Chapter 1

Voices and sounds chased themselves through his dreams, his time passing in a blurred kind of stupor that mixed memory with inconsistent sensory input. With his sight blinded even in mindlessness, Gregor's other senses collected cues to his circumstance without being able to put them into logical thought.

There were a few things he knew.

Like…

He knew that someone sat with him at all times, normally the notably older female, but sometimes the hand on his forehead was furry or tipped with suckers. Hands smaller than hers, less sure and confident and less capable should he get free.

He knew that he was fed some kind of a broth, carefully spooned into his mouth in such small doses he couldn't have hoped to choke let alone eat his fill. Drinks were administered the same way; one young voice read to him - a technical manual of all things - while keeping him company.

Various other topics flitted around him now and again, snatches of conversation he couldn't process and didn't try to. The shift in and out of consciousness was disorienting enough.

Not sure how long he stayed in that state of limbo, when he woke next with a clear head, it was to the sound of a hushed, heated debate. A trio of familiar young voices reached him. Not the voice of the woman who'd drugged him, but familiar all the same.

"I told you he was a Clone, Petro."

"I never said he wasn't!"

"You said he couldn't be this far out; that there was no way a Clone was here without a squad!"

"Well - where is his squad?"

Dead.

Rising unbidden, the answer touched the tip of his tongue - but didn't voice it, choosing to listen instead.

"Yeah, Katooni, if you know so much, where is his squad?"

"Maybe they were all killed or captured," the voice was subdued but earnest, and very young to his ears, a counterpoint to the brashness of the other young voice arguing with it.

His attention drifted, his mind trying to dredge up the images that belonged with those of his squad only to be frustrated when he met a blank wall. His mind wouldn't cooperate and nothing beyond the impression of loss, real and heavy, settling around his heart, came.

No faces.

No images.

No feelings beyond the loss.

Most importantly, and he felt this keenly, there were no names.

"I wonder what his name is - if he has one."

The question was like a signal, drawing him from his thoughts. Exhaling softly, the cloth still across his eyes and his lungs still filled with incense and musk, he answered it without thinking. The rumble of rocks that was his voice caught on the syllables. "Gregor."

"Did you say something?"

Somehow he didn't feel the innocent question was directed his way. Inhaling, he added strength to his voice. "My name is Gregor."

There was a cry and a laugh and a garble of excitement accompanied with a shrieking of what sounded to be some kind of deep throated animal. A random, echoed a call for 'a soda' or similar and then the voices disappeared.

The soft click of a door closing, reached him.

Exhaling again, Gregor tested his body, finding his fingers responsive and not as heavy. His wrists twisted, cracking as did most of his joints as he shifted and moved them, flexing muscles that had been dormant for who knew how many days. There were aches and pains, bruising he could feel over most of his body, but it was intact.

And free.

He was no longer restrained.

Memory returned as he lay there, of the droids and their little aquatic leader, offering to come back for him. Giving them permission to go and practically ordering them not to come for him as he leapt into the middle of the fuel depot. Not really expecting to survive, but knowing there was a slim chance his hearty armor would protect him, he'd ignited the fuel pods. The blast must have thrown him clear and landed him here.

Wherever here was.

The sound of the door opening brought the familiar, deeper female voice back. His caregiver's concern obvious but accompanied with a note of elation. "They tell me you're awake. Gregor, is it?"

"Yeah."

Her next statement was amused. "I see they didn't exaggerate. Don't take the cloth off just yet, okay?"

He was itching to see what she looked like, but a distant memory of a medic's stern admonishment held him in check. "Why?"

"We don't know how the head injuries have affected you just yet. The Medical droid did what it could, but you could have nerve damage after the explosion."

A weight settled onto the edge of the bed, a hip brushing his before her cool fingers touched his cheek, slipping him the straw again. He sucked greedily at the cool fluid as she continued.

"Those are the droid's words, not mine, by the way. I just know what Kix and Coric have had a chance to drill into my brain on the battlefield."

He spat out the straw, her comment about not over watering the patient suddenly coming to mind, and was relieved when, after a moment, he didn't feel the same drowsiness of the last time. "You're not a medic?"

"Me?" She laughed, a throaty, slightly rough sound that was tempered with self-consciousness, the slight plink of the glass being set aside almost lost to it. "Not a chance; I'm a Jedi."

