Terin: Thanks! I'm sorry you're disappointed in Jaina for signing in…she didn't have much of a choice at the time, but she tricked them with a false (but close) name at the end. And Jaina give up her rebellion tendencies? As if! ;)

The formatting went a little better this time, so hopefully I caught all the little mistakes; I apologize for any missed problems!
Chapter Eleven: Countdown

(One week later)

Therapy had been especially hard today, and when Fel came to help her back, Jaina did not bother to resist. She didn't protest when he helped her into the hoverchair, or when he yet again refused to bring the crutches along for her to work with. "You will have time for that after your second surgery, Solo," he maintained.

Brakiss had recently been finding more and more things for Onyx to do, and so her so-called master had commanded Jagged Fel—the son of an Imperial Baron—to help Jaina around the Palace and with her therapy. She doubted Fel was pleased with the assignment—he had revealed somewhat grudgingly that he was "a pilot, not a baby-sitter".

Despite his reluctance to be pulled away from his flying, Fel hadn't taken it out on her. Somehow, she found his silence more annoying than if he had constantly griped about it.

"Difficult therapy?" he queried, breaking into her thoughts.

If she had had more energy, she would have glared at him for using that blasted I'm-so-grim-and-impassive voice, but she didn't. "Difficult," she agreed, understating it. 'Escort' or no, he was still an Imperial, and she wouldn't show the depth of her weakness.

"The more difficult the therapy, the better for you," he remarked, taking a disciplinarian tone. "You should be grateful that your therapist pushes you."

Jaina had the mad desire to punch him squarely in the nose for that remark, but settled for curling her hands into fists. "Well, perhaps I should paralyze you from the waist-down, and schedule an appointment for you, too—that way you can tell me if you're being honest, or just blowing around hot air," she snapped.

He didn't respond and, for once, she was grateful; she wasn't in the mood to deal with his condescending attempts to pacify her. She might be paralyzed, but she was still a Solo, and a Jedi Knight.

They continued through the labyrinth of hallways in silence. A lonely part of Jaina regretted her sharp words, but her stubborn pride won out. She wouldn't be the first to apologize, and that was that. Fel might be about the nicest person in the Imperial Palace, but he was still an Imperial, and she was still a slave. Small kindnesses did not excuse a willingness to support tyranny.

She must have drifted into a doze, because the next thing she knew, they were in Onyx's quarters. To her quiet surprise, Onyx was waiting for them; to her greater puzzlement, both Fel and Onyx tensed upon seeing the other.

"You are dismissed, Fel," Onyx stated finally, appearing to have brushed aside his odd reaction to the pilot he had hired to escort Jaina.

Fel hesitated a fraction of a second before bowing stiffly and leaving, but not before squeezing her shoulder in…something. She had decided a few days ago that he felt some sympathy for her, and felt the need to reassure her, however foreign the concept might be to her. Once or twice he had stayed longer than necessary, helping her get comfortable on one of the couches, and activating a holo player or music record. It was more than slightly disconcerting to be comforted by someone she would have been ordered to shoot out of the sky if she was still with her fighter squadron. Still, she had resigned herself to incomprehension after the first few times her suspicious questions had been met only with silence.

When the door hissed closed, Jaina noticed that Onyx's eyes were narrowed in something that looked not quite like distrust. It occurred to her that this was the first time Onyx and Fel had really seen the other while she was present, and wondered if their strange behaviour had sprung from that.

"Didn't Brakiss order you to train the new recruits?" she asked, switching the hoverchair controls from manual to electronic so that she could navigate her way to the couch more easily.

He watched her struggle to get out of the chair and onto the couch; her frustration was evident, even without the Force. "I felt that you might need some help after today's session; you appeared to be in more pain than usual." He sighed, and crossed the room. "Look, just let me help you with that—"

"I can do it myself," she retorted, sending him a piercing glare. She flipped her hair out of her face, and braced her arm and leg muscles. She gathered her strength for a moment, then pushed up and all but threw herself onto the couch. Her legs bashed against the side of the couch, but she barely winced; instead, she let her head drop onto the armrest with a long sigh. "See?" she whispered, breathing heavily. "No…problem."

So, the session had been harder than he had originally thought. "You shouldn't be moving along so quickly with your therapy," he remarked, taking a nearby seat. "You'll undo any progress you make."

She sighed again. "I already have a father, Onyx; I don't need you to pretend you care."

"Jaya—"

"Kriff. You," she snarled. "I don't have the energy to put up with your bantha dung right now. I've seen the Empire, okay? You don't have to hand me the brochure, and you don't have to keep playing tour guide. I'm not buying it."

Yes, he would definitely have to talk to the therapist about toning it down. "I'll be the first to admit that the Empire has its…problems," Onyx began carefully.

"Actually, I was the first," she interrupted snidely.

He ignored her. "But you have only seen the negative aftermath that comes from changing governments so severely."

She didn't answer, and he had the feeling she was mentally humming in an attempt to block him out. Her hand was absently rubbing her left thigh—the only way she could relieve her pain without the Force. He didn't doubt it had become a habit by now. Onyx considered trying to use the Force to ease her pain, but she would notice and, in the mood she was currently entertaining, he didn't doubt the effort would be thrown back into his face.

Besides, Darkest Knights never got healing training.

"Where's Sanar?"

He barely heard her, she was so quiet. "Sanar?" She nodded and rubbed her eyes wearily. "I think she's getting some rations." He waved a hand dismissively. "I don't care."

The fact that Jaina did not fly into him about why he should care testified her exhaustion. "You're an idiot, Onyx," she said instead.

"Perhaps," he allowed, "and yet you stay—why?"

She snorted. "You know why." She pushed herself up into a sitting position, her gaze tired, but steady. "I want Zekk back—that's what I've always wanted. You've been playing on that from practically the beginning, don't deny it."

His surprise that she had actually admitted even to that silenced him before he could assure her that Zekk was gone. There was nothing he could say—not if he wanted to hold this over her.

Jaina was studying him through veiled eyes, waiting for his reaction. When he only looked away, she gathered her courage. This'll never work, part of her admonished, but she ignored it. Focusing on what little connection to the Force she still had, she whispered through her bond with her beloved/Zekk?/

Receiving no reply, she tried/Can you hear me?/ There was still no reply. To her dismay, she was fading quickly just from attempting this. If the Force going to suck me dry, the least it could do is get my message through. /I love you, Zekk./

She was asleep before she could see Onyx freeze in horror as yet another vision crept over him, and effectively drowned him in foreshadowing.

Lightsabers crackled and squealed as they clashed, neither wielder retreating. The first man thrust a fist out, but the second dodged it, disengaging his lightsword. The two circled, eying the other warily. The second, taller man gave two quick jabs, causing electricity to spark.

The first man deflected the jabs, an evil gleam fighting for recognition in his blue eyes. The second man stepped back, evaluated the other in a split second, then charged, lightsaber raised.

The first man dodged again, but his lightsaber came up in a cut aimed for the other's waist. Spotting the danger a split second in advance, the second man fell back from the lasersword, his own flying up to—barely—counter it. He fell, but had been prepared for that, and rolled quickly, disengaging his lightsaber so that he wouldn't do something unfortunate, like slice himself in half.

Coming up onto one knee, the second man brushed his dark hair out of his eyes, and gritted his teeth. "You'll have to better than that, Master," he remarked sweetly, eyes glinting.

The greying blonde didn't respond. Foolish boy, he thought to himself as the dark-haired child raised himself to his feet. You will never understand, will you? I taught you everything you know; I didn't teach you everything I know.

The blonde lunged, and the other had to activate his lightsaber quickly to deflect the thrust. When the dark-haired man stumbled a little, the blonde pressed his attack, going after the other ruthlessly. Thrust—clumsy, but strong block; thrust—dodge; lunge—a flip over the other's head.

