I returned, bloody. They asked me what happened, but I didn't answer them. I couldn't. My lord, my wife, stood outside, sobbing, and something hurt so bad inside of me. Vette fussed. Pierce sneered. Jaesa stood across the room, arms crossed, eyes sad.

She knows.

"Where's Zaya?" Vette demanded loudly.

There was a ball in my throat now, a mass I couldn't remove. I opened my mouth to see if the presence of air would shake it, but it made it worse. My eyes searched across the room to find Jaesa. After a few brief moments, she sighed.

"Bring him to the medical bay, Vette," she ordered not unkindly. "I'll go get Zaya."

Vette's face paled, and she flipped around to face the woman I knew still to be a Jedi. Vette's lekku whirled and the sight of it made me dizzy.

"Is Zaya okay?" Vette asked, her voice high.

Jaesa hesitated.

"She is wounded," Jaesa finally answered. "But she is alive."

This was not a yes, and I held my head low in shame.

Nervously, Vette took my elbow and led me forwards to the medical bay. She barraged me with questions so quickly that I didn't keep up. I just shook my head now and again, and Vette looked at me strangely. Her eyes betrayed her. She was concerned for me, but she was angry.

She knew too.

This shamed me. Maybe they all thought me capable of such treachery. Even Vette, the girl with no military experience and little experience with the Empire or Sith.

Was I that predictable? If they had known, why had they not stopped me?

I found myself looking at my hands as Vette's hands removed my now ruined dress uniform. I didn't notice. This shocked Vette, who made some comment or other. It didn't seem to matter right then. I could get a new uniform, new boots, new medals.

I could not get a new wife, not like Zaya.

Vette pushed kolto onto my wounds with surprising alacrity, and I found myself dimly aware that the girl I'd treated with so much disdain was likely now preventing my imminent death.

I remembered to say thank you. Vette just nodded, pursing her lips. This restraint was unusual from her, and I – again – felt shamed. She was being better to me than I deserved. I wanted her to threaten me. Or, worse, I wanted her to laugh at me. To throw the kolto at my lap and make me do it myself, despite having injured my hands also.

A noise from the outside caused Vette's head to perk up, and she glanced at me once with those angry, judgmental eyes before retreating into the hallway to see the commotion. I braced myself to see my wife again, the woman I had broken and betrayed. She was injured, after all, and she would need to be treated at my side.

But instead of turning my way, the noises seemed to fade. Then, they disappeared altogether.

I felt horror. Had her wounds been too great? Should I have insisted she seek medical attention inside the ship? Should I have brought kolto with me for myself just to give to her? I'd considered that option in the planning stages of my treachery and had rejected it. I knew I was too weak-willed not to heal her in her last, dying moments. I'd opted to risk my own death for the success of the mission.

What if it cost her her life now, after all this?

I realized it was not what I'd wanted. Baras be damned, it was not the right path. I'd made a mistake, and he'd put me on it. I saw it now. He'd manipulated me, and I'd been so easily fooled. I'd strayed so quickly.

I felt tears come out of my eyes. They rose from my chest as I heard shushed and urgent voices far across the ship, whispering furiously to one another. They were no doubt explaining to one another my story, rehashing it again and again until it no longer needed to be repeated to be believed.

I didn't feel angry. I deserved scorn and hatred. To be put out of the airlock.

I had betrayed her.

That was all that mattered, in the end. All I felt, all that rose out of me, was a sea of regret.

Baras had given me my career. That had seemed most important. That had seemed the most pivotal thing. I'd dedicated my life to its continued existence.

But why would that matter if I didn't have her? Life after her seemed black. How had I not seen that? How had I not anticipated the sobs that had risen, so painfully, out of her chest?

The pain became so intense that I felt crippled. I was sure that this event would be impossible to survive.

I felt a sob wrack my numbed body. Her pain would be even worse. I twisted on the bed, writhing with it. I wanted to rush to her, to drop to my knees.

What if she was dead? What if I killed her? My voice was harsh in the medbay, and I was grateful that the echoes in here could not be heard as easily from the other side. That was the way of the medbay. Nobody wanted to hear the screams inside, but you could hear everything that went on outside.

I sobbed again, pressing my wounded hands to my forehead, trying to punish myself for being so wrong, for making such a wrong call. I'd relied on calculations to make a life decision about emotional things. But people weren't numbers. She wasn't just some number on a list.

