Regroup (3/5)

( to nannon: You're very welcome. It would really interest me why you think Captivity is the best Maul fic here…)

Khameir stood, feet hip-width apart and breathed.

Qui-Gon resisted the urge to call out to him – this was supposed to be physical therapy, after all. The Healer beside him was not getting restless, so he supposed it served a purpose.

After an excruciatingly long time Khameir finally lifted his hands, arms stretched, and let them sink again, then he shifted his weight to the right foot and slowly moved his arms until he looked like holding a ball.

Scratching his nose, Qui-Gon watched – Khameir was doing the slowest kata he had ever seen. In fact, it looked like it was supposed to be performed slowly; all movements had a certain dreamlike quality to them. To Qui-Gon's Force senses, Khameir was calm concentration. Maybe he was assessing the damage this way.

The form went on for a while, until Khameir stopped and began his breathing routine again, a little more labored this time. Finally he settled into a more familiar fighting stance.

"Would you consider to teach that style?" Qui-Gon asked.

Khameir cocked his head. "Of course. Once the inhibitor is removed."

He settled again and began a simple kickboxing drill; punches and low roundhouse kicks, moving steadily forward.

While Khameir moved, Qui-Gon did his own assessing – the younger man's balance was a little off, and most moves were slowed; a shadow of his former speed and grace.

After five repetitions Khameir stopped and stamped his foot on the floorboards once. With a nod, he held his hands in front of him, and took a few tentative steps forward, until he hit the wall. He turned and leaned against it, looking exhausted.

Qui-Gon stood, ready to walk over and help.

"I am fine," Khameir said sharply, so Qui-Gon decided to stay put. The Zabrak pushed himself off the wall and started the drill again, this time with some high roundhouse kicks and blocks thrown in.

It looked much better on the outside, but to the Force Khameir was a bundle of hate and anger. Qui-Gon could only guess who the focus was. He sighed; there had to be a way to teach the former Sith not to draw strength from negative emotions.

"You look like a herd of banthas trampled you," Mace Windu said genially and leaned back in his comfortable looking desk chair.

"Thank you." Qui-Gon smiled. It would not look heartfelt, but he did not care right now. He lowered himself into one of the visitor's seats, which was not comfortable at all.

"You should consider seeing a Healer."

"I am currently getting to see one once a day, Mace."

"Ah, yes. So how is the Sith?"

"I'm not sure. He is not so distressed anymore, but he is currently holding down a lot of anger and confusion. And he is having nightmares. I have stopped counting sometime after the fifth, but tonight it was so bad even Shaak Ti complained this morning."

Mace frowned at him.

"She is living two floors up from our apartment."

Finally understanding dawned. "Has he been offered medication? We can't have everyone in your wing sleep deprived because of him."

"He refused. And I do not believe they would help, Mace. He actually got better once the dreams started."

"How so?"

"He is less moody, and not as depressed as he was." Khameir was also less talkative, as if he was lost in his own little world, or as if he was pondering something. He had also shown a great deal of interest in politics yesterday, and spent several hours listening to the news channel.

"If you are hoping that I will take pity in him because of those dreams, you're wrong."

"I would not even think about that, Mace. But I believe he would be less insecure without the inhibitor, and he would be able to release a lot of his tension into the Force."

"Releasing feelings into the Force is not the Sith way."

"No, it is not. However, Khameir is not a Sith anymore. He will never be a Jedi, granted, but he is far cry from wishing death to us all."

"Be that as it may. I will not be convinced if he does not offer us complete honesty."

Badgering Mace Windu didn't work. Qui-Gon had failed to tell the Healer, who probably would not know, and he had hoped against all hope that there would be some movement. They were so blind sometimes – they readily believed a Jedi could fall from grace, but believing the same of a Sith Lord was apparently impossible.

Maul was listening to the news again. He was doing a full split and was otherwise propped up on his elbows. It looked like it had to hurt, and Obi-Wan winced. At least the physical therapy was coming along nicely; Maul had taken to twist himself into knots when he was just sitting around in the past two weeks.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat to announce himself and the other folded up in one fluid movement.