"You're losing your touch," the blonde mocked viciously as the other's lightsaber went flying from his hands. "Keeping track of slaves is dulling you." He kicked the other in the chest, causing the dark-haired man to topple down the stairs.

"Perhaps," the second grunted, rolling onto one knee, then standing quickly. His lightsaber flew into his hand; he jumped up the stairs, blocked the other's thrust, flipped over his master's head, and swung his lightsaber so it was in line with the blonde's neck. "Or perhaps it has honed my skills."

Brakiss' face was a mask as he half-nodded and moved out of range of Onyx's red lightsaber. "Perhaps," he allowed, inscrutable.

The Emperor caught his Darkest Knight's self-satisfied smirk through narrowed eyes. The boy was getting much too cocky, too defiant; that would have to be stopped. "I have trained you for five years, young Onyx." He eyed the dark-haired man carefully. "What have you to say about your skill level as a Sith?"

Onyx clipped his lightsaber to his belt with special care, schooling his expression into a mask of the perfect student. He couldn't, however, keep the eagerness out of his voice. "I am ready for the trials, Master."

"Are you?" Brakiss snapped, his blue eyes flaring with anger at the blatant confirmation of his suspicions. So, the impudent brat was getting ambitious, was he? After all Brakiss had done for him?

Onyx's green eyes met the blue orbs of his master calmly but hidden within Onyx's serenity lay mockery. "Yes, I am. Master."

Brakiss paused and forced his fury back; it was a useful skill when surrounded by beings that allowed themselves to be ruled by anger. Annoying, but useful. "No," he said finally, "you hold onto who you once were—Jedi Solo is proof of that."

Are you sure it's the past I hold onto when I put her in a position to hate you? Onyx wondered silently. He would never voice the taunt, though; he didn't know the answer himself. "Jedi Solo is a slave and a potential ally—nothing more."

Brakiss looked at his apprentice's steely eyes and knew he had struck a nerve—but which one, and how closely, he couldn't figure out. "Perhaps." He turned to leave.

"I will become a Lord of the Sith," Onyx bit out, halting his master's exit.

Brakiss' hand thrust forward as he spun around. Dark electricity streamed through his fingers and into the Sith apprentice.

"We will see."

Hearing the door swish open, Jaina looked up, expecting and finding Onyx—but definitely not in the condition she had expected. She let herself fall back onto the floor and out of the leg stretches her 'therapist' (slave driver) had assigned her. "What happened to you?" she asked wonderingly.

He attempted to open his eyes properly, but stopped when fire erupted on the wound that covered his left eye, causing him to stumble and bump into a lamp. "Training," he grunted, making his way to the hovercouch. As Jaina watched anxiously, he lowered himself onto the cushioned seat with the utmost care and an expression of pain.

"And here I thought being a Jedi was painful," she remarked dryly, glancing down at her legs.

He groaned and held the side of his head. "Please, either get the med-pac or continue your therapy in silence," he muttered.

She rolled her eyes and arranged her hoverchair so that she could pull herself into it. With a fluid movement that spoke of many repetitions, she manoeuvred herself into the contraption and left the room. The med-kit was in the kitchen, next to the control panel for her Force collar. She paused a moment, then picked it up, regarding it carefully. It would be so simple, so incredibly easy to deactivate it, but for one small glitch—

("This is the control panel. The slave will be unable to use it. It is set to self-destruct if she is foolish enough to try.")

She glared at the contraption, hating a machine and would-be tinker-object for perhaps the first time in her life. She imagined crushing it, slamming it against the counter again and again until it shattered in her hands. But she didn't.

She could almost hear Garik saying, "For once in your life, Solo, use your head before you act." She rarely heeded his exasperated pleas—thinking too much, especially during war, often led her thoughts down a nightmare path and only served to make her freeze at a crucial moment. Considering, however, that Garik, with his constant thinking, had not once been arrested and/or enslaved by the Empire, there could be no harm in listening to him this once, right? And it wasn't like she'd ever have to tell him if it worked…

Her grip on the control device tightened for a moment as she considered it. C'mon Solo, practice the logic side of your brain. Hey, Garik uses it all the time and he's alive and well. Er, if you don't count his spaz attacks over the littlest things. Honestly, he took that whole toothpaste-in-the-hair-gel prank thing far too seriously.

What if the collar was set to self-destruct if she so much as touched the wiring and the thing blew her head off? Or—worse—what if the technician had set a planet to be destroyed if this so much as blipped wrong? Considering the influence her release could have over some key members of the New Republic, she wouldn't be (completely) surprised. But wouldn't they tell her if they did that? Or did they want something to rub in her face, to make her feel guilty? They wouldn't tell her then, she guessed.

Okay, hating thought…

She forced her hoverchair to 180 (not nearly as defiant as turning on her heel, but that was kinda out, if for just a few more days, along with stomping and jumping up and down…). When Onyx looked up at the whizz of her chair, she held up the control panel for her Force-suppressor. "Turn this blasted thing off and I'll heal you, no complaints."

He considered her for a moment, then sighed heavily. "Give me the med-kit, Jaina."

She scowled and threw it at him, looking away pointedly before seeing where it hit him, but hoping he'd have another bruise from it. "Fine."

There was a hiss and suddenly a bright blue energy field surrounded the room. "Now you can give me that blasted panel," Onyx said easily. "Only—don't throw it; you might break it, and explosives are hell and a thousand credits to get out of the carpet."

She had not really anticipated an agreement on his part; even now, she half expected him to maximize the Force muffler, or twist the "More Pain" knob. Hesitantly, she handed the panel to him. He pressed a series of buttons and instantly she felt the warmth—the completeness—of the Force fill her. She ignored her confusion for a moment. Instinctively, she relaxed, more confident and safe now that she could feel the energy field that had been there throughout her life, unless taken by force.

When her eyes opened, Onyx was watching her with a pleased expression. A little of her happiness disappeared into her wariness and realization. "Oh, I get it now," she said with a hint of disgust.

"Get what?" Onyx asked innocently. "By the way, if you weren't joking about healing me…"

She rolled over to him and focused on the Force, felt its golden waves sweep over her; she channelled the energy into Onyx. She saw him jump a little; he was not used to the warmth of the Light side. Even now, an odd—for a Sith apprentice—look appeared in his eyes and she knew he was feeling the headiness that came with Light side healing.

"I was wondering why you would disobey Brakiss for me," she said in reply to his question. Her eyes narrowed and for a moment the steady river of Force healing that was flowing into him flickered; she saw the loss in his eyes. "You're trying to confuse me again. Well, sorry, but I'm very aware you're not Zekk."

"Couldn't it just be from the very goodness of my heart?" queried Onyx, raising an eyebrow.

"Please. A Sith—helping someone? The Dark side is used for the so-called controller's power." Her sniff made it very clear just how ridiculous someone believing they could control the Dark side was, from her point of view.

"Not necessarily."

Jaina rolled her eyes. "Hey, been there, done that, bought the Dark side T-shirt, remember? Selfishness is the closest thing to a core the Dark side has."

"And you came to that conclusion…how?"

"Simple. Why did I turn to the Dark side? Because of my grief, because the war had finally taken too many people from me. Throughout my little traipse I was only thinking, me, me, me. It was almost annoying, honestly."

"A princess is hardly the most convincing example," Onyx sneered.

"Why did you—well, Zekk—turn? Because he felt inadequate, because he felt the need to prove himself.

"Your cheek bone is smashed," she continued. "Now how did Brakiss manage that? Wouldn't he break a hip or something if he moved quickly enough to cause damage?"

"And I suppose the Light side," Onyx mocked, "is all about selflessness?"

"Oh." She paused, a little put off. "I didn't spend as much time thinking about that." She considered that for a moment. She was not very good at putting her thoughts into words—Garik had always been so much better at that. Kriff, put that way, she could almost see her friend being captured as good for Empire-Rebellion relations… In any case, he wouldn't have any trouble talking people back to the Light. Maybe she should suggest that at the next meeting she survived to go to… "Well," she said slowly, measuring her words, "it's probably closer to the love of justice—Kyp can explain that so much better than me—"

"'Can'?" Onyx echoed curiously.

