It erupted with little warning. An awakening to pain and despair that struck at the very core of Corran's being, driving into his mind and heart like a durasteel spike. It hit so hard that the cup in his hand dropped to the kitchen floor, exploding into a dozen pieces. As sweat broke out on his forehead and upper lip, he audibly gasped, his left hand grabbing for the countertop to steady himself before he followed the cup to the floor.
Mirax was at his side in an instant, the cloth she had been using to dry dishes falling to the floor to cover bits of broken ceramic. She was asking what had happened, but Corran could barely hear her over the pounding of his own heart. There was no air in his lungs with which to answer her question.
It took a full minute to recover, to gain control of himself and shut out the waves of suffering crashing on the shores of his mind. He found he was sitting in a kitchen chair, unsure of how he got there. Mirax was crouched before him, Wes and Iella crowded to his left, Hobbie to his right. Syal appeared with a glass of water, and Corran took it from her with shaking hands, swallowing the cold liquid greedily; his throat was parched fire.
"Corran?" It was Mirax, speaking softly but urgently. She'd seen him like this before, and it always meant something awful had happened. "Corran, what is it? Talk to me."
"I'm..." He cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm ok," he managed, swiping at his face with one hand.
"Could've fooled me," was Hobbie's quiet reply.
"It's Tycho, isn't it," from Iella. Corran turned to her, and saw haunted eyes that mirrored his own. She knew about the Force-flash Corran received at the moment Wedge was killed.
"Yeah," he answered her, then looked around the rest of the group. Too much pain in my life, he thought, and realized that the thoughts weren't entirely his own. "But...different," he whispered, and he felt Mirax take both of his hands and squeeze them.
"Corran?" a voice behind them turned the attention of the group, and Corran saw Winter in the doorway to the kitchen, Adalee just behind her. Her daughter was visibly struggling to not look upset.
Hobbie straightened, voicing everyone's worry. "Oh no, is he..." he began, trailing off, not wanting to ask or know.
Winter shook her head in answer to the unfinished question. "He's asking for you, Corran," she said, very quietly. "Hobbie and Wes, too."
There was an exchange of glances throughout the group, then Corran stood. He felt a little more himself again, but there was an insistent echo of pain at the back of his mind. He drew on the Force to hold it at bay, and to return some of his own strength to him. "Ok," he answered Winter, then looked to Wes and Hobbie. The pair simply nodded.
Corran gave Mirax's hand a squeeze, and offered her a slight smile. She conveyed her concern through her eyes, and a returning pressure on his hand. He gave one last squeeze before letting go, and the trio of friends followed Winter back the way she had come, to her bedroom.
Over the last few days, all of the group had spent time in the sickroom. For the majority of that time, Tycho had been unconscious. The only people who had seen him awake, besides Winter, was Wes and Adalee. Wes had come back to the living area afterwards, unusually quiet and unsettled. When asked what had happened to make him that way, he was short on information, but something had disturbed him.
Tycho's doctor and a variety of nurses also came through, helping Winter with the task of caring for her husband in his last days. The strength and calm that Winter outwardly displayed was a frequent topic of conversation with the people passing through the Celchu household. Iella especially admired her control, knowing what it was like to lose a husband. But even Iella said that if she had been forced to watch Wedge fade the way Tycho was, there was no way she would have been so composed.
Corran found that they had stopped outside the bedroom door. Winter turned to face them, her hand on the door handle. "He's in a lot of pain," she said in a whisper. "Talking is hard for him, takes a lot out of him. And I don't know how long he'll be conscious for."
"We'll try not to tire him too much," Hobbie replied. Corran nodded and looked from Hobbie to Wes, and saw him nodding his agreement as well. With that, Winter opened the door, and the four of them went quietly in.
The room was as it had always been each time Corran went in: dark, warm, and a little claustrophobic. There was a smell of antiseptic that hung in the air, cloying at his nose, but Corran barely registered those details anymore. Instead he was focused on the man in the bed, and the waves of misery emanating off him through the Force, bombarding Corran's mental shields. It was all Corran could do to keep from turning to flee the room. But he couldn't, he wouldn't leave Tycho. No matter what he was feeling, Tycho was feeling worse.
