He awoke to the familiar antiseptic burn of kolto gently being applied to the raw wound on his side. He jolted upwards, but a firm hand to his shoulder kept him in place.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," came an aggrieved whisper.

He focused on the direction of this voice, his bleary vision resolving itself into far more concern than ever needed to be etched onto that freckled face. His body was a curious mix of tingling numbness, arcing pain, and aching bruises. The soft hum of starship engines zipping through hyperspace let him know they had escaped the planet. He focused past all of that on the worried face of his rescuer, who paused in her ministrations. He started to reach out to try and brush the frown away, but his hand was firmly pushed down.

"Please don't move. I still need to finish with this one on your side." Her eyes dropped to the liberal amount of kolto she was preparing. "I'm sorry if I hurt you… I'm afraid my skills at a healer aren't very adequate."

"S'okay," he whispered. His throat was still dry, so it came out more raspy than he intended.

Seeing as the rusty quality of his voice only made her brows knit together in even more concern, he wasn't about to mention that even the lightest touch on the wound she was attempting to address was going to cause pain. If he had his wits about him, he could have tried to enter a meditative state to take away the worst of the sting, but his thoughts felt sluggish. A used stimpack sat on the tray she had laid out her medical supplies on, and the green label indicated it was the pain reliever that they kept in all of the emergency medkits. Ah, that explained it.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, catching his look, "I just wanted you to be comfortable. I know you don't like them, but you were just in so much pain…"

He wasn't sure if her contrition or her emotional distress at his wounded state was worse, but either way the guilt winding through him twisted his insides almost as much as the ragged hole in his side. He wrapped his fingers around the arm trying to hold him in place, catching her eye. "Thank you."

Her brow smoothed a little, which helped ease some of his own guilt. Now only if he didn't sound like he was croaking every time he tried to speak, that'd be great.

"I'll get you something to drink soon," she promised, "but I really have to dress your side first."

He briefly wondered if she was using some sort of Force mind reading trick, or if perhaps he was just doing a really poor job at disguising his thoughts. He glanced past her stricken face, taking in the brightly lit interior of the Defender's medbay. The once state-of-the-art medical facilities had been neglected over five years of disuse after the ship's medic had disappeared into the Outer Rim. The facilities didn't get turned on much these days as the ship usually sat docked out behind the Alliance's military hangar, and Grey had authorized them to remove some of the pieces that had been needed for the medbay on Odessen at the time. A status chart beeped lazily overhead, displaying the vitals of the bed's current occupant.

He felt the brush of cold, recirculated air rush over his chest. The tattered, bloody remains of his shirt had been tossed unceremoniously into the medical waste bin. A flash of red revealed that his jacket had been carefully hung up in the corner, although it still showed signs of three days worth of dirt and grime from being discarded on the floor. The bulky, bronze armor that Grey usually wore sat underneath it in a much less gracefully arranged pile. A gentle push to his shoulders drew his attention back to her as she tried to prevent him from moving any further.

"Lay back down," she instructed gently. "I'm almost finished, I promise."

She had stripped down to the form-fitting undershirt that she wore under her armor, although the bright blue material had seen better days. Patches of it were blackened and charred in spots, and was splattered with bright splotches of red. A sudden tightness wrapped around his chest, and he would have bolted upright had she not firmly pushed him back down.

"You're hurt—"

"Theron, please—"

"Why haven't you—"

"Theron," she said more forcefully, a pleading note breaking through her normally composed tone, "it's not my blood."

"But—"

"You really need to let me finish dressing this wound," she sounded so tired, almost borderline desperate.

He blinked several times, vision swimming slightly as he finally relented and laid back on the hard surface of the medical bed. As she tried to pull her hand away, he found that he couldn't tell his fingers to let go, squeezing them tightly as her stricken face blurred in and out of focus. The panic was harder to swallow, as the bright flash of color was nearly impossible to ignore now that he'd noticed it. Memories of the tense fight and subsequent escape started to filter back in, of purple lightning arcing over her and a blood red lightsaber cleaving through the air. He felt a return squeeze on his fingers, as she gently ran her other hand through his hair.

"I'm all right," she said, although the calm in her voice sounded forced to his ears. "Please relax and let me help you."

Her grip on his fingers was like a lifeline, something to ground himself to and focus on. He took in a deep breath and let it out, the blind panic bleeding away as he soaked in whatever measure of calm she had managed to summon for his benefit. "Sorry, I… guess I'm not thinking clearly."

Her composed facade slipped as she frowned, but her fingers continued to card through his hair. "You've had a long couple of days, but I'm here now. It's going to be okay."

A small measure of serenity flowed through him, carrying the rest of his anxiety away. Even with his thoughts muddled, he still found that a little odd. He was never this calm, even normally. "Are you being a sneaky Jedi right now?"

