Sherlock was being fussed over by the women of the rebel army.

They examined his arm thoroughly, thanking him and his master for their help while they applied the murderous ointment to his arm. No bacta for him, it didn't seem like any of the rebels owned it. Whatever they were using burned his arm fiercely.

The padawan was nodding stiffly, highly displeased with his master's parting words. Perhaps he hadn't parted with his master well either, but Lestrade should have trusted him! It was obvious those children had needed help at once, they were so scared the Force trembled with it. How could his master look on children and not desire… Sherlock took a steadying breath in. He had to calm himself, Lestrade would be back after he located the others, and they would sort everything out. Why they hadn't simply saved the children first and then gone back after Sherlock did not know.

Still…his master had a knack for trouble, and it hadn't felt like he had a stable plan. His teacher wouldn't stoop to anything horribly dangerous…not without his padawan, of course. Sherlock reached through their bond in attempts to reach his mentor, but no response came. Sherlock pressed a bit more instantly. Lestrade was silent.

Odd.

"I need to contact someone," Sherlock told a woman who bent near his arm to examine it. She smiled politely and told him to be patient. By the Force he as sick of hearing he needed patience, Master told him every other day he was not patient enough. He did not need to hear it from strangers. He brushed the woman away impatiently and stood up swiftly. "I need to contact the Jedi council," he said crossly.

One of the leaders stepped forward to soothe the youth, but Sherlock narrowed his eyes menacingly. There was no time to deal with people who would not understand. The leader sighed heavily. "Right this way."

Sherlock was led to a comm center and handed a very outdated holocamera. The padawan waited until he was alone before hailing the council, blasted thing did not bring up much of a picture. The image flickered briefly before centering on one master in particular. Sherlock bowed low.

"Master Yoda," he said in greeting.

"Padawan Holmes," the green troll chuckled, "in trouble, are you?"

"Not me, Master," Sherlock said sorely. "But I have not heard from my master since we were separated in battle, I am concerned for him."

"Hmmm, in trouble, he is?" Yoda inquired.

"He said he had a plan and requested Master Windu assist him." Sherlock explained the situation further. "He promised it was nothing too foolish."

The ancient master chuckled deep in his throat. "If Master Windu he requests, lied he did. In danger your master must be."

"Why?" Sherlock asked swiftly. Surely Lestrade wouldn't try anything rash, not without him. Not without his padawan to assist him. The fact that he had asked for Master Windu and not Master Jinn meant nothing.

Or had he missed something. Lestrade had been overly hurt by his padawan's words when Sherlock accused him of being uncaring, but that was because Master cared about every kriffing thing that existed and would likely go out of his way to save it.

Oh. But still-

Master Windu had arrived, his face drawn in tight with disapproval.

"Holmes, we must talk."

Bantha chisszk.

oOo

"Nnngghh."

It wasn't his most graceful regaining of consciousness that was for sure, but at least he was alone when he came to. Strike that, a med droid was buzzing noisily around him, wrapping his wound with little caution. Lestrade hissed as it ran it's unforgiving claws over his still bleeding injury. The wound wept as he silently wished he could.

Blast it. Whatever kind of poison the blade had been dipped in was burning him alive from the inside out. Cooking his innards in an unobservable flame. No, no it wasn't. He had to calm himself or risk making the effects worse. He was not a youngling that needed comforting, not anymore.

Already laid out on a medical table, Lestrade allowed himself to lean back fully against the hard metal table and forced himself to breathe. His hands cupped his side carefully, so carefully, as he called upon a corner of the Force.

Breathe in the Force, out the pain. It was the mantra often taught to younglings who would skin their knees and scuff their shins. But it was a useful technic for a fully-fledged Jedi as well. He put himself into a deep healing trance, focusing on ridding himself of the pain.

It wasn't long before his trance was interrupted by a sharp prod to his side.

The young Jedi cringed as most of his work disappeared in one solid jab. Pain blossomed once more in his abdomen, but the knight did not cry out. Instead he opened his eyes and cast a long, dark look at his captor. A Zygerrian female smiled down at him, displaying her sharp teeth in a sly grin.

Kriff it all.

"It is not every day I grace a prisoner with my presence," the ginger female purred contently.

"Consider me highly flattered," Lestrade said shortly. "May I have the honor of my jailer's name?"

"Only if you give me the courtesy of yours."

Ah. Well.

"Gregory," he offered stiffly. Only five people called him "Gregory" and got away with it, but for now it would have to be six. As he tried to teach his padawan many times, manners could be a grand tool in escape. Lately the boy had been ignoring his training all together.

"Lidia Sabe," she smiled sweetly. "You are in the presence of a queen, my dear rebel."

Lestrade managed a small smirk that resembled more of a grimace. At the very least he was thought to be a rebel and was not yet known as Jedi. That surely wouldn't go well as Zygerrians desired exotic servants, a tamed Jedi would no doubt bring a plentiful bounty. Lestrade reclosed his eyes tiredly, feeling for more weak than he had in years. "To what do I this great honor?" he said with exhaustion.

"I have witnessed you in battle and deemed you worthy of being my own personal pet," the queen once again purred this time reaching out a furry finger to stroke his cheek. Lestrade had the dignity to remain unmoved and simply allowed himself to focus once more on his heal trance.

"Oh," he said in response, his body numbed by the Force.

"You don't sound very troubled, rebel."

"Perhaps the pain in my side is clouding my judgment," Lestrade said lazily, "perhaps I am a foolish man, I may have even planned my own capture for all you know."

He could sense a shift in the queen, her emotions went from eager and satisfied to on edge and cold. He could practically hear Sherlock's mocking tone saying, "Manners, Teacher."

