:: Chapter Forty ::

Countless journals, high piles of private notes, research papers, and printed scans cluttered Doc's desk and blocked him from casting even the smallest glance at the man assisting him with his work. The strange Imperial he'd heard plenty about but never met until a week ago and the only man on Odessen even half qualified enough to understand the research that sat before them.

"This is highly advanced," mumbled Malavai and he flipped yet another page relaying Jarak's private thoughts.

"And you're certain none of this involved Sith alchemy?"

Doc nodded. "Fortunately because that's one area of expertise I never mastered."

He got up to grab himself another caf and refill the kettle for Malavai's tea. "I have some ideas but it'll take work and time, not to mention cooperation which he is less inclined to give."

Through the window separating Doc's office from the medical wing, they could see Lord Scourge sat up in bed. Staring off into the distance with a vacant expression, not a hint of life to be read in his body language and yet they knew it was there.

"I assume you've had no luck changing his mind?" Malavai idly dunked a bag of Alderaanian Nectar tea in his cup of hot water. Putting his research aside in favor of delighting in the aromas that reached his nostrils.

"None at all. I convinced him to at least stay here on Odessen until Eliza's return which is the only reason he hasn't bolted from his bed yet."

"And you think it is safe to keep him and Agent Shan in the same room?"

"Were the situation different, no, but he doesn't seem to care now. In fact, he figured out quickly that Eliza and Theron are an item and said it was good. Like he was pleased, for as much as someone in his condition can be pleased."

That snippet of information caused Malavai to frown. "Truly?"

"Yep. He even referred to her as Commander rather than use her name. At first, I thought perhaps it was self-preservation, distancing himself from her just in case but… his tone lacked even the smallest hint of affection."

With his caf clasped firmly between his hands, Doc approached the window and observed the Sith. "I knew him back when he was immortal but it was never like this then."

"But he's not immortal now, is he? He's dying?"

"Yes. Between everything the Sith Emperor put him through originally and all the varying mixtures and formulas Jarak injected into his body over the years, his cell structure has begun to break down rapidly."

"Mm." Malavai sipped his tea and considered, "Perhaps an odd question but, could anything the Emperor did to him originally have affected his DNA in such a way he'd pass those changes on to his children?"

"Cyara…" Doc's brows furrowed. "I'm unsure. We ran a multitude of tests after he'd been cured and found no remaining traces, at least not physical ones, save for his accelerated healing properties. She could have inherited those."

"Something to make note of for Eliza."

"Has there been any news?" Doc asked while he knew better.

"No. No one has heard a word about Arcann and while we decided to consult Senya, she claims no such prison cells exist in the Spire. Theirs are fully sealed off with dark grey and red color schemes, just a few levels above the sewers."

"How did she react when you told her?"

"Calmer than we'd expected. Calmer than I did though she did express concern for the both of them. Arcann and Eliza. I don't think she's quite certain who she's rooting for most."

Malavai put his tea down and reached for Doc's own notes. "What are your plans for treatment?"

"There are a number of options," said Doc.

"Jarak was so obsessed with his formulas, science and creating the impossible that he never considered alternative, and more regular, means."

"Such as?"

"Cellular reconstruction, DNA repair, blood fractionation. A combination of all the above, for starters."

"Those could work?"

"In theory. Whether it'll help him remains to be seen and while this could repair his body, the mind is a whole other matter. I can't guarantee any of this would restore his emotional levels. The mind, body, and our emotions share a complicated relationship."

"We should try regardless. Saving his life takes priority."

"It's going to be hard work, long nights, a lot of trial and error. You sure you're up for this?"

Malavai quirked a brow and the corner of his mouth inched up, just a little, into a smirk. "You don't know me well so I'll forgive you for even asking."

Truth was, aside from being more than capable, he welcomed the task at hand. He couldn't handle further hours speculating where Eliza might be and whether she would find her own way home somehow. If she'd been captured by Arcann or if another had somehow found her. His heart couldn't take it so he set his sights elsewhere.

Whilst they got to work, Lord Scourge quietly snuck from bed. Weak on his feet and struggling to keep himself standing but he refused to make use of the wheelchair parked by his bedside. He'd sooner kick the darned thing over.

Stumbling without falling, he made his way over to Theron's kolto tank and rested his forehead against the glass, releasing a deep sigh.

"There was a time where my palms ached at the thought or mention of you, Spy boy, and I would have delighted to snap your neck myself," he spoke with a low grumble.

