Author's Note: Yay! A faster-than-usual update! I also changed the ending of the Chapter 19—I thought Jonathan and Amara made up too fast. Thank you for all your reviews. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as you can.

Wrong

If a thermal detonator had exploded on the doorstop of the Galactic Criminal Courthouse, a steep-sided pyramid near the remnants of the Jedi Temple, there couldn't have been more coverage or confusion before the massive black doors that opened like a mouth, swallowing both victims and criminals alike. Reporters from every species swarmed over the steps—they'd been there long before the sun rose on the city-planet—waiting for their prey to arrive, and their feverish reports of nothing were wearing thin. The sun had risen an hour ago behind the clouds and smog. The gray granite sky looked down on the chaos like a bored god. An unmarked airspeeder stopped before the steps leading up to the polished ebony spike that seemed to hold up the clouds. The world exploded.

"An Arrow-23 has just pulled up," A beautiful doe-eyed, violet-skinned Twilek spoke frantically to one of the hundred cameras (she wasn't completely sure which was hers), "Yes—the accused Dr. Rave has just arrived at the GCC." She elbowed her way forward, pressing herself against the line of New Republic Police attempting to clear a path to the courthouse. "Sir, do you have any concerns regarding Ms. Richards' testimony later today?"

A dozen other questions assaulted the pale doctor as he ascended the steps: "Is it true you attempted to protect Ms. Richards?" "Do you feel any resentment towards her for speaking out against you?" "You've already mentioned that you were held hostage by the Imperials—any more details you can give us?" "What happened to the holovid records of the facility?" "What might Ms. Richards say against you?"

A spasm of grief crossed Dr. Rave's face, and turning in the doorway to look back down at the hopeful reporters, he replied just loud enough for everyone to hear: "All I can do is hope that Ms. Richards can find it in her heart to forgive me for what I've done." His lawyer then ushered him inside, a strange twinkle in his eye.

The violet Twilek turned back to the camera, practiced concern infusing her voice: "That was Dr. Lucius Rave, and as you could see, he is obviously disturbed by what is going to prove to be a very trying, stressful day at the Galactic Court as New Republic v. Rave heats up. Today, the prosecution's key witness, Ms. Amara Richards will testify before the high court—an event long awaited by the public." The Twilek narrowed her eyes. Her headtails twitched. "As you know, Ms. Richards was the only surviving prisoner found at the Imperial Alien Research Facility, and she remains somewhat of a mystery with no home planet, no family, and no background. Hopefully, questions about the reliability of her testimony and mental stability will be answered today. I'm Cy Lorluna, and I'll be following this story all day, keeping you up-to-date."

Another speeder parted the crowd. A frail-looking girl with dark circles under her wide green eyes stepped out, followed swiftly by an angular young sergeant in full dress uniform. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and began pushing through the mass of people the police could not hold back. The girl kept her head down, and each question the reporters threw at her seemed to strike her like a physical blow. "Did Dr. Rave try to protect you?" "How did you survive longer than any of the other prisoners—did anyone help you?" "Is there anything you'd like to say to Dr. Rave before you testify against him?" Some of the reporters were overenthusiastic and attempted to pry the girl from her escort, but one glare from the sergeant warned them to keep their distance. They entered the courthouse through a much more subdued crowd. But camera lights flashed behind them.

It was like being back in that cramped interrogation room on IARF. Only this time her interrogator was pretending to be polite and understanding. She sat facing the High Seat in an uncomfortable high-backed chair on a raised dais that had risen from the floor before the judges. Dr. Rave's gaze traveled up and down her spine while his attorney circled her. A balding man with a mouth like a razor slash across his face, Reynolds was a legend in the courtroom, his every movement calculated down to the slight twitch of his pinky finger. "As you've already said, in your opinion, my client treated you appallingly while you were in his care. Enlighten us then, Ms. Richards, how it is that you and you alone survived when all your fellow prisoners perished?"

I wasn't lucky enough. Amara didn't have to fake the disgust in her voice as she replied, glaring at the lawyer, "Rave was obsessed with me—he wouldn't let me die."

"Is it possible you mistook concern and compassion for obsession?"

