author's note: Fren belongs to Elessar King, not me.

Darkness Upon Us Creeps
Return

I pull the blanket up to your chin. The Senator was kind to offer the services of his best healers, but you gracefully insisted we had our own resources. Instead, he provided us with one of his private transports so that we might leave as soon as possible.

Now you lie here, eager to sleep off the dark memories of the dungeon. You are so tired, but you cannot keep your eyes shut. You look at me with those pools of dark blue. "Help me," you implore quietly.

Of course I will. Kneeling beside you, I touch your face and lay my hand on your brow, releasing into your mind a tender suggestion. Your weary orbs disappear and a humble smile graces your features, grateful for the healing trance I have guided you to.

Now that you are asleep and healing, I climb into the bunk above you, remembering just how tired I am. I take a deep breath. Feeling you resting peacefully beneath me, I join you in the senseless balm of sleep.

I wake to your smiling face looking at me as you stand beside the bunks. "Come, we're home," you urge me. You look so happy; I know how glad you must be to finally get here.

You touch my arm and head out the door, knowing I will follow. I hop down and trail behind you.

We carry our bags down the ramp, breathing the open air of afternoon before entering the Temple. I fall into accustomed step behind you and to the left.

Down to the healers we go straightaway. Fren is there, as always, ready for us. Unsurprisingly, you put up no fight when I insist he examine you first. While he takes you into the exam room, I quickly run to our quarters and drop our bags on the floor. I pause a moment to look around and thank the Force to have returned here in as good condition as we have. Our plain Jedi dwelling may be simple and far from extravagant, but nowhere else could I call home.

I rush back to be at your side. You are still with Fren, so I sit and wait. Minutes later, you come out with bandaged torso.

"Obi-Wan, your Master should be fine as long as he remains inactive. He has a broken rib, but it will heal all right, after a visit to the bacta tank," Fren informs me.

I stand dismayed. "Master, how could you not tell me about that?" I ask worriedly.

"I'm sorry, my Padawan. I didn't know." You see the look I give you and hold up your hands, begging peace. "Honestly. Everything hurts, it was just another pain. How was I to know anything was broken?"

Understanding now, I look at you sympathetically as you nod for me to go with Fren. I have only a few bumps and scrapes, to which he applies some bacta. Then it is off to the tanks so you may heal more fully.

When Fren suggests you stay in the healing bath for a full day, you protest. "Six hours then," he suggests, "after that we'll have a look at how you've healed. If that rib is well on its way, we'll skip the rest, as long as you check in with me tomorrow."

Reluctantly, you climb into the chamber, knowing it is best but still so stubborn. Once you are hooked up, Fren assures that the process is proceeding and takes his leave for now.

You hang there, suspended in the goo. I stand in front of the clear barrier looking at you, and you roll your eyes at me and smile good-naturedly. You hate being in such a helpless position and I know it. I place my hand against the transparisteel. Still smiling, you reach out and place your hand over mine, eyes sliding shut as the sedative kicks in to allow you to sleep away the hours, hand falling to your side.

I take a seat next to the tank. It will be a long, quiet wait, but I will stay here by you.

The floor is bare, shiny, white but not pure white, flecked with sandy grains. Once I finish my count of the individual tiles, I start on the very specks themselves. Intermittently, I glance at you, not because I expect to see a change but only to pull my mind from the humming emptiness to your familiar sleeping face, intelligent in its quiessence, still defiant in its silence.

There is a row of bacta tanks lined beside yours, but they are empty, fortunately. Too often do Jedi suffer serious injury, some that even the wonderful ointment cannot undo. In the corner upon a table lie various sterile surgical implements. Perhaps you will not have to be subjected to their touch. How fortunate that would be.

On the far wall is a wide window; beyond the transparisteel portal stretches the metal and din city. Speeders rush by in a frenzied race, though the Healers ward looks out on a quieter section of Coruscant, if that word can be applied to any part of this world. The air vehicles streak red as the afternoon wanes. You are only halfway through your regeneration.

Fren enters for just a moment to see that all proceeds well, then leaves us in quiet again. The room darkens; the glow of the tank lights cast eerie shadows on the floor. You look as if on display in some grotesque show, a creature to be marveled at for his resilience to all sort of pain.

I stand in front of you again, hands flat against the clear wall. You should not be in that show, my Master. You are no curiosity at which to be stared, not an oddity to be ogled. Rare among the Jedi you may be, but you are no less a person, and should be treated as one, respected, protected, loved. Maybe our captors could not see that, but that is what you have me for.

Resigned to my wait, I find an empty place on the floor and kneel in meditation.

At last, it is time to set you free. You climb out looking thankful and weak, with goo in your hair. You attempt a smile for me before Fren takes you again to be examined. Moments later, he approves of your progress and sends us home.

You head straight for the shower, and I go to the kitchen. I hear the water run and wait for you. When you emerge, you look more yourself, and feel it I imagine. "Shall we head to the cafeteria?" you suggest.

"I've prepared us some food," I inform you and indicate the eating area.

"Have you?" You smile and sit before the place I have set. It is not the best meal you have ever eaten, but you are happy enough, though you eat slowly. Your motions may be languid, but I see you gain strength with each bite. As you slowly but steadily consume the meal, I reach to your hand as it sits on the table and give it a squeeze. You pause to look at me and give me a very encouraging smile.

When you've finished, you stretch and propose a visit to the sparring halls. I remind you of Fren's warning against such exercise, and you scowl at me. Yet you do not fight; I think you've experienced enough pain for a while and even your stubbornness will not allow you to aggravate your injuries with such action.

"Let's watch a holovid instead."

Granting it was an activity you could handle, you sit on the sofa as I put in the vid and sit beside you. All at once, you start crying into your hands. I wrap you in a hug until your tears subside, then you look at me with a surprising smile. "I'm sorry, Padawan. With all that has happened, I'm just glad you're safe. That's all I was worried about."

"I'm glad you are all right too, my Master. I was so afraid of what they would do."

You hold my chin a moment, and I can see the release has washed away the turmoil in your mind. "Let's get on with the entertainment," you suggest, pulling us back to the present.

"Now don't fall asleep this time."

"I won't," you promise with a menacing frown.

The vid begins and before it even gets to the good part, you are asleep. It is not a surprise; we both knew you would be. Your body is still damaged. The words were a mere reassurance that our old lives are still intact; it is late and you need the rest. I turn off the screen. It is of no matter; we've already seen this one. I turn and look at you, sleeping in peace. You will not be awakened and dragged off for horrible purposes. Now is the time of true rest, deserved slumber. I lay my head against your shoulder, pulling a blanket down upon us. No one will disturb us; we are home.