The Prisoner

by blueenvelopes

"I'm using you for sex. You know that right?" "That's fine because I'm using you for power." "Look, just don't get attached. I don't do attachments." "Why cling to the rules of those who cast you out?" "It's easier." "Is this your way of saying you're going to dump me if you find Revan?" "It's my way of saying don't fall in love." "Meetra—" "It's for the best." "Coward."

15. Chapter 15

"General Surik?" The half-moan, half-gasp from the crumpled figure on the floor stops Meetra cold.

Uh oh. Her head swings from confronting Sion to stare open mouthed at the prisoner at her feet. She frantically searches his contorted features for familiarity. She doesn't recognize him, but he clearly knows her. "W-Who are you?" Meetra exhales with alarm. Then, she immediately regrets the error of acknowledging her name.

Sion doesn't wait for the man to answer. With a flick of his wrist, he administers a heavy dose of Force sleep and the captive slumps. "Don't talk to him," the Sith growls. "I know who he is and what he is up to."

"But he recognized—"

"Yes," Sion nods grimly. "That was unfortunate. You should have stayed away like I told you!"

Sion crosses his arms and his stance is livid. Through the bond, Meetra can sense the Darkness coursing through him. Interrupting his torture binge might have been a bad idea, she suddenly worries. Because Sion seems poised to turn his lightning on her.

Unnerved, Meetra takes a step back and nearly stumbles over the sprawled, unconscious prisoner.

"GO!" Sion thunders, jabbing an emphatic gloved thumb at the door.

"N-No." She's come this far. She's not backing down now. "I'm here to heal you. You don't need to do this—"

"GO! There's nothing you can do here."

"There is," she insists with a true Jedi's full faith in the Light. Trying to sound conciliatory in the face of Sion's intimidating sternness, she pleads, "Let me heal you. Let me help you." She walks towards him with hands outstretched. She's ready to forgive this Dark sinner and show him by example the better way of the Light Side.

But Sion's having none of it. He backs up and raises a forestalling hand. "Stay back."

Stay back? She's confused. Doesn't he want her to heal him? "Look, I've had practice now. However bad you are, I can take it."

"You can't."

"But—"

"You can't. I appreciate the offer, and I'm going to take you up on it later. But for now, I need pain. Lots of pain." Sion says this matter-of-fact. He's not even bothering to feign reluctance for his cruelty.

"You don't! Do not do this! You don't need to do this!" Meetra reaches for him again.

He shies away. "Don't touch me! It will activate the bond fully and you won't be able to stand it."

"Let me try—"

"No!" Again, Sion retreats. She's basically got him cornered in the small cell, which feels wrong because he's the aggressor tonight.

"The last time you felt my pain you passed out, remember?"

"Let me at least—"

"No!"

Meetra freezes. No, she is frozen rather. Sion has a gloved hand raised to repel her with the Force. She's not fully immobilized, but she is unable to approach. She must stand there watching as Sion lifts off his helmet.

She exhales, "Ohhh," at the sight.

Sion's face looks mummified. The skin is shrunken, tattered and split in places, and it's mostly yellow-grey in hue. His perfect auburn hair is gone. He's not completely bald, but the wispy orange fuzz that remains is sparse. Elsewhere on his scalp, scabbed sores ooze yellow pus. They match a cluster of similar weeping wounds on one cheek.

"Ohhh." Stunned Meetra can't find the right words to speak, she merely reacts in the moment.

The smell of decay is overwhelming in the small space. Sion's close enough that when he breathes, she can smell the putrid waft. It makes her wonder just what damage he's enduring on the inside. As it is, under the helmet Sion's wearing an eye patch over his right eye. That he feels compelled to hide that injury raises Meetra's suspicions for how gruesome it must be. She automatically begins to reach for her own right eye as she comprehends that its sudden twitching and watering that began mere moments ago must be sympathetic sensations bleeding through the bond.

"Oh, Tony . . ." she sputters, "I'm so sorry . . ."

