Recovery is not linear. It has its wonderful ups...and it's equally terrible downs.

Beginning written to - www .youtube watch?v=RrDKoXWKMmY

Warnings for Self-harm

Maul had spent the many, many hours after Plo Koon had left thinking over the words that had slipped into his skull like a knife, unable to sleep and locked in thought.

Baj had promised Aola power, he had promised her that she would have been able to create an Order that would have stood on the power of its own merits, that would have been strong, and in the end… What had Baj given her but empty promises and lies? Her Order would have been a bastardized one, one that had none of their original line, for as much as he promised her otherwise… It had been a lie.

Maul's Master had promised him power.

Maul's Master had…

The thought stuck in his skull, one that he couldn't voice even in his own mind, because to think it was to… Maul was Sith. Maul was raised Sith, he was going to take over, he was going to stand next to his Master at the end of the Grand Plan and he was going…

Maul would kill his Master and he would inherit his Power. Maul would create an Order in its shadows, and it would be great.

Maul was not Aola.

Maul was Power.

Maul stood, paying attention to his body, listening for any arrhythmias in his hearts, feeling for the shakiness that had finally left his movements four days ago and finding none of it. The tingling in his nerves that often lingered after electric shock was gone.

Maul stepped up to the Ray Shield.

He was going to get out.

The thing about Ray Shields was while they did deliver a powerful electric shock that would lead to death, it would not do so immediately, and Maul was a Zabrak. Two heartbeats, two that beat and would pick up for the other. There was a reason he had been able to withstand all of the currents his Master drove into him, the powerful electricity running through him and tearing him limb from limb, tearing his soul from his body.

Maul reached his hands out, feeling the crackle, and finally pressed his hands to it.

The pain was immediate, excruciating, beautiful and his blood sang with it.

The calls from the Temple Guards were immediate, telling him to stop, to back off, to retreat, and Maul locked eyes with them, pushing his arms farther through, reaching out, and slowly taking that step forward.

While Maul could withstand a lot of electricity, there was no doubt that if he stepped into it fully, if it engulfed his hearts, Maul would die.

But Maul was not worried.

Maul was banking on their mercy…

Their compassion was a weakness.

Maul took another step, forcing the pain into the back of his teeth, gritting them, feeling the tang of iron rising up in the back of his throat and then finally, it stopped.

The Shield had been lowered.

The Guard stood beyond, pointing the yellow bastardization of a saberstaff at him, yelling for him to back up, to stay down, but the hilt was long, and Maul had been waiting for it.

He gripped the Guard's hand and jerked it down and towards him, thrusting his head forward with a practiced ease, and while the collar was cut from his neck, a burning line underneath his ear, Maul's horns crashed into the Mask, which shattered under the impact.

The collar fell in pieces to the ground, and the Dark rose up to meet him.

Maul's fist punched into the air, the Force crushing the Guard before him into the ceiling, his hand still gripping on the saberstaff, taking it from limp fingers, and easily spinning forward and under the guard of one of the Temple Guardians, slicing out with the saberstaff and gutting through him.

The alarms were blaring, Ray Shields coming down all the way down the Hallways, but Maul knew mechu-deru, Maul had the Force, Maul had Power.

It was time to let them feel it.

It was time for them to know who was trapped with whom.

Maul exploded into motion, diving forward, adjusting his grip on the saberstaff and immediately compensating for the longer hilt with practiced lunges and stabbing up underneath guards.

The lights burned red and Maul laughed aloud, leaping and twisting, letting the Dark fill him from the soles of his feet to his crown of horns, relishing in the feel, feeding it with every little slight, every single frustrated, damned conversation. Feeding it with the lies, the hate, the disgust, the awful thing that Maul could not name.

The Guards were rallying, Maul's attack had surprised them, the first two casualties products of surprise and disbelief, but the blood had slaked his thirst for vengeance for the time being, and so he did not bother attempting to engage with any of them that did not force him to, instead aiming towards escape.