"What is it that is so fascinating about the news?" Obi-Wan squatted down next to Maul.

"There might be undertones I can read. Hints."

"About your master?"

"Hmm."

"Really?" There would have been better things to say, but if Maul was so intent on the news, it had to mean Sidious was on it. He related that thought.

"Hmm," was the noncommittal answer.

"I'm on to something here, I know it. I always thought he was involved in the blockade of Naboo, otherwise you wouldn't have tried to kill us…"

"Exactly," Maul said, and then frowned. Obi-Wan could feel Maul's attention wander inward, maybe making sense of an idea.

"You want me to solve this puzzle, don't you?"

A shrug, and there wasn't even the tiniest hint of an emotion behind it.

Settling into a more comfortable position, Obi-Wan stared at the screen. That chin in Maul's dream looked rather familiar, maybe he could find it somewhere.

Qui-Gon returned to his quarters to find the news channel still on. It wasn't very loud – Khameir had good ears, but Qui-Gon had learned to appreciate silence in the past few days.

"I didn't think we would get you back in one piece, Master."

Obi-Wan and Khameir had turned from their places in front of the vid screen; Obi-Wan was staring at Qui-Gon, as if searching for injuries.

"Oh, Mace treated me like a raw egg, given that I already look like a zombie."

Khameir flinched at that and looked down. Qui-Gon sighed and slowly sat on the floor. "Please do not feel guilty because of this. You know that we could have handed you over to the Healers or drugged you up if we did not want to deal with it."

"I suppose."

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, and Qui-Gon silently agreed.

"So you already are feeling guilty. Will you realize that you're talking to two grown men who can make their own decisions?"

"But…"

"No but. I care for you because I want to. Not because I feel obligated."

Both Obi-Wan and Khameir were stunned.

"Good. Now that we have settled this, can I explain what I gathered from Master Windu?"

"Go ahead," Khameir said in a clipped voice.

"Thank you. He hinted that the Council is getting a little impatient with you. I am sure they won't do anything about this until the Healers say that you have your mental faculties back, but once everyone thinks you are well again, they will not hesitate to use force. Do you understand what that means?"

"Yes."

The trembling started again. Khameir was digging his hands into the carpet, but he wasn't fooling anyone. Qui-Gon reached for them and held on.

"That's still a long time into the future. But I wanted to ask you to cooperate when the time comes."

Khameir ripped his hands loose. "I told you that I will not betray my master."

"Even when he betrayed you?" And how often would they have to have this conversation?

"That is not the issue here. Would you betray the last living Jedi to a Sith?"

Qui-Gon blinked. The reasoning was rather logical, he had to admit. Still… "Why would you be loyal to your order when it isn't loyal to you?"

"But it was. Lord Sidious gave me a purpose and a feeling of self-worth in a time when a jump down the cliffs looked increasingly attractive. His training methods were not what you would call humane, but they made me what I am. I would not wish to trade my skills for anything."

"You liked what you did." How easy it had been to forget this.

"Mostly." Khameir gave him a condescending look.

"Why?"

"I like hunting, and I like fighting. He had me do both more often than not."

"I see."

"You are as blind as I am."

Qui-Gon exhaled sharply, at a loss for words.

"What do you mean?" Obi-Wan piped in.

"You Jedi are sitting behind walls. You just pretend to know what it is like outside."

"What are you implying? That we are ignorant fools?" Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes.

"Hypocritical. You pretend, and you do not even realize it. You see and you judge, but in the end, you do not know what you are judging."

"And do you know what you are judging?"

"I would never dream of telling you what to do."

"I am not telling you what to do, Khameir."

"But you have expectations, Qui-Gon. You are pressing me in a shape that a Jedi can understand, when you do not even have an idea what I went through. When you do not even know your own parents or-"

"From what I hear, you don't know either," Obi-Wan interrupted, and found himself on the wrong end of a glare. It was impressive how Maul managed that without being able to see.

