The first few posts of this story will be cross-posts from the Short Fic Thread. The last two I post will be all new content. Om nom nom.

This follows Ucles, the Bounty Hunter, and Geltie, the pit fighting slave turned Darth.

Enjoy.

Love

There is nothing in this Galaxy that I love more than my son. Not his mother. Not myself. Not even the Empire. Yes, it is blasphemy to speak such words, but, in my head, such thoughts are safe so long as I never betray them. And I won’t for I love my son and value his safety. I value his future. I have the means to make his future bright and it is impossibly so.

He’s Force sensitive and guaranteed a place on Korriban because of who I know. I don’t have to pull strings, or draw rank. I have an in with someone I daresay I never thought I could call friend again. But she is my friend nonetheless and my son’s future is assured.

There is something, something small gnawing at the back of my head. I must prepare. Whatever this feeling this, it grows everyday magnifying my dread.

The end is near and I can feel it. I must ensure my son is safe. He is the future of the Empire and he is all that matters.

Joke's On You

This has to be some f*cked up joke. Twice. Twice in one lifetime I’m set upon by Trandoshans. They’re looking for something. I can’t decipher their guttural, bone chilling language. I focus on one thing, the most important thing: getting my son out of this place. He doesn’t need to see his father die as well. I get him down the escape hatch and into the tunnels before the damn lizard catches up to me. My arm is up in self-defense then it’s gone. There’s pain. Pain and blood. Damn lizard is grunting something again. I spit in its face. I’m about to die anyway.

Hearing goes first then numbness sets in. Never felt it like this before. It’s final. The end is really here. Before everything goes black, I see the lizard’s head explode into a mist of blood and viscera. Can’t even feel it splash against my skin.

About time, HK.

Wasn’t expecting to wake up. Don’t know where I am or how long it’s been. Can’t really think.

“Assessment: You are regaining consciousness, Master. Query: How do you feel?”

Numb. I feel numb. I can’t feel my right arm. It must be gone. I’ll need a replacement. My son. Where is my son?

I open my eyes and look toward HK’s voice. “Where is my son?” Sweet stars, is that my voice? I sound old. Tired. Dead.

“Statement: I do not know, Master. After liquidating the undesirables, the estate was set ablaze. Prideful statement: I ceased deleting undesirables to save your life, Master. Solemn assessment: The young master did not make it out alive.”

No.

No.

NO!

Not him. Not my son. I should have died protecting him like his mother did. My son. I can feel my throat constricting. My eyelids burn.

This has to be some sick f*cking joke.

And it’s not funny anymore.

Loss

I’ve lost everything. Everything I’ve worked for, everything I treasured. Everything taken from me. Items I can replace, some can be replicated from memory. I can replace my arm. It was cybernetic up a bit past the elbow. I can’t replace my son.

HK is little comfort. He’s not supposed to be. He’s a bloody droid. He keeps going on about searching the HoloNet for information and I can’t see why he’s bothering. Can droids feel guilt? Maybe. Maybe he’s just defective.

Lanniter Droge is a funny little man. He’s upset the arm was destroyed. He could have fixed it, he says, could’ve extended it. I don’t much care. I just need an arm.

He makes the arm in less than a week. Looks just like my old one. Minus the glove. Beggars can’t be choosers. Well, that’s not true, they can, but it’s rude. I am not a rude man. Then again, I’m no longer a man. I’ve been erased. My family has been erased. All because of a vengeful Darth’s bloodlust.

He’ll get his.

And I’ll be there when he does.

HK gets a lead on where my past belongings are. It’s weird to think of him as a belonging. My son. A child. A boy. He’s barely eight years old. He should be on Korriban instead he’s here on the selling block. And I can’t afford him. It’s pathetic. I’m pathetic. The only thing to do now is manipulate the sale. And I can do that.

No one pays any mind to the scruffy looking, dirty bastard looking at slave trades. Probably think I’m here for unsavory purposes like the rest. If I can get the boy purchased by a no or low kill slave fighting pit… I’m taking a gamble. On my son. On the chance his training will kick in, no matter how insignificant it seems. I can barely keep the bile down where it belongs as I do this. As I take a chance.

I find a name, Lister Scro, and get him priority bidding. I know the name. Seen it on a few listings for pit fights and job opportunities. It’s my only in. If he wins the bid.

I’m taking a gamble with both our lives. And my son is completely unaware.

Forgive me.

Identity

I’ve changed how I look as much as I can without surgery. A simple visual interface covers my eyes, hiding their color. Sophisticated little thing. Gives me a rundown of the local area, optional speech paths to take, projects an image of a scarred visage and manipulates an implant in my neck dropping my voice an octave or two.

I let my hair grow out. It’s all grey now. Nothing for it. I chalk it up to stress and experience. Long at the top and slicked back, but trimmed around the edges. Professional sleazebag. Let my face get scruffy, let my eyebrows get bushy. No finely trimmed Bounty Hunter would be taken seriously.

That’s the last change there. The title. I’ve already picked a name.

Ucles is my name. Targets are my game.

People who get that joke always laugh.

Hatred

Lister Scro is a slimy son of a b*tch if I ever met one. I knew he would be going in, but talking to him face to face, listening to his keening voice as he mewls over his slave girls. I want to bash his f*cking skull in.

I’m a bodyguard for the pit fighters. Some of ‘em are Force sensitives. I ask him first chance I get how he’s able to keep these sensitives under the Empire’s nose.