Lestrade sighed, "Either way I can honestly say I was not expecting your poison."

The praise hit its mark, and the Zygerrain queen perked once more. "It was designed with the purpose to make any being weak without killing it. There are two antidotes for it. One to take it out of your system completely and one to keep it from sending you into cardiac arrest. You will be receiving the latter every four hours."

Breathe in the Force.

"I hope this isn't your method to keep all your slaves in line. It seems counterproductive to me and highly uncivilized," Lestrade said exhaling deeply. The pain began to leave him once more.

Thank the living Force for that.

"I plan to show you off, Gregory. To the others, the ones who thought they could escape me, and to your fellow rebels who now sit in the dungeons below. You were their greatest warrior and now you are tamed."

Lestrade nearly snorted, but checked himself at the last moment. If she planned to display him she would have to lead him to her victims. With a bit of patience and improvising he could have the others freed swiftly. He inhaled deeply.

"A tactic worthy of a queen, I suppose," he said quietly.

"You understand war tactics?" she asked, pleased.

"The man who reared me taught me great respect for strategies," Lestrade said through clenched teeth as the pain refused to leave him entirely. It wasn't completely a lie. The man who was supposed to raise him had been a kriffer, but his master had taught him much. Which is why he needed Mace to get here now.

"A wise man," she said, splaying her hand over his chest seductively. "Tell me, Gregory, are you attractive for a human?"

For Force's sake.

"My wife tells me I annoy the chisszk out of her," Lestrade said amused, "but she still puts up with me."

The smirk slid from his captor's face. "You have a mate then?"

Lestrade shrugged while opening his eyes. "And a child. Does that surprise you?"

The female's frown deepened as she produced the tokens that normally hung around his neck. Sherlock had no idea he wore them, but Molly had given them to him. Engraved on them were each one of the names of the people he held most dear, written in ancient Naboo's language. He felt a childish tug in his stomach and reached out demandingly for them. The Zygerrian queen withdrew them from his grasp, the medical droid pulled him back against the stiff metal table.

"An odd trinket for a free man," she said softly. "Owning a collar."

"It isn't a-" Lestrade began, his composure slipping.

"It has your name, does it not?" the queen inquired politely. Lestrade grit his teeth. "And the name of the people who own you."

Lestrade took in a deep breathe, centering and steadying himself. The engravings bore only two names and in many ways it was true, they did each own a piece of him. He held out his hand to the side and with a small, barely noticeable prompting of the Force said, "Please."

The queen laid it in his open palm without realizing she had been encouraged, Lestrade lay it around his neck before she had time to change her mind once more. He thumbed over this disk with Sherlock's name deeply etched in. Damn that boy for making him worry.

In the distance a mechanical door slammed open. Lestrade instinctively wanted to turn his head to the noise, but every time he moved the damn med droid pushed him back down. He remained unmoved.

"Is this the prisoner, Mother?" a Zygerrian child appeared at the queen's arm.

"Yes, my child," the queen purred softly.

Lestrade made to sit up, but the med droid held firm and sank it's death grip into his shoulders. From His position on the table he observed the mother tenderly licking her child's cat like ears and face in greeting. The addition to a child was complicating, blasting the slaves to freedom seemed far less likely now.

"Is he to be my teacher?" the little girl said eagerly.

"Teacher?" Lestrade asked the girl gently, "how do you mean?"

"You were the best fighter out there. Mother's been looking a very long time for the best fighter so I can learn to be a warrior queen like her," the girl recited loyal. The knight's eyes narrowed.

"You've conditioned your own child into this?" Lestrade demanded heatedly. "Violence, slavery, what are you going to show her next? My torture?"

"If you do not remain compliant," the queen said mischievously. "My daughter must learn to be a strong queen, a true warrior, a near goddess. That is our ways, dear Gregory. Do not pretend that your child was not fighting at your side in the arena. You are no better than us, do not insult us with such accusations."

Lestrade set his jaw firmly in a line of disapproval. "Believe me, I did not want him out there."

With a small flick of her hand the queen called the med droid back to her. It whizzed away noisily, leaving him, he thought, free to sit up. But a splayed hand on his chest stilled him. Normally it would have been ignored, but the queens other hand had attached itself dangerously close to his wound. He yielded to the pressure and laid silently back on the table. The child was called forward.

"Restrain him, Nitra."

"Yes, Mother," the child said eagerly.

This time Lestrade did sit up hurriedly and ignored to queens grip on his bleeding wound. He grunted, but otherwise gave no indication of distress. "Look, you can torture me, I won't be able to stop you, but in God's name don't let the child watch. She's only-"

"My heir. And no, my sweet. This isn't torture, this is the antidote to prevent your heart from seizing. Unfortunately you must remain completely still, and this will be quite painful."

The vile woman was gleeful.

Nitra leaned forward and took his left hand securely in her own. She, surprisingly gently, laid in the metal cuff on the table, it snapped close with a vengeance. He did not fight against her small grasp as it restrained his right hand, his ankles, and finally, as she pushed his head back into its own cuff. The child moved away from him as swiftly as she could and darted behind her mother.

There was a stiff prick jabbed into his neck not a moment later by the med droid.

"This has made grown man beg me to kill them. It is not required, but I do so enjoy it when they do."

If Lestrade had thought the poison was cooking him alive he had been sorely unprepared for its antidote. The liquid raced through his veins, leaving a trial of fire where ever it touched. His muscles seized in order to correct a problem it could not see, his brain screamed for him to extinguish whatever was burning him, but of course he could do none of that.

He could breathe in the living Force.

And breathe out the pain.

And bite his lip to keep from screaming.