The gory visage staring back at her is what Meetra remembers from the foe who stood off to the side watching her fight his men on Korriban. Sion is completely unrecognizable from the man who left here last week to report to his boss. Just looking at him makes Meetra's stomach churn and her heart twist. For through the bond, he senses her revulsed pity and she knows his disappointment and chagrin. He had hoped to heal more before she saw him unmasked.

Meetra gulps back her discomfort, but sticks to her goal. "I'm here to help." That is the point of this interruption: she can heal him and that will save the prisoner.

But Sion's not going for it. He tells her, "I have an incredible pain tolerance honed over two centuries. I know you mean well . . . I know how courageous you are . . . but you will never withstand the hurt I feel right now."

Looking at him, Meetra can't bring herself to disagree. With a furrowed brow she wonders aloud, "How did you get so bad so fast?" It's shocking to her.

"I don't know. This is bad . . . far worse than I expected." The bond and his expression tell her just how troubled Sion is about it. "Maybe it's from too much Light—"

"No! That can't be it!" There is never too much Light. If anything, he needs more.

"Darkness keeps me alive. Perhaps your healing weakens me—"

"That can't be it."

"Or perhaps it is you who weaken me—"

"No! There is strength in the Light!" Whatever else she doubts about the Order's teaching, Meetra believes that Jedi catechism. She was raised on it.

But her Sith Lord patient naturally sees things differently. "My salvation is Darkness." He gestures awkwardly to his ravaged face and mutters, "Pain is how to handle this." His eyes drop to the floor and Meetra again senses how humiliated Sion feels. He didn't want her to see him in this condition. He knows it repulses her. And, he worries, it reflects badly on his personal Dark power.

"So . . . I'm just supposed to stand by and watch you torture to heal?"

"Yes. Let me get as much recovery out of this prisoner as I can. If I'm sufficiently improved, you will get your chance."

"And if not?"

"There are more prisoners."

Dammit, she knew he was going to say something like that. Meetra boils over. So much for her Jedi calm. "First, you threaten to torture prisoners to get me to heal you, and now you refuse to let me heal so you can torture!" They've already had this argument before, and now it feels like they're going around in circles for the reprise. Meetra can't help but feel like the rules keep changing on her. And that makes Darth Sion feel especially untrustworthy.

He shrugs off her reaction. "I live by pain. I feel it, so I must inflict it—"

"You're a monster!"

And, wait—that might have been a bit harsh. Because while outwardly Sion appears unmoved, the bond tells her how deeply that label stings. She will never know it, Sion fumes inwardly, but he has worked hard at preserving his humanity and dignity in the face of his affliction. He is not a monster. I am not a monster. The words echo in her mind as surely as if he had said them.

Sion snarls, "This is who I am! I have never pretended otherwise. I'm not asking you to approve what I do. Only to accept it." Pointing to the unconscious prisoner on the floor, he insists, "His fate is my doing, not yours. You are not responsible."

"I feel responsible." Meetra looks over her shoulder at the prone figure and sympathy wells up within her. Not too long ago, she was a prisoner in a cell.

Sion rejects the comparison. "Stop assuming he's some innocent victim. If he had caught you, he would have turned you over to Traya. He's your enemy."

"Even so, he doesn't deserve this treatment!"

"None of us gets what we deserve. Fairness is not relevant. Only power matters."

"I hate that you believe that." But he does. And that's just more reminder of how differently she and Sion view life. He's completely comfortable accepting attitudes that she shed blood and tears fighting against. That makes them fundamentally incompatible as friends, allies, pretend spouses, co-conspirators, and any other role Sion might envision for them.

He's in her head, so he must sense that this fight is fast becoming about more than just the fate of the man on the floor. Sion tries to shut things down. "Go back to our quarters. Wait for me there. We can talk this over later and you can heal me some yourself."