“Hutta is neutral,” he says.

“Don’t explain how you keep ‘em here without getting raided,” I say. He must think I’m worried about my life. He gets this weirdly calm look on his face and tries to comfort me with his voice. It’s not going to work.

“I release the ones who survive at sixteen. From there, they go to Korriban.”

I hate his f*cking voice. “How many survive?”

“Enough to keep it profitable.”

F*ck you. F*ck you with a rusty lightsaber hilt, you scum pile. “Nice.” I hate my voice.

“I’m glad you agree.” He leans to one side and reaches for one of his girls. She barely flinches. When I get the chance, this man is dead.

I’ll make the f*cking chance.

Recognition

When I look into the mirror anymore, I don’t see me. Not the me I’m used to. My eyes aren’t as sharp, my hair’s not as dark. I look tired. I look old. I do this once a week, at least. Stare at myself. Look into my own eyes. I do it to remember who I am. Who I was. Who I am beneath this mask. Who I was before the mask. Who I still am.

I still see the echoes of the man I was. I still have the mark on my cheek. I’ve considered removing it recently, but, well, it’s part of me. I’ve grown used to it these last few decades. I’m almost fond of it. Almost.

Before the mask I was someone else entirely. I never dreamed of becoming this. I had killed before, but it was always a mission to further the Empire. Now I kill to further my wealth. I kill to buy my son’s freedom. His freedom, his return to the Empire will further it. He is the future.

He will return to the Empire and receive the recognition he deserves. Even if he never recognizes my efforts in the shadows.

I don’t need it, I decide. I can barely recognize my own face, let alone any accomplishments this… Ucles has made. That is my name, my alias, my mask.

I bring the mask over my eyes again and feel the silver locks engage over my temples. When I look up, the face isn’t mine anymore. There are scars that never were, eyes that never see the light of day in its purest form, and me, still with the contours of my old face, but forever changed by this tiny mask.

When I step out for the day, I am recognized as Ucles the Bounty Hunter. No one knows my past. And if they look, I am a man who came from the mists. To shoot them in the face.

Such is life.

Turn to the Left

He never considered himself a vain person. No, growing up in the slave pits as a pit fighter tended to make one rather fashion unconscious. If he wasn’t covered in dirt, sweat, tears, blood, vomit, or any other variety of bodily fluid, he was in rags. When he made it to Korriban on some sort of scholarship, the damn clothes had been included. Nice clothes. Soft clothes. Blood free clothes! Well, until he started training, anyway. And it wasn’t always his blood. The drycleaners were rather good at removing blood and staying silent. He liked them.

He looked at himself in the mirror and smirked. He looked a lot like his father dressed like this. He straightened the collar on his uniform tunic. Yes, he was dressed as an Imperial Officer despite his Darth rank, but he wondered if things had been different if he would have been an officer just like his father. Perhaps better than his father. Despite his numerous short comings, all of which he admitted to him as a boy, his father was loyal until the day he was murdered. He remembered that day with frightening clarity despite the many years it had been.

He brushed his hands down his sides and tugged at the bottom of the tunic. He turned to his side and checked his bum in the mirror. If being a Sith in uniform didn’t get him a bit of tail, his tail would get him a bit of tail.

The door to his room slid open.

“You look good, my Lord,” Rylee said as she entered the room.

“I always look good,” he replied, grinning at his reflection.

She chuckled softly. “That is rather true.”

He turned to her and tilted his head to the side. “Do you need something?”

“I just wanted to see you off.”

He grinned wider, cupped his chin in his hand, and cocked his hip to one side. “That’s all?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. Her cheeks blossomed into a cherry red blush.

“If you want a quick one, just ask,” he said as he flashed his teeth.

“I – I – y-yes. If you have time I…”

“On the bed, then.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s not an order, dammit.”

“I know.”

Valid Question

“Stars, Rylee,” Gelt said quietly.

“It’s a perfectly valid question,” she replied.

“No, I have never been in love. There was someone when I was a kid, but that can’t be defined as love. I was a child, I had no idea what love was.”

“What was she like?”

“Does it really matter?”

She shrugged. “I suppose not.”

He rolled over top of her and grinned as he balanced on his palms. “Round two?”

“Do you even like me?” Rylee spluttered.

He rolled his eyes and rolled back to his side of the bed. “Stars, Rylee.”

“It’s a perfectly valid question.”

“I’ll put it this way: you’re the only woman I purposely seek out.”

“I’m flattered.”

“You should be.”

She laughed then rolled over him as he had her, bracing her palms on his shoulders. “So… round two?”

His grin was all teeth. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Firsts

“When was your first time?” Rylee asked quietly. She was rather bold, asking such a question, but Gelt never minded her or her curiosity. He rather liked it, actually. It’s why he kept coming back to her. She was refreshing and sweet, ambitious and smart, but not – well, she was decidedly not Sith. He liked that most of all.

“I was fourteen,” Gelt replied. “Both slaves, obviously, but we managed to sneak away for a bit.”

“What was she like?”

“She was a sweet girl all things considered. She had the most beautiful mind I had ever encountered. I was quite taken with her.”

“You would have to be to lose a game of HoloChess,” she said with a smile. She looked down at the board, made her move and looked back up at him. “Checkmate.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“I was taught by the best.”

“You were,” he said with a grin. “What’s your prize then?”

“Shirt.”

Drunknanigans

“Gelt, you really shouldn’t,” Rylee giggled.

