Project Boussh: State Of The Heart
by Majick

    He barely had time to concentrate, snapping the Force around him like a
cloak, staggering as the carbine bolts slammed into the micron thick Force
barrier. The pounding disrupted his concentration, and much of the energy
bled off into the shuttle floor. There was just enough for Mike to use to
boost his telekinesis, and he snatched at the carbine, which
tumbled -eventually- from Face's hands, off into one of the refreshers.
    Mike had been trying to pull it towards him, but you can't have
everything.
    Three long strides carried Mike over to where Face stood stock still
against the shuttle wall. He pressed his face right into the rogue Wraith's,
and spoke softly and menacingly.
    "Listen to me, Loran. I don't care what's going on in your head, I don't
care if you've been hijacked by Atner, or T'Cab or even if you're another
one of Nick's practical jokes.
    "I am, quite frankly, pissed off at being shot at. Apart from anything
else, this shirt is brand bloody new. Now sit the f*ck down before I chop
your legs off at the knees, and club you to death with your own foot."
    Face lowered himself slowly into the chair, the belligerence obvious on
his features. Mike knew that the slightest chance of snatching a weapon, and
Face would be back on the offensive. And Mike was tired. Very, very tired.
Where the blazes were the Ewoks when you needed them.
    He looked over his shoulder, and noticed the Ewoks had locked themselves
in the rear cabin to deal with Josh. He shook his head. There was something
not natural about that situation. He wondered if there was such a thing as a
koala fetish. That would explain Josh's need to be surrounded by Ewoks.
    That would explain a lot about Josh.
    He looked around to see Face's hand on his new lightsabre. With a sigh,
he triggered the blade with a quick jab of telekinesis, slashing it
surgically across Face's upper arm, eliciting a howl from the demented
pilot.

    Inside the cockpit, Sharon looked over at Sci.
    "Should we do something back there?"
    "No... I think Mike's quite responsible in his own way... He can
probably handle it all on his own. If not, we'll hear about it soon enough.
I have to let them have some responsibility."
    "Did I hear that Mike and the Aussies are arranging the party if we
win?"
    "Perhaps not that much responsibility..."

    Mike punched Face hard in the chest, curling the man over, clutching at
his injuries, sobbing like a baby. He shook his hand out, trying to ignore
the pain where one finger had connected with Face's collarbone. He had a
nasty suspicion it was fractured. It certainly hurt like a...
    "Jesus, just stay down, will you?" he said to Face, as the Lorrdian
tried to rise again. "Bad enough you nearly kill me, I have to save your
life from that Five..."
    "The crispy fried Aussie," Face interjected, unhelpfully, his voice
cracking mid sentence.
    "Did I say you could talk? Now, how do you thank me? You try and steal
my lightsabre, you break my finger on your collarbone, and now I've got to
waste the Force on healing myself.
    "Bastard," he added, remembering.
    "You could use some of the Force to heal me..." Face sniffed, but shut
up when Mike glared at him.
    Mike curled his fingers slowly into a fist, hissing as the wounded
finger clenched among the others. He shut his eyes, stepping away from Face
to lessen the temptation on the other man to try something.
    After a minute, Mike shook his hand out, trying to lessen the pins and
needles that accumulated. He looked at Face, who still had tears in his
eyes.
    "How the hell does Dia put up with a pathetic wimp like you? One little
cut..."
    But Mike didn't finish the sentence. As he mentioned Dia, A change came
over Face. The captain's whole posture changed, the slouch disappeared, the
pain on his face vanished, the dull look to his eyes disappeared.
    This was a man the New Republic could be proud of .
    "That's it, isn't it? You were prepared to give up anything, so long as
they couldn't get to Dia?"
    "How is she? Where is she?" Face asked.
    "Alive, hurt, but alive. She's in New Hampshire with... friends. They'll
look after her."
    "What have I done? I've betrayed everyone. Put myself first..." A Face
returned, so the memories of his actions while under Retsim's control
clashed with the real him.
    "You have to help me," he said, looking wildly at Mike. "This thing
behind my ear. It controls me. It makes me want to kill anyone I recognise
as the enemy."
    "And you don't recognise me as the enemy?"
    "I want to kill you. Don't get me wrong. But I want to see Dia.
    "_Help me_ _Please_"
    Mike looked at him, and wondered. He knew Face and Dia had married at
some point, and he remembered how in love they had been. Sci's mission
briefings, and Alison and even Dia had filled in some of the gaps.
    He decided. If for no other reason, Dia had helped him through his own
trauma and he owed it to her to try and help Face.
    "OK... Here's what we're going to do... What will make your mind most at
peace?"
    "Killing everyone and everything in the shuttle. Stealing your coat.
Flying the shuttle back to my... Retsam?"
    "It is a nice coat," Mike allowed. "And you're probably thinking of
Retsim, who Emily says was the guy who turned you into the Terminator."
    "Who?"
    "Ask Wes."
    This didn't seem to appeal to Face at all.