But Maul did not care to spare the ones who got between him and two more fell to his stolen blade, not used to the ways he utilized his power, the crackling wave of mechu-deru that turned their own fortress against them.

Maul often preferred a physical fight over everything else. Killing them with his own blade was infinitely more satisfying…

But Maul did not have his own blade.

The Temple Guardians were skilled, and their armor made them difficult, but Maul was death.

Maul had been trained since birth for one purpose.

Maul reached out with mechu-deru, pulled the shields' will to his, called to the powers that breathed within him, screamed them into life, and burned.

He leapt past them, spinning down the corridor, sliding on his knees below a ray shield he deactivated, and then activated behind him, trapping them on the other side, and ran.

Maul had been expecting Council resistance.

Maul had been expecting for the full Force of them to come against him, to trap him or kill him.

Maul found one.

Maul found the one with the Purple Lightsaber, the one that had been so easily influenced by the Dark of his own presence, and he found himself tilting his head.

Well.

"Surrender," the man before him said.

Maul sliced the ground before him once, and behind him once, a complicated spin that sent sparks and dug lines into the ground.

And found he was tired of saying nothing.

"Enough!" Maul barked out, voice sharp, cracking through the silence he had kept inside of him for so long, too long, and he bared his teeth. "Enough! No more of you, no more of your lies, of your talk of surrender, of your feeble attempts to break me! I have trained since birth to be your deaths, and you will not destroy what I am. I am Sith, I am Death, and I am free. I will not surrender here. I will not surrender to you."

The man before him took this in for a long moment, his expression still as marble, his presence in the Force a wall between him and out. Between him and true freedom.

But Maul would not lose. Maul would get out. He would get out, he would get out, he would get out…

The burning in his blood caught fire, and Maul screamed his power into heights that had never before been reached, fueled with frustration and hate and the desire to be free.

Maul ran to meet the Jedi before him with blade and ferocity and power…

And found himself met.

As the awful ferocity of Maul's Juyo was met by something that felt like, but not like his own, Maul recognized the man who was before him.

Maul only knew of one Jedi who had bastardized Juyo, twisted it into something Light and Palatable and Weak, and while the purple saber should have been a given, Maul truly had not cared. They were simply weapons to destroy, to kill and purge and burn, but the Forms. The Forms, Maul knew, and he knew whose blade crossed with his.

Mace Windu, second of the Jedi Order, and Maul bared his teeth.

Windu sent blows crashing down on him repeatedly, blows that Maul caught and parried and twisted and broke, returning them beat for beat with his own. Windu's ferocity was odd, broken, somehow cold when it should be warm, and Maul hated it, hated what he had done to his beautiful Juyo, what he had done to the ferocity and aggression of his favored Form, and turned that hate into more fuel.

But for as bright as Maul roared, as high as his fire raged, Windu did not buckle… Their blades rained staccato on the other, Windu's longer reach kept away by the longer hilt, slicing and twirling and raining blow after blow after blow, and the entire time, Maul let his aggression lash out, let his fire burn, threatening to catch the other alight. He had done it before. He had been drugged and collared and still his power had swayed the other.

Maul's fire had met something that would not catch alight, and he did not know what to do about it. Their blows twisted and danced and burned and the longer it went… Maul came to realize something.

Maul was going to lose.

The feeling that brought up into his throat was sick and ugly and horrified, and he immediately grabbed hold of it, trying to feed it to the Dark, trying to gain an edge he should have had.

The Jedi were weak.

The Jedi were weak.

They had to be. They had to be. His Master's words pounded in his heart, the assurances that he was more than they could take, the words that told Maul that he had Power.

The terrible frigid thing that should have been Juyo rained upon him, and Maul rose to meet it, screaming his hate his rage and something else that he could not give voice to, something that he refused.

Maul fought against the feeling, against the Jedi, and the Light.

