Crimes Between Us

Chapter Seven

Rating: PG-13

Thank God they put Furry with me in my cell.

I think I would have gone insane if not for that small dispensation. I believe my

Wookiee felt the same.

I awoke in a sea of brown, musty fur. It tickled my nose and I wiped at my face

impatiently before I realized where I was. Furry had me in his lap, and he was

stroking my forehead with those impossibly big paws of his. He was a creature bumbling and large who

had no concept of just how massive he was. I would have laughed at the thought if

my head didn't smart so badly.

Groaning slightly, I tried to sit up and found my vision was blurred to the point

where I could only make out large looming shapes. No detail, no color.

"Furry--"

He growled at me to lay back and I readily complied. I listened as he grunted the

story to me: We'd been searched, the seratin taken from me, and thrown into this

cell to "await further instruction." Both of us, even in my unconscious state, had

been injected with a sedative. I nearly snorted at this information. It had been over

two days since we'd been captured.

Two days!

I shot up like a rogue from a cannon when I heard this. Two days was a lifetime.

The Jedi that occupied Correlia had surely tried to contact Jinn and Kenobi by now.

Or at the very least had contacted Coruscant to tell them that no seratin was

brought. They had to know something was wrong.

Forcing myself to remain calm, I rationalized. It didn't matter. I was not protected

by the Jedi Order. I was in no way in their circle any longer. I'd befriended them

for a time, and now it was over. I was captured, the Correlian government had the

seratin. There were ways for the Jedi to get more. They were intelligent beings,

with resources and wit. My disappearance would be considered a minor setback.

That was all.

Deep down, I wondered if that's what Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon considered it. A minor

set back. I found myself wondering what Obi-Wan had told Qui-Gon had happened.

Would he admit to his Master that we stayed in a cave the night he'd been attacked,

making love--no, I corrected myself, there was a more technical term for it as Obi-

Wan so brashly reminded me--until the sun came up? Or would he make something

up? Perhaps simply say he'd never found me that night, or that I'd taken off before

he'd awoken?

These curiosities were fast in coming, and I knew eventually they had to stop. These

were things I would never know. I couldn't help but sadly think of something Qui-

Gon had told me in passing.

One must not dwell on things which he cannot control. One must be mindful of the

past and the future, but not at the expense of the present.

Funny how Jedi could say things in casual passing that, coming from the lips of

ordinary man, would sound like deep philosophical musings.

Furry's soft grunting nudged me from my thoughts.

"What is it?" I asked, not meaning to sound impatient but doing so anyway.

The Wookiee grunted at me, clearly annoyed. His temper was something to be

desired, that was for sure. I ignored him and gingerly tried to stand, wincing in pain

as my hand flew to my ribcage. I felt the bones crackling beneath and lifted my

shirt, gingerly revealing the severe bruises and cuts I'd sustained there.

"Boy, these guards really know how to treat a girl," I muttered, inspecting the rest

of my body before collapsing back down into my fuzzy friend. I had several deep

cuts on my stomach and hips, cuts made from knives or flying blaster bullets. Their

search of me must have been pretty darn thorough, I thought bitterly. I wasn't in

pain, but I assumed it was because of the sedative, the substance that was giving me

this huge headache and the blurry vision. It had cleared up somewhat, but I still

couldn't see anything at a distance, and I wondered if I was ever going to get relief

from my groggy state. Numerous bruises and small cuts dotted my body; my arms,

legs and thighs bearing most of the bruises, presumably from all the carrying around

of me they had to do. I had deep cuts in my wrists from the shackles and, Furry told

me then, a welt across my face from the blow I received when I kicked that security

guard in the alley outside Adro's house.

Adro. I wondered if he was alive. Something in me told me he was; I didn't feel the

overwhelming dread and despair when I thought of him that I might have if he'd

suffered a terrible fate. I was relieved, and commanded myself to hang onto that

relief for as long as I could. Surely my night terrors would reveal the unconscious

guilt I felt for the poor boy and what he'd gone through for me.

Furry seemed concerned at my wounds as I expected them, but none were bleeding

anymore and I was comfortably feeling no pain. Perhaps I'd ask those guards to

keep that sedative coming. Weary from lack of nourishment, I sat back down and

leaned against the cold stone wall, prepared to wait out my fate.

**

I couldn't see the sun rising or setting outside, as there were no windows anywhere

near us, but I gathered, from the shift changes of the guards, that it had been three

more days. Five days and not one person had so much as mentioned me or Furry.

Food was brought to us intermittently, usually by a guard who seemed to develop a

soft spot for me and my incessant chatter to him, out of sheer boredom. I was trying

to keep my mind off the fact that I was virtually devoid of energy, and could barely

stand without the help of my Wookiee, the bars of the cell door, or the wall for

support. We got fed maybe once every day and a half or so, and I was convinced

that they kept the sedative in the water that they brought us about three times a day.

We never felt any better, my vision never cleared, and my wounds were slow in

healing. They mostly stayed open, gaping, but never hurting, another telltale sign

that we were kept drugged up.

I wasn't sure why--we weren't going anywhere. Even if we'd had full strength,

there was no way to escape, and nowhere to go if we did. Furry was cranky and

tired, sleeping most of the time, growling at me when I woke him up at random

intervals, just to make sure he was still alive. He'd bleat at me to feel for his

heartbeat rather than shake him silly, and toward the end of the week I complied,

too tired to fight with him anymore. Instead, I sat up, holding myself up against the

bars and talked with the old man who told me he was the night guard. So I gathered

I was sleeping mostly during the day and up at night, since he was the only one I

could stand to say a word to. The other ones just leered at me, or made jeering

comments to each other about what they would do if they got into the cell.

Well hello, dumbass. You have the keys.

I never said this, although the thought crossed my mind more than once. Their

comments about what they would do to me if they could made me think that even

though no one spoke of us or seemingly thought of us, there was some higher

government official out there somewhere, commanding we keep on living. Perhaps

just to torture us.

They were doing a good job.