Obi-Wan paced the corridor between cockpit and crew quarters, arms folded tightly across his chest. He paused to check the navicomputer, confirming Tatooine's coordinates were ready for a hasty departure if needed. Glancing at the chrono, he frowned. The delivery was taking longer than it should have.
He tugged at his mustache in restless worry. Perhaps he should not have let Lorna leave without him.
The Force had been laden with foreboding during the conversation with Barqul about hunting Jedi. The bounty hunter had not been engaging in idle conversation—he'd been fishing.
But Obi-Wan had no proof of Barqul's suspicions, and confronting him would have only confirmed them and destroyed their cover. If the Falleen truly knew something, Obi-Wan reasoned, he would have acted on it already.
He'd chosen to maintain their cover. Now, that decision gnawed at him. He wondered if the moment for caution had passed.
He turned sharply into the crew quarters, tossing their packs on a bunk and rifling through them until he found their lightsabers. He clipped them both to his belt and covered them with his robe.
Closing his eyes, he settled on the bunk and listened to the Force. It was eerily quiet, but with an encroaching darkness like shadows deepening in a forest at dusk. His senses stretched out, reaching out into the Force's current. Various life forms dotted the sprawling refinery complex. Though she stubbornly kept her mind closed to him, Lorna's life force still burned among them.
Barqul's did not. Either he'd moved too far away or—
Something was wrong.
He descended the Comet's ramp at a run, all his senses hyper-focused on Lorna's presence. Her signature possessed no fear, no alarm. Surely he would feel it if she were in danger?
The creeping darkness grew closer, shadows coalescing into something more solid. A ship approached, the engine's whine a distant echo in the darkening skies. His eyes swept the horizon, searching for its source. He finally caught sight of the ship across the ocean's waves, distinctive pronged wings silhouetted against the twilight.
His stomach dropped. A TIE Interceptor.
The TIE's engines doppler-shifted as it jetted over his head toward the refinery, flying so low it whipped his cloak around him. It carried a malevolent presence, steeped in the Dark Side. And it was headed right for Lorna.
He was sprinting into the complex before the roar of the engines could fade.
A few refinery workers stopped to stare at the man weaving through the refinery buildings, but he hardly noticed them. Sweat trickled down his back as he raced up the main walkway, his breath coming in controlled bursts. He locked onto Lorna's presence, letting it guide him through the industrial maze. The TIE's engines had gone silent—he estimated about a klick away from his position.
Even now, Lorna gave him nothing to indicate her current state. He gritted his teeth in frustration, tasting salt on his lips. Damned stubborn woman.
As he rounded a massive coolant tank, he heard what sounded like shots from a slug rifle echo from deeper in the refinery. His heart hammered against his ribs, and he pushed himself harder towards the sound, muscles burning as the Force flowed through them.
A tidal wave of terror slammed into him, a fear so cold it was as if he'd been plunged into frigid water. It hit him with such force he stumbled mid-stride, his hands flying out to catch his balance.
Lorna.
Riding that wave had been a frantic warning, a desperate need to keep him away. Something was coming. A threat so dire it had finally compelled her to breach her own defenses. She was begging him to flee. As quickly as it appeared, the connection vanished, her walls slamming back into place.
Her desire to protect him was so fierce he clutched his chest, as if he could contain the ache spreading there. But she was mistaken if she thought he would leave her. It didn't matter if he was running right into a trap, there was nothing that could convince him to turn back. His boots pounded the dirt pathway that wound through decaying structures, drawing closer to her position.
Then he heard her screams. Raw, agonized screams that echoed off metal, cleaving through the still night air.
Stars, he was too late. Lorna's presence in the Force flickered dangerously, growing fainter with each passing second.
His hand flew to his lightsaber as he spotted the abandoned warehouse. Without slowing down, he reached out with his senses. Two presences inside—Lorna's and the Dark Side wielder he'd sensed on the TIE. He ignited the blade, a blue glow illuminating his path as he barreled through the rusted doorway.
All he saw was the double-bladed lightsaber pointed at Lorna's chest, bathing her unconscious form in blood-red light.
"No!"
His Force push exploded from his outstretched hand, slamming into the woman standing over Lorna. The power of it hurled her against the warehouse's far wall. Her lightsaber clattered to the floor, the blades extinguishing.
Distantly he registered Barqul's lifeless body not far from the doorway, his neck broken. One less thing to worry about.
He dashed forward, his own saber raised defensively, eyes darting between the fallen Inquisitor and Lorna's still form. Up close, he could see that her tunic lay in charred shreds, lightsaber burn marks mapping a path of torture across her chest and shoulders. The sight tore through him like rancor claws shredding flesh, rending him to the bone.
He crouched beside her, two fingers finding the pulse at her throat while keeping his saber at the ready. Weak, but beating. Her face was ashen, her breathing shallow—she needed medical attention soon. A cold fury settled in his chest at the extent of her suffering.