Maul fought against the vision of lost freedom that he could see vanish before his eyes.

Maul felt the moment it was all over when he overextended.

Maul felt the hilt of the blade crash into the back of his skull in a similar way to how it had before, and even as Maul felt himself slammed by an invisible hand into to the ceiling, before being crushed against the ground, as he felt his nose break against the marble, as his vision turned spotted and his grasp on the Dark dropped, the saberstaff falling from limp fingers…

Maul was afraid.

And then Maul was nothing.

It had been a long night and Mace knew that it would get even longer.

He sat with his fingers laced together, listening to the words that spilled from the rest of them, very aware that there were only three other people who had not said anything. Eeth Koth, Yoda, and Plo Koon.

Plo was almost slumped into the seat next to him, not saying anything, his aura in the Force quiet and full of a soft despair.

This should not have happened. Maul should not have been able to get out and the fact that he had… Mace closed his eyes, thinking to that burning yellow gaze full of such hate.

"We should abandon our current course of action," Saesee Tiin said finally.

The silence that fell over them was sudden and immediate.

"We were agreed," Ki-Adi returned, his voice firm. "We knew that this would be difficult, we knew that there may be pain…"

"Two of our Guards are dead, and the one who has done it…who is to know whether or not he will be rehabilitated. How are we going to explain to the ones we are meant to protect that we are to let him live? That we have claimed a Sith and placed him in our walls…?" Yarael asked.

"Listened to Shmi Skywalker we have," Yaddle said, her voice firm, "understand we did the risks of a Blood Slave within our walls."

"But we did not ask the Guard," Depa said, and Mace closed his eyes, feeling that soft bruised feeling in Plo's aura deepen. "We understood the risks, but we have not given it to the Guard. We did not let them choose to die…"

"What do we have that states that Maul can even be rehabilitated? What do we have that suggests that this is the best course of action?"

"The Force, we have," Yoda said, his voice firm. "The voice of an expert, we also have."

"We also cannot deny that histories talk of another who came to the Light once more."

"But Revan began as a Jedi, Maul was taught in the Dark holistically, how can we say he can come to our ways?"

"Cannot come to our ways, who also can say?" Yaddle challenged. "Unprecedented this is in the history of the Jedi."

"The Guard also may not have chosen to die for Maul to be rehabilitated, but they did choose to die," Ki-Adi pointed out softly. "They have committed to the Jedi Order, to the protection of our people through either life or death. You are correct in that we did not ask if they would have been willing to work with us towards his rehabilitation, but this is their duty in a similar way that it is ours."

"Ask them we should, who would be willing to guard our prisoner in this context…" Yoda hummed quietly.

"Agreed," Even Piell said, his voice heavy. "Provided we keep our prisoner."

"We must," Adi said, her voice firm, "unless you recommend that we kill him. These are the two options we once again have before us, either we kill him, or we trust the Force and trust each other, and trust in him and we still seek to rehabilitate him."

"We are right back to where we started," Oppo grumbled.

"No, we are not," Mace said finally. "There is no choice. We seek to rehabilitate him, or we sacrifice what we stand for."

There was a pause, silence greeting that proclamation as they all turned to look at him.

"Mace," Depa said softly, looking at him with that quiet way she had since she was his Padawan, the way that had looked into him and bore into his soul. It was the moment he had known she would be a member of the Council. "You…there would not be a sacrifice for you to make," she said finally. "We would not have your blade be the one to kill him."

"This is not because I was the one most affected by his influence," Mace said clearly, lacing his fingers together and leaning forward. "I have heard from his own mouth precisely what he thinks has been happening, and I have learned one other fact." They fell silent, staring at him, waiting. "Maul believes strongly that what we have been doing, our attempts to rehabilitate him, are attempts to break him. Maul has also been a Sith his entire life. He stated that he was trained since birth to be the death of the Order."

