Wake

by Flamethrower

Title: Wake

Author: Flamethrower (flamethrower@thedeadcat.net)

Archive: Just MA for now, since my site hath been broken. *sigh*

Category: Q/O, AU

Warning: Politics

Spoilers: ...You know, if it weren't for the books still coming out, this would be a dead category.

Summary: Tenth story in the Lonely Place universe.

Series order: All ten parts to date can be found here, as well as on the Archive.

Feedback: Yes, please and thank you. (And if you've written me and not received a reply, that doesn't mean I won't. It's just been an interesting year.)

Thanks: to the folks who beta'd this piece - as always, you're all wonderful.

Classic Disclaimer: "Rob? That's a naughty word, we never rob! We just... sort of borrow."
"Borrow? Boy, are we in debt!"

In the wake of Chancellor Palpatine's treason and subsequent death, the Jedi Order had expected to deal with a Republic in turmoil. They had steeled themselves, ready to send out their remaining numbers once more... but the expected uproar never came. A galaxy that had been torn apart by almost three years of unceasing warfare had grown quiet, silenced when the Loyalist committee had revealed the true origin of the conflict.

In the days that followed, many of those who had dubbed themselves Separatist or Confederate put down their arms and called for peace. The Trade Federation unilaterally surrendered; the Techno Union and Banking Clans of Muunilinst followed suit, for most of their leadership had been killed during a Republic assault on Mustafar.

For once, the Senate had stopped its endless bickering. That sobered body had elected a new Chancellor in record time, even if the man in question had looked less than enthused with his new position.

Hostilities might have ceased, but many planets that had been trapped behind Separatist lines didn't even know yet that the war had ended. Ambassadors from both the Jedi Order and the Senate were being sent to every sector of space to spread the word, allay fears, soothe tempers, and assess damages. The refugees that had fled the Confederate war machine were beginning to return home, ready to rebuild. Trade routes needed to be re-established, and the smugglers who had been running weapons during the war suddenly found themselves in the unique position of being the only ones capable of doing so.

Qui-Gon Jinn couldn't remember ever being so busy, though he had known since his Padawan days that it was far easier to start a war than end it. When he wasn't up to his eyeballs in paperwork, reports, Council sessions, and negotiations, the Healers wanted to see him. Qui-Gon would grit his teeth and submit to mental probes and physical examinations, and at the end of the first week he was certain they had drawn enough blood samples to make a new humanoid. His strength was returning in fits and starts, helped along by intensive physical therapy and meditation. His energy had returned, too, and he was almost chafing against the restrictions that kept him from the training salles.

When Jale Terza returned to the tiny room where he'd been waiting, pacing back and forth, she gave him a smile. "No more caff for you, Master Jinn."

He forced himself to still; the thought of sitting down was almost abhorrent. "My apologies, Healer. I... seem to have more energy of late than I know what to do with."

Healer Terza nodded. "That's understandable. You're a thirty year-old human male in excellent physical condition. Except for that caff you've been ingesting in ungodly amounts, your body is pristine."

Qui-Gon smiled, though the expression was more of a grimace. To be honest, that youthful energy had come in handy, or he would have collapsed from exhaustion two days ago. He'd arrived at that morning's Council briefing only to be sworn at by Mace Windu for being too alert. They had all been running themselves ragged, and it showed, but Mace looked like he had last slept sometime in the previous century. It had been a mark of the other Master's exhaustion that he hadn't noticed when Adi Gallia drugged his tea. Underhanded, yes, but at least he was finally resting. "That is..." Qui-Gon trailed off, not sure he knew what to say. She waited while he struggled for words. "There is absolutely nothing wrong?"

"Master Yoda, half the Council, and most of the available Healers have given you at least one mental prod. We sense no Darkness in you. However it was done, there has been a perfect transfer of consciousness, memory, and spirit into this new body. You are genetically identical to every blasted bit of information we have on file for you from infancy through last month. The medical droids from Byss have also supplied us with all of the information from the cloning process."

