CMC: Gottesfurcht
By Sapadu
Chapter 12:
"Can you see my hand?" Mara blinked at the enormous, long-fingered hand waving in front of her eyes before she started to sit up. The room spun, just a little, but she focused herself and eased away the last remains of the anesthesia. The white-haired man still known informally as 'Trike' straightened and waited for her to regain her bearings.
"I don't like being put to sleep, even if it IS for surgery." She grumbled. Trike rolled his eyes to the ceiling, then cautiously replied,
"So, would you rather be awake to see a medical droid and crazy old man staring at your nethers and inserting various medical instruments into a particularly private orifice to extract deciduous lining from your uterus?"
"...Point taken." Mara stopped herself from laughing at the image of herself staying awake through surgery to bitch at the operating doctors, "Since when are you a crazy old man?"
"To hear Kenda talk about it, since I was a teenager." Trike checked the chrono on the wall, before he sat down in a chair, "Since you did just wake up from a surgical procedure, the medics say you should not move for another twelve hours..." He gave her a glance with eyebrows raised, "But, given your reputation and that this procedure did not require any incisions and, thus, no stitches, I would think just one hour would be sufficient."
Mara frowned, still not entirely trusting of this man who, apart from not being a real medic, also apparently knew more than he was saying.
"I thought this procedure was just, essentially, inducing labor, then making sure all the remaining tissues were evacuated so I didn't get an infection or anything..." She started, slowly. Trike closed his eyes and opened them so he was staring at the wall.
"It was... but the... position was one that required... some intervention. At any rate, you probably will not feel very comfortable standing up until the dilators flush out of your system completely. That will be another hour, at least."
Oh.
"Then, why are you just sitting in here, waiting with me?" Mara asked. Trike continued to stare at the wall.
"...Kenda... MIGHT have... mentioned that something would be in it for me..." He muttered, which Mara took to mean the cranky medic had said something along the lines of 'Do it or you're sleeping on the couch for the rest of your life'.
"Then you can pass the time by telling me exactly who you are." Trike grimaced, but continued to look steadfastly in a different direction, "For starters, how you know that I was one of the Emperor's Hands– it's not something I put on my resume for a reason, and I'm pretty sure that I've never met you or anybody that knows both of us well enough that I'd tell them and they'd let it slip to you. Where'd you hear it from?"
Trike closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths before answering,
"The Emperor knew you were one of his Hands."
Mara's glare didn't fade.
"He also knew that I wasn't the ONLY one, but he didn't advertise that to any of us. You're still hiding something." Every word was having a strangely powerful effect on Trike – every syllable made him cringe and curl up even tighter until Mara could scarcely believe that, uncurled and standing, he was the enormous, lurking freak of a man that he really was.
"His Eyes." Trike finally blurted out, "He tried to shape me into one of his Eyes. I have the ability to see the future in my dreams and to walk into other peoples dreaming minds. He tried to use me as a spy, but I refused to obey him – I have been a pacifist ever since I first saw blood. That is how I knew about all of his Hands and Eyes and Voices and all of the horrible things he did to the galaxy and I will thank you to just let me be in peace for once instead of blaming me and throwing it all in my face." Mara wasn't scared enough to jump or be intimidated by the man shouting – that and she was pretty sure that he wasn't going to attack her, especially if he was pacifist – but it did interest her that he was getting so UPSET about it.
"...Who'd blame you?" She asked, dipping her eyebrows. Trike's eyes remained closed, but the way he cringed was more than enough to tell Mara that he was furious with himself for letting it slip. Still, Mara was starting to place some particular features that had made her edgy at first but she hadn't been able to place – the high, steep widow's peak, the slight hook in the nose, the sharp angle of the jaw connecting with the chin, "...You know... after the crises that came when the Emperor's clones rose up and tried to reclaim the Empire, it wasn't much of a secret that he'd been experimenting with ways to clone himself and keep himself alive... but I can't help but think about C'Baoth... and wonder if maybe more than one of those experiments had been... different."
