The ambient lighting in the medbay almost seemed too bright, and Theron found himself squinting as the Jedi in front of him let out a long, haggard breath. She gave his fingers a tight, almost bone breaking squeeze and seemed to slump a little in her perch next to the cot.
"You're going to be okay now." Relief and exhaustion dragged her statement down into a whisper. "Don't worry."
While that was very much a good thing, it didn't explain the bizarre imagery that lingered at the back of Theron's mind, nor why she looked quite so run down. A vague sense of unease began to creep in as she hastily scrubbed at the damp tracks on her cheeks.
"Were you crying?"
"No… yes. Sorry." Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, taking in another shuddering breath. "It's been a long few days."
"Why?"
Her eyes fluttered open as she peered at him, tentatively resting her free hand on his forehead, as if checking something. It didn't escape his notice that she hadn't loosened her grip on his other hand. After a moment, she nodded to herself, some tension draining from her shoulders. "You were very sick for a while there."
"Sick?" He had been injured, that much he was sure of. He couldn't help but frown as he tried to sort through the confusing tangle of memories. Some were clearer than others, he could remember just about all of Skeressa (unfortunately), some of the medbay, and then there was a hazy mass of very dark, surreal, and confusing imagery.
"The wound on your side was infected." Her voice didn't raise above the soft, raspy whisper. "Kolto should have handled it, but you kept getting worse."
That was odd. Even without a tank to be submerged in, there was enough kolto stocked in the medbay to handle just about everything short of decapitation. Kolto resistant infections were extremely rare, usually of a more viral nature than something picked up on a dirty warehouse floor.
"How much worse?"
Her eyes darted away again, but he'd seen the flash of pain, residual fear, and his concern heightened. Sitting up seemed like a monumental task at that moment, so he took the easier path, and folded his other hand over the one still clinging to him tightly.
"For a moment I thought you were going to…" She trailed off, taking a moment to swallow before looking back at him. The dark circles under her eyes stood out in contrast to her pale face. "You're a very lucky man."
He swallowed, following the line of logic. Part of him felt like he should apologize, as nonsensical as that was. She just looked so tired, so worn. Like she was the one who had just come from death's door, rather than him.
Theron let his gaze wander, eyes drifting down to the freshly applied kolto bandage. The skin around it looked smooth, no longer red and inflamed. Just like a properly healing wound. The ragged pain had dulled to a muted ache thanks to the kolto, and almost all of the fog clouding his thoughts seemed to have lifted.
In fact, everything seemed almost deceptively normal, if it wasn't for the abnormally gray pallor of his caretaker.
"Are you okay?" he asked quietly.
She took in a long breath, before letting it out very slowly, but when she looked at him again he could still see a fever burning brightly in her eyes. "I will be. Now."
There was a finality to her tone, as if to indicate an end to that line of inquiry. The fatigue dragging him down made it tempting to indulge in that silent request. Another, more stubborn part of him wanted to push the subject, because something still felt very off. However seeing as he apparently had somehow survived the infection from hell, maybe that was to be expected.
In the end, the infamous Shan stubbornness won out. "You don't look okay."
"We should be focusing on you right now."
He didn't want to do that. That required thinking, trying to sort through the confusing snatches of memory and piece together a complete picture, and that just sounded exhausting. Not to mention he had never been keen to contemplate or even confront his own mortality. He had always just assumed he would go out in a blaze of glory doing something fantastic and worthy of the Shan name. Not curled up on a medical cot out in the middle of space as he wasted away to some preventable vestige of archaic medicine.
Except that he wasn't dying now, at least according to the woman staring at him. So as much as he didn't want to think, didn't want to ask questions, one bubbled to the surface anyway. "If the kolto didn't work… what happened exactly?"
It should have been an easy question to answer. From the way her lips pressed together to form a thin line and the silence between them stretched on, it was apparent that it was anything but simple.
The hard countenance finally broke but her smile was still tight, and she looked somewhere over his shoulder instead of directly at him when she spoke again. "The Force flows through everything, it's what binds us together."
The phrase was almost an exact mirror of one of Dirai's rants, and Theron wasn't able to stop himself from physically wincing. She caught his unconscious reaction, her forehead creasing into a frown as she gave his hand a firm squeeze as if in reassurance.
"I… heard something similar recently," he admitted quietly.
