Author's Note: Thanks to my reviewers. I don't own Star Wars.

Playing Freud

Then…

Amara didn't cry again after that night. In fact, Amy awoke the next morning to find Amara standing by the bars of their cell door, a smile plastered on her face. Amy shuddered—there was nothing behind that smile; Amara's eyes were dead.

It had been hard to stand, but she'd stood anyway—Amara wasn't going to let him ever know how violated she felt, how hurt. Someone was moaning in another cell. She could hear Amy stirring behind her, but she did not turn.

"Amara?" Somewhere, a door hissed open. Footsteps disturbed the heavy silence. "Are you all right?" Amy's voice sounded strangled. The footsteps grew louder, thundering in her ears. Amara leaned against the bars, trying to see who was coming. A group of stormtroopers marched past their cell in tight formation. They looked neither left nor right, but one turned and met her gaze. Their eyes locked for a moment, and then the stormtrooper looked forward again and marched on.

"Amara?"

She sighed. "Yes, Amy?"

"Are…are you…mad at m-me?"

Amara squeezed the bars, her knuckles white. "No."

"I…I'm sorry," Amy whimpered.

"You have no reason to be," Amara said, her voice tight, "What happened was not your fault."

"But I…"

Amara whirled around, her eyes blazing. "Just shut up!" she screamed. Amy jumped and tried to get away from Amara's rage—she cowered in the corner, crying softly. Amara blinked and drew in a calming breath. She knelt beside the crying child and reached out a hand to her, but Amy flinched. Amara let her hand drop between them. "I'm sorry, Amy. I shouldn't…I'm not mad at you." With that, she stood and moved back to the cell door, trying to ignore the whimpers and sniffs coming from behind her. I shouldn't have snapped at her—she doesn't deserve that. It wasn't her fault. She massaged her temples—she hadn't slept at all last night; she didn't dare. Every time she closed her eyes…she saw…

The door's lock clicked open, making Amara jump back in surprise. The stormtroopers were back—the four stood silently in the hall. Why didn't I hear them? Her eyes immediately sought out the one who had looked at her, but he seemed to be ignoring her now—if it was him at all. You all look alike. Another stormtrooper grabbed her upper arm and yanked her from the cell, then shut and locked the door again. The stormtroopers formed a box around her, forcing to walk down the hall. Amara only caught a glimpse of Amy's startled eyes before they rounded a corner and disappeared into the prison's complex web of halls.

Finally, they reached a room Amara was all too familiar with—the room where she had been tortured: broken and rebuilt again and again. To her surprise, however, the stormtroopers passed through the room and instead dumped her in Dr. Rave's office. They left without a word, shutting the door behind them. It took Amara a second to realize that Dr. Rave wasn't actually in the office. She grinned. Well, I might as well have a little fun before he arrives.

I probably shouldn't have left her alone. Dr. Lucius Rave stood in the doorway and surveyed the damage done to his office. She really hadn't hurt anything. The desk was moved so that it faced the door. Two of the uncomfortable chairs had been pushed end to end to make a strange couch-bed thing. But then he noticed the pile of debris in one corner and realized that all his honors were missing from the walls. Damn her. He entered the room, unsure whether he should laugh or scream. The object of his annoyance was sitting in his chair with her back to him.

"I'm so glad you decided to join us, Dr. Rave," she said with out turning, "Please, shut the door behind you."

Without thinking, he obeyed. Lucius was torn between outrage and admiration. Didn't I just fuck her yesterday?

Number 314 swiveled to face him, raising her eyebrow. "Please, sit down so we can get started," she purred in a strange accent and gestured to the makeshift couch-bed. Again, he did as he was told. He willed himself not to smile into her mock-serious face. 314 rested her elbows on the chair's arms and pressed the tips of her fingers together. "Now, tell me about your childhood."

"I believe I'm the one who's supposed to make demands here."

Amara clicked her tongue disapprovingly and met the doctor's eyes without flinching. I am going to kill you, kill you and relish doing so. Just wait. "Don't be difficult, Dr. Rave. We must get to the root of your problems."