The silence that reached this statement was heavy, Plo making a soft sound next to him. Yoda closed his eyes heavily next to him, sinking further into his chair, and there was a long pause as they took this in.

"Since birth?" Oppo whispered.

"Since birth," Mace confirmed. "He has known no other way."

"How can…if this is the case, then how can we possibly…?" Eeth quietly whispered.

"We listened to Quinlan's report, did we not?" Mace asked. "Did we not hear that Shmi stated that not only was it possible it was worth doing? Do we have so little faith in the Force that we would give up at the first sign of him acting in the only way he knows?"

"How are we so certain that it is the Force?"

"You did not see it?" Mace asked. Yarael straightened, snake-like neck sliding from side to side as though to dodge the question, before he finally gave a soft rumble.

"No," he said.

"I did," Eeth said softly.

"I did as well," Even agreed.

There were soft refrains from more than half the Order.

"Are we to deny faith in each other as well?" Mace asked.

There was another long pause.

"No," Yarael said softly. "We should not. You are right. I did…I did not feel it, but I believe in you. If you all say that you felt the Force's interference, then I believe." He laughed quietly, "there is also the sight of young Skywalker practically throwing himself upon him to remember as well."

There was an agreement, a brief feeling of tension slowly releasing and finally, quietly, "so then what shall we do?"

"We knew that he would cause pain and devastation if he could, that he would struggle to understand what we are attempting to give him is for his benefit, and now we have full confirmation of the fact that we have failed," Plo said softly. "Our first attempts…the conversations… We did not fulfill the first step. We did not convince him that he was a slave, and so we have failed him. We now have an opportunity to try again, to approach this in the manner we should have been doing from the beginning."

"How is that?" Saesee asked, his voice rough, but there was no further denial.

"I believe we must contact Shmi," Plo Koon said heavily. "I believe that our approach is lacking."

There was a pause as they took this in, before there was a quiet agreement.

Depa stood to contact Qui-Gon, who answered quicker than he should have. His expression was tense, and he looked them over. "Something has happened."

"Yes," Plo sighed. "Maul was able to escape. Two of our Guards were killed."

"I was able to subdue him," Mace said. "We have…final confirmation that Maul has been trained to be a Sith since birth."

"Since birth?" Quinlan's voice came as he approached, leaning over the holo. "A Sith trained since birth…" he rubbed his face.

"These are dangerous times," Qui-Gon said softly. "The idea of a Sith taking a child…"

"An infant…" Quinlan managed even more softly. "What must have been done to him?"

"I believe we have resources we have not been utilizing," Qui-Gon frowned. "Have we asked for a mind healer to see to him?"

There was a pause. "No," Mace said. "We have not."

"A mistake this is…" Yaddle said quietly. "See to him, they should. An understanding we would have."

"If we understand how he sees the world we should be able to make our approach tailored to his needs."

"We should have done this from the beginning."

"Regrets we should not have, correct our mistakes we will," Yoda said firmly, banging his stick on the ground once firmly. "Shmi, we would like to speak to."

"Give us a moment to wake her," Quinlan said.

That was the moment when Mace realized how late it was and stood. "Wait, Quinlan…"

"There's no need to wake anyone," Shmi's voice called, and she approached in the background, her expression quietly amused, before it quickly turned firm. "I had a…feeling, that something would break this night. What has happened?"

"Maul escaped tonight," Mace said, slowly sitting down, looking up at the larger than life hologram of the woman they were asking so much of. "I am sorry. We had not been considering the lateness of the hour."

"It is of no issue," Shmi said softly, shaking her head. "Do not hesitate to ask for help when you need it."

"Only if reciprocated this rule is," Yoda stated, holding a finger up, an immediate agreement rising from the rest of the Council. "Much do we owe you."

Shmi smiled. "You freed my boy, you freed me, and you are seeking to help me free others."

"A…partnership we have then," Eeth stated.

"Yes," Shmi smiled. "You will help me free the slaves in my midst, and I shall help you free the slave in yours. You say he escaped."