"Maybe a little," she admitted quietly. "It's just a small Force suggestion. Do you forgive me?"

If Theron had the wherewithal he might have laughed at the solemn look of contrition on her face. She took herself so seriously sometimes, even on such minor things. If their positions had been reversed, he would have also tried to find some way to calm her down before she had seriously injured herself. He gave the fingers holding his a small squeeze. "I'll let it slide. This time."

"Good." One corner of her mouth quirked up into a sad smile. "Now, I need to finish dressing that wound. It's… it's bad, Theron."

He swallowed, the motion agitating his dry and scratchy throat. "Yeah, just give me a second."

That ghost of a smile disappeared. "Theron…"

He ignored her and closed his eyes for a moment. His fingers tightened around hers, and he drew on the sense of calm she was projecting to push past his muddled thoughts. In his mind's eye, he could see the pain from his wound, a raw, pulsing darkness that tried to pull him under like a singularity sucking in all light. It was almost too much for Ngani Zho's old technique. As he attempted to acknowledge the pain, it was only her anchor-like hold on him that kept him from getting swept away in the sensation and dragged away.

It took far longer than it should've, and a fine sheen of sweat had broken out on his forehead by the time he opened his eyes to see her watching him with naked concern. The bright flare of pain had dulled to a constant, heavy pressure, and the raw sensation had faded to the back of his mind.

"Okay, I'm ready," he said hoarsely.

"How often do you do that?" she asked, voice still quiet.

"Whenever I need to."

"Pain tells us our limits." She pursed her lips together. "It can be dangerous if you push yourself too much."

"I know my limits," he said, "would be dead otherwise."

She didn't look like she really believed him, and he might have been more insulted if he wasn't still drawing on the measure of calm she was still projecting. It was possible her disbelief stemmed from whatever state she had found him in. Theron had yet to look in a mirror to inspect exactly how he looked after his time in Dirai's questionable care.

He released his tight grip on her fingers, and after a moment's hesitation she withdrew and returned to the kolto she had prepared. This time he hardly even flinched as she finished cleaning the wound and gently applying the kolto to it. Without having to fight him, the process went by much quicker, and she finished securing the bandage without any fuss.

"Thank you." Her voice was still quiet, but he could still clearly hear the undercurrent of concern. "The bruising is quite extensive too, but the scans indicate they're mostly on the surface. I can apply some more kolto to them, but you'll have to sit up for that."

From the look on her face, he was fairly certain that was the last thing she really wanted for him. She was probably afraid he'd try to bolt or something.

"You're the doctor." He tried to summon a smile, but it may have come out as a grimace. "Whatever you think is best."

"I wish I were one." Frustration began to leak into her overly calm tone. "Then I might actually have a kolto tank to submerge you in right now. Or at least some healing techniques I could apply to someone other than myself."

"It was a joke."

"I'm sorry but I don't find any of this amusing!"

"Hey, I…" He reached out to grasp her hand, but she jerked away and moved out of his range. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" Her eyes flashed, a very rare undercurrent of anger actually surfacing. "Are you seriously asking me that?"

"Look, I'm sorry you had to come in like that. I really was trying to get out on my—"

"That's your concern? That you're embarrassed you had to be rescued?"

This was a side to his sweet little Jedi that he had never seen, and Theron shrank back to his cot as she began to pace the small medbay. "No?"

"You missed your check in three days ago without giving any details of what you were doing. Three days — and I was the closest one in range. What if Lana hadn't thought to ask me to look in on you?"

"I would've figured out something—"

"No, you wouldn't have!" Her cheeks flamed red as she whirled on him. Usually he found it cute, but this time it was different. She was angry, legitimately angry. At him. "We had to carry you out of there as it was—you would have died, Theron."

"I'm…" The word "sorry" caught in his throat, a tightness that had nothing to do with his myriad of injuries building in his chest. He started to leverage himself up, not wanting to be laying down for this. "I'm okay."

"What are you—no, lay back down!" And like that the anger bled away as she rushed back over, trying to get him settled back into the bed. "Please, you need to rest."

"But you're…"

She closed her eyes, heaving in a deep calming breath before slowly letting it out. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have lost my temper like that."

Now that she was back in his range, he tentatively reached out and brushed his thumb across her cheek, watching as the angry red tinge faded. "You're allowed to."

"No, you are injured. It's inappropriate for me to lash out."

"I can take it."

Her eyes snapped open, fixing on him with a disapproving expression. "You have had enough of 'taking it' over the past few days as far as I'm concerned."

"That's different."

"I don't want to fight with you about this," she murmured, "it was bad enough when I—"

She cut herself off with a lurch, lips pressing together in a thin line so tightly some of the color started to fade. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed the rest of the statement, brows knitting together and eyes screwing shut as she forced herself to be quiet. For a long few moments the silence stretched on, before she traced the shell of her ear with her thumb. A gesture meant just for him, and her silent signal that she wanted to say something, but didn't want the unwanted visitor in her head to hear the sentiment.