"A Jedi!"

"Woah!"

Her body landed across his as he almost shot off the bunk, ingrained training reflexively demanding he stand, and salute to acknowledge her rank. What he got instead was being pinned back to the bed, the softness of her chest flush against, one leg thrown across his own and the full weight of her as she bodily held him down.

"Easy there, soldier! You're not well enough to be sitting up, let alone standing!"

"My apologies for-" he started only to stop when she began to chuckle; he felt it through the thin cloth between them. "Sir?"

"My name is Ahsoka, Gregor," she sounded amused again. "Until you're back on your feet I expect you to use it."

"Protocol-"

"You've been away from protocol a long time judging by the records in your HUD," Ahsoka didn't sound the least bit apologetic for having looked. "I prefer a little informality anyway - unless you're going to be difficult."

"Yes sir; no sir."

"Ahsoka," she stressed. "Don't make me make it an order because I will if I have to."

Judging by the strength of her hold as she was splayed across him, one he noted consciously this time, he didn't doubt she had the strength to enforce it, too. He nodded once, sharply. "Yes, sir - Ahsoka."

"Better." He could hear the smile in her voice. "If I get up do you promise to behave?"

"I promise not to try and stand."

"That'll do for starters," she agreed. "How about letting me go now?"

It was only then Gregor realized why she was still splayed across him and hadn't moved. He had her in as tight a grip as she held him. Where his arms were flat on the bunk at his sides, he'd twisted his hands and arms to grasp hers in a lock that had been a totally unconscious reaction. It couldn't have been anything else when he didn't remember doing it.

To make matters more difficult, he wasn't entirely sure how to let her go without making it worse.

"Flex your shoulders."

"Sir?"

"Flex your shoulders," she repeated, a faint smile still audible in her voice. "Rex used this hold on me last week; trust me. Flex, rotate and curl forward as you release my hands or you might break something."

"Break something?"

"Rex didn't elaborate," her tone was wry. "But whatever he did, it worked."

Gregor did as instructed. His hands turned, his back curling, careful to keep his head up as he eased the tension in his body. Her breath feathered across his cheek for half a moment as he shifted before the weight of her across him eased.

Daringly, protocol be damned, he twisted his wrists and felt her freeze as his hands trailed up her arms. His fingers brushed over long gloves before meeting cool skin again. He took his time, tracing the edges, forming a picture in his mind before sliding his hands continually upwards.

A series of five arm bands wrapped her biceps, all making the shape of a diamond in the center, her cool flesh between each one. Above them were her shoulders, the slightly warmer than the rest of her skin, only to end as his fingertips met the edge of her top.

She was muscled, lithe and wiry, but soft too. A Jedi, she'd said; a warrior like he was, only built for a different kind of combat.

"Gregor?" His hands stilled as hers flattened against his chest. "What are you doing?"

"I want to see you."

"Your eyes-"

"Not like that."

"Through… touch?" Her words sounded uncertain this time. Younger.

"How else could I see you?"

"I… ah…" Ahsoka coughed. "No offense, soldier, but if my boys could see you right now, not being able to see would be the least of your worries."

"Your boys?"

"The five hundred and first's Torrent Company."

Even to his ears she sounded proud. His mind flicked back to the names she'd dropped - Rex; Coric; Kix. Clone names. How about that - a Jedi proud of her men and who called them affectionately by name? The names though… they nagged at him, making him feel as if he should know these men, or perhaps their Company; to his frustration, he continued to draw a blank.

"They can be a little…"

He almost chuckled when she hesitated, well aware of his genome's penchant for possessive and overbearing actions when it came to people they cared deeply for. He wasn't sure how he knew, just that he did. With how proud she was of her men, and how fondly she'd thus far spoken of them, he wasn't surprised by her caution and couldn't help himself from finishing her sentence. "Over protective?"

"Sure," she sounded almost impish this time, "we'll go with that. Don't get me wrong, they know I can take care of myself, but…"

"… would prefer to be involved."

There was a silent understanding between them before he felt her body shift and move just a fraction. Was she nodding? He didn't know. Fortunately, after a moment, she seemed to realize he needed an audible cue.