"I'm not sure how I feel about something from Byss being in the Temple." Besides me. Healer Terza was direct, if sympathetic, but he disliked being reminded that he was walking around in a body he hadn't been born in. As if he could forget - he'd hung a towel over his bathroom mirror after the first day back in his quarters just to keep from seeing.

"Oh, believe me, we shared your sentiments. But the droids have said that once we are through collaborating, they wish to have their memories erased." She looked troubled. "Apparently, there are some things even droids prefer to forget. Regardless, they were most pleased to hear that your Force sensitivity has returned to normal. It... You were their first Force-sensitive project, aside from the clones of the Sith."

Some of what he felt must have shown on his face, for she gave him a reassuring smile. "You are fine, Master Jinn," the Healer told him. Then she grinned, tucking a strand of long red hair behind her ear. "More than fine. If I weren't happily bonded, I'd be reassigning myself as your Healer so I could try and strike up a courtship."

Qui-Gon sighed, smiled, and hoped he wasn't blushing. "You and half the Temple, it seems. If they're not staring at me for the... for the first reason, it's for the other one. Would you..."

"Qui-Gon." Jale shook her head, but her eyes were dancing. "For the last time, I am not going to break your nose for you. Given your past history, I wouldn't worry. I'm sure someone will break it for you soon enough."

He laughed, running his hand through his short hair. Damn, but that was still disorienting! "Any word on when I'll have to worry about shaving again?"

"After speaking with some of the medics stationed on Kamino, it looks like you've got a month or so longer before your hair growth returns to normal. You're stuck with a Padawan spike for now."

"Master Yoda has deigned to mention that it looks better on me now than it did when I was a Padawan," he muttered. Yoda was taking far too much delight in his discomfiture of late.

"I think that haircut was chosen for humanoids because it looks abominable on children," Healer Terza replied. "It took me some time to grow into the ears nature gifted me with. My Master nicknamed me 'Bats'. You can imagine why."

"I think the closest my Master ever got to a nickname for me was 'Gods, Padawan! Go down to the Quartermaster and have him get you some pants that fit!'" Qui-Gon said. The memory no longer made him smile, and that hurt worse than anything Tyrannus had ever done to him.

Her eyes were full of sympathy. "I am sorry."

"I'm not." Dooku had chosen his path a long time ago. Qui-Gon had been given years to contemplate his Master's betrayal, long before the rest of the galaxy learned of Lord Tyrannus's existence.

Healer Terza pursed her lips, as if she didn't quite believe him. "Very well. As far as I'm concerned, you are off physical restriction. You can start training again, though I'd suggest doing so under supervision so you don't push yourself too hard in the beginning."

Considering he had been waiting for that news for days, he was surprised by his sudden lack of enthusiasm. "Thank you, Healer." He took a step and then hesitated, waiting for her to release him.

She smiled. "Go on. Go and see him. I swear he seems better in your presence."

Permission given, Qui-Gon nodded as she stepped aside to let him pass. He hesitated once more in the doorway. "Will you... Will you be there tonight, Jale?"

She nodded, and for a moment rested her hand on his arm. "Tanak and I will both be there, Qui-Gon."

The room was private, for the sake of its sole occupant, and the lights were kept at half-power. Qui-Gon found himself hovering in yet another doorway, for there was someone else in the room. "Chancellor Organa," he said, offering him a half-bow when the man turned to acknowledge his presence.

Bail Organa scowled. "Oh, don't you start, Master Jinn," he said. "We're in private, and you've known me since I was in diapers."

Qui-Gon smiled. "I have indeed known you that long, Bail, but you have yet to stop calling me Master Jinn." Bail was yet another one who was proving that the only person having a hard time with his transformation was Qui-Gon himself. After an initial curious -and interested- stare, Bail Organa had treated him as he always had.

The dark-haired man gave him a wry smile in return. "So I haven't. But please, don't stand on formality here. I have enough trouble now that Senator Mothma and Senator Amidala have railroaded me into this position. It should be one of them stuck with this damned job."

"Bail, I don't think that the Republic is quite ready for Amidala to be Chancellor. That, and I know she plans to take time off when the children are born." He did not say that the Republic was not ready for Mon Mothma, either, for her views were too pacifist for the turmoil the galaxy would likely experience in the coming years. The war was over, but there were many riled tempers and grievances yet to be dealt with. Bail Organa, much as he hated the notion, was the perfect middle ground for the Republic to continue on.