“I can knock over that Nerf and run back here,” Gelt said, swaying on his feet a little.

Rylee broke into a fit of giggles and flopped onto the couch. They were at his estate on Dromund Kaas, an estate he had rebuilt after the fire, and they were both delightfully plastered on a very blue alcohol. He couldn’t quite recall the name, but it was an import from Csilla and very, very strong.

“That’s not – that’s not a Nerf,” Rylee giggled breathlessly. “That’s the bed!”

“I should toss you on it and we could have a rodeo,” he said seriously, looking at her over his shoulder. She laughed again and clutched her sides.

“Stars, Gelt, I can’t breathe!”

“I better use mouth-to-mouth.”

Rylee’s laughter echoed throughout the estate well into the morning.

No Need For Change

“If I told you I was pregnant, what would you do?” Rylee asked one morning over breakfast.

The question gave Gelt considerable pause.

“I’m – I’m not, I’m just asking because we aren’t always careful and we – we,” she stammered to a stop.

“Have an impressive amount of intercourse. Yes,” he said with a firm nod. “First, I would have you tested. If you were lying, I would kill you.”

“Just like that?”

He snapped his fingers, a spark of lightning igniting between his thumb and middle finger pads. “Just like that. However,” he said as he dropped his hand, “if you were pregnant, I would welcome you into my home on a more permanent basis.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

She smiled. “You’re not like any man I’ve ever known, Sith or not.”

“I am a wholly unique creature.”

“You are and I really – I really like that about you.”

“Good, I’m not changing who I am,” he said with a nod.

“Good,” she replied, “I like who you are as you are now.”

Sacrifice

“The man’s a bloody hero!” said a man.

“No Sith Lord’s ever done that before,” said another.

“’E saved lots of lives, ‘e did,” agreed another.

Rylee wasn’t at all surprised at the chatter from the men; she was surprised that there were so many clamoring to watch over their downed Lord while he recovered from the blast. A landmine, she was told, one that should have been caught in the sweep, but slipped through. By all accounts, most of which she had overheard, there was a shockwave before the blast that shoved every man away from the mine. Every man, but Gelt. Consensus was he used the Force to get the men to relative safety before purposely setting off the mine. He had his own defenses, of course, least of which being his shield generator, but no Sith was immune from concussive force.

When she was allowed access to his room, he was still unconscious and hooked up to a few monitors. She didn’t know what the monitors were monitoring exactly, they weren’t labeled, but one displayed a pulsing heart and that was enough for her. She settled into the chair next to the bed and alternated between watching his face and watching his heartbeat on the monitor.

“I’m here, Gelt,” she said quietly. His heart rate increased slightly. With a smile, she grabbed his hand and cupped it between her own. A small leap registered on the monitor. “I overheard from the men what you did. You’re amazing. They’re calling you a hero!” She paused and laughed quietly. “You’ve always been a hero to me. Saving Destris and I from Paladius, saving the cultists from Destris, saving me from Destris. I never did thank you for that. So, I’m not surprised you did something to save the lives of others. I think I’m surprised that others are so surprised, but, then I remember this is the Empire. I – I’m sorry, I’m babbling. I don’t know if you can even hear me.”

A small spark of lightning spiraled over her fingers and up her arm. It settled around her right ear. She laughed softly.

“I’m glad you can hear me. I should get going and let you rest.”

“No,” Gelt said or would have said if his mouth had moved.

“What –” Rylee started, surprised and frightened.

“Sound is a set of vibrations perceived by the ear. The lightning around your ear is my conduit,” he explained.

“But you’re unconscious.”

“I can still sense you and it doesn’t take much to control so little energy.”

“You should rest,” she said quietly.

“I am, but it’s boring.”

She laughed softly. “I’ll stay, but only to keep you company.”

“Tell me a story.”

She laughed again. “What sort of story?”

“One of those happily ever after ones, you know, the ones that don’t exist.”

“They do exist, Gelt.”

“Sure,” he said. She could feel him rolling his eyes. “Now shut up and tell me a story.”

She laughed again. “Very well. There once was a handsome Sith Lord…”

Odds of Hope

When Rylee first laid her eyes on the freckle faced kid who was supposed to save them from Paladius, she nearly rolled her eyes and threw him out. Zash had promised a warrior apprentice, not a boy. Zash was mocking them, she had to be. And, yet, the more he did the more he proved himself as something more. He was powerful, well spoken, controlling without being domineering, and oddly calm for a Sith. Despite his youthful appearance he was amazingly mature. She found herself seeking a private audience with him. He might have sensed it, she wasn’t sure, but he never approached her and he was very adept at avoiding speaking with her. It couldn’t be a coincidence that the moments she had gathered enough courage to approach him he suddenly was nowhere to be seen. Even that giant Deshade of his disappeared.

She was very disappointed when his time on Nar Shaddaa came to an end. It was all the more distressing when Destris started acting out. It took months, but it escalated to violence and threats of death if people wouldn’t join. She hated it and she hated him. She compared him to Paladius, that damnable Pureblood who had become obsessed with the power he had over his cult. That shut Destris up and, for a time, it was quiet.

Gelt, as he preferred to be called, returned every few months to check up on things. A simple holo call would have satisfied any other Lord, but him. He insisted on it. The more he visited, the more active he was with the cult and its effects on Nar Shaddaa the more she found herself interested. The fact that that interest was more than plain sexual desire confused her. She knew of her crush and he knew of it too, but she wanted to actually get to know him as a person. She wanted to get to know a Sith Lord as a person. It was so very strange.