"Hey, Tycho," Wes said quietly, approaching the bed. He bent at the waist, gently squeezing Tycho's forearm as it lay heavily on the bed. "How you doing, pal?"
Corran wiped at the sweat on his forehead. The effort of shielding himself that much more difficult in such close proximity to Tycho, to the point that he could hardly believe what he was sensing wasn't obvious to everyone around him, regardless of whether they were Force-sensitive or not. It was so thick, it was almost a palpable presence in the room. He drew a deep, calming breath, drawing again on the Force for strength and protection.
"I've been...better," was Tycho's hoarse, halted reply, glancing from Wes to Hobbie as he approached the bed as well. "I'm glad... you're here."
"Of course we're here," Hobbie said, mildly chiding their friend. "How could we not be?"
Corran hung back, unwilling (or unable?) to approach the bed just yet. But when Tycho weakly called his name, he had no choice but to approach. He steeled himself, and went to the opposite side of the bed from Wes and Hobbie. "I'm here, Tycho."
"Corran," Tycho repeated, but had to stop, trying to regain his breath. Speaking indeed was hard for him, as Winter had warned them. He looked so frail, barely a whisper of the strong and vigorous man he had been just a couple of years before. Even the intensely vivid impression that Tycho usually made in the Force was gone, replaced only by a dark, tortured hole that refused all light.
"What is it, Tycho," Corran asked, crouching by the bed to be a little closer, so his friend wouldn't have to try too hard to be heard.
"Your...your power," he tried again, his eyes closing as his face contorted. Corran's mind flashed with fire, but he pushed it aside. "Your power...as...as a Jedi..."
Corran felt an invisible fist squeeze at his heart, and again he wanted to run. He would give anything to not have to let his friend down like this. "Tych... I... I'm sorry, but my power doesn't heal. I can't...I can't cure you."
"No...not healing..." Tycho shook his head. His eyes were clenched shut again, forcing tears to roll down into his hairline. Corran glanced at Wes then Hobbie, but both of them shook their heads, not knowing what their friend was talking about. Hobbie swiped at his face with the back of his hand, sniffling. Wes was pale, trying to remain composed.
"What is it you need?" Corran whispered quietly, waiting for Tycho to find the strength to speak again.
The dying man took a breath that sounded wet and painful, and Corran touched his upper arm to offer support and let him know he was there. "It's ok, Tycho... We're not going anywhere, take your time."
Tycho's eyes opened, a faded blue surrounded by raw red as he focused on his Jedi friend. "No...no time...left," he grunted, with another damp gulp of air. "Want...to fly."
Corran's head came up, and he looked immediately to Winter for a clue. Her mask was slipping, both arms wrapped around her body to hug herself. She gave a curt shake of her head, to show she didn't know what he wanted either.
"I don't understand, what do you--" Corran's breath caught as it all suddenly came together--asking for him to use his power, wanting to fly. "You want me to implant a vision?"
"Do what?"
That was Wes, who had straightened and looked at Corran over the bed. He ignored his friend's confused look, and continued speaking to Tycho. "You want me to use my powers to help you fly one last time, don't you?"
With a nod that seemed to cost him dearly, Tycho answered in the affirmative, his shoulders sagging with relief.
"I don't... I... Tycho, I don't know if you're strong enough to..." Corran shook his head, letting it dip down as he settled his mind, searching for an answer, for guidance from the power that Tycho wanted him to use.
"I don't understand what's happening," Hobbie whispered.
"Something about his Jedi power," Wes answered. "Tych wants him to do something."
"A vision," Corran responded to the question, before Wes or Hobbie could ask something else. "One of my talents is to make people see what I want them to. Tycho knows that, and he wants me to use it to let him fly one last time." His head came up, looking at Hobbie, then Wes, and finally Winter.
"Can you do it?" she asked, a rasp to her voice for the first time. Normally Corran would have sensed her shifting emotions through the Force, but the room was overshadowed by ripples of Tycho's torment.