Trike's eyes were open now. They were boring out at her from between his long, white fingers in utter horror. Mara stared right back – she knew that she had hit it right on the head.
"...Ask Kenda." He finally mumbled, "...I have no desire to talk about that man."
Mara eased out of interrogation mode – something else was starting to bug her, too.
"Why're you being so helpful, then? You could have just said 'Mind your own business.'"
"Kenda told me 'Play nice or Mommy's going to put you on time-out.' When she says that, it usually means that she wants me to, how you say? Spill my guts."
"I hear that Humans have a few kilometers worth of guts stuffed into their abdomens – don't let me stop you."
Trike actually stopped cringing for several moments and gave Mara the most incredulous stare, ever.
"...You were not terribly pleased when I compared you to Kenda, and then you say something like THAT. Do you see how I am somewhat confused?" Mara wrinkled her nose with distaste, "As for how your husband would have known before you, I was, at one point a prisoner of the Empire. He rescued me and then, because I am somewhat less than capable of caring for myself and not terribly trustworthy, I was put under the custody of the Alliance of Free Planets."
"And you got out, eventually? How?" She pressed. Trike blinked, owlishly, at her.
"Kenda."
Mara digested this information a little, then decided she didn't want to push. Still, it did mean that, at some point, Luke had met this man and it had been at least more than enough that he SHOULD have remembered – the farmboy cared about other people more than for his own good, so there was no question he would have remembered someone he rescued from an Imp prison, let alone this strange man who had been a former Emperor's Eye. The question was WHY he'd forgotten. Mara continued to stare at Trike as an idea started to tug and form in her head.
"...You can see the future when you dream?" She asked, slowly. Triclops leaned backwards, against the wall.
"I did say that, yes." He agreed.
"The immediate future, or the long-term?"
"Both – they are, technically, the same thing."
"...What about events that have already taken place? Can you see those?" Trike frowned, briefly, then closed his eyes.
"If I say 'no', will you forget your idea?" Mara's lips twisted, just a little.
"In other words, you CAN. Which means you could, in theory, look backwards in history and see what happened that would cause my husband not to remember you." Trike shook his head.
"For one thing, I cannot see into the past – I can dream of things I remember, and when I look into other people's dreams, see THEIR memories, but those can be faulty, at best. True postcognition, however, is outside my scope." He explained. "For another thing, I do not see your husband in my dreams."
That, Mara hadn't been expecting. She frowned at Trike, who was staring down at the floor.
"Or, to be more accurate, I have seen him twice before, and both times, he changed the future. The first time, it was at the fall of the Empire. It HAD been his destiny to turn – he would have become a Sith, just like his father, at the Emperor's side – a Darth Filus." Mara's eyes went very round, "That is what I saw... but not what happened."
Mara bit her lip and frowned.
"And... the second time?" She asked. Trike shook his head almost immediately.
"That is not important." He said, almost too quickly, "The point is, your husband is not affected by destiny. He is unique in that respect. He has only a future and it is one that he decides for himself – unlike the rest of us, whom must bow to the will of Fate." Trike's foot traced something on the sterile floor. "He always has been different from ordinary men. All Skywalker men are."
It clicked.
"You were alive during the Clone Wars. Before Vader turned to the Dark Side." Of course, Mara supposed she should have realized this if Medic Orewahime had been around at that time and these two apparently had known each other for a majority of their lifetimes. But, more than that, Trike must have seen the fall of the Order, first hand. That was different than just being alive during that period.
"That is beside the point, Miss Jade." Trike mumbled, before Mara shouted at him.
"I AM married, you realize." She snapped, "And it's Jade Skywalker, now." Trike blinked at her, impassively, as though he meant to say 'So what' but was simply refraining from doing so, "Why do you call me that, anyway? And why does your girlfriend or whatever call the farmboy 'brat'?"
Trike's gaze remained impassive, before he stood up and opened the door to the room.
"We should check to see what Kenda has on him – maybe memory loss helped her figure it out."
