A/N: Thanks to Shadir, m4x70r, and DarthPhoenixFire for the wonderful reviews. That always makes me smile. :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

It was hard to tell which way was up anymore, and after falling to the deck for the third time, Renet gave up. She lay on the floor in a drug-filled haze, her body feeling… hollow. Like whatever they put into her had slowly dissolved her insides. It wasn't painful in the least, and a small part of her realized that should have been more horrifying than anything else. It was just… empty. Like she was a thin glass sculpture of a woman, so delicate that she would shatter at the wrong breath.

Gant had kept his word in part. The drugs that were routinely injected did not hurt at all. After the third time the droid floated in, its poison needle extended, she only closed her eyes. She couldn't fight anymore. Glass was too delicate to fight. So she let it do what it was programmed to do, and opened her eyes after the humming vanished, indicating the droid had left. Or at least she thought she opened her eyes.

Everything was so blurry now, and she had nothing left in which to feel anything. The floor beneath her was far away, the unconscious flexing of her fingers could have been the actions of another person. But she was calm. Oh, she was very calm. And she did not hurt anymore, just as Gant had promised. At least, she'd stopped hurting after he'd taken off that pain inducer and injected her with a different drug. That one had set her mind spinning, had chased away all those nightmarish thoughts that had filled her mind when he'd whispered to her.

She'd stopped sobbing then. Stopped thinking, too. It was okay to be Prisoner Seven. Renet was full of shame and fear and pain. But Prisoner Seven? She was empty of everything. And that was kind of nice.

She'd even smiled at him, at this imperial that had hurt her so badly. "Prisoner Seven likes this," she'd whispered dully, words slurred almost beyond recognition. "Prisoner Seven does not want to feel anymore. Will Lieutenant Commander Gant kill Prisoner Seven now, please? Prisoner Seven doesn't want to live with her shame anymore."

He'd taken off her cuffs by then, easing her gently to the floor. Those fingers brushed back her dirty hair with a tenderness that had shocked her more than the pain had, cradling her head in the crook of his elbow. She'd begged him to kill her again, and for a blissful second she thought he would. But the gloved fingers on her chin turned from firm grip to gentle caress. She had no idea what he'd said to her next. Something about her brother, maybe?

Oh stars, what would Nathon think or say when he saw her like this? When he learned she was a rebel? Why, why had she done it?

No, wait. She hadn't done it. She wasn't Renate Tydon anymore. Gant had said so, himself. She was Prisoner Seven. And Prisoner Seven didn't have a family or a brother or any affiliations to be ashamed about.

Yes, it was better to be Prisoner Seven.

But those caressing gloved fingers had gripped her chin again, firmly. And Gant had leaned down to stare hard into her eyes. He'd said something. Asked something. And she knew if she didn't answer him, he was going to hurt her again. But what had it been? What did he want? She'd said everything already, answered his questions multiple times. Always the same answer to the same question. Because it was the truth. It was all the truth.

"Prisoner Seven wants to tell Lieutenant Commander Gant a story," she'd said at last, hoping it was the right thing to say. Praying it was. "It's about a little girl named Luna and her brother named Star. And how much Luna wanted to be like her brother, so much so that she reflected his light in everything she'd done.

"She wanted so much to be like Star that she let a bad Planet eclipse his light. She let Planet tell her that there were other ways to make Star proud, that one day she could be just as big and bright as Star if she listened to him. So she let Planet come between her and Star. And Luna was so very cold and dark without Star's light, but she didn't know it. She couldn't know it because Planet was so big, so much bigger than she was.

"And when she tried to move away from Planet, he trapped her in his gravity. Until a comet struck Luna, a comet that should have hit Planet, but because Luna was trapped in his gravity, she couldn't get out of the way. And Planet did not save her. So now Luna is broken and can't reflect Star's light. And the comets keep hitting her and she keeps calling for Star, but he can't hear her over the comets striking her, shattering her bits at a time until nothing is left.

"And all Luna can hope for now is that Star remembers her when she was whole and loving and reflecting his light proudly. And that maybe, when the comets are done with her, enough is left of her to become glittering asteroids, like diamonds to reflect his light and protect him from comets and remind Star just how much she loved him, and how very sorry she is…"

She'd rambled at the end, her sentences so tangled and made of thick grief. Trying to communicate to this man that she understood she was going to die. But she didn't want to take her brother down with her. Gant's fingertips had touched her lips then, silencing her. His gloved hand had passed over her eyes, closing them as he laid her down on the floor. She'd obeyed, because Prisoner Seven had nothing left in her but to obey. It was so much easier to obey.