Jaina hurried on, ignoring her slip of the tongue. "But it—the Light side, that is—might even be just embracing the galaxy with…" and here she hesitated… "love."

"Really," he drawled. "And I suppose that's why you're still a Jedi? Why you're still clinging to your pathetic Light? Love? What if I told you that if your friends and family really cared, you'd have escaped by now?"

She placed some bacta gel on a remaining burn that covered his left arm, and began to smooth it along the rough skin. Slowly, his pain began to drift away; she could see it in his eyes. "Then I would tell you," she said steadily, "that I am not dependent on their love for me; I am what I am because I couldn't deny my love for them—that is what saved me." She raised her eyes to his; her grin was crooked. "Besides, who says I don't have potential allies in the Palace, just waiting to be released from their self-made prison?"

For a long moment, they stared at each other, locked in a silent argument. It ended when Onyx reactivated the Force suppressor. Jaina shuddered, and slumped into his arms, exhausted from the sudden loss.

But who was the victor?

Beep-beep…fzz-chut…beep…clackety-clack…beep-beep-beep…

Miko woke with a jolt.

He remained still for a moment, using the Force to take in his surroundings. When he didn't sense anything, his eyes flicked up to the alarm system he had installed. The intrusion-detector was still blinking steadily—no one had attempted to sneak in.

Warily, he fell back into the bed. It's nerves, that's all, he thought. The call hasn't come yet; won't for another hour.

Beep-beep…fzz-chut…beep…

That tone sounded quite like… Sith! They're early! When he tried to get out of his bed, Miko got tangled in the sheets and tripped getting out of bed, landing with a thwump. Rolling his eyes in impatience, he stood and walked to his desk. Once more he glanced around, searching for anyone who might be watching. You never could be sure in the Imperial Palace, and Miko couldn't afford to get caught yet.

As satisfied as he could be that no one was listening, the twice-over traitor slid a panel open and punched in a series of characters. There was a soft thwip, and the panel did a 245 and raised about ten centimetres from the desk surface. A red copy of the Basic keyboard appeared on the smooth black desktop and Miko took a seat. He retrieved a pair of glasses from a cylinder case on his left. When he pushed a button on the side of the frames and put the glasses on, blue tinted his outlook.

Judas.

The name was waiting on Miko's screen. When he pressed the ENTER key, it disappeared in acknowledgement. Miko's fingers hit the sensor-reading keyboard softly. This is Judas. He did not bother to ask who was on the other end—he would not get an answer. That was too dangerous.

It has been a long time, Brother. We have so much to do.

The words blinked eleven times, then disappeared.

Eleven.

Miko thought carefully before replying. I will see you soon, I hope?

Very soon; you will not be grounded much longer. This time, the message blinked ten times before disappearing.

Ten.

Keep talking, Miko thought, forcing his breathing to stay regular. It was too bad he had not yet gotten used to the danger in this field. It'll be over soon, one way or another, he reminded himself. How is Mother?

She is well, though a recent illness has made her slightly weak. She will come release you with all she has. It won't be much longer now. This time, the message rested on the screen for ten seconds, not blinking, then disappeared.

Zero. Space?

Miko's heart sped up. Not much longer? He wanted to jot down the code, but didn't. Someone could find it. Should I pack anything? Or will you bring it all?

A pause. For a horrifying moment, Miko wondered if this was being traced, if his "brother" had been found and s/he was cutting the line. No! Not when we're this close! Finally, new words appeared. Bring nothing, but be sure to leave a thank-you gift for your hosts. In case you forgot to buy one, Mother has left one for you in the usual place. Don't forget to eat your vegetables. Eight blinks.

Eight!

Please thank her for me, and tell her that I will make her proud. Miko's eyes closed for a moment in relief, then opened them again, just in time to catch the last message:

You can tell her yourself, Brother. If all works out well, you will be home in time for supper. The message faded; it did not blink or simply disappear. End of code.

Eleven-Ten-Zero-Eight…that means…Eleventh month, tenth day, 0800…

Kriff! That's…four days from now!

(Day One)

Sanar slipped into Onyx's quarters as quietly as she could. One of the other girls had been sick and Sanar had been called down to help the child. Sanar was not a medic by any means, but life had prepared her better than it had most of the dancers and/or pleasure slaves.

The dimmed lighting made her squint a little, but she quickly became used to it—she always did. Reflexively, she checked the room for other beings. She found one and…the imprint of one, clearly Onyx. She'd have to go before he returned. The other—Solo—was asleep on the couch. Sanar wouldn't get any trouble from her.

When the Na'Lein'yhpaon native passed the couch, there was a small whimper. Sanar paused, then turned to look at the Jedi girl with her face. In the uncertain light, Solo's face looked haunted, vulnerable, and very, very young.

Too young, Sanar thought suddenly with a frown. Twenty, at most, and she's probably been fighting for the whole war. What is she doing here? Why does she stay? Surely almost anything is better than slavery to a Sith lord who is obsessed with you. And I don't care what people say about heroes and the Jedi—joining a war at fifteen cannot be justified.

Sanar rubbed her arms, trying to fight off the draft that was creeping in from the open window. Spotting a nearby blanket, she began to wrap it around her shoulders. As if on cue, Solo cried out and curled into a foetal position (apparently her surgery was successful), reminding Sanar of Clayra.

Clayra, Sanar thought, the darkness allowing her the freedom to feel the shuttled-aside heartache. It had been a long time since she had seen her younger sister. She wondered, with a shuddering breath, if Clayra was still well. Sanar was quite sure she would have felt it if her sister had been seriously hurt, but with Clayra's position and her mother's obliviousness….

She slid the blanket off and placed it over the Jedi, tucking the edges in so that they hugged the girl more securely. When Solo continued to move restlessly, clearly in the throes of a nightmare, a lullaby she had often sung to Clayra spilled softly from Sanar's lips.

"Hush my dear
Please don't cry
Know I'm here
And I watch after you"

Solo was still, apparently soothed, and Sanar continued on, encouraged.

"Let your entry to the land of dreams
Let me carry your troubles for a while
Sleep well, sleep long
Forget the darkness that surrounds you
If only for a while
Wave to the angels for me, my dear
Remind them that I am still here
Give my love to the fairies
Who cannot understand
This universe that tears itself apart.
Dance with their young ones
And though you've been forced to grow up so fast,
Try, my love, to remember
What it was to be young."

Sanar didn't turn away from Solo, though she knew Onyx was watching her. Solo was not the only one who had been comforted by music. Sanar had first heard that lullaby when she was young—perhaps the same age Solo had been when the war started.

Once, music had been her only retreat when everything had closed in around her. When Sanar's singing began to remind Caesarea too much of Jarran, music had become forbidden. But Sanar's mother was not here and she would sleep better tonight than she had in years, soaking in the (albeit few) happy memories she had, even if Solo would not.

She ruffled that mop of brown hair, almost identical to her own chocolate locks, then turned and went to bed, locking the door behind her. If Onyx called after her, she did not hear him.

She was running; he was close behind. She tried to find her way through the hallways and forests, but it was a maze of confusion. Every time she thought she had lost him, she found that she had only succeeded in dizzying herself and allowing him to come closer. In the background, the echo of a sweet lullaby contrasted sharply with the Darkness that surrounded her. She thought of attempting to reach it, but knew she could not.

The farther she ran, the darker it grew. She became aware that the clouds were beginning to fill with water and that thunder rumbled. She turned once to see if she had lost him, and tripped. When she looked to see what she had fallen over, she was horrified to see a corpse, sliced in half, unmistakably by a lightsaber.

She knew instinctively that it had been a blood red lightsaber—one that had been held at her own throat, once, only to be lowered…

She jumped to her feet and ran even faster, but now there were more of them. All of them cut down by that same lightsaber. Still she flew, trying to escape him, trying to escape the truth.