"Yes," Mace said. "I was able to subdue him, but…not before he killed two of our Guards."

Shmi closed her eyes briefly, her head lowering. "I am sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," Depa said softly. "They join the Force."

"Their spirits rise over the Dunes," Shmi recited softly. "Did you have any forewarning before he escaped?" Shmi asked. "Was something said or done?"

That was finally the moment that Plo stood, and his feeling in the Force was grave. "I was there, Shmi," he said.

"You are Plo Koon," she said, looking to him.

"Yes, that is my name," Plo agreed with a nod. "I had…shared a flimsi with him and we had been discussing it."

"That is good," Shmi said. "Discussions over stories is always a good way to understand the other. Yet something went wrong…"

"During the discussion, I believe Maul made a revelation," Plo said. "And I do not believe he liked it," his voice was quiet. "The story featured a girl who I think…he found he had more in common with the character than he originally anticipated. It was frankly more than I had anticipated, and upon realizing that her Master had set her up for failure…he fell silent. I left him to his ruminations and it was…not long before he had made his escape and killed two of our guards."

Shmi was quiet for a long time, taking this in, before quietly, gently, "you left him alone?"

"Yes," Plo answered, and there was slight confusion at the fact that the point was brought up. Mace felt it as well.

"Is…this the way you would normally react to such a thing?" Shmi asked. "You…allow the other to come to their own conclusions?"

"We…trust in the Force," Plo explained briefly, "we…meditate…" he trailed off and Shmi nodded quietly.

"I understand," she said softly. "It is a different culture," she closed her eyes. "Never leave him alone if you believe something like that has happened," she instructed, her voice so heavy. "Maul's mind has been twisted. His revelations are likely to be half-truthful things that miss the mark and will inevitably cause agony to himself and potentially you. You must remain with him, wait for him to come to his conclusions and then string them out of him. If they reflect reality, if they are truthful, please allow them to be kept, encourage them, but if they twist, if they are full of half-truths and lies that have been told to him, you will be able to stop them before they hurt him and he uses that to hurt you."

There was a pause as they took this in, before finally they rumbled out quiet agreements, words of understanding.

"As it is," Shmi closed her eyes, "something must be done to encourage him to not do this again, to show him that his actions have marked consequences, but those consequences are different to what he would expect from his original Master. It is…likely that he has no true value for life. You must make it mean something, even if that is by providing consequences to his actions that he can recognize as a loss."

"What would you recommend?"

"There can be no form of mutilation," Shmi said softly, "I would in fact recommend that nothing physical be done. He is a horned species, I understand, and there have been earlier attempts to do things like file their horns down, but…" Eeth and Saesee both flinched, and Shmi bowed to them both, "It was a cultural misunderstanding that was never repeated. Is there something that can perhaps be taken away?"

"He must be moved to another room," Mace said. "There is one with transparisteel dividers, that is smaller…"

"That would be a good start," Shmi nodded. "Anything else?"

There was a pause. "We can switch him to a bedroll…get rid of the actual bed, perhaps remove the chair, I do not know that he has sat on it once, frankly…"

"Perhaps remove the plant?"

They were startled when Shmi laughed, looking up to her. "I am sorry," she said finally, "I merely… I am pleased at the reminder that you are kind. I would have never expected for you to have provided so much."

There was a pause at that, they looked at each other, "Should we not have?"

"You have done wonderfully in terms of giving him everything he could need. Does he have a private space for him to wash and relieve himself?"

"Yes," they answered.

"Good," she nodded. "Your accommodations have been wonderful. I agree with what you are talking about removing."

"Should we get rid of the flimsi?"

Shmi was quiet for a moment, thinking. "No," she said finally. "But I would recommend staying with him longer, having those discussions, making sure that if he reads them someone is there to talk to him about them."

"Understood."

"Is that all that I can do for you?"