His eyes flashed back to the woman. She was was pulling herself upright, sleek black hair falling into cold eyes as she shook her head to clear it. Blistered wounds marred the side of her neck, and she clutched an injured hand to her side. The burns only seemed to fuel the anger he sensed roiling off her. Her lightsaber snapped back into her good hand with a summoning gesture, both blades igniting with a snap-hiss.
"Ah, Master Kenobi," she spat. "You've finally decided to join us."
He rose from his crouch, feet slowly shifting on the warehouse's floor as he put himself between the woman and Lorna. His lightsaber hilt rose to his right ear in a defensive stance. "I believe I'm at a disadvantage. And you are?"
She held her lightsaber before her, and the twin blades began rotating around the circular guard, spinning faster and faster until they became a crimson blur. He ignored the distraction, patiently centering himself in the Force as he settled deeper into his stance.
"Don't tell me Lorna never mentioned her old friend," the woman scoffed, advancing slowly.
His hands tightened on his lightsaber hilt as understanding dawned. "Trilla."
Anger flared inside him on Lorna's behalf. The betrayal of a close friend. It was a wound he knew well. He stabbed his blade forward, throwing sparks where it ceased the spinning blur.
"So she did tell you about me. I'm flattered she thought me worth mentioning to a legend," Trilla said, lunging forward, her blades carving vicious arcs through the air. He parried, noting how she favored her left side due to the injured hand. "You two must have grown quite close while you've been cowering in the shadows."
"She spoke very highly of you," he said, driving a hard blow to her right. "I must say, I'm rather disappointed."
"How touching." She narrowed her eyes, testing his defenses with quick, probing strikes that he deflected with ease. "She always was overly sentimental. It made her that much easier to defeat."
"You mistake compassion for weakness. A common error among those who've fallen to the Dark Side."
She growled and leaped back, eyes darting to a braided metal hose coiled nearby. With a flick of her hand, the hose whipped toward him, snaking at his legs in an attempt to trip him. His lightsaber twirled, severing the hose into harmless segments that clattered to the floor. But in that split second of distraction, she had used the Force to launch herself upward, vanishing onto the catwalk that spanned the shadowy heights of the warehouse.
Gathering the Force beneath him, he sprang up after her, feet landing lightly on the grated walkway. Trilla had extinguished her blades, melting into the darkness, but he sensed her presence nearby. Her anger still burned, but beneath it lurked something deeper—fear.
She feared him, certainly; she knew herself outmatched against a Jedi Master, especially in her injured state. But there was something else. Someone.
Red blades suddenly blazed down from above, but he'd sensed them a moment before, raising his lightsaber to block as Trilla flew over his head.
"She wanted to protect you, you know," Trilla said, landing in a crouch at the cross-section of the walkways. "It was adorable, really."
He spared a glance down below where Lorna lay, unmoving. He was running out of time, needed to end this soon.
"She endured so much pain, refusing to let me into her mind. Kept you away as long as she could, even as her flesh burned. And you came anyway. I wonder if she knows how fortunate she is—a Master who actually comes back for his Padawan." Hatred flashed in Trilla's eyes and he felt pain ripple through her as she readied her saber. "But now you'll both die. She suffered for nothing."
His chest twisted, but he wouldn't succumb to her goading. "You underestimated her strength," he said as he advanced. "And here I thought you knew her so well."
Trilla's blade sliced through the catwalk between them in a shower of sparks, severing the metal supports beneath Obi-Wan's feet. As the section began to give way, he summoned the Force to propel himself skyward, somersaulting over Trilla's head. She pivoted, her lightsaber already in motion as his boots touched down on the stable portion of the walkway behind her.
She snarled and slashed wildly at his head. He ducked easily, spinning away and using the momentum to drive his own blade forward in a quick thrust. The tip caught her side, drawing a pained hiss as she staggered back.
She bared her teeth in a grimace. "You won't be so smug when Lord Vader arrives."
Obi-Wan froze. No. He's dead.
"Know of him, do you?" She smiled through clenched teeth. "Perhaps his reputation precedes him." Trilla swung her blades in a wide arc, but it was slowed by her injury. He sidestepped it on instinct, while his mind staggered under the weight of the revelation.
Anakin. Alive. He needed to get Lorna out of here now more than ever.
He dropped from the catwalk, landing gracefully between two tall shelves packed with crates. As predicted, Trilla followed, stumbling as her boots hit the floor.
He raised both hands in front of him, invisible grips reaching for the two tall shelves of storage crates on either side of them. With a sharp tug he brought both down, then back-flipped to dodge the falling crates.
Trilla shouted in rage as the wall of crates crashed down on her. Obi-Wan saw her raise her hands to protect herself, but there were too many of them. Within moments, she was buried.
He wasted no time, rushing to Lorna's side with his heart in his throat.
Pale. So pale. He scooped her into his arms, cradling her head carefully as he lifted her off the ground.
"Hold on, Lorna. I've got you."
He spared one last glance at the mountain of crates and shelving that had buried Trilla. She was still alive, he felt it, but she would not be able to follow any time soon.
He carried Lorna back to the Comet as fast as his legs would carry him. The ramp was still lowered and he bounded up the incline, holding tightly to Lorna's unconscious form. Inside, he placed her gently on the crew quarters' bunk before racing to the cockpit.
