Work Text:
Rescue
You wake up alone, with blurred vision and nauseating vertigo. You jolt up in a panic and go to move – but your arms are secured behind your back in stun cuffs, your legs similarly restrained at the ankles. With a groan you shift your body into sitting, leaning back against what you assume is a wall, awaiting your dizziness to abate. You take deep, measured breaths to calm yourself, and when your vision finally clears – you squint around the space you are being held in, and try to piece together your current predicament.
What the kark is going on?
You find that you are sitting in the back of some kind of make-shift prisoner transport, because you are moving – and when you turn your head to survey your surroundings further, there’s a sharp twinge of pain. The back of your head stings, and aching throbs reverberate around your skull. The discomfort of it makes you remember then – it was where you were hit with the butt of a blaster, a blow that knocked you out.
Oh, by the Galaxy.
You groan and curse, quickly coming to the conclusion that you have likely been kidnapped. This has never happened before, but you knew that it was only a matter of time. Since your…affiliation with Lord Maul became widely known, threats on both your freedom and your life have been coming in thick and fast. Predictable, considering the ongoing list of enemies he has acquired over the years.
But it has never really been anything to truly worry about, of course. Not when he is…the way that he is. Powerful and protective, unforgiving to those who jeopardize your safety: those who mean you harm cannot possibly get close to you. And if for whatever reason he cannot be at your side, there are usually some hired muscle keeping tabs on what you are doing, where you go. It took some getting used to at first, being shadowed and watched, the almost constant surveillance suffocating. But it is worth it, if that’s what it costs to be with him.
So it is surprising that you are even here, but you know that thugs and criminals will always find a way. Such brutality persists in the underworld.
You remember more then, the events of that morning coming back to you in flashes. How the fresh Spring air felt so welcoming when you awoke, how you wanted to go for a stroll beneath the comforting rays of the morning sun. You left your lodgings without thinking too much about it and then –
You went alone.
What a stupid mistake. Your stomach twists as the realisation sinks in: that this is your own fault. By the Gods – how long were you knocked out for? You wish you were not cooped up here in the dark, you want to see the sun, so that you can know how long it has been since you were taken. Not that it really makes a difference, you reassure yourself.
It’s only a matter of time before he inevitably comes for you.
You sigh, collecting yourself as the thought calms your nerves. He’s on his way, he must be.
You suddenly cannot fathom what in the Galaxy they expect to gain from this, whoever it is that has taken you hostage. Do they want to ransom you for credits or information, and if so: do they really expect him to even entertain such a thing? Did they take you to purposefully bait him here, to try and get him somewhere in their own territory, to possibly take him out?
It would never work. He is much too powerful to fall for a trap that obvious, to succumb to any weapon your captors could aim at him. This is all so foolish, and such a waste of time: yours, his, theirs. You cannot believe how ridiculously idiotic they are. Have they not heard what happens to those who even look at you in the wrong way? To the ones who have merely planned such nonsense like this before? By harming you, they have essentially pulled the plug on their entire operation, ended their own lives with their idiocy. They must be incredibly stupid, or ignorant: not knowing who they are dealing with.
Or they are aware, and did it anyway. Making them terribly brave. And dangerous.
The thought stirs at the shock and stress building in your chest, reigniting the panic, and the reality of your situation now makes you quiver inside. You are alone and vulnerable – and the more that you think on it, you are dreadfully frightened.
You hope with all that you are that he will be able to find you soon, that your thoughtless mistake will not mark the end of your life.
Right on cue, you feel the vehicle lurch to an abrupt stop, the momentum throwing you forward.
What’s happening?
You quickly correct your balance, going back to sitting up straight, though with considerable difficulty due to your bondage. Your heart races, your fear levels rising at the following silence. Why has the vehicle stopped? Are they going to hurt you?
The more hopeful side of you stirs: or is he here?
You then hear the muffled whine of blaster shots, some broken screams, a couple of thuds and bangs. The whirling hum of his lightsaber. Relief washes over you slowly, and you squeeze closed your eyes, releasing a tortured breath.