"Right." Shifting on his chest, she made to leave but his fingers flexed on her shoulders. "Gregor - I need to get up."

"I want to see you, Ahsoka."

"Gregor-"

"Please."

She sighed. "Can I at least sit up while you do it? This isn't exactly…"

"Professional?"

"Comfortable," her correction was wry before she deliberately tapped the center of his chest. "You're built to be a lean, mean, killing machine; not a pillow."

He chuckled, easing his grip a fraction. "You're easily accessible this way." Gregor felt her sigh again and relented, immediately missing the weight of her across his chest. She was engaging, charming in a fashion, and unlike the other Jedi his foggy memory could dredge up in those moments. "If you'd rather I don't, Ahsoka-"

"No; it's okay. Just let me up for a minute, okay?"

Gregor did as she asked and her weight left the bunk. Trusting that she wasn't running away, she didn't seem the type, he waited patiently. Listening, he heard her moving about the room before the soft tap tap of fingers on a keypad were followed by a beep and then a soft blip of a noise indicating an engaged lock.

"There; now the younglings can't disturb us."

"Younglings?"

"I'm playing chaperone for a handful of Jedi who are building their lightsabers."

"If I'm keeping you from something-"

"Five minutes while you figure out what I look like won't hurt, Gregor."

"How did you and the younglings end up here?"

"Our ship was attacked," her voice drew near again, the tones of it holding a soothing undertone he found very appealing, "we escaped but had to land to make emergency repairs. We arrived just in time to see a shuttle taking off and you thrown around and then out by that explosion."

"What are the odds a Jedi would find me, huh?"

"Must be the will of the Force, or so the Masters like to say," the bunk dipped again as she sat next to him again. "Lift your hands and hold them in front of your chest."

He did so, waiting, and she cupped the backs of his, lifting them, before settling them against her face.

"Be careful," she cautioned wryly and he could feel her jaw moving, "if you get too close to my lips, I might bite."

"Caution noted," he acknowledged, but wasn't really focused on the words; he was focused on what he could feel under his fingers.

Her skin was smooth, faintly ridged in distinctive patters across her eyebrows, cheek bones and cheeks. She had a heart shaped face but, when he moved his hands upwards, across the ridges where her eyebrows should have been, and further, he encountered a lip of smooth satin meeting supple, almost leathery skin, instead of hair where her hairline should have been.

Frowning, he traced the line, finding it ran around her face, the division distinctive and, he noted, she lacked ears. Not human. His mind cataloged the information, making him more curious even as he traced where ears would have been on a human. If she wasn't human, then what was she?

He shifted his hands, sliding them along the edges of her face, finding a faint crease about halfway up, and following it towards the back of her head. Several finger lengths along that seam from her face, he flattened his palms against her skull, not feeling bone, but more of the distinctive skin composition of its almost leathery cover.

Gregor flexed his fingers, testing it against the tips, not quite able to correlate the swells and ridges under his hands with any race he knew. When no picture formed in his mind, still drawing that frustrating blank, he started to slide them downwards, his fingers curling around-

Lekku?

Her hands closed firmly about his wrists. "Don't get me wrong, Gregor, I'm starting to think you're swell, but we're not close enough for that."

"Twi'lek?"

"Togruta; the headgear is different but just as sensitive."

Taking a moment, he focused on that word; Togruta. After several long seconds an image formed in his mind. A memory returned unexpectedly, giving him not only a clearer image but an insight to Ahsoka's profession - and his own past.

There was - had been? - a Togruta Jedi on the Council; she'd just been assigned to the Clone's training when he'd been shipped out. Arching horns above her head, dangling lekku and burgundy colored skin crisscrossed by distinctive facial markings; she'd been something else to behold.

That image in his mind, Gregor tried to match it to the young woman at his bed side. He couldn't quite make it fit; she didn't sound that regal, let along feel that poised or controlled. Not to mention that the lekku he'd felt had begun to taper at about her shoulders, indicating… what? He frowned. . Releasing one of his wrists, she smoothed her finger tips across his brow, soothing the ridges and worry lines.

"What are you thinking?"

"Your lekku are shorter."

"Pardon?"

"I've seen a Togruta before; she'd just been assigned to Kamino before we shipped out - but your lekku are shorter."