It wasn't an unfamiliar sight, especially as of late. And Theron had come to loathe it.

Back when he had first arrived on Odessen, whenever they had started to move into a serious discussion she would clam up like this. He'd understood, of everyone on base at time he had really understood. Even Teeseven, with all of their shared history, hadn't been privy to her broken confession on Yavin IV where she'd revealed her deepest fear of being overtaken again by the evil presence now taking up residence in her mind. Back then, it had been just that — a long dormant fear reawakened when the former Sith Emperor had been unleashed back on the galaxy by Theron's ancestor. That fear had morphed into a never-ending waking nightmare after her and Valkorion's confrontation in the Spire had led him to take up residence in her mind.

Theron had wanted to talk to her about it, but she would shut down the moment it came up. It wasn't until they'd returned to the Endless Swamp with Havoc Squad that he'd finally gotten some insight when she'd quietly informed him of when Valkorion had tried to take advantage of Lana being placed in mortal peril to force Grey to accept some of his power. The fact that she had still refused, even with potentially Lana's life on the line, had haunted her. When she had looked at him after her quiet confession, wide blue eyes shining in the darkness, she hadn't needed to fill in the rest of the blanks. It didn't take a genius to make the connection to their renewed relationship and what might happen if that choice came up again, but with Theron.

And then Valkorion had seemingly vanished, left them to their own devices and for the first time in five years they could talk. It was slow going, as she had lingering doubts about truly being free of him. But as time wore on without any sign of the hated ghost, she had started to open up to Theron again like she had before Zakuul had ripped her away.

They had been approaching something normal, maybe even happy—when Valkorion had come back. Or rather, revealed that he had never left. Theron had seen it the moment it happened. He and Lana had been reviewing the positive outcomes of her defeat of Arcann, when something in the air seemed to shift. She had been listening dutifully a moment before, a hint of a smile forming at the good news, and then he blinked and all of the color drained from her face. That expression of naked panic he'd only witnessed once outside of the temple on Yavin IV, when she had first heard the voice of her tormenter years after she had thought him gone. Just a momentary slip before a practiced neutral expression slid back in. It had been just as quick this time as well, so much so that Lana hadn't even picked up on it. But Theron had seen, and he knew.

Just like that, all of their progress came to a screeching halt, and even began shuffling backwards. She had let the chinks in her amor show, stopped worrying about showing how much she cared and now the devil standing in between them knew all of her weak points. Although Theron had a sneaking suspicion that Valkorion had already guessed a few. Had likely been watching from the shadows of her mind during their most private and intimate moments from the start.

"Sorry," she murmured before gathering herself together again, "what I meant is that you have been through an ordeal. I do not wish to add to it."

"Talk to me," he almost said, but the words wouldn't quite form on his tongue. He almost preferred the anger to this deceptive calm she was hiding behind. Not that he liked the anger — especially when directed his way — but at least it was real. Unlike that mask of the perfect Jedi she showed to the world. She was so much more than that, and yet day by day, moment by moment, he watched a little more of the real her disappear. Like grains of sand slipping between his fingers, he couldn't hold on no matter how hard he tried.

"Let me grab some more kolto," she whispered.

They had been making so much progress, but Theron was still so out of his depth with this sort of thing. He watched her shuffle around the medbay, somehow feeling just as helpless as if he were still strapped to that table back on Skeressa. He knew he should have said something, but the clarity and measure of calm had started to fade away and the distant pain he'd pushed to the back of his consciousness started to creep back in. The analgesic effect of the kolto was starting to kick in, but he would have needed to be submerged in a tank to keep the pain at bay completely. And as it crept back up, the words he needed to say slipped away like everything else.

She began to administer much smaller batches of kolto to various cuts, scratches and bruises in silence. He meant to close his eyes, give her the impression of some privacy since she didn't want to talk, but he couldn't help but watch the way her hands moved. Usually so deft and certain, each movement now marked with hesitation and uncertainty. No matter how much she tried to hide behind her mask of calm, it was blindingly obvious to him that she was anything but. Tension hung thick in the silence, just one more thing separating them.

"How long until we get back to Odessen?" It was the only thing he could think of asking that was a safe subject. Usually he would crack a joke to relieve the tension, but seeing how his last one was received it didn't seem like a good option.

"Five days." She glanced down at him, neutral expression slipping for a moment.

"It took me almost two weeks to get here."

"Guss says he knows of a shortcut."

A smart remark formed on his lips, but he let it go. It still wasn't the time. "Don't push the engines too much on my account."

For a moment, he thought she was going to deny it, but she just shook her head ever so slightly. "Hutt Space isn't a good place get stranded."