There was no way to know how long she'd laid there exactly as he'd left her. Afraid to move an inch lest he become displeased and bring back the pain. Unable to feel anything in her. Somewhere in that strange limbo-like existence, she'd fallen asleep. Only woken when the first droid came into the black box that was her galaxy, injecting her again, sending her mind floating away from her body. Only coming back to herself in time to recognize the same droid with the same needle, injecting her a second time. And a third. And if there were more after that, she'd lost count or the ability to care.

She wasn't Renate anymore. She wasn't even Renet, or Luna, or Prisoner Seven. She was empty glass. And that was okay.

"No, that's not okay."

The thing that was empty glass tried to blink at the voice, tried to recognize it. Something touched her shoulder and a moment later she could distinguish between light and darkness, between up and down.

"There we go," that voice that she should know said softly. "Prisoner Seven, can you hear me?"

Her mouth was very dry, and it took all she had to swallow and nod. A curious tingling was starting to work its way through her hollow limbs, a rushing sensation as if someone was filling her emptiness with… something. Something that felt a lot like her. Like they were pouring her personality back into her empty vessel.

Tears filled her eyes, sliding down her cheeks. "You promised," she whispered, light and darkness resolving itself further to the blurred image of a man's face. "Lieutenant Commander Gant promised Prisoner Seven that she wouldn't feel pain if she obeyed."

"Prisoner Seven did obey," Gant said, slipping an arm beneath her shoulders and one beneath her knees. "Prisoner Seven has earned a reward."

She tried to shake her head in protest, but he had already lifted her from the deck, depositing her on a floating gurney. The feeling of metal returned to one arm, the sound of a pair of binders locking one wrist to a restraining bar. And then the feeling of warmth, of blessed wonderful warmth as a heated blanket was draped over her numbed body. Gant's hand returned to her hair, smoothing it back with the same gentleness before pushing the gurney forward. She turned on her side as much as she could, drawing the blanket up over her face.

Hiding her identity, her shame. What if someone had seen her, had noticed the family resemblance? She couldn't let it happen. She wasn't sure why that mattered anymore, but it did. And she clung to that.

The trip to where ever Gant had taken her ended quickly, and he gently tugged on her blanket. "Why did you cover your face?"

"Prisoner Seven…" she trailed off, closing her eyes again. Think. It was still so hard to think. How to say it without offending him, without earning pain. "Prisoner Seven is… Prisoner Seven…"

Oh, things had been so much easier when she couldn't think about her past, about what she'd done as Renet! Now he was forcing her to face it again, wasn't he? Couldn't he understand what she'd told him, that she wanted to protect her brother? Why was he making her remember when he was the one that had forced her to forget in the first place!

"Prisoner Seven doesn't want a reward," she said dejectedly, accepting there was nothing she could say that would save her from pain. Either the physical pain of displeasing her jailor, or the emotional pain of remembering who she was and what she had done. "Prisoner Seven wants nothing. Prisoner Seven is nothing."

The binder fell away from her wrist and still she didn't react. Even when she heard him sigh. "Get up, Renet Camlyn. I will not carry you. The drugs should be flushed from your system enough for standing."

On reflex and a fear of irritating him, she pushed herself to a sitting position, confusion working through the dullness that lingered from the retreating drugs. Did he just call her by her alias, by her rebel name? Wasn't she… "Pri—"

"Miss Camlyn, I will not repeat myself. You will listen and you will stand."

She did as requested, holding onto the side of the gurney to keep herself steady.

"Good. Behind me is a standard refresher station. I expect you to be exceptionally clean and dressed in the clothing provided to you within fifteen minutes. Your time starts now."

He turned to the side and took a seat, his back to the refresher station. There was no door on it, she noted, no place for any kind of privacy. And on a low table sat the pile of clothing and a small sack. For her old clothing, she assumed. But why? Why was he doing this if she was to be executed anyway? What was the point?

It was still so hard to think. Things were getting clearer now, but the dullness remained, eating away at the edge of her consciousness.

"Fourteen minutes now, Miss Camlyn. You do not want to add wasting my time to the list of grievances against you."