"If I'm healing anyone later, it's him!" fuming Meetra points to the prisoner. But she concedes defeat. She can neither compel Sion to stop torturing, nor can she force him to accept her healing. And given how bad he is currently, she worries Sion's correct that she wouldn't withstand his pain long enough to help him. With a sigh, she laments, "I'm not going to talk you out of this, am I?"

"No. I need his pain. He's the logical choice to hurt, but if it's not him, then it will have to be someone else."

"You disgust me!" Meetra lashes out in frustration at the situation. "Your character is as ugly as your face!"

"You sound very Jedi right now," Sion observes sourly. "No one does contempt quite like the Light Side of the Force. Let me guess—you're going to shun me now, right?"

"You wanted me to leave—so, I'm leaving!" she screeches back in a huff.

"I am what I am. This will be a lot easier if you just accept that and stop trying to change me." Sion replaces his helmet now, yanking it down to cover his rotting face. "You can't save me," he sneers. "You can't even save yourself."

He waves a hand and the door to the cell slides open in a silent command for her to leave. Then, Sion waves his hand again and the man on the floor convulses as he wakes up. As the prisoner begins to squirm, Sion starts frying him mercilessly with Force lightning.

Meetra storms out.

Five minutes later, she's back in the private family quarters. Upset, she paces the floor. The bond is still buzzing in her head—she's sensing in real time how well Sion's torture is proceeding. His lessening pain makes her feel discouraged. Why does the Force reward Sion's cruelty? For that matter, why does it permit him to continue to exist in his state? What's so special about Darth Sion that he gets to live off others' pain? Why hasn't he been dead in a tomb on Korriban for the last two centuries?

Peeved Meetra decides to do some healing of her own. She closes her eyes and concentrates, borrowing the Force as best she can from Sion through the shaky but burgeoning bond.

It gets his attention. What are you doing?

She ignores the question. Instead, she concentrates on Force healing the pink scabby scar on her left palm from Sion's Sith marriage ritual. It's such a little scratch that it should be effortless to erase using the dyad's power.

What are you doing? I know you're using my Force.

She's erasing the evidence of her pretend attachment to that very disappointing Sith. But damn, it's not working. Meetra tries and tries before she gives up. Apparently, the Force will let her rejuvenate zombie Sion but it won't let her heal the evidence of their hasty, illegal marriage. Go figure.

And wait—does that mean something?

Fuuuuuck. Does that mean something?

Of course, it does! That's Sion in her mind trespassing.

Suddenly, Meetra is spooked. She ceases her efforts.

After that, she's left to brood for hours on her second thoughts for the elaborate pretense she has agreed to with Sion. Regrets are nothing new for Meetra. But, unlike the mass shadow generator, this mistake is something she can rectify. And so, by the time the clock has ticked late into the evening and Sion is still gorging on his orgy of pain, she's done weighing the pros and cons. Her mind is made up. All that's left is to deliver the bad news to her soon-to-be fake ex-husband.

Finally, Sion tromps in. Ordinarily, she would give someone the silent treatment after a heated argument like theirs earlier. But she's too impatient for gamesmanship. Meetra comes right out with withering sarcasm. "How's the prisoner?"

"Dead."

"Dead?"

"Yes, dead." Sion yanks off his gloves and then his mask. Meetra sees that already, the physical change is remarkable. He doesn't look good, but he no longer looks like a walking corpse. The eye patch is gone and there appears to be a functioning eye beneath. It's a soulful, tired looking eye that silently speaks to the physical ordeal he's been going through. Not that she's sympathetic to his plight, or anything . . .

The bond buzzing in the back of her head tells her that Sion's exhausted from his healing and demoralized from their fight. His pain has receded significantly, but in its wake are other problems. And she's about to add to them.

Glaring at her, Sion complains, "You didn't actually think I was going to let him live after he recognized you?"

Well, yes. She had hoped he would. "You didn't have to kill him! You could have wiped his memory!"