Mara opened her mouth to shout after him, but the door closed. In a very bad temper, Mara swung her legs over the side of the table and started to pull off the hospital gown, looking for her real clothes. A step later, she regretted it – Trike had been right about those dilators.
"Medic Orewahime, put your shirt back on." The other medics had returned from whatever hoops Orewahime had set them jumping through about the same time Mara managed to catch up with Trike – walking had been a slow process and she'd refused to waddle – only to find Orewahime with her feet up on a table, staring at the wall with all the symptoms written on it, and wearing only her brasserie and shorts.
"Fine. Kill the heater before my sweat glands produce sweat glands of their own." Orewahime snapped, not looking over her shoulder at the crowd and thus, not noticing Mara and Trike.
"Maybe you could drink water instead of booze – I hear it does this magical thing called 'hydration'." One of the other medics suggested as they filed into the room with the various test results they'd been assigned. Medic Orewahime gave them the best disgusted look she could.
"But booze is yummy. What've you got for me?" She swiftly changed the subject. The medics looked like they were considering defying her, but were distracted as Orewahime Force-grabbed a file from one of them.
"Biopsies were clean, no heightened amyloids, blood tests are normal. Not amyloidosis, not scleroderma." One finally said, pushing the paperwork towards Orewahime. She pinned it to the table with a toe.
"How's the antibiotic treatment?"
"Just finished with it. He's in a clean room now, vomiting again. They're not working."
Mara wasn't sure if it disturbed her more that nothing was apparently showing results, or if it was that the medics didn't seem to really care that their patient – and her husband – wasn't improving. Orewahime glared at the flimsiplast reports.
"...It might be TB... if it got into his bloodstream and infected his kidneys, brain, and intestines..." The medic mused out loud, before another one stopped her.
"Already checked for it – Chest X-rays show his lungs rotting away, but no tuberculosis, skin test was negative. Not to mention if it was tuberculosis, the antibiotic treatment would be working."
"And smears will take a few weeks to develop – weeks we don't have – and can produce either false negatives OR positives." Orewahime took her feet off the table and got up to pace over to the wall, "How 'bout his liver – did it cave under interrogation?"
"Cirrhosis." That, Mara understood.
"Alcohol? Luke doesn't drink." She protested. Orewahime almost fell over as she spun around to see Mara standing in the doorway with Trike. The other medics also looked particularly surprised, but for a very, very different reason.
"Luke?" Medic Interviewee echoed. Orewahime slapped her one hand on her forehead, then glared through her single good eye at Mara.
"Why are YOU here?" She demanded. Mara didn't answer in favor of pressing Medic B about the cirrhosis.
"How much of his liver was it, anyway?" She demanded. The medic's jaw worked for a few moments, as though stunned, before she simply handed Mara the chart. From what Mara could tell, all four lobes were affected, though the medical jargon was impossible for Mara to tell if the damage was permanent or not.
"We can fix livers. And if we can't, that's what we've got transplants for. Don't freak out just yet." Orewahime interjected, but the medics were no longer listening to her.
"Medic Orewahime, are we treating the Master Skywalker of the Jedi Order?" One of them hissed. Orewahime rolled her eyes and glared at Mara for spilling the secret.
"What does it matter? A patient is a patient is a patient." Orewahime snapped. Medic A pushed his files away and leaned back in his chair.
"We could have killed him." He shouted. Orewahime wasn't intimidated in the least. Mara kept scanning the files.
"Yes, we could have. We also could have cured him. Same thing goes for every patient that comes in– we can either kill them or get them better. That's medicine for you." She was also starting to shout. Medic Interviewee passed his files over to Mara.
"Master Skywalker, I apologize for all this trouble, but we should be able to find out what's wrong with your husband..." He started, but Mara pushed the file away, frowning at all of their changes in attitude.
"I don't want your apologies. I want you guys to do your job." She said, tossing the results of the liver scan back onto the table. All of the medics stared at her, before Mara glared straight at Orewahime, "You might be a bitch, but you're right."
Orewahime promptly grinned, then leaned in Trike's direction.