"Thought the worms owed you a favor or ten."

She shot him a chastising look, probably for his choice of words more than anything. "We are even at this point."

"Pity. I wouldn't mind taking a long rest stop at your swanky little sky palace."

"I knew I shouldn't have shown you that."

"But it has such a nice view."

"Perhaps, but as far as I'm concerned, the further we are from Skeressa, the better." He couldn't fault her there. It was kind of a dump. Although its lack of a thriving tourism industry probably didn't factor into her reasoning much. "Those people were involved in some very dark things."

It was true. He'd heard the rumors of disappearances while looking into Arcann's whereabouts, and the grisly remains that sometimes were found much, much later. All of the beggars and urchins had learned to stay far away from that dirty alleyway and stretch of road — the snippets of horror stories he'd been told had been tucked away in the back of his mind during his captivity. Devils came in all shapes and sizes, and those on Skeressa were made of flesh and bone. Theron wasn't the only "guest" to grace that warehouse, but apparently he had been one of the luckier ones. Probably because he'd been part of Dirai's little pet project to try and get Valkorion's attention.

"The Force is not meant to be twisted like that," she said quietly. "That corruption seeped into everything they touched."

Her fingers subconsciously drifted to his forehead, gently tousling his hair. He leaned into the touch, that same sense of soothing calm seeming to emanate from just her soft caress. His thoughts were starting to drift off when the gentle motion suddenly paused, and when he looked up her expression had darkened into a familiar scowl.

Distantly Theron heard a pounding, and it took several long moments before he realized it was the sound of his own blood rushing through his ears. It was the same scowl that would sometimes appear at the mention of Vaylin, or more often the throne controlling the Eternal Fleet. Or when Koth or Senya mentioned some Zakuulan tradition that had been started within the past three centuries. While Valkorion's favorite subject to butt in on was often himself, sometimes he'd interrupt in the middle of something mundane like breakfast, ruining perfectly good cups of caffa and appetites all around. One time he'd decided to chime in while both of them had been in flagrante delicto. (Theron had responded rather poorly to that incident in particular.) If their relationship was a dance, then the devil that haunted her was constantly cutting in. There was no escape from it, unless he decided to just stay away completely and leave her to the mercy of the mad ramblings of the monster in her head.

As frustrated and angry as it made him, there was no way that was going to happen. He'd already lost her for five years. He'd fight to his last breath before he let someone rip her away again — even if that person was a manipulative incorporeal world devourer with serious boundary issues.

Theron wasn't stupid, he knew what this thing between them was — knew what the strange tightness in his chest really meant when she looked at him like he was the only person in the galaxy. He'd seen others around him fall prey to it time and time again, but he had always assumed it was one of those things that happened to other people. It had snuck up on him, slowly dragging him under the more time they spent together. He had almost said those three words to her, the ones he had never spoken nor heard ever in his life. They had been building up for months but kept catching in his throat at the last possible moment. It had been what he'd meant to say before she had gone off to face Arcann above Odessen, but came out as "be careful" instead.

He had meant to try again, had wanted to find a private moment after their debrief so he could force the proper words out. Maybe then the tightness building in his chest would finally loosen up whenever he looked her way. But then Valkorion had returned—and the time for speaking openly and honestly had passed. If she didn't feel she could express her feelings without fear of them being twisted on her, what would him sharing those words do other than make things that much worse? So he shoved them away, back to the farthest reaches of his mind. Because if he couldn't say them aloud, then he had no right to even think them.

Whatever Valkorion had to say was apparently not drawn out, as her scowl soon smoothed back into a neutral expression. She let out a long breath, fingers began moving again, absently brushing through Theron's hair, but her eyes remain fixed on some far point in the room.

"So what did the creepy lecherous Force ghost have to say this time?"

She didn't startle exactly, but his question took her off guard as her expression slipped into mild apprehension, but she still didn't meet his eye. "Do not worry about it."

The tightness in his chest began building again, the real words and emotions he needed to say getting stuck in his throat like they always did. He could have let it go, but he found himself reaching up and laying a hand on her arm instead. "I worry."

They weren't the right words, his voice low and rough as he forced them out anyway. Her eyes squinted, forehead wrinkling as she tried to suppress her reaction. When she pressed her mouth into a thin line, he couldn't help himself, and gave her arm a soft, supportive squeeze. That was apparently all it took to break her resolve as she leaned down and brushed her lips against his softly before lightly resting her forehead against his.

He didn't have the Force, and he couldn't project a sense of calm or support for her in return. All he could do was lean into her as much as his awkward, uncomfortable position allowed on the small cot, and keep his hold on her arm to let her know that he was there. It was woefully inadequate, but it was all he had to offer. For this small quiet moment, it seemed to be enough.