A hand grabbed her arm and twisted her around. She shrank back reflexively, expecting to see her pursuer. She sighed in relief. It wasn't him.

"Jaina," the person said.

She tried to tug her arm away from the man, but his grip only tightened. "Let me go," she pleaded. "I have to get away from him…"

"He already has you."

She stared, afraid. "What?"

"He has you; just like he got me. It won't be long now."

"Just like he got…"

"Your fault, Jaina."

She pulled even harder now, wanting nothing more than to run and run until she had left everything behind. "Please let me go! If he catches me…"

She could hear his footsteps now. He was not running; he was playing with her.

"Why did you let it go, Jaina? Why did I have to pay for your mistake?" The man shoved his face right into Jaina's.

He smelled; she knew that his was the stink of decay, of death. Oh stars, oh stars, oh stars… She shoved him with all her strength, then she was sprinting again. Her fear gave her speed.

Lightning flashed, then her former master was in front of her, red hair blown every which way by the wind, forming a devilish halo. "Solo," Mara said sternly, eyes narrowed.

Jaina almost threw herself into her aunt's arms, but stopped when she saw the blood and the missing right arm. Instead, she dodged her aunt's arms with her hands over her ears, already knowing what her master would say.

Failure. Traitor. How can you love the one who killed us all?

Again she passed people she had known—Raynar, Corran, Tionne, even Streen, then…

"Anakin," she said miserably, ready to give up. She had come to a dead end; of course, the dead had been leading her to her execution.

Why, Jaina? Couldn't you see?

When she looked back, she could see his shadow chasing her. All around there was the impenetrable darkness; she could barely see a foot in front of her, and the Dark was closing in, tightening Its grip. If she took a few steps in the wrong direction, she would be lost. Thunder roared. One, two—lightning. It was not far.

Not long now.

"Tell Tenel Ka I love her?" Jacen asked mournfully, appearing to her left.

She opened her mouth, but no words came—only a helpless moan. "Jasa…oh Force…I'm sorry…"

"You swore," Anakin said, as impassively as if she was only a stranger he had seen on the street. "You swore on Jacen's life, on my grave—you swore you wouldn't turn again."

"I—I didn't," she whispered, stepping forward and away from them. She didn't go far; the Darkness was too cold.

"You won't get lost," Anakin said bitterly when he saw her eye the blanket of Darkness. "Walk further in and you'll see the real ledge. It's several metres in front of you."

She winced at his tone; so bitter; he had been like this ever since…

"Why did Tahiri have to die?" he demanded, tears pooling in his eyes. For you. His eyes finished the accusation. All your fault.

A flinch passed over her face and she looked down. She knew that her little brother did not mean that. He would never have accused her of being the one to cause Tahiri's death.

But she had helped, however unwittingly.

When she looked up and over her shoulder, he was there, clad all in black, his red lightsaber glaring in contrast. A few strands of his black hair had escaped, and were whipping against his chiselled features. With his Darkness and his fair features, he looked like an angel of death.

She felt the weight of the war fall onto her; every loss she knew was piled onto her now.

This was it.

She took a step back; lightning flashed down between them, charring the ground, and then he was there, cupping her cheek. "Jaina," he smirked victoriously. "You are mine now. At last."

She pulled away before his lips met hers. "Zekk…"

His eyes narrowed. "I am not he. I never have been. It was all been a lie…always. Zekk was all a lie, Jaina." His smirk grew at her horror.

"No," she sobbed, stepping back again. "Zekk, stop this—please, you said you love me, I know you meant it…"

"Oh, but I do love you," Onyx said, almost mockingly. "Why not? You're pretty enough."

She shuddered and wanted to cover her ears, but found she couldn't. This isn't Zekk; it's not. Zekk would never say these things…and he does exist, no matter what Onyx says…he can come back…he has to…

She continued to back up, avoiding Anakin's accusing ice eyes, Jacen's mournful brown, Onyx's mocking green.

She screamed as she tripped and fell down…down into the abyss…
When Jaina emitted a soft moan from the couch, Onyx looked from the report he had been reading, a frown of concern creeping onto his face, whether he was aware of it or not. He had not expected her to sleep this long; that medical research/doctor team—Wilfip & Frappin (was it just him, or did that sound a sithuva lot more like a caf shop than a medical team?)—had better hope that the need for extra sleep was quite normal.

It had been almost ten hours since her late-night surgery. The doctor had warned Onyx that, because the delicate operation was meant to fine-tune the undoing of her paralysis and encourage her muscles back to their old strength, the Jedi would be exhausted. However, it would only be a few more days before she was back to normal.

And then no more Fel, Onyx thought a little smugly. He would be more than pleased when the Chiss colonel was gone; something about the stern man whispered "enemy" and Onyx had learned to trust his instincts.

"Lemmgo…" Jaina mumbled, distress marring her pretty face

Sighing, Onyx turned back to the reports some of his agents had written up. Brakiss was growing weak, clumsy—even dull. That never boded well for an emperor with an ambitious apprentice. The Empire was fragmented and, thanks to some carefully planned rescues and price manipulations, key factors—especially the poor, abused public—were looking to Onyx for leadership.

As emperor, Onyx would be able to turn Solo as he had been unable to as Brakiss' puppet. Until then, Solo and her apparent sleeping trouble would have to wait. It would not be much longer…

A wave of misery swept over him, so strong that he dropped the datapad. "Anakin…!"

Onyx forced his shielding back up, wondering why Jaina's emotions were so obvious to him. Always before she had kept her shields to maximum strength. Unless the Force was supplying him with helpful information for her Turning?

He only lingered on his questions for a moment, though. She had said her brother's name—the younger one, whom Onyx had killed. He inwardly winced at the memory. Anakin wasn't supposed to die—not in front of Solo and most certainly not by Onyx's hand. Unfortunately, the younger Solo had been the one gifted with the ability of unknotting puzzles. Somehow he had known that Onyx meant to use him against Solo, and he hadn't dodged a sweep of Onyx's red lightsaber. Onyx had expected the blow to be parried at the very least, and was unable to pull out in time.

So, Solo still dreamed about Anakin's death. It was unfortunate—especially since his face was associated with her nightmares—but wasn't that what sent her tumbling into Darkness? He listened more carefully now, hoping to find the key to her resistance.

Jaina appeared to be trying to shrink into the couch. "Zekk…nnoooh…donth…"

Onyx leaned forward, inwardly seething. Why did it always come back to Zekk? Always!

She became still smaller, and her hands covered her face. Her voice became muffled, but her emotional pain was leaking into the Force. "…said you…mennit…"

When she screamed in fear, Onyx snapped back. The shriek withered in despair.

He hesitated, then shook her shoulder gently. "Solo—wake up."

She bolted up on the couch, her eyes wide with panic and blurred by tears. "No!" she despaired, burying her face, unexpectedly, in Onyx's shoulder. "He—he was going to—to—" she hiccupped.

He stared, frozen, then slowly hugged her, an unusual feeling creeping into him. It reminded him vaguely of the sensation the strands of Light healing had built in his blood—fiery, almost scalding, yet somehow comforting and like an ecstasy drug. How did Jedi live with that contradiction?

"It's all right," he whispered awkwardly, patting her back. "Don't worry; I won't let him hurt you."

It was the oddest moment in his life—no doubt about that.

(Day Two)

Sanar was brushing her hair when he showed up again. She ignored his presence but watched him by way of minute flicks of her eyes up to the mirror before her. He was pacing back and forth, from the couch to the dresser; vaguely, she wondered what the Confrontation of the Day was.

The reality of the new room added to her gloom. It was small—practically a closet—and the only bed was the couch, but Sanar had claimed it after the other night's beating. Her pride was a small thing, and she had gotten over it many, many times before in her life. Her temper, however, had almost been the end of her, and she was not taking any chances.