"Thank you, Shmi, yes," Mace said, standing and bowing, "your advice, as always, is appreciated. Is there anything we can do for you?"

"Let me sleep," she smiled, her expression warm, and they laughed, "may the Force be with you."

"And also with you."

Not for the first time, Mace found himself wondering whether the Force connection was genetic. He had little doubt that Quinlan and Qui-Gon both would find it if it was.

There was a bow, and the connection was cut.

Plo stood up then, walking forward to stand in the center, and quietly, "I have a request."

"Please," Yoda said, turning his attention to Plo.

"I would request that the Council grants me permission to Seek," he said softly. "I am off balance, brothers, sisters," he finished. "I require healing I cannot do here."

"Go," Mace said, "and know that our condemnation does not go with you."

Plo bowed and turned. Mace had little doubt that his first stop would be to the Guards. It was not something Plo could have known, but it would have left a mark. Plo would return and he would be more centered.

Mace trusted the Force.

Mace also internally calculated when would be the best time to request to travel to Dathomir. He wished to talk to the Nightsisters. He wondered if they could speak of a missing Nightbrother.

Finally, they stood. They had work to do.

Maul woke up.

For a moment, he did not understand why that was surprising, and then it all rushed back. Maul stumbled to his feet, sending the blanket that had been covering him to the ground, and found himself somewhere new…

It was smaller, he noticed at first, practicing his forms would not be difficult, but he would not be able to pace as much, and then he noticed that the Ray Shield had been switched for transparisteel. Maul approached it, tapping at the smooth pane, and slowly turning around. The air tasted vaguely recycled, likely due to the solid divider behind him, and he looked around.

The bed had been removed, as had the dresser, and the chair. The bedroll had replaced it, and the flimsi was also still there… It took Maul a moment to realize what had also been removed. The plant that had been on the dresser was no longer there as well.

Maul stared at the spot where the dresser was, confused by the rush of thoughts, but they faded as he noticed the door. He walked towards it, opening it to once again find a separate refresher.

Maul closed the door and turned back to his new and smaller space. His gaze drifted to the lack of dresser, and then back to see that there were Guards approaching.

Maul hesitated, before walking forward.

There was a long pause as they stared at him, and he at them.

The Guard said nothing for a long moment. "You killed two of our People."

Maul said nothing.

"We still mean to rehabilitate you," the lead Guard finally said, his voice firm. "You will not get out again. Not until you are released."

Maul took this in for a moment, before spitting, words of hatred and bitter disgust rising up on his tongue, but he did not unleash them past that initial reaction.

No more. No more.

Maul had swallowed silence yet again. He would not say a single word.

He turned and walked to the bedroll, finding himself curling with his back facing them. It felt petulant, childish even, but there was nothing more that he could do. His rage was an angry miserable churn in his stomach that would not end and there was nothing to unleash it on outside of himself…

Maul had failed and there was nowhere to turn the anger but himself, not without making a spectacle, and he had done enough of that. Maul's teeth dug into his fingers without true thought, biting until he tasted blood, until he could no longer stand it, until the disgust had faded with the red trickling onto the bedroll.

Maul did not know how long he lay there facing that wall, did not know how long it took until there was no one behind him, but slowly they left until the only ones that remained were the two that always guarded his cell.

Maul wiped at his mouth, feeling the red slick on his chin, and finally turned once he had hidden the evidence of his weakness, staring out into the darkness beyond his cell, thinking back to the duel, the strange coldness of Vaapad and how much he hated it. He thought of the conversation and thought of how much he hated it.

Maul hated…

His gaze drifted to the missing plant, staring towards it for a long time, and then finally closed his eyes, turning away.

Maul stared into the darkness and wondered why they would be so fucking insistent on what he knew was a lie. There was nothing that they were going to get from him. He would not bend. Maul would not break.

Maul found his gaze drifting back to the absence of that damn plant again. Maul hadn't even watered it; the leaves had started to fall…

Why did he miss it?