The thought of being clean was so inviting. So… delightful. She moved before she realized it, stripping and stepping into the sonic. There was a rail installed in this one, and she clung to it with all she had as the vibrations washed away the dirt and grime from her body. He had been right about the 'fresher being standard, and she recognized the ports that dispensed cleansers. The soap had no fragrance but it did its job. And the warmth that emanated from the floor was almost as good as standing under a hot spray of water.

It was glorious.

"Five minutes, Miss Camlyn."

It was harder than she could imagine turning off that sonic. She wanted to linger in it as she had wanted to linger under the blanket, or in her state of nothingness. But turn it off she did, the sharpness in Gant's tone brooking no arguments. She dressed quickly in a simple gray tunic and pants, soft boots on her feet. Beneath the empty sack was a basic hair brush, and she used it to the best of her abilities. There was no mirror in the area, so she hoped she was as 'exceptionally clean' as he had requested.

She stepped back to the side of the gurney as he was in the middle of calling out her two minute warning. When she lowered her head this time, a tumble of red-blonde curls cascaded down her shoulders and face. Unruly curls inherited from their father, a lion's golden mane to match the lion sigil that was the crest of the Tydon family. Nathon had been so lucky to have their mother's hair, hair that would behave itself even in the worst of winds.

She heard Gant rise, saw his polished boots come to a halt an inch before her feet.

"Look at me, Miss Camlyn."

She did.

His expression softened considerably. "Okay, here are the rules. We are going to sit and have a conversation. You are to answer honestly and completely. And politely, I might add. If you agree to this, we will do away with the need for drugs and inducers. Do you think you can do that?"

"Pris—yes, sir."

He reached forward, and she flinched only slightly when he took her wrist in his hand, guiding her to a tiny table. Which contained a tray of food, a glass, and a pitcher of water. Her confusion intensified as he guided her to the seat closest to the food, pulled her chair out for her, and then took the seat across from her. She folded her hands on top of the table, afraid to put them in her lap, afraid to do anything really.

"Are you hungry, Miss Camlyn?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then I suggest you eat," he watched her glance at the food and back at him, and he smiled slightly. "I've already had my noon meal, I assure you. Please, eat."

A brief flicker of defiance went through her, a memory of Vrad telling her how to die with honor if the Imperials ever caught her. Of how he would act under imperial interrogation. She wasn't supposed to do anything they wanted, ever. But she'd already broken, hadn't she? They'd known her connection to Nathon, pried her mind wide with drugs and dug out everything they'd wanted. In the end, she'd had no choice. And now she wore their clothes and sat facing the prospect of eating their food.

But if she'd already broken, what was the point of pretending she was anything like Vrad? The first bite was flavored with the bitterness of smashed pride and failure. The second only slightly less than the first, and so on and so forth.

Gant's smile grew by a degree as she began to work on the meal. "You don't get much food being a rebel, do you?"

She looked down, set aside her utensil. "No, sir."

"Supply line issues, I take it?"

"Yes, sir."

"You can call me Avery," he said conversationally, settling back in his seat as he watched her.

"No, sir."

That earned an amused chuckle. "No? Is it because I'm an Imperial officer?"

"No, sir."

"Explain it to me then."

"You… I don't want to know you. I don't want to hurt anyone else. I… can I be prisoner seven again, please?"

He fought hard to keep that wince he felt from showing on his face. "You aren't just Prisoner Seven anymore, Miss Camlyn. We had a deal, remember? If you promised to answer me truthfully, I would restore your name. I was able to verify everything you told me and I'm a man of my word. Your name and identity have been restored to you. Keep eating, please. You are dangerously malnourished."

"Yes, sir."

He smiled gently this time. "How about we try again? You can call me Gant. People who don't know me call me Gant."

She hesitated a moment, and then nodded. "Okay… Gant."

"When was the last time you had this much food at one time, Miss Camlyn?"

"Almost a month, si—Mr. Gant."

"And where was that?"

"On Ord Man—"

He watched her catch herself, but it was too late. She'd been caught up in the flow of the harmless conversation, in the simple repetition of easily answered questions. So when he slipped in a serious question, she'd answered without thinking.

"Ord Mantell," he finished for her, cataloguing that planet for further research. Another link in the rebel supply chain. "That's a long way from Tatooine, Miss Camlyn. Isn't that where you met Vrad Dodonna? No, keep eating. I want you to clear that plate. You need it."