"And you did not learn that insulting someone's parents is not advisable," Maul continued, coldly. "I have parents. Note the plural form. I had the good luck to be able to choose the person who taught me to fight and gave me advise on girls and was willing to get me out of trouble. I am better off without the selfish bastard my biological father was, so keep your immature mouth shut."

"Khameir… I'm sorry. I'm sure that my Padawan here is quite sorry, too, to have spoken so out of line." Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow.

Obi-Wan quickly nodded, until he remembered that Maul couldn't see. "Um. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"You were getting carried away by your anger. However, it was not your argument."

"I know. It won't happen again."

Maul made a small approving gesture. Being taught about controlling his anger from someone four months his junior – and Sith – was embarrassing. Yet, just the way the Zabrak carried himself and from the things he said sometimes, he seemed a good five years older. And he inspired respect, which was a trick Obi-Wan would have loved to learn.

"I believe we should table any argument until you are better, Khameir," Qui-Gon interjected.

"Until I'm more rational? Believe what you will, Qui-Gon."

The former Sith stood and made his painstakingly slow way to Obi-Wan's room.

"Seems your 'all he needs is a hug' approach failed," Obi-Wan said when the door had closed.

"Seems like it, indeed. And we will never know if our trust in him is justified unless we remove that inhibitor."

"You're still willing to take the risk?"

"Yes. I really believe he does not wish harm to the Jedi, but the fact remains that he was trained as a killer. That kind of talent needs to be carefully guided."

"I doubt he will agree to someone making decisions for him."

"That is what I fear." And his Master didn't like that one bit, Obi-Wan could tell.

Being a lab rat on Hoth had had it's advantages. He did not have to put up with Qui-Gon Jinn's savior complex, for one.

For whatever infuriating reason, the dear Master wanted to believe Khameir was a victim; someone who let things happen to him, instead of the other way round. The man had no idea, really. If Khameir had been a victim, he would have been dead by now. No matter what Qui-Gon thought, Khameir was not used to being picked on. Sure, people had tried, and everyone before Kala – no scratch that, it had been his master, in the end – had failed to break him. There was a reason Sidious had picked him in the first place.

Sometimes he wished he could kill his former master. But it was impossible, he was too weak, even with the Force, and the Sith needed to continue.

Qui-Gon's talk of a gray area had occupied a lot of his thoughts. There had to be a way between only serving and mere dominance. But to get gray, you needed black and white. If you eradicated the dark side, the light would need to produce new darkness to have balance. You could not get one without the other. Killing or containing Sidious would not do; better a known evil than an unknown. Running away would not be that hard, and there was a small but elegant way to die again and again if necessary – to be dead to the Force, all he had to do was getting stuffed up on enough dreamweed or something similar for a while. It would fry a few brain cells and wreak havoc on his liver, but livers, at least, were resilient.

Also, Obi-Wan's comment was slowly eating away at him. "You want me to solve this puzzle, don't you?" Did he?

Breakfast next morning was a subdued affair. Qui-Gon was still as miffed at Khameir as the Force allowed him to be, that much was obvious, and Obi-Wan had opted to forgo a discussion by turning the holovid on and watching the news, again. It was something about an upcoming vote in the Senate.

Khameir didn't really listen; if everything went according to Sidious's plan, the bill would pass and give the Chancellor more legal capacity in crises.

Just before things were really getting uncomfortable, someone called in on the comm unit and asked them to report to the Council in an hour.

"I had hoped they would give you more time to recover," Qui-Gon said.

"I do not mind." Khameir slowly hid his hands under the table to keep up the pretense of calm. Qui-Gon wasn't that bad at guilt trips either. His whole taking on a fallen Sith lord had the air of a very big guilt trip, in fact.

"Still…"

"You hoped that I would change my opinion."

"Yes."

"I cannot do that. But perhaps they do not have to interrogate me at all."

"Excuse me?" Qui-Gon said. Khameir shot him an enigmatic smile.