"Padmé is absolutely frightening while pregnant, yes," Bail agreed, grinning. "If the Separatists weren't already calling for a truce, they sure as hell would be with her at the helm." His grin faded, and he glanced back up at the bacta tank. "How is he?"

Qui-Gon looked at the man floating in bacta, oblivious to their presence. Obi-Wan Kenobi had been in the tank since their return to the Temple. He had not awakened, had not even stirred when Anakin had cradled him in his arms, carrying Obi-Wan out of Palpatine's dark citadel. "Physically, Obi-Wan is going to be fine. If it weren't for the need to detox, the Healers would have removed him from the tank already."

"Detox?" Bail raised an eyebrow. "From what?" When Qui-Gon hesitated, Bail gave him a stern look. "Master Jinn, I am asking because he was - is - my friend, not because I have some political ulterior motive."

"Bail, you know as well as I do that there are many who are calling for the army to hunt down the remains of the Confederacy's leadership - and Venge is on that list," Qui-Gon retorted. It was one of the many things that concerned him, kept him from sleeping at night. "Forgive me if I am reticent."

"No apology needed, Master Jinn." Bail gave him a tight smile. "As for the rest? Not if I can help it. I won't pry further about the detox. Since you decided to be specific, however... how is he mentally?"

Qui-Gon turned his attention back to Obi-Wan, watching his copper hair move and twist, stirred by the currents that kept the bacta gel circulating. It was easier to track those copper strands, for when he looked elsewhere, all he could see were the black glyphs of the Sith. "He's... we're not sure. We..." His voice caught, for his brain was cruel and he could recall that last, chilling scream with perfect clarity. "When he is no longer sedated, there is no physical reason that he should not wake up. Whether he will actually do so remains to be seen."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bail lift his hand and press his palm against the transparisteel tank. "You'd better wake up, you stubborn bastard," Bail whispered, his eyes glittering in the dark with emotion and unshed tears. "You're the reason I'm in this mess."

Qui-Gon almost smiled. Obi-Wan had been called that a lot in the past week. Most of the swearing had come from the Healers, who had discovered they had a patient on their hands with a list of physical problems a mile long. Jale had been the one to tell the Council, flat-out, that Obi-Wan should have been dead, Force Light or no Force Light. "I'm sure he'll appreciate the sentiment, Bail."

"He'd better. I'm about to go risk my political career for him," Bail replied, but he was smiling. Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes, but Bail grinned and shook his head. "Watch the feeds for this afternoon's Senate session. You'll find out. In the meantime... you'll tell me the moment anything changes?"

Qui-Gon nodded. "I will make sure the message finds its way to you," he said, giving the new Chancellor another bow. Bail muttered an amused curse as he left the room.

The Chancellor's visit hadn't been expected, but Qui-Gon was not surprised by it, for Bail and Obi-Wan had known each other for over twenty years. What had surprised him, awed him, was the number of allies that Obi-Wan had acquired while wrapped in the identity of Venge.

Most of them were the Jedi Obi-Wan had rescued and hidden away during the war. Those Jedi had been running covert operations that had saved thousands of lives, the inhibitors hiding them from Sidious's dark gaze. (The inhibitors they'd used were unique, fascinating the technicians among the Jedi; while they hid Force signatures, they did not block access to the Force.) There were several clone commanders who were absolutely loyal to him, even though Obi-Wan's control of the army had ceased the moment the new Supreme Chancellor accepted power. Dexter Jettster had been another surprise visitor; Obi-Wan had been running intelligence through the big cook to maintain his Coruscant contacts. Dex had blushed like a sun gone nova when he'd confessed this to Qui-Gon, for the Besalisk had not liked keeping his connection to Obi-Wan secret from his old friend.

This time it was his own hands he pressed to the tank, his palms soaking up warmth. In the Force he could feel the bacta, dancing around like tiny fireflies - and he could feel the light of the man within. That was what gave him hope, for the darkness Venge had carried like a shroud was gone, burnt away by the Force Light created by two hundred-odd Jedi.