"Ya hear that, Trike? I'm RIGHT! Isn't'at COOL?" She asked in the most obnoxious voice possible. Trike's face remained as impassive and humorless as ever.
"She also said you are a bitch. Which you are." He pointed out, remorselessly.
"I know. Makes you proud, doesn't it?" She turned back to the wall and wrote 'Cirrhosis' on the list of symptoms, "Okay, aside from alcohol, what else makes the liver all knobby and gross?"
"Hepatitis."
"Congestive heart failure."
"Poor diet, dehydration, prolonged exposure to toxins and medications."
"Heavy metals." This last suggestion came from Trike. All the other medics turned to stare at him, "Hemochromatosis and Wilson's disease both have liver cirrhosis as one of their symptoms because of the accumulation of iron and copper in the body, which also causes problems in the other systems."
"No steely skin color, no cataracts. Not either of those." Orewahime said this slowly, as though she, herself, didn't really mean it. Trike's frown deepened.
"It could be an abnormal case, or, possibly, he once HAD those problems but he just ignored them." Trike argued. Mara had returned to that medical dictionary and was looking up the symptoms of both diseases. Both genetic, both involving high concentrations of metal in the body -- she sincerely doubted that any medics would have missed hemochromatosis and Wilson's also resulted in copper colored rings around the corneas. She'd spent enough time gazing into THOSE baby blues enough that she would have at least noticed SOMEthing, especially since his eyes were so blue that copper rings would have stood out. Orewahime quickly pointed this out.
"Get an ultrasound for the CHF -- this is the the third time something's pointed to the heart, that makes it the most likely. Hepatitis wouldn't explain the lungs or the brain damage, but get a smear for it, see if maybe it's not connected, and would SOMEONE PLEASE TURN ON THE A/C?" Orewahime pounded her fist against the wall, then turned to shout the last bit at the other medics.
"Medic Orewahime, we're just as uncomfortable as you." Mara was about ready to leave -- she was starting to get sick of these distractions, "And the thermometer says it's just-"
"Forget the thermometer. Thermometers break, that thermometer's broken, it's been broken since... day... one." Orewahime's shouting grew quieter as she looked over towards the wall where the glass tube rested. Mara raised her eyebrows and also looked at the thermometer -- it's level rested firmly at Twenty Celsius, kind of low for the blazing heat of Coruscanti summer, but nothing that Mara could see would make Orewahime stutter to a halt like that.
"Quick history lesson!" Orewahime started to write on the window with her markers, this time, "Zero ABY, the first Death Star is destroyed, by WHOM?" All the medics blankly stared at her, but Mara finally heard one of them answer with Luke's name, "Correct. Afterwards, the Skywalker brat goes on to fame and fortune as a hero in the Alliance by becoming commander OF-?"
"The Rogue Squadron."
"Whom are all pilots and soldiers. Since they hold rank in the Alliance army, what can we automatically assume they did on days they had off and all wanted to have fun together as a group and relax?" Medic Interviewee raised his hand.
"Go out drinking." Mara understood.
"You're saying this liver damage has been there for decades?" She asked. Orewahime walked over to the wall and circled 'Cirrhosis' and 'Memory Loss', then drew lines away from them towards 'Old damage'.
"That's my hunch." She said.
"But everyone would have noticed -- he would have had so many more problems, not to mention he'd be dead. That's where the 'live' in 'liver' comes from." Pointed out Medic B, but Orewahime was already talking over her, giving Mara a sharp glance.
"Frau Vader." Mara raised one eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, "When I came in earlier to get you into surgery, what were you doing to your husband that was making him better?" Mara frowned, then realized what Orewahime was getting at.
"It's a Jedi Healing Trance. It repairs damage and restores the user to health... but when I helped Luke heal himself, I could tell that we weren't getting rid of whatever was making him sick. Whatever it was is still in his system." Mara explained. Orewahime's smile grew wider and even more smug.
"My bet is he's been doing that automatically without even realizing it for years, doing all the functions his liver's supposed to be doing but never actually repairing the damage to his cells since he doesn't realize it's damaged. That takes liver damage and memory loss off the table, and now, I know what's causing all the other shit."