"Objection," the Officer of Prosecution cut in, "Mr. Reynolds is…"

"Withdrawn, your honors," Mr. Reynolds said with an apologetic smile. He turned back to Amara, who was finding it hard to remain composed.

"Compassion," she sneered, "had nothing to do with Dr. Rave's actions. He enjoyed torturing me—enjoyed…"

Reynolds cut her off: "Objection, the witness is making assumptions about my client's feelings."

"Sustained," Justice Sakkar said, narrowing his eyes at Amara, "Ms. Richards, you will please refrain from expressing opinions and only answer the questions Mr. Reynolds asks you. Is that clear?"

Amara dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand. "Yes, sir."

The white-robed Twilek nodded to the defense attorney. "You may continue, Mr. Reynolds."

"So, Dr. Rave kept you alive. Are you aware, Ms. Richards, that the base was running out of food? He put your life before his own, your welfare before the health of the other Imperial officers. Were you aware of this, Ms. Richards?"

"No," Amara answered through clenched teeth.

Reynolds stopped his circling to look her square in the eye, leaning ever so slightly forward. "He saved your life, Ms. Richards."

Amara leaned forward as well, her hands gripping the arms of her chair, furious. "And what about the other prisoners he let rot in their cages? Where was his compassion then?"

The lawyer smiled at her before turning to the judges. "Objection, move to strike Ms. Richards' comments from the record."

"So stricken—the witness will refrain from asking questions. This is your final warning Ms. Richards." The three judges frowned down at her—but Amara thought she saw a flash of pity in the female Bothan's brown eyes.

"Yes, your honor."

"You say my client repeatedly and willingly tortured you," Reynolds continued, "and yet there is only one holovid, one, that shows my client having sex with you. And, as your honors will soon hear, he affirms that he was forced to perform that sexual act with Ms. Richards under penalty of death…"

"He was not forced."

"If you will wait for my question, Ms. Richards," he said, holding up a finger, a condescending smirk cracking his face. Amara snapped her mouth shut. "Thank you. As I was saying, there is little evidence that my client willingly mistreated Ms. Richards—her condition when she was rescued, while regrettable, cannot be directly linked to Dr. Rave who did everything in his power to protect her. As for the act portrayed in the holovid, my client was not the only person Ms. Richards had sexual relations with." Reynolds retrieved an important-looking datapad from the defense table. Amara's throat closed as he handed it to the judges—their expressions darkened as they read the information on the screen. "According to the records that survived the attack on the IARF, Ms. Richards had sex with no less than seven Imperial Officers and five scientists."

Time slowed. Amara couldn't blink, couldn't swallow—she couldn't breathe. Oh God, Jonathan. She didn't want him to hear this. Stop. Stop it please.

Mr. Reynolds' voice lowered to an accusing whisper: "You did anything to survive, didn't you Ms. Richards?"

"Objection!" The prosecution's voice floated to her from far away. Her entire being was focused on the horrible, sneering man before her.

"Withdrawn. Did you have sex with those men, Ms. Richards?" Amara's mouth opened, but no sound came out. "Answer the question."

"Y-yes, but…" Her ears were ringing. Reynolds was speaking again, but she couldn't hear him. Amara watched his mouth move and wondered whether or not she should laugh. It was all so ridiculous. She glanced up at the judges—surely they must see how laughable the argument was—but their faces were inscrutable.

"…How often did you meet with my client?"

She blinked. No one was laughing. "Everyday." How did we reach this point?

"And were stormtroopers or another officer always present?"

"Yes, but most of the time…"

"So it's very possible that my client was being forced to harm you?"

"No."

"No?"

"The troopers were there to make sure I didn't run away."

A Cheshire cat grin spread across Reynolds' face, but he was solemn when he glanced over his shoulder at the judges. "To make sure you didn't run away. Were they also there to ensure that you didn't hurt my client? The medical records indicate that you attacked my client on several separate occasions."

"In self defense."

"'Self defense.' Is bashing someone over the head with a chair, self defense?"

"I was…"

"…Trying to run away," Carver Reynolds finished for her, "and you did eventually succeed in escaping for several hours, killing three soldiers and injuring twelve others in the process I might add." Amara paled. "And, when you were finally gunned down, my client defended you—made sure you got the finest medical care the facility could offer—and reprimanded the entire squadron that caught you for using unnecessary force.