"Dirai." It was not a question but a statement, nearly a snarl. "From the nature of the rumors I heard, I suspect he had different… 'talents' with the Force than most."
"He was insane."
"His mastery of the Dark Side was not in any way diminished by his grip on reality." She gave him a serious look. "The Force is part of every living thing—each with its own unique signature. It is not meant to be bent, not to be twisted into anyone's will. What he and his followers practiced—it's not natural."
It was also irrelevant. Theron had heard the same rumors as her, and they didn't have anything to do with the subject at hand. "Trust me, I was there. I wasn't anything more than a punching bag and occasional pin cushion. Not even a good one as Dirai had to keep healing me half the time. Mostly, I was just bait."
He spat the last word, the familiar slow burn of anger and self-recrimination rising back up. That she had come away from that encounter relatively unscathed didn't chase away that ugly feeling still bubbling inside of him.
"Theron," the graveness in her tone pulled his focus back to the present, and he looked to see her staring at him intently, "he wasn't healing you."
His time in captivity came rushing back, and Theron felt a queasy sensation when he remembered the odd, sickening "healing" sessions after each interrogation. The blinding, burning pain in his side that had never gone away. The unnatural, slow trickle of blood that never quite stemmed over the duration of his captivity.
Oh.
Oh crap.
He sucked in a quick breath, and felt her squeeze his hand again, trying to comfort him. "What the hell did that sick bastard do to me?"
"I don't know exactly." Her words were quiet. "Your presence in the Force was… wrong. Twisted. It was still you, but like something dark and foreign had taken hold. Like you had been bound in more ways than one."
"But I'm not…"
"The Force flows through everything, Theron, even you." Her smile was sad, tired. "I can't claim to understand the purpose behind his twisted experiments. What he hoped to accomplish beyond causing suffering for suffering's sake."
This connection you share with the host, how deep does it run? The memory of the malevolent whisper sent a chill down his spine. Can they feel your pain?
It had just been mad jabberings, none of that nonsense about the Force and bonds was true. If there was a kernel of truth in each of his ravings, then that meant anything he said couldn't be dismissed outright. Theron didn't want to contemplate the darker ramifications of that, as he was far too bone-weary and tired to try and unravel those rantings. He could mention them to her, maybe get her perspective since she knew more about this sort of thing than him, but she looked just as worn out as he felt. Like she hadn't slept in the past week.
It was very possible she hadn't.
"How long was I out?"
"A day… two? Our shortcut took us far off the beaten path. Too far to get you to a medcenter." Her eyes darted away and she muttered, almost under her breath. "Not that it would have helped anyway."
He found himself frowning. "What is that supposed to mean?"
She still didn't quite meet his eye, as she shrugged one shoulder. "A doctor can stitch a wound, Theron, but it takes a healer gifted with the Force to mend that sort of damage."
That… really didn't sound good. He watched as she continued to avoid meeting his eye directly, and a sickening sensation started to bubble up in his gut as he stared at that unnatural, almost gray complexion of hers. "But you said I was going to be okay…"
"You are, don't worry."
As she shifted uncomfortably, that nauseous sensation morphed into something akin to dread, cold and hard like someone was tightening a vice around his chest. She wasn't a healer, and as a Jedi didn't have the deep knowledge of twisted Dark Side rituals like Dirai. But someone else in the room did.
"What did you do?" The question didn't come out as a shout, just a hoarse plea.
Even if she refused to look at him, he could still read her face like an open book, and this volume was littered with something akin to guilt and shame. Unconsciously his grip on her hand tightened, and she made to pull away. He held onto it, clinging like a lifeline, not allowing her to withdraw from him any more.
"Stop," she said quietly, "just let it go."
"No."
"Theron, please—"
"You didn't…" He had thought all of his anger and fear had been burned out by the fever, but apparently he still always had a little fire burning somewhere inside of him. "After all of this, everything that bastard did, you better tell me you didn't give in to that snake—"
"Valkorion wouldn't help!" she snapped, pulling her hand free with a quick jerk. "He said I should just let you die! That it's what you deserved for meddling with things you didn't understand."
"I wasn't meddling with anything."
"We're not stupid, Theron!" Pink rushed to her cheeks, the color standing out brightly against the gray pallor.
"We? Are you two suddenly buddies now?"
"No! Of course not! How can you even ask that?"