Orewahime strode out of the room. Mara almost chased after her, except it resulted in a rather undignified waddle, so she had to settle with limping along the best she could as the other medics out strode her and caught up with Orewahime.
"Nice limp." Trike muttered out of the corner of his mouth. Mara resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him.
"Shut up."
"Frau Vader." Orewahime poked her head out and shouted at Mara, gesturing for her to come in, "Get in here, I've got what it is." Mara limped her way into the room. All four medics were staring at Luke, as though they could see something that Mara couldn't. Luke stared back, obviously uncomfortable at the attention.
"Observe." Orewahime held up a wooden tongue depressor, before she jammed the stick into Luke's mouth. Luke automatically spat it out, "What'd you taste?"
Luke blinked, numbly, at the stick he'd spat out, before frowning.
"Metal."
Oh.
"Your husband is being poisoned with mercury."
"Well, you have certainly made a fine mess of THIS facade, Sister."
"You make it sound like I've destroyed the order of the state."
"Keep thy complaints inward until ye might prove them as such."
"...Brother..."
"As mother would say: 'Shut your hole'."
"It sounds so funny when you pronounce it with that limey accent of yours, Brother dear."
"Oh, your DEAR, am I now?"
"Would you just drop it."
"No: You started this whole mess, dragged me into it, and now, you do not even have the decency to do a good job of it. If you leave Sieur Ben at those medical books, he shall figure out sooner or later that nothing is wrong with Ouduar, AND that you knew absolutely nothing about surgery if you were letting him leave the House."
"...Really?"
"Sister, you IMBECILE."
"Oh, so you're just gonna take over and pretend to be your sister for the rest of this project? Everybody's gonna notice -- you ARE a guy, remember?"
"Whom, as you so often take joy in reminding me, still appears prepubescent enough to be mistaken for a female, and thus, be taken for his only twin sister."
"Um, Brother... Ain't 'Only twin' kinda redundant?"
"Not at all -- we could be three; you, me, and a third, triplet sister. See? Much less confusing."
"Oh my Go- Ow! What'd you slap me for?"
"Blasphemy. I do not care if we are not religious in this Household -- as long as Gornash and I go to synagog every weekend, you shall keep a clean tongue in your mouth."
"You move very fast for a guy who walks with a cane."
"Shall I strike you again, wench?"
"Okay, o-KAY. Geez."
"That is better. Now, you keep yourself hidden while I straighten out this mess you have made."
"...Yeah, you wish."
Ouduar stretched and flexed, looking perfectly fine. Well, he'd looked perfectly fine the other day, too, before he'd collapsed. Ben and Jacci had left off looking up possible causes for a heart attack that didn't involve smoking or stress when Gornash had told them the Countess had the situation under control. Needless to say, Ben was a little peeved with the busy work – almost like she'd done it on purpose, or something.
"You sure you're feeling better?" Ben asked, as Ouduar checked his bag and sorted through the various paints and brushes he had. Ouduar shrugged.
"Sure. Lungs still burnin', arms still ache, still feelin' sick, head still hurts. Yeah, 'm good."
"...Um..." Ben frowned, "...Is that sarcasm or..." Ouduar smiled, thinly, as his spectacles caught a gleam of light that made his eyes vanish.
"No, really. I'm fine."
Ben still wasn't entirely convinced.
"If your lungs feel on fire, that's not 'fine', Ouduar." Ben muttered. Ouduar kept shrugging, apparently not caring, "What is WITH you?"
"It doesn't matter. I can just grit my teeth and suck it up." Ouduar stretched, then pulled out a roll of paper with pictures on it.
"I tried doing that when I was little once – Uncle Han told me that only stupid guys just ignore it when something hurts. It's not manly or cool or tough." Ben snapped, getting off his chair and squatting on the floor as Ouduar flicked his fingers over his brushes, testing the bristles.