He was open to her seeking him out for conversation and, as he aged, he avoided her sexual advances less. She hadn’t realized at the time of their meeting he was only sixteen years old. She knew he was young, but not quite that young. It was rather strange, however, to hear about his sexual conquests. He never hid the fact that he was very active and very desirable to many an appraising woman. She wondered why she was so different.

She didn’t have to wait for very long to find the answer to her question. He had invited her to his estate on Dromund Kaas, even sent for her to be picked up. Things were coming to a head with Thanaton, he told her, and he might not get another chance to see her again. She reassured him of her confidence in him, but he smiled that strangely calm smile of his and told her to come. She did. He took her on a short tour after she arrived and let her get comfortable while he cooked dinner. It was all very romantic to her: being invited to his home, being picked up and hand delivered to his doorstep, him cooking for her while she roamed the building.

After dinner they adjourned to the balcony attached to the main bedroom. It was raining as was normal on Dromund Kaas. He stood there, silent and thinking, as the warm rain soaked every inch of him. She was unsoaked, having been offered a rain shield.

He braced his palms on the railing and looked into the jungles. She mimicked his pose and waited for him to speak. Minutes passed without a word.

“I might die soon,” he said quietly.

She had been waiting for him to speak, but the sound of his voice still made her jump. He chuckled quietly and looked at her sidelong.

“Thanaton is powerful and learned,” he said, turning his eyes back toward the jungle. “I am easily twenty years his junior and he is a Dark Council member. The odds are not in my favor.”

“You’ve beaten the odds so far, haven’t you?” Rylee asked quietly. She sidled closer to him until her elbow nearly touched his. He smiled. “You have a history of living despite the things thrown at you. At least, from what you’ve told me.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “I am quite stubborn. Something I inherited from my father.”

“Then Thanaton is nothing in the face of you. I have faith in you.”

“I will take it to my grave.”

“You will live as you always have. You will rise and become even more than you are now. I know hope and faith aren’t in the Sith teachings, but… I have faith in you. I have hope that you will return to me.”

He turned to the side, braced his hip against the railing, and crossed his arms. “Return to you?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. She didn’t move to face him, but the challenge was there. It was up to him to make his move if he so desired. She desired it to be so. And it was.

He tapped her on the shoulder and she turned to him. With a tug of her arm she was in his. His embrace was gentle and unsure, his face open and hopeful. She smiled up at him and wrapped her arms around his neck, tilting him down, urging him to press their lips together. He was nervous. As such, his control slipped enough to short out her rain shield generator. He apologized profusely, embarrassed that he still had issues with controlling his powers, but it didn’t matter much to her. The sting from the shield shorting out was nothing compared to the feel of his lips against hers. It was made all the more electric by him letting go, just a little, to ignite the air around them with a static charge. It was dangerous for him to do such a thing with so much lightning in the air, but it heightened her senses. When he pulled away she was bereft at the loss of contact. He smiled down at her with that calm, assured smile of his.

“Hope, hm?” he murmured quietly.

“Yes,” she replied. “Hope.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

She smiled, her face positively glowing with happiness. His smile persisted as he led her back into his home and closed the balcony doors. Their time together was to be enjoyed in private. And it was.

It Begins

“When I heard Darth Occulus hadn’t been up to his usual womanizing ways,” Ravage said, starting in on Gelt for the hundredth time this meeting, “I thought ‘He could be’,” he paused here and curled his lips, glaring at Gelt like the trash he thought him to be, “’in love.’” He spat out the word “love” like venom on his tongue.

Gelt stared at him with an amused half-smirk. Far be it from him to goad the man into an argument, but if he wanted to start one, far be it from him to deny Ravage the chance to be verbally beaten down. That’s all these meetings ever produced anyway. Might as well have a bit of fun at Ravage’s expense.

“I did a little investigating,” Ravaged continued. The way he wrapped his tongue around “investigating” sent a shiver down Gelt’s spine. “I found your little wh*re.”

Gelt put on his best bored to tears face and stared at Ravage with half-lidded eyes. “Is there a point to all of this?”

“Of course there’s a point, whelp!” Ravage snarled. “Your little whore was captured in an area she shouldn’t have been in.”

“I’ll be very upset if you broke my toy.” He would be more than upset, he would be devastated.

“Under torture she admitted to breaking into the archives for the purpose of obtaining maps.”

“I’d call my mother a hussy under torture, Ravage, that confession means nothing.”

“Except she had maps on her person.” Ravage sat back in his chair and smirked.

Gelt frowned. “Where is she?”

As soon as he asked, he wished he hadn’t. Ravage smirked that damn winning smirk of his and turned his head toward the door that led to the back room. Gelt turned his attention to the door and watched as a barely conscious Rylee was dragged in by two unknowns. Her two escorts threw her to the floor and walked off. She made a noise as she hit the floor, but didn’t move or make any other sound. Gelt sighed dramatically and left his chair. He was deeply concerned, of course, but showing it would mean a challenge and a challenge would likely end in her death. It wasn’t worth it. Not to him.

When he reached her, he flipped her onto her back with his foot. She made another pained noise then lay silent.

“Where’s your evidence, Ravage?” Gelt asked, still looking down at Rylee. She was covered in burns. Her clothes were patchy and spotted with blood. Lightning and knives, most likely. She would recover a little worse for wear, but she would recover nonetheless.

