Sorry for the delay in the update! Things have been very busy here, and the creativity well has been feeling a bit dry. Anyhow, enjoy!

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The voice of the Sarlaac would haunt Boba Fett for the rest of his life. Even in his mostly unconscious state, he could still feel its presence rooted into his nerves, somehow weaving itself into the fabric of his soul. Though badly injured from his escape, Fett was still somewhat aware – amazingly – that someone had dragged him out of the blazing desert, and was somewhere cool and dark. From the smell, he knew it was the palace. What he did not know, however, was how long he had been like this, trapped between waking and dreaming.

Then, it happened. A stinging sensation pulled him fully back to reality. Something was touching his raw, exposed skin. Likely it was the other's hands – the salt in them – that burned his wounds, and his pride. How many days had he spent stripped of his armour and exposed for anyone to see?

Then, water wetted his lips; something moist cooling his hand. The pain grew sharper, more immediate. He opened his eyes.

A girl with pale skin and hair: Lethia, with pitcher in one hand, knife in the other. She pulled back slightly as she saw his eyes open. His eyes blurredly scanned the room, assessing the situation.

She had taken off his armour. That was the first thing he noticed. He saw it in a heap of singed and melted metal. Shaking from the pain of his broken body, Fett controlled himself from crying out. Even after the emotional plundering he was subjected to in the Sarlacc, Fett could still call on his old skill to control expressing weakness. Narrowing his eyes, Fett now locked his gaze on Lethia, who held a familiar blade in front of her.

Watching her with his own eyes, and not from behind the visor, he saw bright red skin around her shoulders and slight redness across her forehead and nose. It looked like she had been in the sun for the first time in years; and he guessed the sunburn was a result of a lengthy effort to get his much-larger frame onto a barge by herself.

"You wanted to kill me last time," he muttered between coughs. His lungs and throat were hoarse. "And now you save me."

"What makes you think I won't kill you now, the state you're in?"

"You've lost your chance. I'm awake."

Lethia stared at the man she had long wanted to kill for taking away the only family she had. It had only been several days since she pulled him out of the Dune Sea with acid-eaten armour caked with blood and sand – and had seen his face for the first time. The acid had eaten through to the skin on his neck so she had to pull off his helmet to access the area. It surprised her then that he was, despite her suspicions, truly human – with a number of scars lining his cold, stone-like face.

Finally, she put the knife down and, surprisingly, sat down on the cot where he was lying. "Yes, I had the opportunity to kill you. To leave you dying in the sand; to kill you there at your most vulnerable." Her eyes never broke from his gaze. "But I couldn't. Despite everything, despite what you did, you still love her."

Fett broke eye contact and looked away. She continued. "You called out to her in your delirious state. You sounded so . . . sad."

"A natural response to regret," he said quietly, closing his eyes, feeling the pain begin to overwhelm him.

Lethia weighed his words carefully. Having spent her share of years knowing him, albeit, from a distance. She knew enough to know that whatever information he divulged about himself should never be taken lightly.

"Of course." She looked over at the bounty hunter, whose eyes remained wasn't sure if he had lost consciousness again, until he asked, "What is the extent of my injuries?"

Despite the steadiness in his voice, Lethia understood how much pain he was in. And it amazed her that he had not cried out in pain from the day he found him dying in the sand. He was a stubborn one; unwilling to die, unwilling to give up. No one, during her time in the palace, had displayed such resolve or tenacity. She shuddered inwardly; it frightened her to realize how much Boba Fett deserved to be feared.

"Nerve damage to your left hand; second-degree burns around your neck, chest and back – and everywhere else that was unarmored. Your ribs are broken and the worst of it is in your right leg. The acid's gotten to deep tissue there. Seems like your left leg is fine, since it was already a prosthetic."

Fett shifted on the cot, uncomfortable with Lethia discovering the truth about his amputated leg. "The med-droid said you're recovering quicker than expected. Gene therapy, right?"

"I heal fast," he said coldly.

"Your helmet," she continued, "protected most of your face and head. Though with all your injuries, it's amazing you're alive."

"I'm not easy to kill."

"So they say." The girl and the bounty hunter stared at each other in silence.

"How long have I been out?"

"Several days."

He looked down at his arms and discovered a labyrinth of tubes snaking out from them. "Had to keep you hydrated while unconscious. If you're up for it, I can ask the med-droid to take out the G-tube."

Fett painfully raised himself on one elbow to look at the tube protruding from his stomach. Unable to bear the pain much longer, he lowered himself back on the cot and let out a deep breath. "You never did intend to kill me this time. You had other plans."

Lethia nodded. "You're right. I was going to make you take me to Greta. To help me find her."

"And how did you plan on 'making' me?"

She shrugged. "Jabba's sickbay, as decrepit as it is, has a host of interesting-looking drugs. In your weakened state, it wouldn't be hard to administer some to you." She slowly drew a capped syringe with a blue liquid in it. "The med-droid tells me this paralyzes a patient, rendering them immobile – permanently."

Fett narrowed his eyes, then closed them as if tired of speaking. "You won't need it," he said. "I already intend on finding her – alone."

"No deal," she said, drawing closer with the syringe. "I come, or you don't go anywhere."

In a flash, Boba Fett grabbed her wrist and tore the syringe from her hand. Lethia's eyes widened in fear as this time, he drew near with the needle. But before she could struggle from his grip, he dashed the syringe to the ground where it shattered and spilled the paralyzing agent.

He was now sitting fully upright on the cot and twisting Lethia's wrist with an iron grip. Even helmetless, Boba Fett was still intimidating. "I go alone," he growled, as he released her arm and lay back on the cot, breathing heavily.

Rubbing her wrist, Lethia asked, "And what will you do when you find her?"

"Make things right."

Boba Fett's words echoed in the dark chamber as Lethia searched his eyes for evidence of his sincerity. His eyes, like the mask he had always worn, revealed nothing. But, as she already knew – any utterance from this man was as good as true.

"I'm glad to hear it," she said quietly, still rubbing her wrist while keeping her distance. "But what if she won't have anything to do with you?"

"I'll find that out for myself."

"You promise you're not lying to me," she tested one last time.

Fett closed his eyes and nodded. The beads of sweat forming on his temples indicated that his pain was becoming unbearable. Lethia, assured of his intentions, quietly opened his hand and wrapped it around the pain med controls. "Then I promise I won't try to hurt you. Use this. Get better soon. Who knows how long they'll keep her alive."