"That only works if there won't be a Force user potentially interrogating him someday who can reverse the mental block." Sion plunks his helmet down hard on a nearby table. It's a sign of frustration. "That guy was a loose end. He's been dealt with. It's over. Move on."

"You didn't have to kill him!" Meetra sputters again, smarting at the latest needless death added to her conscience.

"Of course, I did! This is a risky plot we've got going! I'm not about to save some random Republic officer who works for Traya. As it stands, I can turn him in for a small bounty. I'll get something out of him beyond healing—"

"Do you need the credits that badly?" she sneers back acidly.

"No, but I need the goodwill of my viceroy. Turning in a dead enemy soldier working for a former-Jedi-turned-cultist will help my boss decide that I'm still a good patriot despite what he might hear whispered about me. With you around, it is imperative that I appear loyal." Sion wags a finger at her and warns, "We cannot screw this up."

"You already did tonight." Their conspiracy is done as far as she's concerned. She's not going to break the news to him gently either. "We're through! I don't trust you and I don't need you—"

"Meetra!"

He's pissed? Well, she's pissed too. "I will heal you tonight one last time and then I'm leaving! You're on your own! Torture if you must, but leave me out of it." She refuses to get dragged down deeper into Sion's Darkness. This has gone on long enough. What the Hell was she thinking to fake marry this asshole and parade around in fancy dresses and lipstick pretending to be his meek and adoring lady? She's got more principles than that. Or, she used to . . .

"You can't be serious!" Sion looks genuinely shocked at this announcement. Clearly, he has failed to appreciate the depths of her disillusionment.

Meetra looks him in the eye and staunchly affirms, "I am serious."

"But we're married!"

"Not really. It's just pretend." And this isn't some kind of lovers' spat. This is a fundamental difference in their respective approaches to life.

"Look at your hand—we're married!" Sion hisses.

"That's just a scar. It means nothing to me." But she is a little unnerved by the fact that the injury won't Force heal.

"And the promises in the Temple?" Sion challenges. "Your oath at the altar?"

"Just lies."

He fumes and instantly morphs into his priggish, pious Dark self. "You cannot lie to the Force! We are a dyad!"

Meetra rolls her eyes at this sanctimony. "Stop it, will you? This isn't about us. You want my power." The dyad is all about power. So is the sham marriage.

Sion sniffs and acts offended. "You know better."

"Look, this was a quid pro quo until I changed my mind tonight."

"Stupid woman! You cannot run from this. The bond won't let you hide!"

She crosses her arms over her chest. "I'll take my chances."

"You'll be dead within a week! Do you think that prisoner is your only former comrade who's hunting you? Traya is offering a lot more than officer pay to your old underlings to find you."

Meetra brushes off this concern. It's not like the Sith Empire is full of Republic veterans out looking for her. If there are some wandering stragglers, they're probably people like Bao Dur who feel as conflicted about Malachor as she does and are disillusioned with the Republic.

Shaking her head, she dismisses the risk. "It's a handful at best . . . Few will turn traitor to the Republic."

"It only takes one," Sion reminds her grimly. "Half of them probably think Traya's still a Jedi and believe they're working for the Republic. They might not understand they've switched allegiance. Do not underestimate how manipulative that woman is! She plays both sides as an agent of chaos!"

Meetra sighs and grouses mulishly, "I'm not stupid. I know not to trust Kreia."

Sion's face softens as he abruptly switches strategies and stops yelling. "I don't want to lose you," he appeals, his eyes boring into hers. He's doing that super intense thing again that reminds her of Revan. "I know you fear the Dark Side, but heed me when I tell you that her nihilism is far worse. If you fall into her influence, you will get sucked into her evil. She abhors the Force, which is the same as hating life itself. It's unnatural and self-destructive."

"I told you," Meetra grinds out, "I know to stay away from her. I won't run to her."

"There's no need to run anywhere," Sion cajoles. "Stay. Let me shelter you."

She shakes her head. "I can't stay and be complicit with your sadism."

"With you here, I won't need to hurt others."

