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“Tell me who she is, Maul. We can help, we’re your brothers now.” Dori-Zan, the youngest of the five Kenobi brothers, teased the red-skinned Zabrak adoptee. Maul had come a long way since the day he had been found unconscious from a spice overdose on the Kenobi family home’s front steps.
Reattached legs, honest job as an orderly in the same hospital where so many of the Kenobi clan worked, a modest townhouse in a pleasant but affordable neighborhood in the capital city of Stewjon, a couple of years of being clean, off of spice and deathsticks—Maul never thought he would have any of these things. The best part was having a family who treated him well for reasons he would never understand.
It made no sense. The mother of Obi-Wan Kenobi, his mortal enemy, had found him and insisted on medical intervention to save his life, knowing full well who Maul was. She was nothing like Mother Talzin, the only mother he had ever known, and certainly nothing at all like his old master.
His master. The thought of the redheaded human man who had brought him up only to be an assassin, with no thought about his personal welfare, still made his blood boil. This was by design, of course, as part of his Sith upbringing, but even knowing why he had spent so much of his childhood chained to the ceiling and wall for easy flogging did not make any of it less unpleasant.
“Why would a Stewjoni woman even consider going out with me? Look at me.”
“My girlfriend thinks you’re strangely handsome, Maul.” Dori-Zan put a hand on Maul’s shoulder. Was this some cruel joke?
“But if she knew my history, she would shudder. Former Sith, former Nightbrother, former spicehead.”
“People change, Maul. You changed a lot. All three of those things you listed, the clue is in the word ‘former’ that goes in front.”
“All right, I’ll tell you who it is, if you promise not to laugh.” Maul would have to refrain from Force-choking Dori-Zan if he laughed at him. His recovery group sponsor, as Dori-Zan’s older brother, would not be pleased if he found himself short a brother. Even Nightbrothers did not actually enjoy losing brothers.
“Why would I laugh? As long as you don’t steal my girl, it’s fine.”
“Nori-Lar Kenobi, Fuki-Nan’s widow. The receptionist at the hospital.” Maul hung his head. It was rather low even by Maul’s standards to be pining for the widow of the second Kenobi brother, the one who was killed in a speeder crash, leaving a wife and two little girls.
“Keeping it in the family. That’s good. I don’t think she has a problem with nicely-polished horns or cool tattoos. As I remember, she liked the little diamond stud in Fuki-Nan’s ear, so I imagine she’ll like yours.”
Maul smiled in relief. “You think I have a chance? I was thinking of getting music lessons. I don’t know any songs whatsoever because music was not on the Sith curriculum, but I got the impression that women appreciate being serenaded. The deathstick addict in that bar on Coruscant was constantly begging me to sing to her, because Obi-Wan did.”
“Yes, I think she would appreciate that. But one thing I think she would appreciate more than anything else would be if you got your teeth fixed. She doesn’t like yellow, rotten teeth or bad breath.”
Maul gaped, then closed his mouth rather self-consciously. Oh. Of course. Humans seemed to prize white, straight, unstained teeth. Dark Side Force use was bad for one’s health, of course, and Darth Sidious never taught Maul anything about dental health care. Years of abusing drugs in an effort to dull the pain of having been bisected had also taken their toll on his teeth. All of this was indirectly Obi-Wan’s fault.
“My teeth. I never thought of that.”
“If you want a human girlfriend, you need to be able to smile at her and not remind her of a horror holofilm. I can recommend a good dentist.”
One of the perks of being an adopted member of a family in which so many members were healers or in the medical field in some capacity or another, was that Maul finally had access to decent medical care. There was never any kind of health plan or dental insurance for members of the Sith Order, since so many of them were already wealthy. Maul had been the outlier. Again, he had lost out.
“All right.”
Maul was amazed at how scared he was when he set foot in the waiting room of the dentist’s office for his first consultation. Having two of the Kenobi brothers there with him to offer moral support would have been ideal, but it was ridiculous that a former Sith lord who was almost thirty would need that much hand-holding. Humans went to the dentist all the time.
This waiting room was proof of that. There were plenty of people here, elderly folks getting new teeth, children getting cavities taken care of, people of all ages coming for cleanings. Maul was the only Zabrak here, of course, and some of the smallest children were eyeing him warily. He tried not to stare at anyone, opting instead to examine the potted plants and tank of small fish in the corner.
So many of the experiences that were considered normal for Republic adults in the Core and even Mid-Rim worlds were completely new for him. People sent children to school, took them to the healers when they were ill or injured, got together for cultural holidays, making special foods and celebrating their families, or went to see silly holofilms with their friends. Sith apprentices who had been such from birth experienced none of the above. Maul had had no friends.