    In the rear room, Josh reclined in a comfy chair, his feet supported by
a small Ewok, while others fanned his burns, fetched him freshly squeezed
Ewok juice and generally pampered him.
    "Yep. A bloke could get used to this. Oh no. Wait. I *am* used to this.
That'd be right."

    Face relaxed, his head resting on Mike's crossed ankles. His hands and
ankles were bound to the bed, and Mike's lightsabre was close by.
    Checking all this one more time, Mike relaxed, slightly.
    He closed his eyes, and laid his fingers gently against Face's temples.
He focused on projecting images of his death, Sci's death, everyone's death,
into Face's mind. Then he was in.

    Face's dreamscape was... fractured. Shards of glass. Nothing coherent.
Mike tilted his head, squinted. Grimaced. Then he saw something that should
have fit into Face's mind.
    Dia.
    Her lekku twisted around themselves and she thrashed and screamed. She
was strapped to a table, and two men were hacking at her with brutal looking
metal instruments. One smirked evilly, the other had eyes that did all the
smirking, one cold and compassionless, the other hot and searing. Beyond the
table struggled Face, held tightly in the grip of a Trandoshan.
    Mike shook his head at the sheer brutality, the unwarranted messiness,
the tragic blatantness of the control.
    "Excuse me," he said, walking up to the 'operation'. "I believe you'll
find that Twi'leks respond better to love and attention, as can be ably
demonstrated by the man over there."
    Mis-matched glared at Mike, then looked back at his work. He selected a
particularly pointy implement, and went back to his job. Mike sighed.
    "All my life, I've been looking for someone who enjoys their work..." he
murmured.
    "You'd be Retsim, I suppose," he asked the other man.
    "Who wants to know?" the man snapped, without looking up. It struck Mike
how very much like a rat he looked.
    "You know, you really should wear some sort of surgical gown when
operating... I mean, that's a nice suit you have on..."
    "Oh go away," the man spat, his fingers wriggling in front of him. "You
don't belong here. You're distracting me."
    "Yes..." Mike replied. "That was *rather* the intention."
    In a dreamscape, the normal rules don't apply. nonetheless, Mike's
somersault over the table, landing behind the Trandoshan, spinning around
and slicing through it's spine with his lightsabre was still damned
impressive.
    Face struggled free of the dying lizardman's grip. He turned to Mike,
who threw his blaster pistol at him.
    "Your demons," he said with a shrug. "You kill them."
    Face grasped the blaster, and turned to face Retsim and Mis-matched. He
fired twice, hitting each of the men square in the chest. They faded
quickly, as did the operating table. Dia stood before Face, and smiled,
before she too faded.
    Around them, the shards of Face's mind began to coalesce.

    Mike snapped upright, and smiled. He looked down at Face, who looked up
at him. They both smiled.
    The cockpit door opened, and Sharon poked her head into the cabin.
    "Sci say's we get to Mendellia in 30 minutes... Have I interrupted
something?"
    "Not at all, Sharon. You're just in time, in fact."
    "For what?" Sharon asked.
    "To help me chop the implant out of Face's head."
    "He's cured?"
    "Old news," Mike replied. "I flash fried with some flashy imagery and
some bloody mindedness from Captain Loran here."
    "Sounds like how Corran helped you with your implant."
    Mike looked at Sharon, then slowly replied, "Yeah, it does I guess."
    "Your powers are a lot like a weaker version of Corran's all round,
really."
    "Yes thank you Sharon. Go wash your hands, will you?"
    As she wandered off, Face looked at Mike.
    "How were you planning on removing the implant?" he asked.
    "Well, first I'm going to use the scalpel you tried to stab me with..."
Mike replied.
    "Then?"
    "That's as far as I'd got..." Mike replied, an evil grin on his face.