Horaire had been a mistake, no matter how much he deserved death. Sanar wouldn't—couldn't—cross that line again, and certainly not over anything as stupid as a beating. Horaire had had to threaten Clayra before Sanar tipped; away from Na'Lein'yhpaon, there was no little sister to hold over her, and no excuse for her to snap.

"Why did you let him do it?" Durron demanded suddenly, finding his voice at last.

She paused, blinked away the memories, then continued to pull the brush through her thick locks. "You mean Onyx?"

"Of course I mean Onyx," he snapped. "Unless, of course, this is a regular occurrence. In which case, I'm sure you can see how I would revise that query."

Her jaw tightened and sparks began to course through her blood. "Odd that you should say that; it has been strangely common since my father's murder," she murmured pointedly.

Sanar's mother post-breakdown had told her eldest daughter that she was full of hatred and anger. "You hurt only yourself when you cling to the past, Sanar. Your father is gone. We have the Order now." It was one of the many times that Sanar could have slapped her mother. Full of hate! Of course she was! And as if Caesarea was the one to talk, with her dolls and her needles and her cursing. Even in sleep, Sanar's mother planned murder.

Full of hate indeed.

Kyp was speaking again and Sanar tried to focus, but it was difficult. The topic of her mother was loaded—she'd be wise to push it to the back of her mind again.

"You just let him!"

"Being beaten is hardly the worst that could happen," Sanar replied flippantly. She was prepared, this time, for the flood of memories. Definitely not the worst. Oh, the stories I could tell you, Durron…

He stared at her, aghast. "But to let it happen without a fight…without any attempts to push him back… It was as if you wanted it!"

Had she? Perhaps; she was increasingly aware that she liked to shove reality down her own throat. Reality brought the hatred back, and the hatred and anger were all the ammunition she had against the pain and shame.

Slowly, she placed the brush onto the bureau. "In case you hadn't noticed, Onyx is stronger than I am, and abuse is what I am used to. I know it, I accept it. Better me than…someone else," she finished, muttering.

"But—"

"Look, it's my life," she snapped, spinning to glare at him, his reflection suddenly insufficient. "Why do you care, anyway?" When he began to reply, she stomped her foot, wanting something to kick, something to scream at, when that sithing vulnerability crept over her, making her want, just for a moment, to feel her father's arms close around her again. It was a constant desire; one she had grown up with, and she wished she was used to it. But she never was; there was still something that gnawed at her, something that ate her up greedily, wanting never to release her.

"I'm no one's charity case. If you want someone to pity—someone to adopt—go talk to my mother. She can barely get dressed in the morning these days, let alone live! She just…sits there…as useless as a worm, just pricking needles into a little doll and humming her wedding song!"

She knew instantly that she had spilled too much—if she had a credit for every time she stuck her foot in her mouth, she'd be rich. Her temper, her tongue, and her emotions—they were always her downfall, ready to force her into oblivion.

Durron's eyes softened in sympathy and understanding. "How did you manage without parents?" he asked softly.

Her eyes narrowed. "Shut up."

"How old were you, when it happened?" he continued, lost in his thoughts, ignoring or missing her anger. "Ten? Twelve?"

"I said shut up." She threw the hairbrush at him and was infuriated to see it pass through the blue man.

"Sanar—"

She stomped over to him and glared with every bit of the considerable hatred she had—whether it was for him or not. "Shut up, Durron, or Solo kicks the can."

He eyed her carefully. "You wouldn't do that," he said, just a little uncertain.

"No?" she returned easily, a smirk finding its way onto her visage. This was much better; she was comfortable with this, letting people believe she was something she was not. She would not let him unbalance her. She was the daughter of Jarran Klis, the rebel who lasted so long against Na'Lein'yhpaon's bigotry and hypocrisy. Acting and lying were in her blood.

"Don't push me," she warned, her eyes narrowing. The expression and aura of danger she was emitting were instinctive; it was so easy…too easy?…to complete the role needed. "Horaire made that mistake and he's dead."

Durron frowned, began to speak, then seemed to decide against pursuing that line of conversation. She hid her smirk; they were all so predictable.

It was all too easy.

Her triumph dimmed and her gut clenched. Purposely, she unknotted it, ignoring it, pushing it back…like always.

Always the same; just the routine… It was all she knew. Long gone were the days she sat, enchanted, at her father's feet, drowning herself in the rich, magical worlds his voice brought to life.

"Why is Solo here?" she asked abruptly, turning a keen gaze on the Jedi.

Durron's lips tightened as he considered her. "She is a Jedi; she was captured and enslaved by the Empire."

Sanar scowled impatiently. "I know that. Why is she here, with Onyx?"

"Onyx is attempting to Turn her."

"But why?" she persisted stubbornly. "Why her? Surely there are more powerful—more desirable—more willing Jedi out there."

"Onyx and Jaina have a…history…together," Durron said evasively. "I'm not really the one to explain."

"What, were they lovers?" she asked bluntly.

He sighed. "It's not really my place…"

"Tell someone who cares," she snapped. "I'm not blind, you know—there's some freaky connection between them. It's not as bright as the first night I saw them, but I've never seen…" She trailed off and shook her head.

Durron was quiet for a moment then, carefully, "I really don't know that much. Jaina doesn't like talking about it, and the others were either disgusted or trying to protect her." He hesitated another second, then pushed on. "From what I figure, Jaina knew Onyx before he turned. However, hanging around with the daughter of the Chief of State—a former princess, no less—and one directly related to three of the most famous 'Rebel' heroes…" He shrugged. "Onyx started to feel inadequate. You probably know the rest. As for why she's here…well, she never did give up on him."

Sanar snorted sarcastically. "Let me guess, she thinks her friendship will make everything better." She knew he was lying, hiding things, but she'd find out later—from Solo herself, if need be.

Durron's eyes flicked onto her face and under his stare she grew a little uncomfortable. She shifted, then sat down and crossed her arms across her chest and her legs. "She has a better chance that anyone else," he said finally, quietly.

She studied her nails with practiced indifference. "I gave up on redemption a long time ago," she said nonchalantly. "Solo's wasting her time."

"Everyone has a shot at redemption, Sanar; you just have to reach out and grab it, before it's gone. Remember that."

He was gone again, but she could have sworn she felt someone's lips press against her forehead, as if in benediction.

She tried to ignore that.

(Day Three)

Jaina was supposed to be "exercising" (some dance-like, flexible-ish positioning thing called "yoga") but she had forgone that for the window. Some blessed, enlightened being had decided that it was going to snow today, and had set the climate controls appropriately. According to the holo-net, the weather would change in one hour and thirteen minutes.

Although the Jedi knew she would see no significant change until the snow was actually dumped onto the one-city planet, she searched the sky for even one snowflake. Maybe, she thought, in an hour, she'd be able to reach out and feel the little flakes fall on her arm. She looked out the window, then up, and noticed that the roof didn't slant too far over.

She'd be able to feel the snow. Good. A tired smile tried to find its way onto her face, but failed. It had been two months—two months—since she went outside. It was a long, miserable time for someone who had spent several years on a jungle planet, and who thrived on the sun(s) or even just the littlest smidgeon of rain.

Technically, the window wasn't supposed to be open. Technically, there had been a screen covering it and keeping her from reaching out, or escaping or something. Technically, Onyx liked the drapes closed.

Technically, she didn't give a frelling bantha.

Sanar had exited Onyx's quarters a short while ago, pausing for a moment to scrutinize Jaina. She hadn't said anything, but she left the Jedi feeling like a specimen. It wasn't a pleasant feeling.

Something told her that Sanar had approved of Jaina punching the screen out and opening the drapes (all of them, in case anyone cared—if nothing else, it might annoy Onyx). Jaina didn't bother trying to figure that out. Sanar was confuzzling, and gave Jaina a headache. Just when she pinned the slave as a selfish mercenary bitch, the woman would put a blanket over her and sing a lullaby.