"When Marr sent me to locate Nathema all those years ago, I considered finding you first. Ending you. She'd mourn but she'd move on, I decided, and perhaps she would have but that is no way to keep someone's heart."

The long nail of his index finger scratched across the glass with a nauseating sound while Lord Scourge strained to keep himself standing.

"But you hold her heart now and so you must fight. Like I did. Even when my love for her became nothing more than a distant memory, long after I lost the ability to feel it warm in my chest, I kept fighting and now it is your turn."

His body simply weighed too heavily and Lord Scourge was forced to sit down in the empty seat next to the kolto tank.

"When I am assured she has reached her destiny, that she has destroyed Arcann and his father, it'll be my curtain fall. I've lived a life too long or perhaps too many lives at once…" he contemplated in a rather one-sided dialogue.

"It'll be up to you, then. To keep her safe, to care for her. To love her like only… only you and I ever have. You would die for her, I saw it on Yavin and I know it now. Don't ever fail her as I have, Spy Boy."

He couldn't see it, his head turned away to cast his gaze at the soft yellow floor beneath his feet but for a split second, Theron's pinky finger twitched.

"And my daughter...

"I know I would love her if I were still capable of such a thing but I can't feel it now. I can't even feel my heart break at the absence of my ability to love her but you could. If you ever felt the care to grant me one favor, a way to make right the trouble you've caused us in the past then it is this—love my daughter as you would your own and raise her right."

His eyes drift shut and his head lolled to the side, resting against the encasing of Theron's kolto tank while he nodded off, mumbling, "Wake up, Spy Boy…"


"Are you kiddin' me?!" barked Jonas in a whisper when he stormed into Doc's office hours later after observing the medical bay.

"Huh?" mumbled Doc while he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"That!" Jonas pointed at Lord Scourge sat by Theron's tank. "You do remember last they were in the same room together they tried to kill each other, right?!"

Malavai glanced up from his work and looked over his shoulder. "Doesn't look like anything's going on."

"Help me move him!" hissed Jonas.

With some difficulty, he and Malavai hoisted Lord Scourge from the chair he'd fallen asleep in and carried him back to bed but Jonas didn't stick around to get the Sith settled in properly. He rushed to his best friend's side and snatched the medical readout from Doc's hand.

"Did he do anything to him, has anything changed?!"

"Dunno." Doc folded his arms and gave the man a pointed look. "Someone just ripped the latest statistics from my hands."

A heavy sigh escaped Jonas.

It wasn't all that long ago his best friend had been in a similar situation—on the cusp of death following the shuttle crash on Rishi and he hadn't known about it then. He hadn't been there for him but now he could be and while everyone was convinced that Lord Scourge posed no threat, Jonas felt uneasy. Everything made him uneasy—there had just been too much to deal with in such a short amount of time.

He handed the printed sheet back over and muttered, "Sorry."

"Hey, I get it, he's the only family you've got huh?"

"Aside from my wife, yeah. Couldn't have asked for a better brother and sure as hell didn't deserve one but, yeah."

Doc clapped his shoulder and gave a slight smile. "He's alright, nothing's…"

"What?"

"Sorry, it's not anything to be concerned about, in fact, it's good. I'm getting an increase in brain activity and his vitals have improved for the first time in days."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that if he keeps this up we'll be able to move him to a bed soon and start waking him up."

"Fuck's sake," Jonas hung his head down but it was an expression of relief, the first good news he'd gotten since the group's return from Nathema.

"Gotta stop scaring me like this buddy," he turned toward his best friend and he'd hug the kolto tank if his arms were big enough. "I know you like your occasional adrenaline rush but the whole almost dying shit is getting old."

Doc grinned. "I think it's safe to say he's out of immediate danger now."

"Good."

"I heard Lana went looking for his mother, said she'd been on Odessen recently?"

"She did but the bitch is long gone now which is just typical," grumbled Jonas. "You know, you'd be tempted to think he could use her help and support right about now but honestly? He's probably better off with her somewhere far away."


Voluptuous hips swayed as though she walked to the beat of a piece of music only she could hear while she entered his private chambers. Long, auburn brown locks danced around her face and peridot green eyes twinkled with delight. Arcann met her smile and then her lips, brushing the good side of his neck. His fingers wove into her hair while she wasted no time to reach down and run a hand over his groin, eager to stir his arousal.

She was always eager and who wouldn't be? Plenty of women on Zakuul, most of them socialites like Sandrine in his arms right now, had no problem overlooking any deformities in order to be at the Emperor's side or rather, in his bed with the hope one day they'd wear the title of consort. Royalty did have its perks.