This was where he spent what little free time he had, having one-sided conversations with his former Padawan in a vain attempt to remember how to speak to someone he no longer had to pretend was an enemy. Anakin joined him on occasion, but for the moment, he was alone.

"The Healers have told me that they're going to stop sedating you today," he said, watching Obi-Wan's hands. They were relaxed, the fingers splayed against the gentle current. Far better than the previous day when, even unconscious, Obi-Wan had been clenching and unclenching his hands until nail marks had lined his palms. The spasms of withdrawal had wracked his frame, and Qui-Gon was grateful that Obi-Wan had not suffered through them while conscious. "I'm sure you'll hear it again from them, but really, Obi-Wan - five stimulants? They're almost certain you've set a new galactic record for long-term substance abuse."

He sighed, leaning his forehead against the tank. Jale had estimated that Obi-Wan had probably been consuming the combination for three years at full strength. If prior research was any indication, it had been at least that long since he would have experienced REM sleep. Qui-Gon had been in the Council Chamber with Yoda and Saesee when she'd given that report. "He's crazy," she'd said, plainly worried but disguising the emotion with a thick veneer of irritation. "I mean - he should be clinically insane. I don't know of any human mind, even among Jedi, that's withstood a lack of REM sleep for more than a year. If you lot didn't fry his brains, I'm sure as hell going to be asking him how he pulled sanity out of the proverbial chemical frying pan."

None of them had been able to give her an answer. Whatever skill Obi-Wan had used, it was likely a trick of the Sith.

That line of thought broached, he straightened and backed away from the bacta tank. He couldn't think about that without remembering what Obi-Wan had done to him. He knew Jale was right, that there was no Darkness within him... but there was Darkness in what had been done to him. It was wrong when Micah had witnessed it, and it was wrong for him to be here, alive, when it was obvious to him that the Force had willed otherwise. "I know that I love you," he said, his voice quiet. "But I'm not sure if I can forgive you."

Bail Organa did not like crowds. On Alderaan, crowds were almost unheard of, for his people had taken great pains to spread their population in proportion to their planet, ever mindful of their environment. He couldn't even say he had chosen the wrong career, for as the Viceroy of Alderaan he had no choice but to be the voice of his people. He'd adjusted years ago to the necessity, bearing the crowds of the Senate with grace and a ready smile.

Being Chancellor, however, was something he hadn't planned for, and he knew the smile on his face looked plastered on instead of natural.

Bail Antilles, his cousin by marriage and predecessor in the Senate before the Alderaan Ascendancy Contention, elbowed him in the ribs. The motion was hidden by the robes they both wore, and Bail's smile became even more strained. "You look like you're trying to swallow bugs, Cousin," Antilles whispered. "As your acting aide until a proper Advisory Council is confirmed, I suggest you relax."

"You try and relax," Bail hissed back at the man he shared a birth name with. They had mastered the art of conversing without being overheard long ago, which was a good thing, since they were surrounded by a throng of reporters. "I'm going to stand here and panic, thank you very much. When they lynch me, you can be Chancellor."

Despite the fact that Antilles had once campaigned unsuccessfully for the job in question, he shook his head. "Stop threatening me. No one in his, her, or its right mind wants this job right now."

"And yet you're advising me to relax. I'm not convinced."

Antilles smiled, watching as Bail's own traditional Senate aide, Brax, activated the lift that would take them away from the reporters on the ground floor and up into the Senate dome. "Everything will be fine. It's just business as usual, Chancellor Organa. I've got the files, you've got your precedents memorized. You're just presenting an order of business. The difference this time is that everyone is going to be listening a bit more closely."

Which was why he was doing this in the first place - taking advantage of the power in his new position now, before the first tarnishes on his stint as Chancellor occurred. Of course, this was likely going to be the first tarnish. "Still not convinced, but I can fake it," he said, and then the Chancellor's podium settled into place. Bail looked up at the thousands of other pods that surrounded him and took a deep breath. Just another day at the office.