"Problems?" he queried, irritation creeping into his voice.

"Yes, problems," Amara retorted, "The first step is admission."

"Enough of this game," he hissed and stood.

Amara ignored him and spun to face the wall again. "I believe that you're stuck at the Anal Stage of development, Dr. Rave, because you seem to enjoy spewing the all that shit that comes out of your mouth." The chair spun, almost tossing her out of it, and Amara found herself face to face with Dr. Rave. His hands gripped the chair's armrests. He did not look amused. "Tell me, do you find your bowel movements pleasurable?" she asked with a small smile.

Dr. Rave slapped her across the face (apparently he's not fond of Freud) and ripped her out of the chair, throwing her to the ground. She tried to stand, but he kicked her hard in the stomach. Amara lay gasping at his feet. I will KILL you. Dr. Rave reached down and yanked her up by her shirt collar. She tried to hit him, but he slammed her into the wall and ground his body up against hers.

"I'm stuck at the Anal Stage, am I?" he sneered.

Amara felt all the blood leave her face—she was shaking; she couldn't stop. No. NO.

Dr. Rave just smiled at the flash of terror in 314's eyes. Well, well, well…so our little party last night did have some effect on her. He was even more pleased when her eyes hardened into shining emerald orbs of hatred. He kissed her then, forcing his tongue into her mouth. 314 shrieked and bit down on his tongue, drawing blood. Lucius swore and slammed her head into the wall before ripping down her pants and turning her so that she was facing the wall. "I'll show you the Anal Stage," he whispered into her ear as he moved his erection across her exposed buttocks. He leaned forward. Her head snapped back so fast that he couldn't avoid the blow—he backed off, clutching his head. Damn her.

Amara paused only long enough to pull up her pants before she bolted from the room…and right into the arms of a stormtrooper. The stormtrooper held her painfully tight and forced her to turn around—just in time to see Dr. Rave stumble from his office, a red welt on his forehead. Amara's own head was throbbing from what was probably yet another concussion, but she had gotten away, if only briefly. Dr. Rave stared at her, but his eyes were unreadable. Finally, he approached her, running a caressing hand down her cheek to wrap around her neck. Only the stormtrooper's grip on her arms kept Amara from punching the doctor's nose.

"Did I hurt you last night, 314?" the doctor asked, leaning closer until their faces were mere inches apart. His hand tightened on her throat.

Amara could feel her body tremble. No. I won't be afraid of you. He smiled and brushed his lips across her forehead, her nose, her lips. Amara cringed. "Indulge me, Herr Doctor," she jeered, "Is that the only way you can get a girl to touch your loathsome body? Or do you pay for whores as well?"

Dr. Rave smirked, and his hand moved from her throat to her breast. "Is that what you think, number 314?" he whispered close to her ear, "At least I know that when you close your eyes, it's me you see above you, me you dream about."

She shuddered and wished she could melt into the stormtrooper behind her. "You're disgusting."

"Perhaps." He straightened and tilted his head, studying her. "Will you tell me where your home planet is?"

"No."

"Fine," he said with a shrug, and then to the stormtrooper still clasping her arms: "Take 314 back into my office—I'll need you to restrain her."

Amy had to force herself to look up when the cell door clanged open and Amara was shoved in. Amara stood rigidly in the center of the cell, staring straight ahead. Her hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists; a trickle of blood escaped through her fingers. Amy chewed her bottom lip. What do I do? It's my fault. What do I do? Something her mother once said floated into her mind—it'd been so long since she'd thought of her mother; the voice whispered from another life: "No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted." Still she hesitated, Amara's outburst that morning had been more frightening then anything Amy had experienced so far. What if she yells at me again? Pushing her fears away, Amy stood on wobbly legs and shuffled up to where Amara still stood riveted. With a sob, Amy wrapped her arms around her friend, pulling her into a warm hug.

"No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted."

--Aesop, The Lion and the Mouse