"I don't really care about any of that. If you're a man, you're a man and that's that. How you act doesn't have anything to do with it." Ouduar shrugged, as though he weren't really listening. Ben was starting to wonder if he should punch this guy and just get it over with when, "It's better than not being in pain. It scary when nothing hurts."
Ben clenched his fist, then unclenched it, digesting these words. Ouduar opened up a box filled with pellets of dried ink and popped one in his mouth, chewing until he spat out a mouthful of beetle blue ink, his brush diving into the spot on the paper and quickly spreading and swirling it around into shapes on the paper. Ben tipped his head to the side, seeing the shapes it formed but not really watching Ouduar paint. It didn't make sense – pain was a bad thing, so it would be scary to hurt and not know what it was than not, right? And it had to be better, too – it meant you were okay when nothing hurt. It was simple logic, if a bit circular, but it made more sense than...
"Human beings are flawed, by nature. There's no such thing as the perfect person, so it only makes sense that there's something wrong with us. But if there's something wrong and nothing hurts, you never know there's anything not working. I think that's the most frightening thing that could happen to anyone." Ouduar put another pellet in his mouth and started to spit out a dark shade of indigo, spattering it with his brush as he spoke, "It's a basic rule that pain alerts the body when something goes wrong, but if there's always something wrong, there should always be pain. Yet, for some reason, there isn't – our natural condition is to not feel any pain, even though we're broken, damaged beings by nature." Ouduar's spectacles gleamed, but Ben could sense the older boy's eyes staring at him, "Doesn't that frighten you? Such a glaring breech of the rules?"
Ouduar's picture still had no real, specific shape – at least, not one that Ben could see just staring at it straight on. When he moved his head, Ben caught the impression that it was a group of specific shapes all mashed together, like a herd of striped animals crowding together for camouflage. It gave Ben the shivers, just like everything else about this guy.
"Rules are made to be broken. Uncle Han says it, Aunt Leia says it, Jacen says it, the Countess says it... sometimes, Mom and Dad say it... You can't just go by the rules all the time." Ben wasn't sure if he meant it, but the words came out with a lot less venom and hostility than he'd planned to put into his retort. Even worse, he wasn't sure if he'd lost his edge on purpose or not.
Ouduar's head turned enough that Ben could see one of his eyes through the lenses without the glare. Just like he'd thought, Ouduar was staring straight at him. It didn't last long – Ouduar quickly picked out a red pellet from his ink box and spat a bright crimson on the paper. Spots of it turned the blues into violets, but the rest, Ouduar used to trace lines and shapes, bringing the shapes into more distinct formation. Ben continued to tilt his head back and forth, trying to see what it was supposed to be.
"Ben, I love you." Almost immediately, the hair on Ben's head stood on end. He'd thought something had been missing, before he stopped to think about why Ouduar would just say it, right out of the blue like that. The last time Ben had heard Ouduar say The Phrase That Must Not Be Uttered, he'd also mentioned something else... which meant...
"Ouduar... did the Countess tell you to do this? Like, as work or something?" Ben asked, cautiously. Ouduar continued with his work, adding in a rich, earthy yellow.
"Why'd you ask?"
"Because you SAID that the Countess said something to you – that her words 'made sense' or something." Still, Ouduar did not stop with his painting.
"That person told me just one thing: That person said 'This kid needs to hear those words more than anything else in the world.' Didn't tell me that I had to say them or anything like that – just that you needed to hear it." Ben pulled the most sour face he could, but Ouduar wasn't finished, "You said your parents never said it, so... just filling in the gap."
Ben had thought he'd been making the most sour face he could, but now, he realized he was mistaken.
"They're not bad parents." He snapped, "And I KNOW they love me without having to hear them say it – I'm smart enough." Ouduar spat out a mouthful of acid green ink.
"Never said you weren't – it's just that knowing it and hearing it are two different things, and you still need them both."
"Mom and Dad are just fine – I might not agree with a lot of stuff they do, but they're still my parents."
"Even good people make mistakes."
Ben hadn't expected Ouduar to be the one to say that – really, Ben had expected that he'd start listing all sorts of screw-ups, which Ben would be able to cap with 'Everyone makes mistakes'. As he couldn't do that, he had to settle with,
"RIGHT. Everyone makes mistakes. It's normal for people to make mistakes."