He motioned to Brax, and the young man nodded and activated the audio system that would broadcast his voice to the far reaches of the Senate chamber and through multitudes of HoloNet channels. "Good afternoon, Senators, honored guests. I realize that today is the traditional end of our work week, and we are all looking forward to a day of rest. Before we seek that rest, I have a pressing matter that you must all attend to."

Some murmurs met his words, but no shouts. It was a far cry from two weeks previous, when most motions that hit the Senate floor were decried from all sides before the issue could even be considered. It was a damned nice change. "You all know that the Jedi and the Army of the Republic were working to end the war. We have always appreciated their efforts, and have not been afraid to stand up in support of our brothers and sisters as they sacrificed time, energy, and their lives to defend us." More murmurs, this time of agreement.

"What you did not hear about are those beings who worked behind the scenes to ensure our liberty. They walked the hidden paths, lurked in the dark places, and have not once been recognized or thanked for their efforts. They were our spies, our double agents, and they risked everything for us. Many of them died in our service, but there are those that survive. I am calling upon you all to hear their names, so that they may be recognized as the heroes they truly are.

"The Bothan Contingent worked tirelessly behind enemy lines to filter Separatist strategy to our generals. They lost many of their number, but did not falter. They are the reason that the people of Honoghr did not suffer the same fate as Ohma-D'un.

"Clive Fax. You know him as a member of the Separatist army, but that was a front. He has been working for us for years, ferrying information to the Jedi Knight Ferus Olin. Also working both sides was Crix Madine. I'm sure you all remember the terrible scandal it was when the man defected," Bail drawled, and there was a rumble of stunned muttering as the implications were realized. "Yes, his family is welcoming him home with open arms. He contributed a great deal to the Pernellian Trade Route campaign, among others.

"Jinart. She kept the Omega and Delta squads safe time and time again." He kept rattling through the names, and though there was quiet talk and conferring among the Senators, he was not interrupted as he paced himself through all fifty-two members of the non-Jedi contingent. The ones first named were the only ones that still lived. Bail meant to make damned sure that their families knew of their sacrifices, and that their memories were honored.

He paused, and it was Antilles' encouraging nod that prompted him to continue. "Last week, two hundred Jedi returned to Coruscant. This would not be a thing of note but for the fact that they were two hundred Jedi the Republic thought dead. These two hundred Jedi had been rescued from the battlefield by one of their own, and have been working undercover for years to stave off disaster. You have never heard of the threat of the Blue Shadow virus because of their efforts. These Jedi have asked not to be named today, though their names are a matter of public record, if you wish to pursue the matter further on your own." There was a rush of curious, enthusiastic comments, and he let the uproar die down before he spoke again. "I have come to the last of my list, and I have one other name for you: Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi."

There was a low rumble of anger at that, for many in the audience knew well the true identity of Darth Venge. Out of the thousands of pods, he found Naboo's, and for a moment met the eyes of Senator Amidala. She grinned at him, and he was tempted to scowl back. It really should have been her, standing where he was now. "I realize that many of you know him under another name - Darth Venge, one of the commanding officers of the Confederacy. What you do not know, however, is that he was there on the orders of the Jedi Council."

He held up his hands, signaling for silence, for this time the roar was just as loud as it had been in the past. It was less his authority and more their overwhelming shock and curiosity that gave him the opportunity to speak again. "What I am revealing to you now, not more than a handful of beings knew about until the assault on Byss. Years ago, after the blockade of Naboo was ended, the Jedi Council instructed Knight Kenobi to uncover the identity of the Sith. There were fears that the presence of a newly arisen Sith could give rise to another galactic war - as, we all know, it did." He kept speaking, and once more you could have dropped a pin from the top of the dome and heard the sound of its passage. "The young Knight did as instructed, but the Sith was wary, and cautious, and it was almost ten years before he was able to uncover the Sith's identity. This knowledge was given to one other Jedi as a precaution, and while we fought a war, Kenobi worked to ensure the Sith's downfall. It was he who provided the Loyalist Committee with the information that revealed Palpatine's duplicity. The Jedi Council has informed me that it was through Knight Kenobi's actions alone that Palpatine, also known as Sidious, last Lord of the Sith, was detained and destroyed."

