Memories of You (Reader/Grievous)

Chapter 3

War had always been inevitable. Whether one was on one side of the line or the other, the writing was as clear as crystal: the tension between the Republic and the Confederacy of Independent Systems would always end in war and bloodshed.

Despite this obvious end, some people were particularly good at being optimists, downplaying or outright ignoring the ever-present weight of what the conflict would bring upon them and their families. They would probably not be the ones who would have to make a hard decision of which side to support--perhaps money or social influence would leave them comfortable in their lifestyle that, if anything, the war would be nothing more than a topic of political conversation or a mild worry hanging in the back of their thoughts.

It was a luxury that you didn't have.

Kalee had a constant threat of battle over it, never a moment of peace that you could recall in your years living among its people. If anything, the war between the Republic and the Separatists was little more than an extension to the war that Kalee had long been fighting--a war that the Republic had done well to ignore and suppress.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise that, in the end, one of the Separatists most-valued commanders would wind up being one of Kalee's greatest warriors.

Was it irony? The same conflict, the same side--the things that had pulled your most-remembered home from the threat of enslavement against the Huk would be the same to destroy your life and the things you loved...and bring them back in a way you'd never expect.

Never for a moment.

Waking up in the dark, still unfamiliar room was like jumping from one nightmare into another. The feeling of dread clung to your thoughts as you rose to consciousness, but the intricate details fell away with every breath, leaving no satisfaction of what the nightmare had been. It left you blinking, eyes trying to adjust to the darkness and searching around the room for any indication for what had pulled you to wake.

If only you could have romanticized the notion that you were, if only for a few moments, lost and confused by the idea that everything was simply a bad dream. If only you could feel numb to the fact that you were still in the capture of a Separatist vessel, still wrestling with the fact that your lover, thought dead up until a day prior, was the one commanding it.

You still didn't yet know what to do with all of that information; it was abundantly clear in your head to the point of pain, but it was still unknown what you were supposed to do with it all.

Sleep had dulled the pain of grief, and that was mercy enough when you were sure that other emotions would be there to grapple with in its absence.

You blindly shifted in the bed until you felt your feet press to the cold metal floor. From there it was a slow, careful shuffle until you found the controls for the lights of the room and managed to turn them on. Your eyes squinted against the brightness around you, taking a few moments to adjust once more.

The room was just as plain as what it had been the day prior. A bed, a closet, a desk and chair--as plain as a room could be, but the fact that it wasn't a room of a prisoner certainly didn't get past you. Things could have been so much worse, it was appropriate to count at least the lesser blessings bestowed upon you.

The silence of the room felt as unnerving as it was peaceful, leaving you only to the background hum of the ship and the echo of your own thoughts (very few of which were all that pleasant to begin with). Either way, the lack of distraction proved enough to let your curiosity lead you around the room. Your eyes peered at and into one thing after another, curious if there were any objects of interest.

None, of course--

Well, none except for the communicator. It lay on the desk, where you had set it mere moments before passing out in the bed after your....conversation with General Grievous.

Grievous.

It was as hard as it was easy to use that name for him. It was appropriate to some degree, a title bestowed upon him--or perhaps he had chosen it for himself? It was familiar to you only in rumor and hearsay, as much as anyone would know about the war that had begun to bubble over.

But, knowing the truth, it was hard to see him as anything other than Qymaen Jai Sheelal, hard to deny his name when you had peered into those familiar, golden eyes.

You weren't sure what he had expected you to do with the communicator. He had described it as a one-way trinket to talk to him, but the man had hardly described much more than that; was it for emergencies only? Did he expect you to contact him when you woke? When you were in need of something?

...In fact, the thought process had led you to the gentle pain at the center of your stomach, thoughts at a loss for when you had eaten last. Sleep had taken up much of your time over the last two days, it was very hard to tell when you were able to eat last before being grabbed and taken by the droids that had invaded the village.

Before you could stop yourself, you moved to stand beside the desk, eyes hovering over the small, almost innocuous trinket of technology. Did you dare to use it? You reached towards it slowly, fingertips just barely brushing over the small, cold shape to pull it against your palm and--

And your heart nearly stopped beating when the door suddenly shifted open behind you.

You moved at a speed you could barely follow with your thoughts. The communicator cold and hard against your palm, hand moving to shove it in one of your pockets as you turned, eyes already wide in worry and thoughts burning to know if they had seen you with it, if whoever it was would know already that--

Luckily, it was a question that wouldn't be answered--not yet at least--because when you turned around to face the doorway to the room you found not a tall, sinister shape, but a copper-colored, thin, almost unintimidating battle droid.

You stood, frozen as your eyes fell over the droid's small stature, letting the heartbeat in your ears slow for a few moments before you finally noticed that it was carrying something.

A tray.

Only then did you feel yourself relax, the droid waiting all the while until you took notice of the food laying on the tray in its hands.

Only then did the droid step into the room, just enough to approach the desk, set down the tray, then move to leave the room in one continuous motion. Though your attention (and stomach) settled on the assortment of familiar food items on the desk, you quickly recalled a worry that fell to your lips. The words tumbled from your mouth just fast enough to catch the droid before it had taken the final step out of the room, giving it pause enough to listen to you.

"When is he---Grievous, General Grievous--" The name felt so strange on your tongue, despite the fact that you had heard it several times prior to this strange encounter. "When will he be coming to...speak to me next? I know he--he wants information that I have."

It was hard to recall the details, however simple, that Grievous had given you the day prior about the facade, the false reason that you were on the ship. Perhaps if you played into the details, settled into your role, you could still get the outcome you wanted without giving away anything.

The droid turned and peered at you with what you guessed were its eyes, though they looked like nothing more than slotted holes in the droid's metallic shell. You couldn't be sure what it was thinking, processing with your information--the silence went on for a hair longer than you expected and that was enough to make your heart skip a few beats.

Until it finally spoke.

"I will alert the General of your willingness to talk."

That was it. Before you could so much as open your mouth for another question or even a thank-you of a response, the door slid closed, leaving you alone in the room again, to yourself, your thoughts--

But by the gods above, you at least had food.