SPOILERS for JC companion quests, because it is better to be safe than sorry.

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Disclaimer: See chapter one.

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**Chapter 2**

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"Jedi, we can come back if you need us," volunteered Zenith. He had been brought into the same holocall as Qyzen, saving Mairre the energy of having to call each man separately. She wasn't sure she had it in her right now, if she was honest with herself. Having Tharan tend to her wounds had been physically and emotionally exhausting and part of her just wanted to sleep for a thousand years.

Mairre shook her head, her hand pressed to her ribs. Tharan had asked, nay begged, to put her into a kolto tank but she'd refused. "Nonsense. Zenith, spend a little longer on Balmorra. And Qyzen, enjoy your hunt and help your clan. They'll do well learning from you," she beamed at both men. "I'll be fine…nothing a little rest won't solve, according to Tharan." She cast a glance at the scientist, noting that he was studiously not paying attention to her holocall.

Zenith nodded through the hololink, his expression one of concern. "Alright, Jedi. But if something happens, we expect to be called."

The Twi'lek's expression was grim and she ached to soothe his worries. Instead, Mairre forced a lighthearted chuckle. "Of course, Zenith. Travel safely." She clicked shut the holocall and sank gratefully into a nearby chair. She stole a glance at Tharan. He'd been quiet since their kiss in the medbay and her old insecurities came rearing back. She brushed her hands over her lap, picking off imaginary pieces of lint. "So, Tharan, what does the resident physician recommend? Other than a kolto tank," she added with a grimace.

Tharan sighed. He'd tried to convince her that being in the kolto tank would be the best way to heal her. And it likely would be he rationalized. But she'd been adamant—a forcefulness likely caused by her abject fear of small confined places. Then again, she had so many other fears—they had once traded irrational fears in a conversation, which was how he knew that she was also afraid of heights and afraid of being burned alive. Perhaps the last was not so irrational a fear, he thought with a small smile, considering the risks she took on a daily basis. All in all, she was a beautiful bundle of neuroses. "Well, without a kolto tank your injuries will take longer to heal, obviously. As your physician, I'm going to have to recommend bed rest and proper diet."

Mairre sighed. There he went fussing again. "Fine. I can accept that." She stood slowly, careful not to jostle her ribs. She wasn't sure if she liked his being so attentive—it certainly was a change from the dispassion he had shown her when he threw her over. Well, other than constantly pointing out to her that he was a pacifist and that he didn't approve of her getting involved in altercations of any kind.

Tharan frowned, his expression pensive as she started towards her stateroom. "Mairre, I am truly sorry. I have behaved very badly. But I wish to make it up to you." He tucked the datapad away as he crossed to her. "Come, let's get you into bed."

Mairre allowed the blonde-haired scientist to lead her into her bedchamber. The only other time he'd been in the room had been the night when they'd made love. She blinked back tears that suddenly pricked at the insides of her eyelids and swallowed. She wasn't going to cry. Her voice tight and tired, she gently shook herself free from Tharan's grip. "I can get ready for bed on my own," she advised him, her eyes avoiding his.

Tharan nodded slowly. "Of that I have no doubt, Mairre. But I would like to help." Sincerity filled his voice as he stepped closer. Reaching out, he curled his fingers under her chin and gently lifted her face towards his, forcing her to meet his gaze. He swallowed at the uncertainty in her eyes—how badly had he hurt her, he wondered to himself. Swallowing down the unfamiliar bubble of self-loathing that rose in his throat, he waited until she gave a barely perceptible nod of agreement before allowing his fingers to begin the careful process of undressing her. His touch was precise and soothing—not cold and impersonal. "What would you like to wear for bed, Mairre? What will be most comfortable?"

Mairre shrugged, eyes once again focused on the floor. "Tharan, while this is all very kind, you don't have to do this. You have no obligation to me," she reminded him, finally lifting her eyes to meet his.

Tharan blew out an exasperated breath. "Mairre, I'm not going anywhere. You've shown me the galaxy. The least I can do is help you to bed," he reminded her, turning from her almost bare figure to cross to her wardrobe. There was a gown—a pretty gown of palest blue shimmersilk with wide straps and a low square neckline that he remembered having spotted once in her wardrobe. He was quite certain that Mairre would look ravishing in it. "Now, let us get you into this nightgown and then to bed, my Jedi."

Mairre nodded as Tharan crossed back to her, the shimmersilk floating down about her as Tharan helped her into the gown moments later. It had been a gift from Yuan—a gift for her eighteenth birthday, in fact. She'd never worn it before…it had seemed too delicate and feminine for her. With the life she led, she rarely was seen as anything other than the sexless Jedi—having no needs or concerns beyond the Order and the Republic. For once, she closed her eyes and reveled in being a woman in a pretty nightgown. "Thank you, Tharan," she whispered.

Tharan nodded, suddenly uncertain. He was out of his element—and it was disconcerting. Depositing her robes into the bin so that the droid could fetch and clean them later, he turned back to Mairre. "For you, my Jedi, anything," he replied, raw honesty infecting his words. He swallowed, chancing a glance at her. She was watching him, her expression puzzled. He shook himself, taking the few steps to her. Hands falling to her shoulders, he dropped a soft kiss on her forehead, noticing that her eyes fluttered shut as he did so. "You are exhausted, my Jedi. You must get some rest."

Mairre nodded, her limbs sluggish with the tiredness that permeated her whole form. She finally let her eyes drift open as Tharan moved infinitesimally back from her, his hands sliding from her shoulders to her biceps. His eyes held no deception or mirth. He kissed her nose, a slow smile spreading across his lips as he watched an answering smile slowly bloom on her own. Guiding her to the bed, he helped her climb to the center of the mattress.

"Tharan…do you have to go?"

Tharan looked back—Mairre looked so small and exhausted. "Of course not, Mairre. I shall be back presently," he promised, hurrying out of the room. It only took a moment for him to gather his kit and a pair of pajamas and he was hustling back into Mairre's chambers. "I have returned," he announced.

The soft, steady breathing of Mairre greeted him and he smiled in the dim light of her room. Stripping off his clothes, he donned his pajamas and climbed into the bed. He laid back, not surprised when Mairre rolled towards him, one slender leg thrown across him. "G'night," she offered sleepily.

Tharan nodded, his arms going around her as he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Goodnight, my Jedi."

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