At least, Jaina assumed it was Sanar who had done that—Jaina herself wasn't creative to make up lyrics for a lullaby in her dream (especially not after some of the things she'd seen) and Onyx probably wouldn't have covered her up. After all, it wasn't as if he cared about her.

No, definitely not, no matter how weird he was getting. And some of the odd moments where he would look at her almost…well, lovingly…those were just times when her imagination got the better of her. Again. But still…

She rolled her eyes. As if. I mean, 'cause a big bad Sith lord would look at someone 'lovingly'. Ha! That's the best joke I've made since the war started. Maybe I should consider being a flipping Fruit Loaps comedian…

"Thinking heavy thoughts, Jaya?" a voice asked. "Now, what's this, you've opened the drapes? And what did you do to the screens…" Onyx groaned. "Those were imported from Chiss space, you know."

She didn't turn around. "So use Brakiss' account and pay for some new ones. Then I'll punch those out over and over again until your pathetic 'emperor' is bankrupt." She smirked, knowing he'd catch it through the Force.

She half expected to feel his amusement but—nothing. She snorted quietly. Well, yeah, the Force collar would take care of that, she thought sarcastically. So, she had only her instincts. She knew some people who'd be majorly screwed right now, but, hey, her dad was Han Solo, right? She was the Queen of Gut Instincts.

"You're supposed to be exercising."

She scowled. "It's supposed to snow."

"Not for another hour or so."

"I know, but…well, it's kinda nice—looking outside, I mean. Even if I can't be out there myself," she said, her tone unwittingly pointed.

He was quiet for a long time and she looked up and over her shoulder. "You miss it," he noted, frowning a little.

She leaned into the crook where the window pane and the window sill met. "After two months, how could I not?" she retorted defensively.

He scrutinized her face for a moment, then looked at a datapad in his hand. "Very well. I have to go to market today anyway. After you finish exercising, we'll both go." He paused, then smirked. "How would you feel about duelling?"

She leapt to her feet, a heady mix of elation and anticipation swirling in her head. "With you?" She gave the trademark Solo grin. "You're on." Her gaze levelled on his. "But I can't do it with this collar on."

Once again the blue energy field buzz-ed around them.

Solo had left an opening by her hip; Onyx was careful to fight down a smirk, lest she see it and realize its cause. When she reached with her lightsaber, he let her bat his own to the left. He dodged, then brought his blade in a slanted cut for her exposed side. She saw it, too late to do anything save try to roll away from it.

His blade—on the training intensity setting and thus harmless…kind of—hit her harder than he had expected. When she went down, she gave a startled, strangled gasp and sprawled on the floor.

Giving the laser settings a furious glare, Onyx slowly crouched in front of her. Idiot! he berated himself. She just went through surgery—two in about as many weeks—and you're treating her like a normal opponent? "Solo?"

She groaned, then, in a motion faster than a blink, she aimed—and landed—a kick to his face. He was down for the count. "Both my masters would have skinned you alive for falling for that," she scoffed as she crab-walked back a few paces, then stood.

"No fair," he grumbled. "You've just gone through two surgeries for paralysis. I don't have the luxury of caution. What if something was wrong? You've accidentally paralysed yourself before."

Her smirk was almost vicious. "Here's a lesson the Empire never really learned: Under no circumstances should you underestimate the Solo/Skywalker clan. It's too 'potentially' dangerous."

He got to his feet slowly, his gaze sliding up her, scrutinizing her in the way he knew she hated. Her cheeks flushed and he felt a twinge—first of guilt, then annoyance. Oh honestly, of all the times to get a conscience… he mentally grouched.

"No pulling punches, then," he remarked finally.

She brushed away a few strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail, then got into a defensive position, her lightsaber held tightly before her. "Don't tell me that'll cramp your style, Onyx? Since when do Sith ever play fair?" She rolled her eyes. "You, my friend, are definitely going to lose this war."

He lunged, making her jump back and focus on defending herself. "Just shut up and fight," he said lightly, mockingly, using the technique that frustrated his so-called master.

They sparred for the better part of forty-five minutes before Onyx cornered Jaina, severely shortening her list of optional moves. For a moment, it seemed as if she would be able to detangle herself by ducking to a non-elbow-squeezing area, but Onyx remained low and well-grounded, ready to block her escape.

When she was forced to take an awkward stance to protect her left side, he used the Force to loosen her grip on her lightsaber (kept in a locked cabinet, just in case). Then, ignoring the rules of combat, he brought his own blade not on the violet laser, but on the handle of her blade, causing it to skitter across the room.

She looked up at him, grinning and breathing heavily, caught between him and the wall. He thought, with some satisfaction, that his idea had worked; her gloom had disappeared into the excitement of a hard duel. "Not bad," she remarked.

He stared at her. "Not bad at all," he whispered, then softly placed his mouth over hers. He felt her gasp, freeze, then respond to it—tentatively at first, then a little more confident. His own mind whirled with shock; he had not meant to kiss her and certainly not like this…not this sweetly. But something had swelled up in him and propelled him forward until he had to kiss her—needed to desperately, just once.

She sighed and leaned into him, a pliant weight that fit him just right. His hands slid up her arms and into her hair. Somehow, he knew, she felt the same ache he did…but did she recognize it? He couldn't. He couldn't.

If he'd known about this sweet, fierce ache before…

Suddenly, she pulled back, eyes wide, barely breathing. He froze, still drunk on the taste of something he had never known. As if in a dream, she reached up and pulled his hands out of her hair and away from her. She swallowed, looked away, looked at him, looked down.

"We should go before the…market…closes," she said finally, completely ignoring logic, before escaping to her room, using the search for her cloak as an excuse.

Onyx took a deep, shuddering breath, mind awhirl. Temporarily weakened by confusion, he slid down the wall into a crouch and let his head drop into his hands.

What was that?

There was eleven more minutes before it started snowing and Jaina was becoming impatient. At least, that was what she was trying to convince herself of—that she was only frustrated because of the wait for the snow. It does not, she imagined mind-tricking herself, have anything to do with how that duel ended. Nope. Nothing at all.

When her attempts to ignore the truth were unsuccessful, she sighed. Maybe I should have paid more attention to Kyp when he tried to teach me this mind-trick stuff…

"I didn't know you were interested in jewellery, Solo," Onyx remarked, breaking into her thoughts. "Would you like to make a purchase?"

She looked up at him, startled, then glanced back at the stand where they had stopped. "I—" She shook her head. "Sorry, I was just…thinking."

The vender—an elderly, leather-skinned humanoid woman covered in jewels—was not put off by Jaina's excuse. "Such a pretty girl," she admired, eyeing the Jedi carefully. "You'd wear rubies and gold like a queen, I think. Madame Riia has just the set!"

Before Jaina could protest, the elderly woman bustled to the other end of her closed-in hut and pulled a packet off one of the shelves. "Look," the woman said proudly, holding out a large, ornate medallion with busy designs.

Jaina laughed a little helplessly. "I'm not really a jewellery person," she tried.

The vender snapped her fingers, as if she had had the perfect idea. "Something smaller—eh? A pretty bracelet or…yes, just that!" She reached under the counter and pulled out a centimetre thick gold choker with small, star-shaped rubies as decoration. For a moment, Jaina faltered. She had seen her mother wear almost the exact same design once—far more ornate and too bulky for Jaina's taste, but this one…

The old woman appeared pleased with Jaina's reaction. "Very nice, eh? Just right for such a pretty girl." She turned to Onyx, a crafty gleam in her eyes. "T'would make such a perfect gift for a lover, sirrah, don't you think?"

Jaina hurried to correct the woman. "He is not my—"

"How much?" Onyx interrupted.

Jaina cast him a frosty glare. "Don't tell me you're trying bribery now?"

Both he and the elderly woman ignored her. "Ninety-and-seven credits, sirrah," the vender said hurriedly. "Madame Riia sells her fine merchandise at such bargains, yes? Yes!"