"I'm glad you called," she purred and nibbled his earlobe. "It's been too long and I started to worry."

Sandrine urged him toward the bed, deep blue satin sheets already awaiting the pair and she began tugging on his multi-layered robes, desperate to bare the small parts of his chest he'd allow her to touch and see.

She knew exactly what he wanted—a simple blowjob and a quick fuck, maybe two, no questions asked and no idle conversation—and she was more than happy to provide it. Had been ever since she'd first met him years ago at a memorial to commemorate the death of their Immortal Emperor.

'Worry?' Arcann thought to himself and frowned at how strange that word sounded.

He knew why she was there and why she came running each time he called and worry wasn't part of the equation. He didn't require her to show concern, that wasn't what these arrangements were about and he preferred it that way though now, the word gave him pause.

"You were, worried? About me?"

"Why of course, my sweet, sweet Emperor," Sandrine sighed out against his neck, her lips caressing his skin while she straddled him.

A hint of a smile formed on his face, a rare occurrence. People never worried about him and while it remained an odd sensation to him, there was something pleasant about it as well.

"Arcann. Use my name."

"Mmm, my sweet Arcann."

"I've been busy," he told her to his own surprise. "Dealing with threats against our Empire, protecting—"

"Shh, it's okay baby, we don't have to discuss these things hmm?" She silenced him with a kiss right on the edge of his mask. "Just let me take care of you now."

'Oh… of course…'

Why did it even bother him that she didn't want to hear about his life? He'd set those ground rules himself and he'd never been interested in just a conversation but now it suddenly mattered to him? Why was there this new weight on his heart urging him to forge a connection and share everything that troubled him?

The glittering halter top she'd worn fell away when Sandrine undid the strings tied on her back and exposed her breasts. Two supple mounds, larger than one would expect of a woman with her petite frame, and she took Arcann's hands to guide his touch.

"Why were you worried?" he asked even while his thumbs rubbed over her perky, dark nipples.

"I heard a rumor you'd hooked up with that blonde at the Afterlight club, Vareesha? It would just about break my heart losing you to that tramp," Sandrine said with a pout while gyrating her hips across his groin to coax his arousal further.

'Idiot!' Arcann scolded himself. Of course, that was where her concerns would lie, with her own future at his side and the risk of being replaced but she had not an ounce of care for the man himself.

In the blink of an eye, he grabbed her by the hips and flipped her over, tossing her aside while he rose from the bed and turned away. "Get out!"

"What…? Arcann, did I—"

"I said get out! NOW!" He bellowed a second time and threw the top she'd worn in her face. "Now or I will have my guards escort you to the lower levels of our prison instead!"

Bewildered and quite frankly, terrified now, Sandrine gathered up her clothes and fled his chambers, her cheeks burning with shame. A glass, thrown by Arcann, shattered against the door just as it slammed shut and the socialite made a vow to never return.

"Stupid bitch," he hissed in anger while he readjusted his robes and belt.

'No, I'm the stupid one for thinking anyone would care. Why the hell does that even matter now?'

His father never had and his mother? Not since he'd fallen, busted his lip and scraped his knee as a child. Since he'd sat on her lap crying endless and dramatic tears, showing weakness, a thing his father had punished him for later that same day.

'Thexan used to care…'

His brother had been the last person in his life to ever listen and let him air all those things weighing on his heart and mind. Always prepared to offer his advice and support and he missed that now. Everyone was either dead or they'd abandoned him and Arcann couldn't remember the last time he'd actually enjoyed a decent conversation. Except…

'The Outlander.'

She'd listened to him today even if she was argumentative, confrontational and stubborn—she'd listened. In fact, he'd been certain there'd been more she had wanted to say as he left but something held her back. Arcann scoffed and turned on the security monitors to watch Eliza asleep in her cell. His own enemy, the woman who'd be his undoing if she had half a chance, had paid more attention to him today than anyone else had in years.

He spent an hour or more observing as she tossed and turned and he recalled their conversation. Replaying what he'd shared with her about his brother and his family thus far and it as he did so, it suddenly struck him like lightning. The very reason for his inner turmoil, his little doubts and the change in his own behavior.

Thexan—the missing part of him. His twin brother and the core of balance who'd always kept them both grounded. Their twin bond torn apart leaving Arcann incomplete, in a permanent state of anger with emotions he didn't know how to handle and he hadn't been the same since that day. The weight of his loss amplified after the fall of Vaylin, his last remaining connection to his family, making him aware of the emptiness in his life and the solitude that surrounded him. The pain that haunted him still.