How arrogant I was to even try to make her one!

She was dead, I knew it. She was dead.

I found myself saying it, shaking my head. Grief wracked me prematurely, and I felt agony even I could not have anticipated. Saying I was in anguish didn't do the feeling justice. This was more than regret. I didn't want my career. I didn't want Baras or the Empire.

I just wanted her! I just wanted her and I had ruined it! She could lay mere feet from me, dying, and I was laying here, crying about it!

They would take her body to the cargo hold and put it in the cryochamber until we reached a secure port to do away with her body. They would want to pay their proper respects. I would be excluded from the burial. I would never get to touch her again, never wrap my arms around her. They wouldn't allow me to pay my respects to my lover, my closest friend, my wife.

No, no more calculating. No more math. No more tactics. Just emotions, raw and scary. Gut feelings. I couldn't rely on my own previously-flawless judgment anymore. I had been in error. How many other things had I blundered?

Another wail came out of me. I just wanted her! I wanted her and she would be gone! I couldn't lose her! I would die. I knew that I would die. What would I do? What would I do without her? What would her friends do?

Suddenly, that didn't seem to matter.

Abruptly, Jaesa walked in. I had expected this. Punishment. Anger. Reprimands.

But I threw all this away in favor of relief, in knowing, finally, what her fate was.

"Is she alive?"

"Why the frack do you care?" Jaesa spat, not even sparing me a glance.

She hurried past me and reached into the cabinet.

"Is she?" I insisted. "Please, Jaesa…"

"She's going to be fine," Jaesa answered in a moment of compassion. "As for you, I'm not so sure yet."

That didn't matter to me. What mattered was that she wasn't dead yet. Tears of a different sort came now, and I found myself rededicating myself to her with so much vehemence that I was rendered breathless by it. I was hers, wholly and irrevocably. I had to earn her back. I had to show her the depth of my love.

She would doubt me.

But I had to try.

Above my head, Jaesa injected something into a tube Vette had attached to my wrist. I felt very sleepy, suddenly, and I drifted into an anxiety-riddled sleep.

Something about my eagerness to prove myself to her resonated with me. I was proud of everything I'd accomplished, and my career meant everything to me. Suddenly, I wanted to show her what this meant, to make her understand my dedication.

I wanted to impress her.

Because she was her. I was beginning to learn what that meant, her being her. She did not kill on sight. She reveled in diplomacy and rarely attacked an enemy prematurely. She often allowed them to reveal their motives before engaging. Tactically genius. She was kind spirited and gentle, but not weak. This side of her she only allowed us to see, those she allowed to step onto her ship, and I was shocked at first to discover how disparate her presence could be between when we were in public and then in private. Off the ship, she could be commanding and harsh, but never unkind. She did not demand loyalty but commanded it, and more than once did I see soldiers follow her out of a room with their eyes.

I heard the men speak of her. She was beautiful. Her eyes were green, and they made my heart race when they danced my way, always so full of mirth and laughter. Unusual – borderline inappropriate – for a Sith Lord, but she didn't seem to care. She had the power to back it up.

I remember the moment I first saw her. I'd expected some beast of a woman. Powerful Sith were often that way, preferring to be very powerful rather than very beautiful. Purebloods were increasingly frequent, and I found myself repulsed. I'd seen far too many atrocities committed by Pureblood hands to think them attractive.

But then she'd walked in, pale red skin, body of a dancer, and I hadn't been able to swallow. Or speak. Or form sentences. A few very noticeable moments had to pass for me to gather my bearings, which were lying on the floor.

I watched her on Balmorra every chance I could. I found myself becoming more and more excited at the thought of seeing her again. To discuss her victory, to shower her in praise.

It was rare that young Sith were successful, capable, and strong willed. They were often lap dogs to their masters. I, admittedly, had been such a dog to Baras, but it annoyed me when other Sith were to one another.

But she wasn't. She'd been sarcastic, almost mocking. Irreverent.

I'd held my breath to see Baras' reaction, but he just laughed in that dangerous way of his. I found myself becoming increasingly impressed.

I'd let her see this once, said it to her once when she'd returned from her campaign. She'd advanced on me, and her friend, Vette, who I'd eyed with disdain, had barely restrained giggles.

But I would have been lying if I said that the experience was not entirely unpleasant.