“I left it on her person. Have fun finding it.”

“Did you take drama lessons from Vowrawn?” Gelt quipped. He knelt down next to Rylee and patted her down. She flinched and whimpered at his touch.

“It’s in my pocket,” she whispered hoarsely. “Star chart…” Then she was quiet again.

Gelt reached into her pocket and pulled out the chip containing the information she had procured. Without a second thought, he slipped it into his datapad and loaded the information. The files were from the late Darth Baras: ways to extend the conflict, ways to become the Voice of the Emperor, his spies entrenched in the Jedi Order on Tython. Tython. Tython wasn’t on any Imperial map and he had only heard of it from his mother once or twice before her death.

“Once again, Ravage, you acted first and thought after,” Gelt said as he stood. “I have here something that will win us this war.”

“The suspense is killing me,” Ravage drawled.

“Shut up and let him speak,” Marr said.

“Please continue,” insisted Mortis.

“How many of you have heard of Tython?”

Planned

“I had this all planned you know,” Rylee said idly. “Ever since you let Ravage take me.”

Gelt’s head was spinning. The last few weeks came to him in a rush. The invasion of Tython, a victorious blow to the Republic, Rylee in his arms, Rylee keening under him. Rylee.

He tried to draw his head up, but found every part of him heavy. His energy was drained. The Force refused to come to him.

“Never do that again.” It was his voice, but he wasn’t speaking. “Never do something like that again.”

“No, my Lord,” Rylee replied.

He shook his head and forced himself to regain his bearings. That happened weeks ago, he was sure. Yes, it had. He was tending to Rylee after retrieving her from the Council floor. He had taken great cares to keep her protected, but if she went out of her way and out of his bubble… there wasn’t anything he could do to protect her. She knew this. He had verbally beaten it into her skull every time she was visiting. Do not leave the estate unless it’s under guard. Do not bother any Sith. Do not look at any other Sith. Do not breathe on any other Sith. Stay quiet, stay alive. Stay respectful, keep your head. She knew this. She knew all this. He hadn’t let Ravage do anything; she walked right up to him and slapped him in the face. It didn’t matter what she was doing or why. It didn’t matter that it was for the Empire. She had crossed certain boundaries she shouldn’t have. She should have told him. She should have – dammit, she should have stayed away from the political sphere. She wasn’t versed in it. It was nothing like the Cult.

“What have you done?” he asked. He spoke slowly, his tongue like freshly poured duracrete in his mouth.

“The Three helped me come up with the plan,” she said with a slight giggle. “You remember them, right? You were so kind, making them join us instead of replacing Destris and I. You promised to protect the Cult from harm. To protect it from Sith. To protect me. You failed. You failed really hard.”

“You shouldn’t – shouldn’t have been in the archives. If you had information –”

“If I had information, what?” she interrupted. She jabbed something into his side and delighted at his grunt of pain. “I wanted to help. I wanted to help my Lord, my leader, my Geltie. You didn’t even notice. You didn’t even notice I went missing. Where were you?”

“I told you I had business in the Citadel. You snuck out on your own. You – agh!”

Rylee smiled as the current from the shock collar around his neck flared to life at the press of a button. How interesting it was to see a man who could control lightning with barely a thought be so susceptible to it. It made a bit of sense, really, if she thought about it.

“This isn’t about me, Gelt. Or should I call you by your real name?” she asked. She didn’t wait for an answer. Instead she depressed the shock collar trigger again and delighted at his screams.

He wanted to overload the collar. He wanted to break free from her torture and kill her. That thought disturbed something, somewhere in his mind. But the sound of his own screams, the weakness in his limbs, his disconnect from the Force.

Grey mingled with purple in his vision. She would not survive this night.

Even if it killed him.

She was dead. He knew that much. If it hadn’t been for the smell of ozone in the air, the smell of burned flesh would have tipped him off. And the way she screamed. Now it was silent outside of a slight sizzling to his left. He felt sick. He wished he knew where he was. He couldn’t recall how he had gotten to this place, how she had tied him up and kept him drugged until she was ready to dole out her punishment.

No one would find him here. He’d starve to death before he could work his way out of the bonds. His only defense, his lightning, was once again lost to him. He felt numb and sick at the same time. It was a weird mixture of needing to vomit, but being unable to.

He wished he could see. He needed to gather clues as to his location and try something, anything to get to a terminal of some sort to signal for help. For a time, he was convinced he was blindfolded. When he realized his eyelashes hit air and not cloth the pit in his stomach deepened.

Then he picked up the slight rise and fall of footsteps.

“Oh, dear,” said Talos.

Relief flooded through him. He didn’t care what brought Talos here or who, only that he was here. Only that his medic was here and he was safe. He could have cried.

“What’s the kid’s prognosis?” asked a voice. Male. No accent. Possibly Ucles, though he never seemed medically inclined.

“He’s been touch and go for the last day,” replied another voice. Male, Imperial dialect. It was likely to be Talos, his personal medic. “He had a large and varied amount of poison and sedative in his system. He has a few superficial cuts to his skin and a few deeper ones located primarily in his torso. There’s a particularly nasty one near his heart and it’s all I can do to ensure it isn’t worse than it looks. I’ve hesitated to call for a medical team because of his position, but it may no longer be an option.”

“Why’s that?”

“I can’t keep him going on my own.”

“All you had to do was ask, Talos. Mako’s damn near a doctor and I’ve got more experience than you’d think. Between the three of us, kid’ll live.”