"Master Shaak Ti."

"You know her?"

"More I know of her; we haven't spoken much." Her tone turned wry, "I'm not quite as old as she is; that's why my lekku are shorter."

He cracked a smile. "You seem different than other Jedi I've met."

"I'm told I am different," she tugged on his wrists. "Can you - thanks."

He let his hands fall back to the bed, beyond frustrated with the inability to see. Not that he needed it to know she was something else; something special. "Why do people say you're different?"

"For starters, I'm Anakin Skywalker's Padawan."

"You're an apprentice?"

"A very skilled one, thank you very much!"

There was no heat in her reply, more of a teasing note that made his chest ache. When was the last time anyone had talked to him like this; teased him? Distant, broken memories of brothers he could barely remember surfaced but they were incomplete. Something must have shown on his face as cool fingers smoothed his brow again.

"You're not recovered yet, Gregor; it'll take time."

"It's not that."

"Then what?"

"Before you found me, I had amnesia." He sighed, suddenly feeling drained. "It's still there. Mostly."

There was a pause and then her voice came back, her hand touching and then squeezing his shoulder. "Give it time."

"You're not going to ask me how?"

"I think you need to heal more than you need to indulge my curiosity, just yet." Her hand squeezed his shoulder again and he couldn't help but grin at her quantifier. It implied she wanted to know, but was restraining herself for his sake. Somehow, he got the feeling restraint wasn't something she did often. She touched his skin near the cover on his face. "It's not so bad, you know."

"Says the woman without the cloth over her eyes."

"It can be removed tomorrow, Gregor; just give the medical gunk a chance to work, okay?"

"Medical gunk?" he would have blinked if he could have opened his eyes. "No offense, Commander, but that's not reassuring."

"You just had your hands on my lekku, Gregor," that wry tone was back, "I think I'm going to insist you call me Ahsoka."

"Sorry - Ahsoka." He reached up to grasp the hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. "The rank is more out of habit."

"I know. My guys do it too." She shifted. "You should rest."

"I'm not tired - and don't even think about drugging me again."

She laughed, a musical sound that filled the room, lifting and buoying his spirits as they hadn't been before. "I wouldn't dream of it; sleep. I need to continue the repairs on the ship."

"You're a mechanic too?"

"I might be a Jedi," she said it in such a matter-of-fact manner he was surprised; she wasn't insulted by his question, but seemed… resigned. "But my skill set is probably as broad as yours. Sleep, okay? We'll have plenty of time to talk later."

He let her go, the bed shifting as she stood, her fingers slipping from his in a pseudo caress that was anything but business-like. She seemed reluctant to leave and her comment about younglings came back to him. Likely starved for adult conversation, it was no wonder she'd lingered. He didn't mind; she was good company and he was disappointed to see her go.

As he listened to her unlock the door and leave, the portal closing behind her, he smiled faintly. Ahsoka the Jedi Padawan; my Savior. What was the term he's heard from some spacer who'd crashed from… Iego? Angels? That was it; Guardian Angel.

My Guardian Angel, Jedi Commander Ahsoka... I need to ask her last name.

At least he assumed she had one; most people who weren't Cloned did. He was looking forward to being able to open her eyes and see the amusement he could hear, on her face. He wanted to see her eyes sparkle; to see the pride on her expression as she spoke of her men.

Gregor was looking forward to getting to know a Jedi who hadn't bothered to ask his rank or number, but instead asked his name and treated him like a person instead of a machine. Unlike the miniscule Colonel Gascon who'd only wanted to use him for his own gain. Gain that had, in the end, offered to come back for him when there'd been no chance of recovery - but, he supposed, at least the offer had been made.

He let the thoughts slip away; a Jedi had rescued him, what did it matter how one tiny GAR Officer had treated him?

Inhaling deeply, he was suddenly bone weary. His discussion with Ahsoka had taken more out of him than it had seemed at the time. As if she'd taken the energy sustaining him with her as she left. Realizing that her instruction to sleep was sound, he turned, getting comfortable, reassured that his previous sleep had helped heal him just a little when his abused muscles didn't protest so much.

For the first time since landing on the forsaken rock that he'd called home for so long, Gregor fell asleep with a smile on his face and an eager anticipation for tomorrow.