"That's what you said before! But you'll be gone again—this will happen again." She's sure of it.

"Yes, and then I will torture the next agent my men intercept looking for you. It will be an efficient use of their lives," Sion explains with a Sith Lord's blunt acceptance of death as a strategic play.

"You disgust me!" she retorts.

"The alternative is that you stay with me at all times. That you travel with me so you can heal me. And for that, you need to be Lady Sion. A woman of unimpeachable character and unassuming demeanor who won't attract unnecessary attention with her impulsive behavior and wild antics. Can you do that?"

"No." Hell no.

Sion scowls. "Can at least try to do that?"

"I don't want to! I don't want any of this! I hate this place!" Meetra rages, gesturing around them to the gaudy luxury she now titularly oversees. "How the fuck did I get in this position? And with you? My life is a mess!"

Sion doesn't want to hear it. "You need to make rational choices and stop fighting things you cannot change."

"Shut up!" she explodes. "I don't want to hear any more of you mansplaining my life to me!" Enough with this intervention bullshit. His choices are his choices, but they are not an example she wants to follow.

"I am giving you advice. I have been where you are now, only I had no one to help me. Stop pushing me away over trivial things like that prisoner."

"I don't want your help!" Can't he get that through his head? "You can't save me!" she snarls. "Stop trying to save me! You're a fucking wreck yourself!"

Her would-be husband is smugly accusatory now. "You push people away because you feel so rejected. So now, it's your turn to do the rejecting."

"No! That's not it!"

"Does it feel good? To hurt me in the way you were hurt? Because you don't look happy. You look miserable. This isn't you, and it shows."

She shuts him down. Talking about feelings is not her thing. "I'm done here. Do you want me to heal you or not? Because, if not, then I'm—"

"I do. Give me five minutes to get out of this armor and shower. I want to get the smell of rot off me."

"Yes. Please do. It's gross. You're gross."

Sion sulks and mutters, "I missed you too, my dear," as he retreats to his rooms.

And now, Meetra gets to cool her heels some more. It feels like she's spent the whole evening waiting for Sion. But this time, he reappears fast. He's damp from a shower, smelling strongly of antiseptic, and dressed only in baggy pants.

Yikes! He looks bad. And that inexplicably makes Meetra feel bad too. It must be the bond. Because now she's squirming at her earlier mean words. 'Monster' may have gone too far. Because surely monsters can't be humiliated. Looking down—away—anywhere but Sion's eyes, she makes a begrudging apology as she prepares to heal by cleaning her hands with antiseptic. "I-I am sorry for your situation. Look, I get it. Your life is hard. But you only have yourself to blame. Your quest for revenge brought this on."

"Thanks for that Jedi moralizing," he responds. "Is it my turn to tell you that you live in a Hell of your own making? Shall I point you to a mirror the next time you get sad about your Exile status?"

Meetra cringes. "I see your point."

"We're not so very different then, are we?" he posits softly.

"We are nothing alike." She's got her shortcomings, but she's not Dark.

Sion eyes her but doesn't argue the point. Gruffly, he orders, "Make this good. It's going to have to last me."

"Alright." Meetra feels awkward now as she slides up closer to him. Force healing his exposed body has always felt uncomfortably intimate, but coming on the heels of their blow up, it's especially unfortunate. Tentatively, she raises hands up towards his bare chest. She's blinking, but determined. She can do this.

Clearly, Sion has been relishing what is to come. It makes him impatient with her shyness. He reaches and physically yanks her to him.

She flinches at the touch. It's less from the manhandling than it is from the activation of the bond. Pain . . . she feels pain . . .

"Relax. Breathe through it. The sooner you start healing, the better it will become."

"Oh Force . . . " she gasps, still reeling. How does he live like this?

"You can do this. Focus," Sion urges as he continues to smash her to him. Her cheek is pressed to his shoulder and her arms are captive against his chest. She's getting a mighty bear hug.

