AN: It's been over a year since I updated this fic and WOW what a year it's been! I am now a Vet student! Which means I have even less time than I used to, and even more inspiration. Which is a sometimes frustrating combination. I just hope you guys are still here reading it!

I've also gone back and slightly changed/edited a few of the first chapters, which I wrote back in 2012.

ALSO! If you remember the Consular storyline, PLEASE GET IN CONTACT! I need someone to talk me through it in short stages to continue this fic - I have the inspiration but not the time to watch the storyline and write. Being a full-time student and running my menagerie (now sitting stable at 2 horses, a dog, and two cats) is a fairly time intensive process and leaves me with very little time to decompress, let alone research cool shit.

And finally, sorry this one is so short, but it had to be cut off there for the cool rescue to be its own chapter!

Disclaimer:

I own nothing you recognise. This is all completely un-beta'd and totally fresh off the top of my brain!

Doc was going to murder him. He was going to fucking murder that green-headed, bantha-brained asshat.

It had been three days since the news. Two since Zenith had last checked in. No news from the rescue team at all. So Doc was sitting in his comfortable little ward back at base twiddling his thumbs and eviscerating anyone who came near him who wasn't bleeding to death. He only lightly brutalised those patients.

The infirmary had never been so quiet. He hated every second of it.

Magd had long since been relegated to field work. She was even-headed under pressure, incredible with triage, and had Boris to help her with the heavy lifting so she could carry more supplies. During the down time, though, she would still hover around the infirmary, less his assistant and more a doctor all in her own right. He thoroughly enjoyed downtime.

They could now almost hold a conversation. She was still a bit shaky with sentence structure, but her vocabulary was growing in leaps and bounds. She was invigorating in all the ways he could never have imagined she would be. Fiercely intelligent, highly intuitive, and a wicked sense of humour that was only just starting to come out.

And she was missing. Zenith had called it in – taken in a fire fight with Imps. Chemish had been the one to tell him. Chemish had been the only one with the balls to tell him. That had been three, nearly four days ago now.

He wasn't going to murder the tentacle-head. He was going to dissect him. Slowly.

Illara took a deep breath, exhaled her muscles' tension. Her saber was easily accessed should she need it. She hoped she wouldn't. Her work for the rebellion on Balmorra had led her to this Twi'lek, who now came to her with anger in his steps and a favour on his lips.

"What may I assist you with, Zenith?" she asked, turning to face the Twi'lek.

"There is a transport you will assist us with capturing." Fury curdled his voice. "I will send you the location. There will be a Sith on this transport," he continued. "Take care of him while we retrieve the contents of the transport."

"Of course I will assist with this, but may I ask what the contents of this transport are?" Illara clasped her hands behind her back, shoulders loose.

"Something that was taken from us," Zenith snarled.

Illara blinked as the twi'lek stalked out. Turned and raised an eyebrow at Felix, who shrugged.

"Must be important."

"Indeed."

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