There was a string of startled, amazed, angry curses before audio feeds were cut to spare those listening in on the HoloNet. Bail smiled. "Though we have already charged many leaders of the Confederacy with war crimes in absentia, I am asking you all to waive the charges against Darth Venge and grant Knight Kenobi a full pardon for his actions during the war. I cite the precedent of the Republic Inquisition vs. Jedi Knight Ulic qel Droma, Republic Year 3976, case number one one eight nine three zero, Dorn Esk Ven Kreth."

The senator from Kashyyyk, Yarua, stood up and activated his audio. [You quote a precedent four thousand years old, Chancellor Organa. Why should we abide by something so ancient?] the elder Wookiee asked in a challenging howl.

"At last, we come to the crux of our problem. That is the very thing that helped Palpatine lead us down the path to war," Bail retorted. "So what if that precedent is four thousand years old, Senator? The Galactic Republic is over twenty-five thousand years old, and we use the precedents that the ancients established every day. It was the Separatists that wished to dismiss the wisdom of our elders, Senator Yarua, and look what that has brought us!"

The Wookiee Senator gave Bail an appraising look. [Well said, Chancellor,] he rumbled, before retaking his seat.

Senator Amidala stood next, the metallic threads in her dark robes catching the light as her voice echoed through the chamber. "I motion that we leave Knight Kenobi's fate in the hands of the Jedi Council, for they are the ones who will know best how to deal with one of their own. We have trusted the Jedi to guard our backs, defend our homes, and secure our freedom. I say that they should also be trusted in this matter."

Bail hid a smile. The woman's timing was brilliant, as always, for the motion was seconded in record time by the Mon Calamari senator, followed by the Ish Tibs. He stood next to his cousin as Antilles took over, calling for the vote.

There had been no funerals after the Sith's identity was revealed, though Commander Cody had confided to the Council that in this, they were lucky. During his and Bly's extended reports, Cody had revealed the existence of Order Sixty-Six, and what it would have meant had the Order been activated. The ten remaining members of the Jedi Council had been horrified, and it had been yet one more reason to be grateful to Obi-Wan, for his machinations had saved tens of thousands of Jedi. No one would have suspected the clones of deceit until it was too late.

For their actions, the two commanders had been promoted to the rank of general. The two clones had glanced at each other in muted surprise before accepting, bowing in respect to the Council, then saluting their superior officers. They remained stationed in the Temple, helping the Council to sort through the thousands of programmed commands and protocols that would need to be made inactive, or, in some cases, put to use.

Qui-Gon found it strangely fitting that they were here now, sans armor but still distinctive, for Bly had a long scar that ran down the side of his face. They waited with quiet respect, standing with the other Jedi in the Memorial Gardens. They were indeed fortunate that there were only two pyres to light at the close of the war, but Qui-Gon did not feel glad to be standing over the pyre of his best friend.

The Ithorian Master, Roron Corobb, stood next to him, for Corobb had been Yarael Poof's last Padawan. The bodies of Micah Giett and Yarael Poof were wrapped in deference to their places on the Council. Qui-Gon stared at the tan and green colors that Micah had favored. Though his heart was heavy, he couldn't find grief within himself.

Mace had pulled him aside earlier, wanting to know why Qui-Gon wished to light the pyre of the man who'd almost murdered him. "Because it's all I can give him," he'd answered, his voice soft. Force bless him, Mace had understood. He was standing at the front of the crowd now, Adi beside him, their hands twined together. Jale Terza and her mate, Tanak el Dram, stood together, as did Anakin and Padmé. Padmé was standing in front of Anakin, and Anakin had his arms wrapped around her, his chin resting on her hair. Luminara was with her former Padawan, Barriss Offee. Garen Muln stood alone, prepared to watch his Master's pyre in silence. There were more present, stretching in all directions, ready to consign their friends to the flames. At Qui-Gon's request the true nature of Micah's treachery and death was a guarded secret. The war had given them enough of that. He wanted Micah to be remembered for who he had been - not how he was brought low.