"But only INTELLIGENT people learn from them. We screw up so we can learn not to make the same mistake twice. Sure, you screw up with one kid – next one that comes along, you shouldn't screw up. Seems pretty simple to me."
Ben blinked several times, wondering where THAT had come from. It was like Ouduar was chewing pellets of random letters and spitting out the most bizarre non-sequiturs known to man. Ouduar pushed one finger into his mouth and scraped all the paint off his tongue and added it to the paper.
"...So... you think that Mom and Dad should already know better with me for some reason?" Ben finally guessed. Ouduar shrugged.
"Dunno 'bout your mom. But your father, absolutely."
"...Why?"
Ouduar didn't answer. He just picked up his paper and shook it, blowing on the ink to dry it before he stretched.
"Did that person tell you 'zactly why we're not going out, today?" He asked. Ben pouted, debated if he should refuse to answer until Ouduar answered his question, then decided against it.
"She said there's been news about a serial killer going around lately, so staying inside would be the safest option." Ouduar chewed on a fingernail and hummed, noncommittally, "...Thought you would say something like 'It'll be okay' or something like that."
Ouduar shrugged again.
"Can't. For all I know, it might not be okay."
'Compared to yesterday, when you said all sorts of stupid stuff that couldn't possibly be true, and turned out to be, anyway.' Ben thought, wondering if there was some conspiracy going on behind his back to keep him confused.
"So, you don't ever want to say anything that turns out to be wrong?" Ben asked – if he'd known what the word meant, he would have known he was sneering, "Why don't you just never say anything? That's the only surefire way to never turn out wrong."
Ouduar looked like he was considering the idea, then started rolling up his paper.
"...It's not so much that as it is I can't say anything that isn't true. Y'know... kinda like I can't fly, with the whole not-having-wings bit."
"Oh." Pause, "...So, you can't lie, even if it's to save your own butt? That must be irritating." Ouduar shrugged, "Could you just give me a straight out answer for once? I'm REALLY getting sick of all these cryptic riddles." And he was – every time he asked anyone in this House a question about... well, mostly everything... they either told him to ask someone else, or they'd spit out something indecipherable and vague.
"Just say so, then." Ouduar's answer, while simple enough, still got on his nerves.
"I just DID."
"Then order me." Ouduar said. Ben blinked at him, caught completely off guard.
"...What? Order?"
"Give me a command – Ouduar, tell me the truth without any riddles or dodging." Ouduar repeated, "Go on."
"No." Ben was surprised how quickly he spat it out, but supposed he shouldn't have been – he never really did like taking orders or anything like that, even if the order was to give someone else a command. Maybe it was because of that, but he didn't want to boss anyone else around, either.
Ouduar continued to shrug. Ben was getting sick of him shrugging all the time, too.
"And quit shrugging every time I say something." Ben snapped, feeling even more irritable. Ouduar raised an eyebrow and Ben could have hit himself for contradicting himself so quickly.
"As you wish." Ouduar finally said. He didn't shrug again. Ben put the first two fingers of both hands against his temples and concentrated for a moment before he managed to think of a better way to say what he was thinking.
"I take it back. Shrug all you want, I don't care." Briefly, Ben considered apologizing for snapping in the first place, but Ouduar seemed almost hurt by the fact that Ben had taken back his command. In the end, all he did was shrug and say,
"Okay."
There was an awkward quiet as Ben pieced together the things he'd gathered about Ouduar during this conversation.
"...So, you can't lie, you can't say something that's incorrect, and you can't disobey orders..." He counted off on his fingers, "Anything else I should know?"
Ouduar's eyes went to the ceiling. Ben stopped him before he could open his mouth,
"And if you say 'I love you' one more time, I'm gonna punch you." Ouduar remained silent and Ben decided to raise a finger, just in case Ouduar tried to bring it up later, "So, aside from those four things, what else is there I should know about you?"
