WARNING: Star Wars fic written by a TransFan

WARNING: Star Wars fic written by a TransFan. Inaccuracies will be plentiful.

Disclaimer: I do not own General Grievous, no matter how often I lock him in my closet.

Note: This is where I diverge from the norm and institute my own interpretation.

Chapter 7: Nightmare

It is dark, the pitch-blackness of midnight. A flickering fire holds back the shadows, brilliant orange and red flickering in a million chattering tongues. In the dim light, the innards of a small hut flutter in and out of definition. Furry animal skins line the walls, the hair upon them thick and short, soft to the touch. He knows each hide, which animal gave up its flesh. Each creature he killed himself, one for every time he has entered this little shelter. A fresh corpse lay before him, a slender quadrupedal herbivore with the thick pelt of a water dweller his people call a czarite. The long curved blade he wields is used only in this enclosure, though he carries it with him where ever he goes. It is made from silver metal, polished to a mirror shine, the bone handle carved with ceremonial symbols. He reaches into a hide bag hanging from the ceiling, pulls out a small handful of herbs he swiftly scatters over the flames before him. The fire spits sparks every which way, hissing like an angry snake, then soars up to scorch the ceiling with sickly green flames. A wave of heat washes over him, surrounds him, and suddenly he is no longer in the fur-lined enclosure, but suspended in the soupy liquid embrace of the bacta tank back on Genosis. He gasps, feeling his breath burn in his throat, as the fluid drains away. Then he's on the operating table, paralyzed, and he's screaming as the Genosians rip out his rib cage-

Grievous lurched into full consciousness, his heart pounding in his ears as he tumbled headlong onto the floor with a strangled cry. He was back on Genosis, back in that awful tank room, the nightmare image of the droid with his eyes looming large in his sight. Terror blinded him to his physical surroundings, choked off everything but the awful memories. Without any real conscious thought process, he fled, buried himself in the silent darkness huddled behind a chair tucked close to one wall. He crouched there, curled into a trembling ball of armor and shadowy cloth, praying to every deity who might be listening in his native tongue. The terrible remembering shredded what little remained of his self-control, and he felt the tears beading up, blurring his vision. Pain, agony, burning through his mind though his body was under so such duress.

"Grievous?"

A voice, soft and barely familiar, somehow slipped through the haze of panic, jolting him not quite to reality, but close enough for him to pick out the pale blot of a face peering down at him, haloed in the faint golden glow of an overhead lamp. Startled, he tried to leap away, slamming hard into the wall. It hurt, bringing forward the pain of his torturous reconfiguration. He felt something brush against his faceplate, and he jerked away with a terrified yelp, pressing further into the shadowed corner. The voice came back, trying to be calm but strained from the effort, as trembling hands grabbed hold of the primary sensor panels on either side of his head.

"Greivous, it's me, Kayla! It's just me! You don't have to be scared!"

Words, strange words, not his people, not his Kalee brethren. He wailed, lost in the all-consuming maw of fear, and tried to pull away again. Then, something, he didn't know what it was, washed over him, a cool wave that traveled from his sensor panels across his whole body, pushing back the claws of terror. With the wave's help, he was able to reassert his self-control, slowly dragging himself from the painful memories into reality. Tear-blurred vision eventually cleared, hauling the world back into focus. He found himself staring up at a vaguely familiar ceiling, ivory tile draped with scarlet banners, from behind a large overstuffed vermilion armchair set up against the wall. For a moment, he wondered why exactly he was huddled between an armchair and a small side table with his back in a corner, but then recalled the uncontrollable terror that had been practically eating him alive not half a second previous. The most basic instincts of his people, being evolved from nocturnal herbivores, were to take shelter at the first sign of danger. In his panic, he had acted instinctively, seeking out the nearest small dark place to hole up in for safety's sake. But he had been practically delirious with fright, so scared he couldn't even think straight, let alone pull himself out of his panic attack. So, what-? He suddenly noticed the weight on his torso, the mumbled half-prayers muffled by the thick fabric of his cloak, and looked down to see a tousled mop of dark hair lying upon his chest plates. It took him a moment to recognize the Jedi, her robes and jumpsuit replaced by a pale green dressing gown, her hair black and slick with water.

"Kayla?"

She started at his quiet voice, jerking her head up to meet his gaze with a startled gasp. The spooked look in her red-rimmed eyes faded to relief, and she lay her head back down on his chest with a soft sigh, never breaking eye contact.

"Hey, big guy. Feelin' better?"

For a moment, he wondered how she'd known, then realized that it was her hands clamped onto his sensor panels, and remembered what she'd said about her Force healing.

"I am… Better. Thank you."
Kayla smiled, a motion that softened her entire expression.

"No problem."

With that, she rested her head back on his chest with a weary sigh and let her hands slip off his sensor panels as she succumbed to combined stresses of the day. Just fell asleep, not even bothering to move to her designated resting area. The last time something like that had happened, his youngest child had fallen ill and, unable to rest due to the fever, had turned to him for comfort. Remembering his beloved family, the cyborg felt his wounded heart soften towards the female Jedi. She had done so much for him, never asking for anything in return. Gingerly, he lay a hand atop her head, running his armored fingers through her damp hair in a rare show of affection. He gently gathered her up in his arms, easing to his feet so he wouldn't wake her, and carried her into the extravagant bedroom. The Jedi looked so small on that massive bed, not unlike one his own offspring when they were young. Drawing a blanket over the slumbering human, he strode to the door, pausing a moment at the door to turn out the light before he returned to his couch.