“I can’t approve treatment from two non-certified –”

“It’s fine, Talos,” Gelt said. He was surprised at the amount of energy it took to say those three words.

“My Lord, you’re awake!” Talos squeaked happily.

“Not for long.”

“Oh, oh right. Right. Ucles and Mako want to help. Is that – is that alright?”

“Yes…”

He didn’t hear anything that made sense after that. Everything was distorted and stretched thin. He felt himself floating. He remembered drinking the poison Ergast offered him. He remembered the taste of bile and sewage. He remembered leaving his body for the strangest experience he had had up to that very moment.

He remembered the power then remembered nothing.

Cross My Heart

I remember trying to get my wife pregnant. It was an oddly trying time for both of us. She monitored her cycle, chose the best times of day, listened to old wives’ tales of conception. It interfered with my work, but I loved her and made due.

The first time we were successful we were ecstatic. She started planning as soon as the results were positive.

Three months in we lost them. We lost our twin girls.

I let her know it was alright. It wasn’t her fault. These things happened. And it was true. She believed me, of course, I had no reason to lie.

It got harder for her to believe me when we lost the next one. Another girl.

She thought something was wrong with her. She went mad with worry and went to specialist after specialist until one told her what she wanted to hear.

We suffered another loss before our son was conceived. By then the damage had been done. She stayed in bed for much of her day, ate the healthiest foods she could find, listened to every bit of paranoid advice concerning the child. She was a walking incubator. She wouldn’t even let me sleep in the same bed as her. She didn’t want anything to jostle her stomach.

We grew apart over those long months.

When he was born, I was relieved. I wasn’t happy, I was relieved. The pressure of her pregnancy was finally gone. I could focus on my duties again without as much worry over her safety. Over her sanity. I could hold my wife again. I still loved her. I still wanted her. I wanted to be close to her again. I wanted to feel the smoothness of her skin against mine. I wanted to hold her and kiss her and tell her I loved her.

She doted on that boy the moment he was in her arms. She named him after me. She wanted a little Ucles at home while I was away. He looked enough like me to carry the name well. I would have preferred him to have a unique name, but she was insistent and, after everything we had been through, I couldn’t deny her this.

As he aged, though, he seemed to hate her. He shied from her touch. He screamed when she picked him up. He was never like that with me. In fact, I was all he wanted when he needed comfort after a tumble or a tantrum. She was convinced he knew she had lost the others. She convinced herself that our son, our little lightning spark, blamed her for their deaths. The deaths of his siblings.

There was no possible way he knew. I told her that. There was no one to blame for the losses. I didn’t blame her, but I knew she blamed herself.

One day she asked me if I thought she was crazy. I told her no. I told her I loved her and knew the grief she suffered.

She died protecting us.

It was all I could do to paint the prettiest picture of his dead mother whenever he asked. He didn’t need to know his mother was broken.

He asked me, years later, what she was like. He already knew. He had the journals. I hand delivered them.

I painted the prettiest picture of his dead mother.

His smile, knowing in its youthfulness, was just like hers.

It pains me to this day.

Wish

Wish I could’ve been there. I would’ve given that b*tch what for. Would’ve left her alive long enough to find out what the hell she did, what the hell she used on him. Made her death slow.

At least she’s dead.

Kid might die, though. He’s not even trying. It’s like he’s given up. Mako thinks I only care because of the paycheck. Is that who she thinks I am?

Of course it is, she doesn’t know.

I can’t tell her. She’ll have a fit. Leave, I bet. She’s a good kid. He’s a good kid. They’re both good kids. We’ve got a good thing going here. I don’t want to ruin it.

No matter how much it hurts.

Still, I think she suspects something. She’s not very careful about covering up her tracks. Either that or I’m just damn good at finding them. She’s been in my things, too. Analyzing the steps I’ve gone through to get the stuff the kid wants.

I’ve asked her not to pry. Told her it’s none of her damn business and to leave it be.

She can’t.

If she’s not careful, my past will catch up to her. And it ain’t pretty.

Don’t matter much now. Gotta focus on the kid. If he goes everything was for nothing. Can’t live with that.

I study my face in the mirror one last time before heading back to the kid’s bedside. I’m old. I’m old as f**k. Life’s beaten the sh*t out of me. But the kid.

Kid’s got a chance. Kid’s got a life. Kid’s got power. Kid’s gotta live.

Ain’t nothin’ else at this point.

Kid’s gotta live.

I repeat that in my head as I take the chair next to his bed. His breaths are shallow, his skin is pale and clammy. I’m watching this kid die.

I feel something burning in the pit of my stomach.

Kid’s gotta live.

Ain’t nothin’ else at this point.

I See

Rylee. It was the only coherent thought in his head.

Rylee.

Then pain.

Rylee.

Then death.

Rylee.

He could breathe again.

Rylee.

She was finishing the job.

Rylee…

Rylee…

Rylee…

Get Better, Dammit

Kid’s not getting any better. He crashed five times on the way back to Dromund Kaas. Five times. That ain’t normal and the void damned blood analysis is taking its sweet time. Annoying piece of machinery.

Talos is in a bit of a panic, but talking seems to help. So I talk to him. He’s an interesting fella, got a lot of smarts, pays attention to the tiny details. All around good guy and loyal Imperial. We sit in the little seating area in the kid’s room and he offers me a drink. If I wasn’t on duty, I’d already have a bottle in my hand.