"...Sounds like all you really need to know if someone asks you 'bout me." Ouduar mumbled, shrugging. Ben stared at him for a long moment.
"...Sounds like it really SUCKS to be you." He finally concluded. Ouduar's shrug was less dispassionate than his last.
"Not really. I'm better off now than I was 'bout... three years ago. Place to live, food to eat, not have to steal for anythin' or always be running from officials. My mom's still with me, I'm actually getting schoolin' when there's time, and now, I've got a real friend. Can't really complain." Ouduar lay back down on the floor and stretched his back and legs. Ben watched the appalling display of manners with curiosity.
"What happened to your dad?" He asked. Ouduar stiffened, then dropped so he was relaxed again. Ben felt a nasty lurch in his stomach, "...Sorry... your dad's not... dead, is he?"
Ouduar pulled out one of his smoking sticks and put it in his mouth, still shrugging.
"Nah. Just never there." Ben watched, leaning away as Ouduar fumbled for his lighter.
"So he... ran out on your mom?" Ben pushed. Ouduar shrugged again and lit up.
"Dunno. Mom never talks 'bout it." He took a long drag on the stick – Ben could see the end of it glow as the stick itself started to turn black and wilt, "Oh, she'll talk about him – stuff like how proud he would be or how much I look like 'im... then again, mom's sick so, he might've been a real ass and she's just too stupid to know it."
Ben continued to quietly watch Ouduar, wondering how he could have possibly missed the fact that Ouduar was a person – it hadn't been so much that he thought of Ouduar as something else, just that it hadn't really occurred to him that the older boy thought and felt like normal people. He was just... there.
The same way most everyone else was just there.
"This is NOT gonna work." Han mumbled, pouring over the invitations Leia had organized. Leia glanced up from her list of guests and caf to glare at him.
"Why didn't you say so before?" She asked. How she kept the annoyance out of her voice, she wasn't sure, but she managed all the same.
"I DID say so before." Han was either making no attempt or he was much worse at the feat, but Leia heard his annoyance loud and clear.
"That doesn't mean we can't at least manage some benefit from this. The idea is to get back inside that house and find out more about who we're dealing with. You're just jumpy because you thought you saw something." Leia drained her mug and tried to look busy to avoid looking at her husband.
"I didn't THINK -- I SAW a kid we've been assuming was dead for thirty years." Han hadn't touched his caf. It was probably for the best, since he was nervous enough without the stimulant.
"I thought you didn't believe in ghosts." She shot, not watching his expression.
"I don't. And I don't think it was a GHOST I saw." Han shot back, just as much avoiding her gaze. Leia didn't notice.
"How can you be sure it was even the same person? Similar features can have a psychological effect on someone who's already worried about something – I'm willing to bet you saw Boba Fett in nearly every armored and masked bounty hunter during the Civil War." Leia tried to steer the topic onto a much less volatile subject, checking off the last of the people she wanted to see at this wake. Given that Tycho had been a pilot of the Rogue Squadron, she figured it would only be appropriate for Wedge and Wes to be there.
"Because it WAS. It wasn't just someone who LOOKED the same, it was someone EXACTLY IDENTICAL. And, last I checked, the kid didn't have any BROTHERS!"
"Why are you shouting?" Leia managed to keep her voice perfectly level. Han stopped, "Are you trying to scare me? What's so scary about you – more shouting? Physical violence would be scary, but I'm pretty sure I can take you on... not to mention that you wouldn't even think of trying."
Han looked up from his list of Correllian buddies to invite long enough to scowl at Leia.
"Besides, if nothing else, we should be able to give everyone else a chance to get as far away from the CMC as possible if she's not all sweetness and light like she pretends to be." Han irritably ground his teeth before the door slid open. Han craned his neck to see Threepio in the doorway and it wasn't holding a tray of freshly brewed caf.
"Mistress Leia..." Leia got out of her chair, as though expecting Threepio to hand her something, "There is a comm call for you... from a medic regarding Master Luke."
A/N: At long last, this chapter is finished. After... how many months ago did I start this?