Pink. Pink?

Corran glanced around the room, his brain not really understanding what he was looking at or the circumstances he was in. Sluggish green eyes traced over pale pink walls, hanging static images of teenage boys, Tanaabian horses, a detailed floral print...

An odd room for him to wake up in, he thought in passing, noticing the duvet that covered him. Purple and pink flowers with green leaves, more mature than the rest of the decor, but still undeniably adolescent and girlish in design. Not to Mirax's tastes at all... And his wife was conspicuously missing, in a bed designed for one person.

Corran's mind eventually began to clear, bringing his surroundings into sharper detail: he was in his usual sleeping attire; there were sounds of activity outside the room; it wasn't fully dark outside the small window, but whether it was dawn or dusk, he couldn't be sure. In order to get a better feel for his surroundings, and acting mostly out of instinct, he expanded his senses. All he got for his trouble, however, was a sharp thud of pain somewhere behind his eyes. He rubbed at his forehead, just above his eyebrows, to try and clear it. Drawing on the Force didn't usually hurt. His face scrunched up with discomfort and confusion.

Confusion...Pain...Tycho?

The covers of the bed were quickly tossed aside as Corran swung his legs around and bare feet hit floor. He pushed himself upright towards standing, and a wave of dizziness and nausea swept over him like a Tatooine dust storm, forcing him to sit back down. He then fell back, lying the wrong way across the small bed, his feet still on the floor. He groaned aloud.

Not...a good idea...

While he tried to will his stomach to keep still, memories were coming back in bits and pieces: Tycho's illness, the vision he'd asked for, Corran's frantic grip on his control as he tried to maintain it through the backwash of Tycho's agony. He'd made every effort to make the vision all that Tycho asked for and more... Had he succeeded?

"Corran! What do you think you're doing?!"

It took more effort than he would have thought to pull his head up enough to see the silhouetted outline of Mirax in the doorway. His head throbbed at the attempt, so he let it ease back onto the bed. "Tryin' not t'throw up," he answered, closing his eyes against the glare from the lights in the hallway.

"You shouldn't be trying to do anything," she said in a much softer tone, moving to his side. She took his arm, trying to help him up the bed, and his head gratefully found pillows. The room was still slowly spinning around him, but the nausea was gradually receding. "You've been unconscious for over two days, you need to stay quiet."

"Sorry," he muttered, his eyes closing out the orbit of the room.

"It's all right," Mirax whispered, as one soothing hand ran gently over his forehead then back into his hair. "Any better?"

"A bit," he answered, sinking a little deeper into his pillows. "What happened?"

Mirax's fingers hesitated for only a fraction of a second before she continued to gently pet his hair. "You passed out," she said quietly, before adding "after the vision."

Corran would have nodded, but he suspected the nausea might return, and so refrained. "Was hard," was all he would admit. He cracked open his eyes and looked up at his wife. "But it worked? It was worth it?"

"I wish you wouldn't do these things," she murmured, still slowly massaging his scalp. He couldn't help but notice she didn't really answer his question. "You frightened me."

"Sorry," he repeated, remorse flavoring his words. He wearily reached up to take her hand from his head, and she met him half way. Too tired to support the added weight, he let their clasped fingers settle on his chest. "But was it worth it?"

Mirax nodded, tears beginning to pool in her expressive brown eyes. "He woke up a few hours later. Winter said that he was almost...at peace," she managed, her free hand swiping at an errant tear. It was a few moments before she could continue, her voice catching. "He... He slipped away… Later that night."

Despite already knowing that his friend was dying, the news of Tycho's death still hit Corran hard. His chest tightened, causing him to gasp involuntarily, and he found his vision blurring with tears. He tried to blink them away, but more replaced those that slid down his temples. "D-dead," he managed in a whisper, his voice cracking with emotion.

A sudden weight pressed against Corran's chest, the soft warmth of Mirax's hair brushing against his cheek as she sough the comfort of his embrace. But Corran had no comfort to give this time, having spent it all on Tycho in his final hours. Corran couldn't even comfort himself and began to weep in earnest.