"My client went above and beyond to save you. The base was dying—he couldn't save everyone, but he saved you. He did all he could. If the Empire had discovered what he was doing before it was destroyed, do you know what they would have done?

Commended him for exemplary service?

"They would have executed him on the spot. Does that sound like a monster to you? A man who risked everything to save the life of another? Does it?" Amara was too enthralled by the smooth movement of his voice from understanding to disgust to patronizing that she could only stare in disbelief from him to the High Seat and back. Reynolds' black eyes glittered as he straightened. "No further questions, your honors," he said with a little bow before returning to his seat.

"You may step down, Ms. Richards," Judge Trill Kre'fey gently prodded. Amara stood and had to force herself not to run to Jonathan who stood and gave her hand a gentle squeeze as they both sat down. He didn't say anything, but Amara could tell he wished he had his blaster. She looked over at the defense table—she was sure Rave had been watching her a moment before. With a shiver, she turned to the judges. The Bothan's fur rose slightly around her neck whenever her eyes fell on Rave and Reynolds—at least someone's on my side. The Chief Justice, Sakkar, also looked less than sympathetic towards the accused, but he didn't feel very sorry for her either. Pealen, looking like an Egyptian priest in his robes (after he'd been buried for four hundred years), shot disapproving glances her way. What crawled up your butt and died?

"We will now have a fifteen minute recess," Judge Pealen said (and his voice was so solemn and yet high-pitched that it did in fact seem that something very grave had happened in his anus), "before Dr. Rave's testimony."

Marcus would have strangled someone by now, Jonathan thought, debating whether or not it had been a good idea to tell Marcus not to come to the courthouse that day. Beside him, Amara sat rigidly, her face as blank as a statue's. He doubted she could hear a word of the doctor's answers. Jonathan's gaze lanced back to where Rave sat in the stiff black chair, sorrow and regret written in every line of his body. Marcus would have strangled someone by now.

Like a pro, Rave had twisted every accusation the prosecution had thrown at him, making himself out to be the misunderstood victim of the entire situation. And now, he was answering his lawyer's questions with tears in his eyes. Jonathan could only hope that the judges saw through the act.

"Why did you let the prisoners starve in their cells, Dr. Rave?"

"There was nothing else I could do—the troops' rations were cut back as it was. There was no way to call for help, and if I had given the prisoners more food, I would have had a mutiny on my hands."

"But you gave Ms. Richards extra food, did you not?"

Tenderness crept into the doctor's voice: "She was in the worst shape of all the captives after what the troopers did to her day after day—I couldn't stand to see her suffer any more."

"Do you regret what you were forced to do?"

"Not a day goes by that I do not wonder whether it would have been better just to die than perform those operations, those disgusting experiments. But I couldn't have helped them at all if I'd been dead—I wouldn't have been there to ease their suffering. They would have been at the mercy an emotionless droid devoid of any human compassion."

But not all of it was an act. Not all of it.

After forty minutes of questions, Reynolds' voice lowered to a whisper: "Is there anything you'd do differently—anything you would change if you could go back in time to those years aboard IARF?"

A pregnant pause filled the courtroom in which Dr. Rave drew in a shuddering breath. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft and earnest: "If I had known the pain my actions caused…if I could remove the hatred Ms. Richards feels towards me…." Rave turned around; his eyes locked with Amara's and for once real emotion shown from their icy depths—an invisible electric cord crackled between him and Amara who seemed to wake from the dream she'd lost herself in. "Amara…"

"The accused will please address himself to the High Court," Sakkar snapped. The spell was broken.

Dr. Rave again faced forward and cleared his throat. "If I could alleviate an ounce of suffering that the prisoners, all the prisoners, endured…I would." His penitent tone was forced.

Jonathan's throat was dry—he didn't believe, he couldn't believe, what he'd seen in the sick bastard's eyes. It wasn't real. It's wrong. He reached for Amara's hand, but she jerked it from his grasp. She was shaking and her eyes were unfocused, but her mouth was set in a grim line. She was looking inside herself, and Jonathan wondered what she saw. It's wrong.