Jaina scowled pointedly even as Onyx paid the old lady and requested a bag. "I'm not that easily bought," she muttered, catching the attention of "Madame Riia" once more.

"Madame Riia recognizes you," she said shrewdly.

Perhaps you've seen me on the "MISSING" columns, Jaina thought grouchily, fiddling with her collar (the one that had been forced on her).Or on the holo-net, the thousands of times that the paparazzi bombarded my family? On Onyx's "WANTED" posters? "Maybe," she replied instead.

"Your name is Sanar?" Madame Riia demanded.

Jaina's eyes narrowed. "No; I'm—her half-sister," she lied quickly.

Onyx scrutinized her, but the heavily bejewelled Madame didn't notice. "Madame Riia wonders: Do you know where Sanar is?"

"Yes—I'm sharing quarters with her."

"Ah! Tell that girl, then, that her mother is on Coruscant, looking for her." Madame Riia hesitated. "Ehm…she didn't mention another daughter."

"We don't share the same mother," Jaina lied smoothly. "She doesn't like me very much."

Madame Riia clucked disapprovingly. "Well, you look young enough for a second marriage…" She studied Jaina carefully, then, "Tell Sanar to visit her poor mama—she'll know where, I believe?"

"Of course," Jaina replied, memorizing the vender's address, in case Sanar didn't. "I'll be sure to tell her." She paused. "Thank you for the information; I'm sure my sister will be glad for the news. I trust her mother is well?" Jaina didn't want to be the bearer of bad news.

Madame Riia snorted scornfully and hitched up her bulky, many layers skirt importantly. "Women like that—the poor ma'am looked ready to be blown clear off the street, she did. Her escort practically carried her around. But what can ye' expect from such fragile lasses?"

Jaina hid her frown. "What indeed?"

Onyx cut in impatiently. "We need to go, Solo."

Madame Riia looked taken aback that someone would wish to leave her fascinating company, but she shrugged it off. "Don't ye forget, luvy – Madame Riia has plenty of such pieces, for all occasions," she ordered Jaina. "That's Madame Riia."

Jaina nodded faintly and then followed Onyx. "Sucking up is not going to help you," she grumbled when they were out of the eccentric lady's earshot.

He ignored her. "Stay in this area," he commanded sharply. "I need to speak with someone." He walked off at a brisk pace.

The young Jedi rolled her eyes, stuck her tongue out at his back, then went back to her dawdling in the streets.

A pawn kiosk caught her eye and she urged her hover-chair towards it. If nothing else, it would be nice to imagine which parts she could buy and put together…

"Jaina Solo!" An astonished voice was her only warning before someone caught her elbow.

Surprised, she looked up into the face of Kyp's former apprentice. Reflexively, her face contorted in anger and disgust. "Miko," she spat. "It's been far too little time. Killed any Jedi lately?"

He didn't seem to hear her. "What are you doing here? And with that…" He froze. "Why are you wearing that collar?"

"What, you don't think it's the greatest accessory since the hydrospanner? Why do you think I'm wearing it?" she snapped, jerking her elbow out of his grasp and moving back a little so that she could glare at his face without craning her neck too far back. "Onyx found me; apparently, his little obsession hasn't kicked the can yet. Don't tell me your master didn't tell you?"

Miko's blue eyes studied her worriedly. "You're staying at the palace?" he asked weakly.

"No, I'm just on vacation; Onyx gave me this little TIE fighter so that I can prance around the galaxy; next stop, Gallinore," she replied coldly.

He glanced around, searching for something. "Where's Onyx?"

She scowled. "Over there—by the pots and pans vender." She jerked her head in the Sith apprentice's direction, who was in a deep conversation with a shady looking character.

Miko ushered her to a slightly more secluded area. "Listen to me, Jaina—get out of the Palace. I don't care how you do it, just don't be in there tomorrow morning."

She frowned at him. "Do you really think I'm going to listen to you, traitor?"

He leaned in closer and she steamed at his proximity. "Look, Jaina, I don't expect you to trust me, but for Kyp's sake, I hope you'll heed my warning." He paused, then lowered his voice until it was just the shadow of a whisper. "The Rebels are going to attack tomorrow morning, at eight-hundred-hours. I've been working with them for almost a year now as a double agent. Believe me, the Palace is the last place you want to be—there will be no end to the fighting, if things go our way. I don't want your blood on my hands, for Kyp's sake."

Jaina glared at him. "For the sake of the master you betrayed, you mean? I worked for Intelligence, Miko; your name was never on the lists."

"For someone who survived five years of war, you're pretty naïve," he retorted. "Do you honestly think they would tell you every double agent on the field?"

"I'm a Jedi," she said with a scowl. "I have to know who I can and cannot kill. I assure you, there was a list—at least, before the Jedi Order went to pieces."

"You must have been pretty high up to have access to that kind of information," Miko mused, distracted for a moment.

"No—just had a hacker for a friend," Jaina snarled. "And stick to the subject. Why the Sith should I believe you, after everything?"

"What's the worst that could come of you listening to me, Jaina?" he replied, a little angry now. "I'm not asking where you'll go—if you leave, and there's no attack, so what? You'd still be alive. But what if everything I'm saying is true, and you stay? You'll probably be blown into the afterlife."

"'There is no death, there is the Force,' " she retorted darkly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Maybe, but there's also a kriffing lot of pain first," he replied in a furious whisper. He sighed in frustration and placed one hand on each side of her hover-chair, leaning in toward her, his face tight with barely controlled anger and tension. "I swear to you, Jaina, on everything I've ever believed in—everything you've worked and killed for—that I'm telling the truth. Please," for a second, his voice faltered, "don't let me find your body in the wreckage of the attack."

She stared at him carefully, evaluating his countenance and sincerity. After a moment, she looked down. "I don't know if I can get out; I'm a slave, after all, and Onyx…"

Miko straightened once more, some of his tension gone. "Brakiss is constantly berating Onyx for the power you hold over him; for once, let Brakiss be right. For your own sake, throw out the Jedi rule book and play dirty."

Her shoulders slumped and she glanced over at Onyx and his comrade; she nodded in their direction. "You should go; you don't want to be seen with me, even if you aren't a double agent."

Miko followed her stare and nodded briefly. "Remember, Jaina—humans are notorious for their love of survival; whatever it takes for our bodies to continue on, we are forced to endure. And those that are pushed down always have twice the strength to fight back. We have the advantage."

She eyed him cynically. "Is that why you came back?"

He didn't answer; when Onyx began to walk towards them, Miko was already gone.

As if in a fog, Jaina made her way onto the pawn shop. Snow began to fall and catch in her eyelashes and on her skin, but she barely even noticed.

Whatever it takes? Oh, Miko—if you only knew what that could mean…

Solo had been quiet during their trip back, and Onyx was becoming wholeheartedly sick of it. Between her silence and her furtive glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking, he was beginning to feel paranoid.

When they passed a fitness centre one block above and away from the Palace, Solo finally spoke, to her companion's relief. "I was wondering…" she began slowly. "Your quarters are alright, I suppose, but they aren't really the greatest for the constant exercising I have to do."

"And you'd prefer a public gym?" he finished sceptically.

She shot him a sarcastic look and pointed at the building they were passing. "Unless things have really changed around here, the N.T. Marak Centre—or whatever the Empire renamed it—is the least public area ever built."

Onyx considered her for a moment. "I'll think about it."

She snorted and whizz-ed into a turbo-lift, then turned around, waiting for him. "I only have, what, two days of therapy left? If that? I'm already duelling, as you know, and your brain isn't used to working on its own; you've been a lap dog too long." She smirked up at him. "C'mon Onyx, be bold—make a split second decision."

He fought down a scowl. She was playing on his pride. Jedi, he cursed. What does she want? For that matter, why does she want it? "Fine," he conceded at last. "But wait until tomorrow after breakfast; you've worked hard enough today." And this might give me some more time to figure out what you're planning.

