given your condition. We need to get you to my ship's medical bay. You'll just have to lie down while I drag you. I'm sorry."

The Sith Lord's face cringed. "What? You seriously think that being dragged by the ankles feels so much better than walking? I think I'll try to walk, thanks!"

"You are in absolutely no condition to walk!"

But the Sith Lord wasn't listening. He draped an arm around Bastila's waist for leverage and dragged himself to a sitting position.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" Bastila was forced to brace him in support or be dragged down to the floor with him.

"I'm walking out, Princess!"

"Princess? Princess?" Bastila sputtered. "Of all the...! Why would you call me that?"

The Sith Lord gave her a lopsided grin. "You're pretty like one. Why not?"

Bastila blushed bright red...a nice, rosy red, almost...pink.

A flicker of memory sparked in his eyes. He felt a little angry. Actually he felt a whole lot angry. But he couldn't fathom why those pink cheeks made him angry. It was almost on the tip of his tongue.

"What is it?" Bastila looked at him sharply in the eyes, concerned. Was that anger she saw in his eyes?

Revan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "It's nothing. Please, help me stand." He laid his arm around her shoulders as she helped lift him to his feet. Then, hesitatingly, he took his first step, still leaning against her. She braced her arm against his back. "See, not so bad," he said. His grimace said otherwise, but Bastila knew they could escape faster if he could walk. They took a few more steps together.

They walked on like this for several minutes in fatigued silence. Suddenly, the amnesiac Sith Lord stopped. "Sorry, I need to rest."

Bastila was exhausted as well, but she also knew they had precious little time. "No, we must keep moving."

Revan paid her no heed. His arm slid off her shoulders as he fell to his knees. She went down with him, supporting his back with her arm still.

"Sorry, Princess." He sat back on his legs.

"Stop calling me that."

"Then what am I supposed to call you?" He leaned his head into hers to look her in the eyes.

That lopsided grin appeared again. Bastila thought it wasn't a half-bad looking grin either. Very handsome, for a Sith Lord. He wasn't remotely creepy like she thought he would be. No eyeless sockets, no decomposing skin. Instead, he was ruggedly handsome. No, no! Bastila shut her eyes tightly to blot out the handsome face, but it was too late. She could feel the blood already rushing to her face. She opened her eyes again. His half-grin had cracked into a full smile. Such nice, pearly-white teeth. No, no! She must control her emotions. He was an evil Sith Lord, for Force's sake! But her face wasn't listening and turned a few shades redder.

And the smile dropped to a surly frown on his face.

"What's the matter?" Bastila was taken aback at this sudden mood change.

"I, I don't know..." He hung his head down, avoiding her gaze.

"Are you remembering something?" Her eyebrows arched as her eyes widened, her heart stopping in its chest. She could feel the anger pouring out of him.

"I think so. I remember feeling really angry."

Bastila swallowed. "Angry?"

"Yes, very, uncontrollably angry. But I don't remember why, or at what." He stopped. His head lifted again to look at her face. His eyes narrowed as he icily peered into her eyes. "Or at who..."

Oh no! Bastila felt a sudden panic wash over her. She froze like a bantha in a speeder's headlights. If he could walk, what if he could fight? She was fairly weak herself. Could she keep him from choking the life out of her? Where was her lightsaber? She hadn't misplaced it again, had she? Not at a time like this! Oh, how Master Vrook had always warned her about not losing her lightsaber! Pesky thing always managed to sneak away on her when it was most needed. Then she remembered. It was clipped to her belt, but pinned between her body and his as they sat side by side.

The Dark Lord saw her gaze shift down to the cylindrical object snuggled between the sides of their legs. It all suddenly snapped into place, like the snap of a...lightsaber. He tensed and his eyes widened with fury. A deep, hateful growl escaped his lips.

"YOU!"

Bastila dropped the arm that had supported him and snatched her lightsaber from her belt.

THUMP!

The Sith Lord's body crumpled unconscious. At first, Bastila sighed with relief, but then she remembered her mission. Leaning over his head, she peered into his mind. She tried once again to heal it, but to no avail. If his mind had been shattered before, it was in a hundred million specks of galactic dust now. No small thanks to the butt of her lightsaber hilt hitting him on the head.

On the exact same location as his original head injury.

Bastila sighed. Back to dragging him. It had been so much easier to walk, even if she had to be his human crutch. She rose and grabbed hold of his ankles once more. How would she ever explain his vegetative state to the masters? She had completely lost control of the situation. She had given into fear and reacted. Even with the the combined healing efforts of the masters, their prize would only at best remember bits and pieces of his life-mere specks of dust. She had failed her mission. Instead of capturing the Dark Lord, she had captured a vegetable. He would be lucky if he ever walked again.

She lost control of her emotions once more, and cracked the slightest of smiles. If asked, she would just skirt around the issue.