Kid’s gotta live though. Ain’t nothin’ else matter.

“It was Khem who alerted me,” Talos says. His voice is quiet. He’s tired, I can tell. He won’t sleep when I tell him to. He’s too worried he’ll wake up and his Lord will be gone.

I know the feeling.

“They’re got a weird connection right?” I ask. Weird isn’t enough to describe the strangeness that encompasses that giant Force eating beast.

“I don’t understand the ins and outs of it myself,” he says. I bet the kid doesn’t get it either. “I had – I had noticed Rylee acting strangely since the incident with Ravage. I took care of her after my Lord’s assessment. Oh, right, Gelt. He insists – after all this time.” He breaks off into a nervous chuckle. It’s a little endearing, I won’t lie. He’s kind of adorable. That’s weird. An adorable man, but he’s – can’t stay mad at someone like that, he’s just so earnest.

I think lack of sleep is getting to me.

“I’m an archeologist,” he continues, “I’m trained to look for the smallest clues to the big prize. I noticed her talking to herself in a frenzied pace. She would wander the halls with no goal in mind. Her HoloNet searches grew darker, but nothing that screamed ‘Stop her now!’ I feel like a fool.”

“Nah, no need to feel a fool,” I say. He looks at me, stares right into my visor as if he can see through it to my eyes to detect deception. “Hindsight is the best, worst thing in the Galaxy. Hindsight slaps you in the face while screaming at you, telling you were a fool. Hindsight punches you in the gut while telling you, you were right all along. Hindsight is the most confusing and enlightening entity there is. And it’s all in the mind. What you did, what you think you should have done, what happened, and looking back – those things you cannot change. It’s too late. What happened, happened. Gotta move forward though. Gotta keep going. Gotta keep the kid alive. He has to live, Talos, and if you’re too busy focusing on what you should have seen or done, you’ll miss the present. You’ll screw something up and the kid’ll die. Can you live with that on your conscious?”

He drops his gaze. Reality is harsh. Call me hindsight, because I feel as if I sucker punched this poor bastard.

“Yes, I – well, no, I cannot live with that at all, but, yes, I understand your meaning,” he says at last. “I think – I think I will rest a while.”

“S’all good, Talos,” I say. “Mako and I’ll keep watch.”

“Wake me,” he whispers urgently, “wake me if we are to lose him. Or if he crashes again. Or if he awakens. Please, please wake me.”

“I’ll give you a shout.”

He says his thanks and leaves for his bunk. I can feel his pain from here.

Or maybe I’m confusing it for my own.

Walk With Me

She’s here. He can feel her in his mind.

“Hello,” she says. She’s as quiet and as shy as the day they met. He liked her near instantly.

“Hello,” he replies. He can’t see a damn thing it’s so dark, but he knows her voice. It’s her. It’s his Rylee. No. No, she’s not his any longer.

“I don’t regret what I did,” she says. Those words stab him in the chest. “I only regret I didn’t do it sooner.”

“I thought you were different, Rylee.” Is that his voice? It’s raw and low. He hasn’t cried, he isn’t crying. Why does it sound like he is?

“I thought I was too. Then Ravage – it’s your fault, you know. You brought me here. You took me away from the Cult, away from my home, and brought me to the capital of death in the Empire.”

“You were safe,” he says. He doesn’t raise his voice, he hasn’t the energy, but the hurt is there.

“I was never safe. I could never be safe. I didn’t belong. You knew, didn’t you? You knew I didn’t belong there with you, but you wanted me anyway. You were selfish. Now we’re both dead.”

“I’m not dead.” His voice is pleading. He doesn’t believe it.

“You will be soon.”

A flash of light. Pain burning in his chest.

Screams.

Then a voice.

“It’s alright.”

He doesn’t – it couldn’t be. If it was that meant his search – his search was futile.

“You’re –”

“Here, yes.”

“But that means you’re dead, too.”

“No. I’m not dead. Believe it or not, I’m not dead. Not after all this time.”

The voice is tired and regretful. He wonders why. The voice urges him to wake up, to fight, to push on. To do something other than lie there and take the abuse, to lie there and die.

“I don’t have it in me,” he says.

“You do. You have to live. You have to.”

“Why?”

“When you recognize my voice, you’ll understand. And I hope you’ll forgive me.” There’s a pause then the voice returns, soft and pleading. “Please come back. Please come back to me.”

Something clicks in his mind.

For him, he will fight through.

For him, he will return to the waking world.

For him, he will reunite their lost lives.

For him, he will live.

That’s all that matters.

He has to live.

New Material!

For Someone Else

Kid wakes up three days later. I’m relieved. Kid’s been through enough in the twenty two years he’s been alive.

More than enough.

He may never love again though and that’s – that’s just sad. But he’s alive and that’ll have to be enough for now.

I know what it’s like, though. After my wife died, there was no one else. I didn’t want anyone else. Still don’t. I get the urge every once in a great while to take a woman into my bed. I never do. Sh*t can get complicated quickly. Not worth it. Did try once though. That was a debacle if I’d ever experienced one.

She left disappointed.

“I heard him,” the kid says. It snaps me out of my thoughts. Thank the stars for that.

“Heard who?” I ask.

“My father.”

“Ah.”

“I haven’t heard his voice in years. I – I didn’t recognize him at first. He disappeared when I was eight. Almost eight, anyway. It’s been four –” he breaks off into a fit of coughing. It’s all I can do to wait it out, make sure his heart keeps beating steadily before jumping into action. There’s nothing for a coughing fit. “Fourteen years,” he continues. He smiles a bit and chuckles quietly. “Makes me feel old.”