Okay. Here goes. Meetra struggles briefly to concentrate. But then, she feels the rush of calm—the pulsating, vibrant flood of Force-that quiets her mind and allows everything else to recede. The sensation of Sion's pain fades into the background as she begins to heal. Meetra truly loves this vocation. It soothes her troubled soul, placates her beleaguered mind, and renews her flagging faith. She might be leaving Sion tonight, but at least she gets this. Her offer to heal the zombie Sith was more for her benefit than it was for him. Meetra didn't want to leave without feeling the Force one last time. She will miss this. She will miss it terribly. Already, seven days of waiting has her craving it.

And now, looking for anything to talk about other than torture and their argument, Meetra murmurs, "How was the trip? How's the viceroy?"

"Beleaguered and overworked. He's going to get blamed for a lot of harsh decisions that aren't his."

"So, bad news?"

"Bad news."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too, but we'll manage. My people will endure. We've seen hard times before. What doesn't kill us, makes us stronger."

The resigned way Sion says this tells her how bothered he is by the situation, which attests to how deeply he cares about his system. Sion's treasonous inclinations are clearly motivated more by patriotism than by personal ambition. And that gets Meetra second guessing her earlier summation of his character. He's not all bad. He's just mostly bad. But that's too bad for her.

Sion sighs and complains, "The new trade reforms are going to hurt. There's no point in sugarcoating it. But Vitiate won't be the end of us, no matter how bad a leader he becomes. We Sith survive. We'll make it through."

"Like you," she murmurs, thinking of his Chief of Staff's comments that his boss is a survivor.

"That's right." Sion owns his behavior again as before, telling her, "I do what I must. My options are limited. In a perfect world, I might make other choices, but that's not reality."

"I wonder if Vitiate feels the same way," she muses.

Her patient scowls. He resents the comparison. "Vitiate's flawed war strategy is what led us into a costly defeat," Sion reminds her. "If he hadn't bungled the war, we wouldn't need all the hardship he's planning."

Truthfully, Meetra doesn't know whether to hope that Vitiate's new measures succeed or fail. Because the Sith are her enemies, right? She should want the Empire to flounder. Well, maybe it's more precise to say that most Sith are her enemies. Sion's on her side. So maybe it's best to hope that Sion succeeds and that his dream of a grand Empire at peace with its Republic neighbor prevails. Who knows? Maybe if Vitiate cracks down hard enough, it will have the benefit of fostering support for the regime change Sion seeks.

Is he sensing her misgivings about leaving? He urges, "I wish you would reconsider."

"What's the point? You're not going to change."

"That's right. I warned you that I need to stay Dark to live. Even aside from dealing with my health, I see life differently than you do. We will conflict from time to time, and that's fine." He seems to want to downplay their differences. "I realize that scene tonight was just you playing your role. The Force wants you Light . . . so you're supposed to do stuff like that now and then."

Meetra resents his characterization of their argument as some sort of virtue signaling on her part. "This isn't bickering, this is a fundamental moral disconnect."

"It doesn't have to be. Is there no compromise in you? I thought democracy is about compromise," he mutters.

"I'm not willing to compromise on your casual cruelty."

"Very well." He backs down. Now, as before, Sion lets her make the rules. "Leave, if you must. I will give you an unmarked ship and some credits. Keep your weapons, but give me the comlink back. I want nothing traceable back to me for when you're caught or killed."

Meetra looks up to eye him coldly. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

He eyes her back. "I'm a realist. I know better than you what you're up against. Your best bet is to run back to the Republic. Hide there as a fugitive."

"I can't do that!"

"Why not?"

"I'm the Exile!"

"Who cares? Why bother following their laws? You aren't following our laws here."

"That's different."

"Only because you make it so." He sighs. "You're never going to let go of your Jedi past, are you?"

"No. I will always strive for the Light, like you default to Darkness." And really, that's the crux of tonight's argument. "Sion—Tony—we would never work. Surely, you see that? We didn't even make it a week together and you were gone the whole time."