"I try not to use that aspect of the Force if I can help it." He saw Winter's chin twitch slightly, and her eyes began to shine with unshed tears. Corran let out a long breath. "But yeah, I can do it."
"So what's the catch?" Hobbie asked.
"None," Corran lied. He turned his attention back to their sick friend. "Look, Tycho, it's going to take me a minute or two to prepare. I haven't done this in a while and I... I want to do it right. Okay?"
Corran got a slow nod from Tycho, glanced at each of the other occupants of the room, then backed away from the bed. He went into the far corner to get ready, away from everyone else. He sat, crossing his legs beneath him, laying the back of his hands on his knees. Taking a deep breath, followed by another, Corran let the Force flow through his body, silencing the noises around him and the doubt within him. He had to compose himself, gather as much strength as he could, because he knew this path would be difficult. But he had no choice; Tycho would do it for him if their positions were reversed. He had to grant his dying friend's last request, no matter the cost to himself.
With something less than a thought, Corran let his awareness edge out from his own mind. He felt the wall behind and to either side of him, solid and immovable. Slowly, his sphere grew to encompass more of the room. He found Winter, a swirl of dark colors with a vibrant outline of silver. She was afraid, anxious, appalled by what was happening to her husband. Corran wanted to comfort her, and his thoughts caressed hers for only a moment, sending peace and compassion through the connection. The swirl steadied a little, then Corran moved on.
Two more swirls of color danced into his sphere--Wes and Hobbie. Corran studied them for a moment, briefly touching each mind in turn, to let them know he was there, no more. He would not invade their thoughts, didn't need to. Again, he had to move on, to perform the task at hand.
As Corran steeled himself for what needed to be done, it occurred to him that it had indeed been a long time since he'd tried to impose a vision. Luke Skywalker told him that this particular control of the Force was called "Alter Mind". It was the ability to project a Jedi's own view of reality or an illusion into the mind of another. It was also sometimes used to change someone's mind or perceptions, or in other words, was used to bend someone's will to their own. It was also a power that often walked hand-in-hand with the dark side, as Corran knew from his own experience during his early years as a Jedi.
He squelched his doubts beneath calm and peaceful thoughts, before traveling back through his own memories of flying, trying to choose something to project to Tycho. He wanted it to be as detailed as he knew Tycho's memories must be, breathtaking in a way that would make him happy, everything that he deserved and hoped for. However, Corran began to wonder if his own memories would suffice. Tycho, even in his current condition, had a mind that moved at light speeds, so bright and observant that most people couldn't keep up. Perhaps Corran needed to try a different tact.
Thinking back to a time when being a Jedi was very new to him, Corran remembered an encounter that may just be what he needed. Mirax had been kidnapped, and Corran went to great lengths to find her, causing him to finally embrace his Jedi heritage as well as join up with a group of pirates for a while. During his time with them, he'd actually flown against Rogue Squadron. After going up against several other Rogues, Corran found his former squadmate on his own tail, taking aim. Through the Force, he'd seen--and was stunned--by Tycho's thought process, and the manner in which he read situations and reacted to them. Corran could use that experience, somehow turn it inside out, and let Tycho fly as he always had: with his heart and his mind, with everything that he was trained to do, as well as had a natural talent for.
With a deep breath, Corran expanded his sphere once again, reaching past Winter, Wes and Hobbie, for the mind he needed to touch. He thought himself ready for the contact, but in retrospect he would realize that nothing could have prepared him for it. Agony beyond description seared into his consciousness, so deep and cutting that his mind wanted to automatically severe the tie to protect itself. By sheer willpower alone, Corran maintained the connection, drawing on the Force once again to underline his own strength, although it could not guard him against Tycho's pain. The shields that had protected him since he'd walked into the house had to be down in order to touch Tycho, to feel his mind and project a sustained series of images into it. This was part of the physical price Corran knew he would pay, sharing everything that Tycho was suffering, in order to grant his last wish. Corran only hoped that perhaps by sharing the pain, it lessened it somewhat for poor Tycho.