"I'm just trying to figure out what's going on here!"
There was a flash of color at the door, as if the third, almost forgotten (corporeal) passenger of their vessel had been summoned by the commotion, but had very quickly and wisely decided to be literally anywhere else on the ship. If only Theron had that luxury.
"You want to know? Fine! He knew what you were up to on Skeressa even before you told me. Or didn't tell me. What do you think he was droning on about earlier?"
"You could have told me that—"
"I was more concerned with trying to keep you alive!" Grey fixed him with a look. "Apparently I'm the only one in this room who has that as a valid concern!"
"That's not fair. I didn't mean for any of this to happen—do you think I just walked up to the crazy blood-letting cultist and let myself get captured? Do you think I wanted you to be lured into that hell? Or that I wasn't trying to escape every damn minute?"
"No, I…" She crumpled then. The anger, the fear, and what little color brought on by all of it drained out as she hid her face in her hands. "I didn't mean that."
He wanted to bury himself in that righteous anger, the flare of temper that had never quite been tempered despite all of Ngani Zho's training or the SIS's practicality. But something had a far stronger pull on him, and it surged past the heat of anger as she folded in on herself. It pushed past even the bone weary ache that had taken up residence in him, as he found some reserve to push himself into a half sitting position. He ignored the muted ache in his side trying to roar back up as the movement jostled it, one hand reaching out to brush against her knuckles.
"Don't… I'm sorry." Unfortunately while it gave him strength, it still didn't give him complete sentences. "I didn't mean it either. I just…"
He wasn't sure how to finish that, because he was a lot of things. Confused. Angry. Scared. None of which he liked being, because each of them robbed him of some measure of control. Which was laughable in a way, because here they both were obviously careening wildly off anything resembling that.
"You were dying, Theron," her voice cracked, "I had to do something."
"Not that." Anything but letting that monster win. "I'm not worth—"
She stiffened, dropping her hands so she could spear him with the most severe expression he'd ever seen her direct his way. When she spoke, her voice still shook with emotion, but there was undercurrent of steel backing it. "If I am worthy of what you went through, then you are worth sacrifice in equal measure."
Theron swallowed, all of the obvious, logical arguments against that flashing through his mind. The fact that the Alliance, the galaxy, needed her at the helm. Needed her to inspire everyone around them. Her, not the manipulative spirit walking in her shadow. That if Valkorion regained a physical form, he would likely enact the horror of Ziost upon the galaxy at large. The life of one spy wasn't worth risking any of that. Those were all very important reasons, and he did care about them. But he was also selfish, and the reason that rose to the surface had nothing to do with the greater good.
"I can't…" The words tried to get stuck in his throat again, but he pressed on, forcing them past the lump that had risen up. "I've already seen what this galaxy is like without you. Don't make me do that again."
"I am but one person. The galaxy can—"
"No," the dry rasp in his voice made his words hoarse, but they didn't take out the force behind his shout, "don't make me do it without you. Not again."
The hard expression softened, and she leaned across the distance separating them, gingerly cupping his face with a hand. "I am still here, Theron."
He almost asked for how long, but he stopped himself, forcing himself to swallow those words. It wasn't a fair question and he knew that. Even if some traitorous part of his brain whispered some variation on it at least once a day. Instead he rested his palm on top of the one cupping his cheek, and met her gaze, searching for any sign of the demon that lurked within.
She was the only one looking back at him.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I just… hate that he's doing this to you. Again."
"Me too," her words were just as quiet.
"And I promised… I promised you—"
She cut him off with a kiss, lips pressing against his firmly. They were both too drained for it to have any fire or promise of anything more. It was just a desperate need for connection, reassurance that they were both still here, at least for now. His hand slid up, tangling in her hair while the other slipped around her awkwardly, trying to pull her onto the cot with him. She shook her head, but he gave another insistent tug.
"That's not what I intended… you need to rest."
"I will. Just… stay?"
"This isn't appropriate." The words sounded more like they were meant for herself if the conflicted look on her face was anything to go by.
"I don't care."
"You're still healing," she said hesitantly, "I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't," he looked at her earnestly. "I just… need to hold you for a bit."
"Why?"
"I…" In his mind's eye he saw her crumbling away from his touch, and swallowed hard. "I need to feel that you're real."