The torches were lit with a thought, and he and Roron Corobb touched them to the pyres in the same moment. Flame licked and caught, and Corobb spoke the traditional words. "Ni domtian a laicee," he said, his voice clear. "Hai'thathrae, mi omani." Farewell, my teacher.

"Ni domtian a laicee," Qui-Gon repeated the words, the ancient phrase a balm and a reminder. May the Force bring you peace. "Hai'thathrae, mi danat'a." Farewell, my friend, he thought. I will miss you. But when Tahl finds you, she is going to kick your ass.

Awareness did not return gradually. He was awake in a moment, but consciousness was accompanied by sharp panic. He'd been dreaming about drowning, had found that no matter how hard he struggled, there was no escape from dark, endless waters...

To open his eyes and find himself engulfed in thick liquid, his hands groping against confining walls, left him reeling in terror. He couldn't take any more of that darkness. He. Wanted. Out.

The Force was still there, and he pulled it forth and released it, letting it spread out in a powerful wave. He heard shattering glass, the shouts of warning from several voices, and one distinct thump. The water dispersed, but the water had been the only thing supporting him. When he fell he was still too disoriented to be surprised. His breath left him on impact, it jarred him, quelled the panic. He recognized the feel of a breather mask on his face, and within that mask was the overwhelming smell of bacta. He gasped and ripped the mask off, sucking in a great lungful of air. It still reeked of bacta, but this was fresh instead of stifling.

That seemed to be the last action he was capable of, and he lay on his side and watched a fresh wave of bacta go rolling along the floor. He'd been in a bacta tank. Strange. He was never allowed bacta.

People had shouted when the tank broke. Not droids. Now they were talking, and he listened. "Holy hells, what a mess."

"He broke the fucking tank! Is there even a requisition form for this?"

"I don't think "Patient made tank explode" is one of the acceptable options."

New voice: "How about we worry less about the damned tank and more about the patient?"

Someone was approaching, but he felt no sense of danger. Even if her presence meant trouble, he was in no shape to do something about it. That Force-blast had used up what little strength he had. Gentle hands touched his bare arm, and with that touch came recognition. Healer. Jedi Healer.

Why the hell was he being tended to by a Jedi Healer? Had Sidious captured another one, forcing her to use her talents as the Sith dictated?

That gentle touch continued, rolling him onto his back. Dark red hair, peaceful brown eyes, wry smile. He froze, a tendril of panic returning, for he had no idea what was going on.

"Relax," she said, touching his face with both hands before subjecting him to a gentle Force probe. "I need to make sure you're all right. My people were in such a dither about bacta soaking their robes that no one bothered to catch you." She directed a glare somewhere off to his right.

"Sorry, Healer Terza," someone mumbled.

"Apologies from me, as well. But Master, he scared the crap out of us!"

Interesting. A group of healers, and while there were trace amounts of fear in the air, there was also calm certainty. They weren't the prisoners, then. He was.

She turned her attention back to him, peering into his eyes. "My name is Jale Terza. We've met before, but it was a long time ago. Do you remember?"

He looked at her again, taking in the dark green robes and red hair. A memory tickled at his consciousness but wouldn't form. He managed just a slight turn of his head.

"I didn't think so," the Healer said, not bothered by his lack of recognition. "As I said, it was a long time ago. Do you know where you are?"

He managed another twitch; no, he did not know where the hell he was. That lack of awareness was feeding the thread of panic, making it grow.

The Healer must have sensed it, for she rested a hand on his forehead. He was brushed by a sense of peace that soothed the panic. He started to shake; it had been long years since he had felt anything even remotely peaceful. "You're on Coruscant, in the Jedi Temple. The Council brought you here from Byss. Do you remember?"

He closed his eyes against the rush of memory. Yes, he remembered. He remembered the Light that had surrounded him, bathing him in fire that had burned. Purifying fire. It had driven out the Darkness, destroyed Palpatine's essence. He had listened to the Sith's screams; he had stood in that fire, unflinching, and waited to die.

He swallowed. He'd waited to die. Instead he'd awakened in a bacta tank with memories of drowning in darkness. "Why..." he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Why am I alive?"

The Healer gave him a gentle smile that was not in the least bit reassuring. "I don't know."