"Yes, that's where I met him."

"Why was he there?"

"I… Please, I don't—"

"Remember the rules, Miss Camlyn," he said, letting his tone cool slightly. "We are having a conversation. Let's keep it that way."

She flinched, looking away, hiding behind a fall of that golden hair. It was charming, that motion. And he could see how a weary and surly rebel would have found her naivety enchantingly refreshing. Renate Tydon wasn't hard on the eyes, either, though he did not let himself dwell on that thought for very long. Regardless of the fact that there was a scant eight year age difference between them, she was still the sister of a man he respected highly.

She was still a confessed rebel, though he was working as hard as he could to have that charge reduced significantly.

Nevertheless, he made a mental note to offer hair ribbons to her as a reward, and to encourage her to use them. He'd broken her hard, true, but he was not quite ready for her to rebuild herself without his complete control. And the little shield she offered herself with her hair was not something he was willing to allow her to keep.

"I'm waiting for an answer, Miss Camlyn. Remember what happens if I have to repeat myself."

That got through, shattering her moment of resistance. She took a bite of her food quickly, as if proving that she was obeying him, chewed and swallowed. "He was meeting someone. I don't know who."

"For what reason?"

"I don't know."

"I think you do, you just don't realize that you know it."

"I… I'm sorry?"

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and propping his chin up on a fist. A move that was calculated to confuse her with its familiarity, to make her try and forget that this was in fact an interrogation. Just two people having a talk, sharing information.

"See, I believe Vrad Dodonna was meeting someone from your delegation, Miss Camlyn. He was either picking up information or transporting it. The next stop on your diplomatic tour was Naboo, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but I don't see how? I mean, about meeting someone from our delegation. Every one of us wanted to be an ambassador, wanted to change the galaxy, Mr. Gant. Why would they do something so foolish?"

"Foolish like, say, joining the rebellion?"

She flushed, set down her utensil and started to look away. To shield herself behind her hair again. His hand reached out, caught hers. "Don't do that, Renet. You shouldn't hide behind your hair like that. You have very lovely eyes, and more than that, you have a highly inquisitive mind. We've already discussed how that inquisitiveness led to a bad lapse in judgment. But we're making strides to correct that, aren't we?"

Again, she took the bait, and again he cursed himself for doing this. Trust was starting to work its way through her confusion, seeing him as her only alley. Falling for that part of his personality that made him appear so honest.

"What do you need from me?" She asked.

"Just answers to questions. It isn't all that hard, now is it? Let's try another approach. Who among your delegation had strong ties to Naboo?"

"I… there was a girl in our group named Vera Naberrie. She claimed that her mother was once a handmaiden to a Naboo queen. But that could have been bragging or make-believe or—"

"It's a start. Did Vera have any contact with Dodonna?"

He watched her pale. "She introduced me to him. Said they met when she snuck out to see a real cantina."

Gant stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. "Good. What did they talk about?"

"It was stupid. Just more of Vera bragging about her family on Naboo and how they once served the Queens. Queen Amidala and Queen Jamillia, I think. Talking about a lake house and clandestine meetings and that sort of thing."

His eyes flashed at that, clicking together pieces of the puzzle in his head. "I think we have enough for now, and you have finished your meal. A nice place to close this talk, don't you think?"

She stared down at the empty plate and equally empty pitcher of water. "I… yes, sir—I mean Mr. Gant."

"You're doing very well, Miss Camlyn."

"But not well enough for you to let me go."

He shook his head. "That's not on the table right now. You will have to pay for your crimes, but every bit of information you give me lessens that price. Now come with me. I'll escort you back."

"Wait, what about my brother? Is he going to—"

"As far as I'm aware, Renet Camlyn doesn't have a brother. She was born on Alderaan. Anything else about her was lost when the planet was destroyed. Unless you have something more to say?"

Her eyes filled with tears, and beneath that gratitude. He was going to help her protect her brother. She'd made the right decision for once. "No, Mr. Gant."

When she entered her cell, there was padding on the metal shelf, a pillow and a blanket. And when the droid arrived later that night, it carried a dinner tray instead of an injector. On that tray was a scrap of flimsi and a long red ribbon.

For your hair. It kept getting in the way of your eyes.

No signature. It didn't need one.