It sounded more desperate than he wanted, but now that he had her this close, the thought of her pulling back away filled him with a numb sense of panic. It was stupid, he knew that, but that kind of logic still didn't have him loosening his grip on her. Her brows knitted together in concern, and briefly ran her fingers over his forehead as if to double-check her earlier prognosis was correct.
"Please?" he asked quietly.
Her resolve crumbled and she nodded and awkwardly shifted her position as he gingerly made room for her on the large cot. Though healing now, the jostling of the wound on his side had him biting down on his lip to control his reaction. She thankfully missed most of that, and by the time her head was pillowed next to him on the cot, he had managed to get it settled back down to a dull muted ache.
This close, there was no mistaking the ashen tone to her skin, or the way that her eyes glittered with the heat of a fever, or possibly something a little more sinister than just that. Despite that, the familiar light that was recognizably her shone through, dulled as it was by whatever had taken hold. His fingers lightly traced her jaw line, unable to completely smother his lingering concern.
"I'm sorry I yelled earlier," she murmured.
"Me too." He let out a long breath, weighing his next words carefully. "I just got scared. That all of this—that I—pushed you into making an impossible decision."
"It would still be my decision to make." Even as she dropped his gaze, her fingers tangled with his. "Your heart was in the right place, Theron… it just drowned out your logic."
"I know." He swallowed hard. "Not the first time that's happened."
Her lips twitched up into a sad smile, and used their entwined fingers to rest over his chest. "I'm not saying to ignore it… it's your best feature."
He could feel himself returning the half-smile with one of his own. "Not my hair?"
"I like that too," she said indulgently, "but I like your heart better."
Sometimes, she knew both exactly what to say to take him off guard while also making him want to roll his eyes. She could be just so charmingly sincere that he never quite had the proper response ready at the tip of his tongue. He shook his head softly at her, and found himself pressing a kiss to her forehead.
Even with just the quick brush of his lips, he could feel the heat radiating off it, and couldn't stop his frown. "You're not okay, are you?"
"Not exactly." Her eyes drifted shut, throat bobbing as she swallowed a few times. "Whatever Dirai did… his corruption seemed to be concentrated on the wound on your side, but it had spread, almost like an infection."
Theron didn't say anything, afraid that if he did then she might clam up again. So he just waited, letting his hand absently drift up and down her arm. The action was soothing, even if the skin under his fingers was much warmer than it should have been.
"I didn't know how to heal it, how to cleanse it," she said quietly, "and Guss's studies have really only begun. This situation was far beyond anything he's prepared to deal with."
"And Valkorion?" He asked it quietly, without a hint of accusation this time.
"He didn't offer his help."
She chewed on her lip for a moment, hesitating, as if she wasn't sure how to put to words what she needed to say. It was difficult for Theron to be patient, especially with the unease prickling at the base of his spine. He continued to stroke her arm absently, almost as a way to ground himself as he waited.
"Your body already had enough to deal with physically from your ordeal," she said finally, "and that corruption just kept spreading… so if I couldn't get rid of it, I did the next best thing."
The prickles of unease began to slowly climb up his spine. "What was 'the next best thing'?"
"It wanted a host to infect," she said quietly, "so I gave it a new one."
That unease migrated from his spine, settling into his chest as his next breath hitched and he stared at her in horror. "You did what?"
"Funny, that was Valkorion's reaction too." Her mouth curved up into the beginnings of a smirk. "Although I believe his concern was a little more self-centered. He doesn't like sharing."
"No," Theron whispered hoarsely, fingers digging into her arm unconsciously, "that's not… please tell me you're joking."
"I was running out of options and time," she said quietly, "and I was not going to let you die without doing everything in my power to stop it."
"So I'm just supposed to watch you die in my place?" His voice was raising again. He didn't particularly care.
"I'm not going to die." She met his panicked gaze, the fever shining brightly in her eyes. "He may not have wanted to help you, but I am another matter entirely. Valkorion has already shown that he will bring this body back from the brink of death. If he wishes to hang around uninvited, then he must earn his keep."
"That's insane." The vice around Theron's chest continued to tighten, making it difficult to breathe. "You can't gamble—"
"It is already done," she said firmly. "It is… uncomfortable, but I am healthy and able to fight it. I believe he doing so as well, as he has been quiet ever since I finished pulling Dirai's corruption out of you. An imperfect solution, but we work with what we are given."