"We could work. We could thrive," he insists. "But you would have to face the Darkness in me. And, I suppose, in yourself."

That's not a topic she wants to talk about. Meetra declares, "My mind is made up. I'm leaving."

"As you wish," he backs down. The bond betrays that tonight is his fear come to fruition—that he will free her from her cell, and she will leave him. That she will reject him for who he is and the dyad will be frustrated. And then, he will live a life of loneliness and pain like always. And yet still, he's letting her go.

"Is that enough?" She stops and steps back, shrugging off Sion's arms. Force healing is draining work, and she keeps getting distracted by his emotions as they talk. His intense disappointment rattles her. It's arousing guilt in her. He knows it, too.

"How do you feel?"

"Better. But keep going."

"I don't know . . . "

"Keep going. Please." He opens his arms. "This is helping tremendously."

"Alright." She needs little encouragement. Force healing feels so good. It is a respite from her troubles and it makes her feel like a real Jedi again.

And now, wily Sion must sense progress in his bid for her to stay. He starts attempting to manipulate her anew. It's not with guilt on his behalf, however. It's with guilt for someone else.

"I met up with a Palace informant on my trip. I know where Vitiate's holding Revan."

Revan. The very name said aloud is a jolt to her heat. But she refuses to the take the bait. Meetra remains silent, pretending not to hear.

"I know where Revan is. We could-"

"I don't care!" she blurts out.

"Liar!"

"I don't care!"

"I know how much you care. I know how much you admire him, how much you adore him, how jealous you are of the woman he married, how secretly envious you are that she bore him a son—"

"That's in the past! I don't care!" She absolutely doesn't care about the life path not taken in which she accepted Revan's offer to join him and they fell in love and then together forged a new Force order that superseded both the Jedi Republic and the Sith Empire. Alek might still be alive, and Revan would never have met Bastila, and the Crusaders would have persisted with their original esprit de corps intact. She wouldn't be alone and exiled and publicly proclaimed a war criminal equivalent to the enemy Sith.

Damn Sion! He's in her thoughts. He pulls her closer and slyly whispers in her ear. "It should have been you, but it wasn't. What sort of fool is Revan that he would choose any woman over you . . ."

"It no longer matters." Her voice is flat and emotionless. "Nothing matters." And that's the problem, really.

"You might believe that's true, but I don't. You are masterful at self-delusion. You lie to yourself again and again, but only you are convinced."

She bristles. "Shut up! Shut up or I'll stop healing!"

"You pretend not to be hurt by your exile, like you pretend you don't see your own Darkness. You bluster like you've got a death wish even as you struggle to survive. Listen to me when I tell you that the Republic may have forsaken you—the Jedi may have disowned you—but the Force loves you still. Stay and be my secret Jedi bride," Sion croons, "and I will love you too."

"Don't start in on the dyad."

"The dyad is everything! When tomorrow I wake with smooth skin and a full head of hair from your siren magic, you will see just the beginning of what we are capable of together."

She rolls her eyes. "Stop lusting for power. I see through your gaslighting."

"I lust for change. And for change, I need power. You will never rescue Revan on your own. Like I will never defeat Vitiate solo. But together—"

"I don't need your help!" She resents how Sion keeps trying to undercut her agency. Enough with the negging. She doesn't need a toxic Dark boyfriend to tell her what she's capable of.

"You don't even have the Force! There you go again, lying to yourself! Face facts, Meetra. You need me. You need me and I need you."

She grumbles, "I don't even like you."

"Sure, you do."

"I liked Tony."

"I can be Tony."

"This is ridiculous." She's starting to get really rattled, so she takes another break. She's getting a little lightheaded from the effort. She's making lots of progress, but it's hard work. "Look, I think I'm done."

"No, you're not. Keep going."

"No, really. I'm done."

Now, Sion outright whines, "Please. You know you want to keep going . . . Just a little more? You're saving a prisoner a lot of pain."