She nodded and, when he turned away to punch their destination into the turbo-lift controls, her shoulders slumped in relief. I may not trust you, Miko, she thought fiercely, but I've fought for far too long to be even potentially blown to bits when I'm so close.

When Jaina slipped under her new violet feather blanket (another "privilege" of joining the Empire), she was yet again aware of the sensation of fabric sliding along her legs. Who knew, she thought dreamily, that something so simple could fill me with so much happiness? Going from a ratty black sheet to a thick blanket would have been enough to brighten her day; going from being unable to sense anything at all, to feeling the soft heaviness of a blanket was heaven.

She let out a soft, contented moan as she curled up in a ball and buried herself into her pillows. The springy mattresses embraced her form subtly, making her smile grow. It's almost as good as being at home, before the war…

The sound of a man and woman arguing broke the dreamy quality of the moment. Jaina groaned, then rolled out of bed and crept to the door. When she pushed a few buttons on a side panel, a small vid-screen appeared before her eyes and a light switched on. It took her only a moment to recognize the culprits.

Onyx and Sanar. Jeez louiz, why does she stay, anyway? Jaina sighed, then opened the door. "Are you guys at it again?" she demanded. "Onyx, leave her alone."

He scowled at her. "Do you always accuse before discovering the facts?"

"Hey," the Jedi retorted. "My dad's Han Solo; what did you expect?" She glanced at Sanar. "You okay?"

If she had been expecting the "Special Deal, Just for You!" to be a lullaby and a warm welcome, Jaina was sorely disappointed. "I don't need your help, Solo," the older woman snapped.

Jaina rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, love you too. What's going on?"

She could see Sanar open her mouth to make a wisecrack, or say something along the lines of "get lost", but Onyx replied first. "Sanar was making a run for it."

"Can you blame her?" Jaina growled, putting her hands on her hips. "I know you beat her, Onyx; if I was her, I would have been gone two years ago."

"Well, she's not you, is she?"

"A fact you forget and remember at your convenience, you sick jerk," the Jedi replied furiously. "Just let her go."

"I am not running off," Sanar interrupted.

"Well, your IQ just dropped fifty points in my book," Jaina muttered.

"Since when is it a crime to visit family?" the dancer continued. Her flashing eyes levelled on Jaina. "I don't run."

The young Jedi turned incredulous eyes on the Sith. "This is about her wanting to see her mom? Onyx, you are really dropping in the humanity column now—I mean, first beatings, now complete imprisonment? She's not your pet."

Onyx began to reply, then paused. Jaina could almost hear him thinking, "brownie points!" "It's dark out, girl," he finally said. "Wait until the morning; it will be safer then."

It was Sanar's turn to roll her eyes. "Please. Coruscant is nothing compared to my home planet."

"Nevertheless, you will stay; is that understood?" Onyx gritted out.

Sanar sulked, but all three knew she had no choice. It would take only a word from Onyx and she'd be a goner—whether by way of death or exile to one of the seedy Outer Rim worlds that made Coruscant's underworld look like a child's playroom. "If you try to stop me tomorrow…" She trailed off warningly, and then marched into the walk-in closet that she had adopted as her room.

Onyx probably looked at Jaina for her reaction, but the Jedi didn't see it. Already she was headed back to her room and her wonderfully comfortable bed.

And I am not going to feel guilty that I have an actual bed and Sanar doesn't! she reminded herself furiously as she burrowed into the blankets.

She was asleep long before Onyx entered the room; without the Force, she didn't even feel his conflicted eyes on her.

And I'd give up forever to touch you
'Cause I know that you feel me somehow
You're the closest to heaven that I'll
ever be
And I don't want to go home right now

And all I can taste is this moment
And all I can breathe is your life
'Cause sooner or later it's over
I just don't want to miss you tonight
"Iris" by the Goo-Goo Dolls

(Onyx's POV)

I look at you, and I feel a wave of tenderness sweep over me. You're a Jedi; I'm a Sith apprentice. But when I look at you, my stomach tosses and I have the mad urge to protect you—from what? There's something wrong—something other than some discomfort from your surgeries—and you won't tell me even though, for once, I want to know what's wrong…and fix it, instead of add to it.

Why did I let you heal me with the Force? The Light side is pulling on me now, making me crave the warmth it filled me with. But I don't want that—it repulses as much as it entices. How can you stand living with that flooding you all the time? How can you not? That warmth—was that the love you force yourself to view the galaxy with? Is that what you claim saved you?

Is that what you feel for Zekk?

I am a Sith apprentice and yet…all these doubts and sensations… How much of what you say about the Light side is true?

Why do I hate Fel so much for just looking at you? He has no chance—I know that—and he is miniscule. And yet I almost…envy him? Why? Because he has even a chance of caring for you, without feeling the Dark side ensnare him?

This isn't lust I'm feeling—but it can't be love, can it? Ah, perhaps Brakiss was right when he said keeping you was too dangerous. You, yourself, have hinted as much before. I'm beginning to wonder about what is outside all of this…outside of this joke called an empire. The lines between Zekk and Onyx are beginning to fade—I want to hold you, assure you, and make promises to you that one cannot take lightly.

And yet…the darkness within me gnaws it way deeper and deeper into my soul. Even if I decided to turn my back on everything, I would fall short. And you…you would turn away. I've seen the disgust on your face; why does it pain me? I have gotten past Zekk's love for you—haven't I?

Haven't I got past my own?

But no! That's nonsense! Love you? How could I? You were right when you said selfishness is at the core of the Dark side; it is impossible that I care about you in any way.

But if it's not love, then what? I've lived with "obsession" (as you call it) for years and this sensation isn't even close. Kriff, if I keep this up, I might be desperate enough to ask what's-her-face (Sarai, Plysa, Ganyr, what's the difference? They all blend into each other, after a while) what this whole thing could mean.

I need to stifle this—need to stuff it away and diminish it, until it's naught but a bad memory.

But is it already too late?

No; I am not going to let Brakiss be right. You are not "too much for me to handle". Pah! Brakiss is an old fool who needs a holo-cloak to keep the masses happy. He knows nothing about matters of the hea—

I did not just almost say "matters of the heart".

Arrrrgh…that's it; no more watching you; I'm going to bed. And if I have one single nightmare—or worse yet, "dream" – I just may throttle you, Jaina Solo. Because that's just the kind of big, bad Sith that I am. Live with it.

(End of Onyx's POV)

"Mother's gift" had been found in the market place, with an eccentric jeweller named "Madame Riia", next to a vegetable stand. Thanks to several weeks of hinting to the rest of the Palace that he had recently taken up with a Force sensitive girl he was trying to Turn, "Judas" was able to carry around the heavily bejewelled crown without suspicion. When the other Dark Jedi gave him knowing looks, Judas would only say, confidently, "It's almost time; I can feel it," and, with a dark smirk, hurry along.

Judas, as was required, outlined his plan for the girl's Turning to the emperor. The emperor, pleased, accepted Judas' bribe for his approval of the girl's allegiance. Though he himself would not wear the redundant crown, the emperor placed the diadem to the side on a small table, where all would see it and know its owner.

Much to Judas' relief, no one saw him double-check his pocket for a smooth black panel.

It was two hours before Judas returned to his room; already the sun was beginning to rise. When he arrived, he pulled out an oddly shaped com-link and whispered that the gift had been given. Then, he began packing.

It would not be long now.

Next chapter throws us into the whole point of this story…or, at least, it starts to. –laughs- Dejarik will be over in a couple chapters…I'm not sure how many yet, since I haven't planned where each chapter starts/ends, but I will go straight into the sequel when Dejarik is over; "Caught in the Rain" has already been completed, and doesn't need as much work as Dejarik did, so it should come faster ;)

Also, I have posted a dark J/Z short story in the YJK section here (http: It's an AU of the beginning of this trilogy, in which Jaina reacts quite differently to Jacen's death. -grin-

Please R&R:D

-Tjz