Thank the Maker.
It is only a handful of moments until the glowing red light of his weapon slices open the wall opposite you, the durasteel creaking as he then uses the Force to cave it in. The brightness of the daylight rips its way into the dark room, and it briefly blinds you. But you squint through it, and when your eyes adjust, you see that familiar silhouette, those golden eyes, the red light of his saber.
He is here.
He retracts his blade and hooks it on to his belt, casually stepping inside.
“You explicitly disobeyed my instructions,” he grumbles, walking over to you with a scowl. The metallic thud of his cybernetic legs grounds you, and you instantly relax. Though he seems displeased, at least you are safe again.
You nod, “I-I know. I went for a walk.”
“Alone. Without telling anybody,” he says as he reaches you, gently taking your shoulder to twist you around. He reaches down for your wrists, working to free your hands from the cuffs. “And you got yourself abducted,” he adds as he disengages the restraints.
“It wasn’t my choice to – Ah,” you hiss in pain as you twist your head around a bit too fast. One of your newly released hands goes to touch the soreness of the wound on the back of your skull. Maul moves down to free your ankles.
“Do not move,” he says softly. “You will only hurt yourself further.”
You look at him sadly. “Are you cross with me?” you ask, somewhat pathetically.
“Yes,” he says shortly. You feel the sting of tears prick at your eyes at his obvious and characteristic exasperation.
How could you be so stupid? You whimper as the intensity of the whole situation crashes down on to you with heavy, eclectic despair – the shock of your fear and panic, the pain of your injury, the overwhelming relief at his being here, just how pleased you are to see his face again. How guilty you feel for getting yourself into this mess.
He sighs as he liberates your body from the last of your restraints.
Then the warmth of his palm is on your thigh. The heat is a welcome comfort, and sends a sweet quiver through your abdomen. You release a light gasp when you feel a gentle pressure, as he ever so slightly squeezes. Then the tickle of tender fingertips trail their way up your leg, anchoring you to this moment, easing your sorrow with his touch.
“No. No. Of course I am not cross with you,” he concedes. “I am angry, but not at you. It was not your fault.”
His hand still strokes at your upper thigh, the touch igniting jolts of a familiar sweetness through your nerves. His eyes meet yours and you smile softly, then nod, but you flinch at the pain you inflict upon yourself by doing so.
“Let me see,” he demands, and you lean forward, allowing him to look over your injury. As he regards the amount of blood that is matted into your hair, all softness on his features disappears. He tightens his hands into fists of rage as that hot wash of anger floods his chest, his fury almost getting the better of him. But when he looks at you, he sees the distress in your eyes, the way that your body shakes beneath him. He exhales, and pushes down his wrath, swearing to contain it, in favour of comforting you. But only for now – for he vows to hunt down every worthless, pitiful fool that had anything to do with todays events. Yes, they will pay ten-fold for the hurt that they have inflicted upon you. He swears it.
He plants a fond kiss on your temple and then pulls you into his arms. You melt into his soothing warmth, breathing in the comforting richness of his woody scent – and then you cannot stand it anymore, and your heightened emotions get the better of you. You begin to softly cry. He hushes you, holding you tightly through it. “The ordeal is over, it is done,” he promises. “You are with me. You are safe.”
He holds you tight, running his hands over the planes of your body, whispering velvety reassurances into your ear – until his calming voice and the security of his embrace lulls you back into composure.
“Worry not, my dear,” he pulls back to cradle your face, using his thumbs to brush away your tears, boring his vibrant eyes deep into your own. “I have sent a very clear message. This will never happen again,” he assures you.
You understand what he means by that, when he leads you from your temporary prison. You see the extent of the carnage he has inflicted on to the faction that ventured to take you against your will. The gore and blood is beyond gruesome; their bodies no longer look like anything that could have once held life.
Of course, he follows through on his vow, and his oath concerning your safety endures.
From that moment on, no one dares to even consider harming you, and you are never threatened, ever again.
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