His hands flew over the controls, bringing the engines online. The Comet lifted off the landing pad, repulsors kicking up clouds of dust. He pushed the thrusters to maximum, angling the ship toward the atmosphere.
The Force plummeted suddenly into darkness, a black hole in his senses that stole his breath. A moment later, an Imperial I-class Star Destroyer blinked out of hyperspace, filling the viewport with its oppressive, angular shape.
Even without Trilla's warning, he would have known who was on that ship. A wretched, murderous awareness overpowered his senses, so focused on him he could almost see burning eyes watching him in the cockpit. All of the hatred, the rage, the resentment was so potent, for a moment, he was back on Mustafar, lava heating his skin, sulfur in his nose.
"Anakin…" he whispered, his heart stopped. The entire galaxy stood still.
No time. He pushed the hyperdrive lever. Stars stretched into blue-white lines, and the Star Destroyer vanished behind them, along with Savareen.
Only then did he allow himself to breathe. He set the autopilot and hurried to find the Comet's medpac.
Lorna was stirring when he lowered himself to sit on the bunk next to her, her skin clammy to the touch as she regained consciousness. Pained whimpers pushed past clenched teeth, her limbs shifting restlessly on the sheets.
"Lorna, my dear, be still. I am here," he said gently as he checked over her vitals. "I'm going to give you something for the pain."
He prepped the analgesic injection and carefully pulled aside some of her burned tunic to slide the needle into her upper arm. Only then did he allow himself to take in the full extent of her injuries. His face crumpled at the sight of it—six circular burns across her chest, each applied with perfect control to inflict pain without causing fatal damage.
Force, it was cruel.
Using the medical shears in the medpac, he started to cut away her burned clothes, delicately removing the charred bits of cloth from her skin.
"No! Stop!" Lorna cried out suddenly, trying to push herself upright. Dizziness overcame her and she fell back onto the pillow, breath hissing through her teeth. Her arms weakly tried to push his away.
"Lorna, please, you must let me treat your burns," he said, brows knitting together in confusion.
"Get your hands off me! Don't… don't touch…" Her eyes were unfocused, lids half closed. She was disoriented, dazed from the shock.
He reached out to her mind, trying to soothe it.
Wet lips. Death sticks. Hot blood. Good girl.
The flash of sensations came to him unbidden, the memories so intense he recoiled with a gasp. He withdrew quickly, not wanting to further invade her privacy. Only then did he notice the purple bruises at her throat where a hand had been, the welts at her wrists where they'd been bound.
Barqul.
His hands balled into fists in the blankets, his jaw clenching.
His stomach turned as the implications hit him—-she may have other wounds he couldn't see. He reached out, shaking hands hovering over her body as he searched for invisible hurts with the Force. She did have a broken rib on her right side, but he sensed nothing else. He released a shuddering breath in relief.
The bacta-infused pain medicine finally took effect, and Lorna's eyes drifted closed again. He reached out to brush a sweat-drenched strand of hair out of her face. Remorse hollowed a space beneath his ribs. If only he'd arrived sooner, if only he hadn't let her go alone.
He resumed the work of cleaning her wounds. She was still now, her breathing even, though the muscles in her face tensed when he peeled burnt material from raw skin.
He squeezed bacta onto his fingertips and tenderly applied the cool gel around each burn, watching the oozing redness already receding as the bacta did its work. Finally, he covered the wounds with bacta patches, then wrapped her torso in gauze bandages, one arm supporting her back while the other carefully secured the dressings.
She was stabilized, and medically, there was no more he could do for the moment. As the adrenaline faded, the wave of emotions he'd been holding back crashed over him.
All this time he'd believed Anakin had died on that lava bank. The horrific images of the last time he'd laid eyes on his friend were burned into his mind. To live after the wounds he'd inflicted... but Anakin was gone now, consumed and replaced by a creature of darkness. Vader, Sith Lord, hunter of Jedi. Who now knew he was alive, all because he'd allowed himself to be drawn back into the world beyond his solitude.
He slumped to the floor beside the bunk, knees bent with his head against the mattress. Their lightsabers clinked together where he still had them clipped to his belt. He took them off, each hand cradling a hilt.
Lorna's was lighter than his, and a sleeker design, with just enough golden-hued accents to give it an air of sophistication without being gaudy. There was something about it that was so unmistakably her. His eyes drifted to her pale face, watching as it twisted in pain even in sleep. Despite everything, he couldn't bring himself to regret any of it. Her time with him had been a gift, her light carving out the shadows he'd been dwelling in for too long.
After the kiss he'd been so certain he could extinguish the embers of his attachment. But seeing her lying there, broken and suffering because she'd wanted to protect him—he could no longer pretend he had the strength. He'd almost been too late. He'd almost lost her. And the thought of that happening somehow cut deeper than learning Anakin lived. She was precious to him.
He let the Force ripple through him until he could breathe without a lump catching in his throat, until his heart didn't ache so excruciatingly, until it granted some respite from the nightmare of his thoughts.