Meetra sighs and glares. "Fine. But only if you stop talking." Especially about Revan.

"It's a deal."

As she concentrates hard on healing, the conversation does indeed fall silent for long minutes. Meetra ends up being the one to renew it. She's bursting with thoughts and with the bond open there's no hiding them. Annoyed, she vents aloud, "You think this is some grand romance cooked up by destiny . . . that the Force sends you a new wife thanks to the dyad . . . Well, that's not happening. I'm leaving." She is absolutely leaving tonight. She has to leave tonight. Because she worries that if she remains another day, she will lose her resolve.

Sion presses his trump card. It's an insidious pitch. "I know where Revan is. I can help you free him and together we can kill Vitiate."

The bond betrays his motive: Sion will promise to deliver her into another man's arms if it means he can keep her for now. Meetra's keenly sensing the growing desperation that Sion's unsuccessfully striving to hide. But here's the problem: some small part of her thrills to his distress. He wants her. He desperately wants her. And for a rejected, shamed, exile like herself, that's very validating. Yes, Sion's cloyingly needy. But she's needy, too.

He keeps spinning his lure now, whispering promises he cannot fulfill. "You can be the hero you want to be for the Republic. And when you return home, they will welcome you. They will acknowledge their error and you will no longer be the Exile. You will be reinstated to their goodwill."

That's a fantasy. A sweet redemption daydream. Meetra groans, "You and I both know that will never happen."

"But you want it all the same," he goads. "I will try to make it real for you. I will do what it takes to make you happy."

"Shut up! I told you to shut the fuck up!" He needs to stop tempting her to stay. "Shut up and I'll heal you a little more," she bargains. It's half-hearted posturing since he probably senses that she's not yet ready to stop. At this point, she might want this healing more than he does.

But five minutes later, Sion starts urging caution. Suddenly, he's getting alarmed. "Meetra, that's good. No more—"

"I'm not done yet." She is testy. Too tired and cranky to listen to more of him ordering her around.

"I really think you should stop. You're overtaxing yourself."

She ignores him. "Stand still," she insists as he drops his embrace and starts backing up. She follows him forward, unhappy that she has lost his touch and the bond has dimmed. "Where are you going?"

"You'll harm yourself."

Seriously? Enough with the paternalism. "Don't tell me what to do! I'm not done yet." And wait, that came out pouty. But whatever. "Look, I'm healing you, you fucker, so at least be grateful enough to accept it."

Sion looks her over slowly, assessing her. Then, his eyes flash yellow as he relents. "Fine, then. Do as you wish." It's classic Sion. He doesn't fight her so much as he gives in.

She flies back into his arms to fully activate the bond. Then, she buries her mind in the Force. This is metaphysical indulgence. It's her version of Sion gleefully frying that prisoner in the cell. Except, she's not harming with the Force, she's healing. And oh, it feels amazing . . .

Sion chuckles deep in his throat now. "Do as you wish. Do anything to me that you wish . . . " His voice is husky—is it in her ears? in her mind? She can't tell. She's tired and getting disoriented again.

"Don't be creepy," Meetra groans. "You zombie . . . creepy . . . annoying . . . man . . ."

It's the last thing she remembers before suddenly, she's on the floor. Did he push her back? Did she collapse? Meetra isn't sure. But her healing efforts must have been very successful because Sion now scoops her up effortlessly like she's a small child. He cradles her in his arms and starts walking across the room with her.

"You stubborn little fool."

Her mind is befuddled, but she's lucid enough to realize that yet again, Sion has given in to her and managed to get what he wants. She won't be leaving his fortress tonight. This is how he maneuvered her into marrying him. She made demands. He gave in. But somehow, he still managed to win. Mostly, she frets, because of her own bad decision-making.

"You stubborn little fool. Didn't you know this would happen?"

It takes maximum effort to open her eyes, but she succeeds. Squinting through slitted lids, Meetra peers up at Sion. "I'm going to wake up in that cell, aren't I?"