“You?” I ask. He chuckles again. He’s in a good mood. Good. I hope it helped.

He sobers up real quick. “Will my sight return?”

“I don’t know.” It’s true. I don’t know. I wish I knew. There’s always cybernetics, but the kid’s got good looks. It would be a shame to ruin them with new optics. I know a guy though. He fixed me up with my new arm. Realistic as hell this thing is. Even feels warm, self-healing. Damn Maker send, it is. Bet he could do eyes, too.

“Have you found anything else on him? Father, I mean.”

“I haven’t had time.”

“Then what am I paying you for?”

“Look, kid –”

He interrupts me. I shut up and let him.

“Occulus. My name is Darth Occulus and you will refer to me as such, you worthless hunter. Are we clear?”

He doesn’t want anyone near. He’s never insisted I use his title before. I’ve always called him kid. From the moment I found him huddled outside my door at the age of ten until now. Things change though. I know that. He knows that. I let him have this. Feels weird though, but even I can feel the fire he’s slowly stoking. I won’t blow it out. Kid deserves that much, at least.

“Sure, ki –” I catch myself. F*cking habit. “Uh, of course, my Lord.”

Feels like syrup on my tongue.

“Ugh,” he sighs. I think he hates it too.

He goes quiet. Went back to sleep, I hope. He’s got strength in him yet. He’s going to need it.

Revealed

He’s getting better. He still can’t see, but he’s making progress. We, Talos and I, routed out the poisons. Got that taken care of for the most part. Damage’s been done, but damage can be soothed or fixed or dealt with.

He’s dealing.

It’s kind of funny, all things considered, watching him interact with Mako. Kid’s smooth. Strangest damn thing I’ve ever seen. He tosses out flirts the better he’s feeling. If he can summon the energy to hit on her, he’s got a lot of energy. If his passes are more stumbles, he’s feeling terrible that day. It’s a good gauge.

He still can’t see a damn thing.

Mako’s out. So’s Talos. The rest of his crew is somewhere. I never know where. I never pay much mind to it.

He talks. He talks about everything. He talks about nothing. He just talks. It’s like he doesn’t want to go to sleep. He doesn’t want to dream. I understand that. I understand that better than most.

Now might be the time. The time to let him see. To let him hear. To let him know he’s not alone.

I’m scared.

I’m a coward.

After all this time, I still waffle in front of Darths.

I don’t know what his reaction will be. He’s strong enough now that he could kill me without too much strain.

That comforts me.

I don’t know why it does, but the thought of him killing me comforts me.

Maybe I’ve been hit on the head one too many times.

I want to, though. I want to give him this gift if it’s the last thing I do and damn it all it might be, but the kid needs this.

If he doesn’t kill me, I’ll retire and be what I should have been all these years.

“Hey, kid,” I say. Sh*t, I sound nervous. I am nervous.

He turns his head slightly. The cloth over his eyes doesn’t move. “Yeah?”

“The visor I wear, it – uh – it might be able to return your sight until we can determine whether or not it’s gone for good.”

He brightens up a bit.

“It might hurt a little bit.”

He doesn’t care. Says he can’t feel much anyway. I have a good feeling he’s about to rediscover his feelings by being punched in them.

I take off the visor, make a few adjustments and remove the cloth from his eyes. He’s looking at me and through me at the same time. Sh*t, there’s not even a bead of light in his eyes.

After this, even if I won’t see it, I hope there is. I hope a spark ignites the flames in his eyes. Even if he directs those flames at me and burns me down.

Moment of truth. I snap the visor on. Tiny probes mount the device to his face. Very little blood. He’s still looking at me.

I want to be the first thing he sees even if it’s the last I see of him.

He bolts up from the bed. He’s seen a ghost.

“Hello,” I say. My voice is back to its normal timbre. My Imperial accent there for all to hear. His reaction is visceral.

He lunges forward and I brace myself for his hate, his rage, his – he’s hugging me.

“Welcome home, father,” he says. His voice is tight with tears.

I sob into his shoulder. I never expected him to welcome me. I never expected my son to – I hug him for all I’m worth.

I should have told him sooner.

Hindsight is a son of a b*tch.

Notes:

Waking Up Hard

I wake up on the floor.

There may or may not be a hole in my chest.

Kid must’ve thought I was a dream. Something caused by all the medication. An illusion. I’m unfortunately real.

And so is the pain in my chest.

I have no idea where he is or where I am. I only know that –

OH SNAP

MUAHAHHAHAAHAAAH!!

Thanks for reading everyone!

Control

He’s mostly conscious. Gelt knows this, but he’s sure the man on the floor doesn’t. It’s his father. After all this time. After all of the pain he went through. His suffering. Everything.

His greatest deception.

He was a coward. He would always be a coward and a fool. He let his wife die, he let his son be enslaved. He watched his son fight others for his life and made money off him.

It made him sick.

He carves a pattern into the starburst scar in the middle of Ucles’ chest. The man doesn’t cry out. He barely registers there’s pain at all, but it’s there all the same.

Gelt doesn’t care. Why should he?

He’ll get the truth, though. He’ll get everything from this man before killing him.

He wants to know why.

Why he was left to suffer. Why this scum of a man deceived him.

Why his damn life was ruined.

And he would get his truths. By force.