Of all the reckless, boneheaded, idiotic risks, this was probably one of the biggest ones he'd seen her take. He was acutely aware of the irony of it, but was too incoherent with umbrage to properly express his feelings on the matter.
"I know you are angry with me," she continued on, "just as I am with you for risking your life as you did."
"You're damn right I am!" he finally sputtered. "What the hell were you thinking?"
"I wasn't." Her eyes shut, trying to suppress a wince as a shudder rolled through her.
His anger bled away, the tight grip on her arm shifting until it wrapped around her back and she was gently cradled in his arms. "Are you all right?"
Grey pressed her lips together for a long moment, fingers tightening around him, before she cracked her eyes open again. "Any discomfort is temporary. Do not worry."
"It's too late for that."
"I suppose so." She let out a small sigh. "I apologize for that, I don't mean to cause you any undue distress."
They were both a mess, that much was clear. It was probably the will of the Force that Theron had wound up with someone so irritatingly stubborn and rash as him, willing to take the stupidest and craziest risks to try and save the day. Or perhaps he was just rubbing off on her in more ways than he'd thought.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean for this to happen."
Her eyes crinkled up as she graced him with a wistful smile. "I know. You just wanted to help. Everything just kind of… escalated."
"Story of my life." He gave a wry, choked laugh, but there was no humor in it. "Somehow kriff things up ten ways from Taungsday without even trying. Imagine what kind of damage I could do if I put in effort."
"We will both recover from this," she assured him. "We just might have to spend some time in the medbay and with the Enclave's healers when we get back home to do so."
"I'm kind of preferring a hole to crawl in right now," he mumbled.
"A bed is much more comfortable. Not to mention practical."
"How can you joke about this?"
"I am very tired," she admitted, "it's probably affecting my judgement some."
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, "after everything, you've earned some rest."
"We both have."
"I've been sleeping for days."
"Nothing about what you went through was restful," she said gently.
"No," he admitted quietly, the snatches of nightmare resurfacing, "but are you going to be able sleep with all of that inside you?"
"I can try." She looked away again, worrying her lip between her teeth. "I believe Valkorion is mitigating the worst of it."
"Guess he's good for something."
"It is most certainly not his company."
"You've got that right. He's the worst third wheel in the galaxy."
"For the moment I believe we are alone. I have the impression that it is taking most of his power to fight the infection, and he does not have time to eavesdrop." She glanced up at him, and there was the hint of a fear she wasn't ready to give a name to. "Since he came back out of hiding, he has not made an offer of power like he was so used to doing before. I think he's moved on from negotiating for control. I don't know what he's planning, but I have a bad feeling about it."
That cold lump of dread settled again in his stomach, and Theron found himself being the one to give a reassuring squeeze to her. "Maybe he's never had a plan."
She smiled wanly and shook her head. "He has been around a long, long time. That doesn't happen by accident."
Theron wanted to offer some sort of platitude or reassurance that they would figure something out, find some way to extract that monster from her head before he had a chance to make his final move. Unfortunately he couldn't do that truthfully, because he had been trying to do that for so long and just kept running into wall after wall. His opponent had nearly fifteen hundred years to come up with all sorts of contingency plans, not to mention erase records and knowledge of what he had done and how to undo it. It was possible that the solution to this was out of Theron's hands, but accepting that felt akin to giving up. He might have screwed up, made a mistake about how he tried to handle this — but she of all people didn't deserve this endless nightmare. And even if he didn't have the answer on how to stop it, he couldn't let her walk this path on her own.
"He already made his first mistake," Theron said quietly, "he'll make another one."
"His first mistake?"
"Yeah." Theron pulled her closer, until their noses were almost touching. "He picked the wrong Jedi to mess with."
"I suppose he did," she said quietly.
Her lips twitched into a half-smile as she stared at him in that way that always made his chest feel a little tight. The world around them faded away at the edges and time itself seem to slow — almost like he was catching a glimpse of eternity. Something beautiful, endless, and impossible to look away from.
Theron let himself get lost in the quiet moment. The feeling of her pressed in close mingled with her soft, rhythmic breaths puffing gently against him. Every sensation a small reinforcement of reality, rather than the nightmares that had plagued him. Drawing comfort in her presence and warmth, he slipped into his first peaceful slumber in days.