“Maul Kenobi?” The woman who called him into a consulting room was a rather pretty human with blonde curls held in place with a large clip, a white medical-looking dress, and nurses’ sandals. He would never quite get used to being addressed by his former nemesis’ family name, but life was smoother and simpler on Stewjon when one had a local-sounding name.
The dentist himself was a friendly middle-aged man in green scrubs with a non-descript but pleasant face, glasses, side-parted medium-short medium brown hair, and blindingly perfect teeth. That was the best advertisement.
“Have a seat. This is our initial consultation. I would like to see your teeth and get an idea of what you want to happen.”
Maul sat in the indicated chair and flashed a tentative smile. “I never had any kind of dental care for the first thirty years of my life.”
The dentist peered into Maul’s mouth and shuddered. “This is terrible. You poor thing. I can see that you were completely neglected growing up—that is abuse. But you’re fighting back, taking back what is yours. These teeth will need some work. I’ll have to examine them in detail, take x-rays, do a thorough cleaning, before we can see what all needs to be done. What is the end result you have in mind? If you want cosmetically perfect teeth, the usual approach is veneers.”
“I was told my teeth are ugly and my breath bad. Both liabilities in dating humans, I understand. I don’t need my teeth to be perfect, but I do want them to be and look healthy. I just want to look normal.”
“Good, that’s a realistic goal.”
And that was the start of the dental adventures of Maul, former Sith lord, current hospital orderly, in his unflinching pursuit of success with the ladies and the trappings of a normal life.
He felt intrepid as he climbed into the chair, holding his mouth open for examination. It was not easy suppressing his gag reflex or his Force-lightning reflex as the hygienist brushed his teeth, scraped at the gunk built up in the spaces between them, and scolded him for his terrible plaque. “You’ve never brushed or flossed your teeth even once in your whole life?” She stared at him, incredulous. At least, her eyes were. He could not see the rest of her face, obscured as it was by a surgical mask.
“No. I come from a very abusive home. Daily beatings, often no food, certainly no toothbrushes. I never heard of dental health until I left my old life and came to Stewjon. I didn’t do myself any favors with my deathstick and spice addictions, either. All of that is behind me now.”
“Well, in light of all that, your teeth aren’t so bad, really. Open wide for me.”
It hurt as she poked at his gums. He nearly gagged on the watery vacuum machine she had stuck in his mouth, depressing his tongue. On the other hand, he felt alive, looking up at the ceiling, focusing on the tinny recorded music.
The x-ray film cut into his cheek as he bit down on it as instructed. On the other hand, it was over in a flash. The dentist was frowning thoughtfully at his files on the datapad next to the chair that Maul had been in when he came out of the tiny closet that was the x-ray room.
He felt a bit silly wiping his chin on the little blue flimsi bib, but the inside of his mouth already felt different. Smoother, cleaner, but also bitter. It was not all right or normal how he had been brought up. The Kenobi family certainly had its share of problems, with generations of alcoholic patriarchs, but they clearly had some affection for one another, did not use sudden and random violence to assert dominance, treated him with basic respect and dignity. If only he could have grown up with people who loved him. Life was unfair, of course, but knowing this did not eliminate the bitter taste of sadness, of grief for what he should have had, his birthright as a sentient.
“Well, it’s a miracle. No cavities, Mr. Kenobi. On the other hand, there are several teeth that were perhaps months or weeks away from developing them, and not all of the stains came out easily. Years of poor nutrition have taken a toll, and your gums are not in good condition. We can whiten your teeth, but I also recommend a sealant, or a fluoride treatment.”
“Have you ever treated Zabrak teeth before?” What if these treatments were only effective for humans? Darth Sidious was human, too. He never cared about the health or wellbeing of his non-human apprentice. Humans were chauvinistic, narrow-minded, short-sighted, cruel, selfish.
No, that was not entirely true. Darth Sidious was all of those things, but Mama Kenobi was not. Neither were the Kenobi brothers, lovely Nori-Lar, her little girls, the men he knew from his recovery meeting, or any of these dental professionals. He had reason to believe that they actually cared about him. Him, of all people. It was hard to wrap his head around the idea that he was not nothing or less than nothing.
“I have read about the treatment of Zabrak teeth, and it was covered in dental school. I saw Zabrak teeth when I was in residency at a large dental clinic on Coruscant. I understand the differences between human and Zabrak teeth.”
Maul allowed himself to smile. “Good. I was just wondering.”
“Very understandable.”
“Let’s get on with it, then.” Maul returned to the chair and focused on the window straight ahead. Here was his chance for a new, moderately happy life with perhaps a girlfriend, a steady job, a loving family, a normal future. He smiled as he closed his eyes and leaned back into the chair, allowing himself to trust and dream.