The three men who'd accompanied the 'luka to the lower sectors of Nar were dressed in the rag-tag armor that marked Hutt security, moving with a military precision that smacked of well-trained, notch above the standard thugs the Hutts usually sent around. He'd never seen the Miralukan accept a guard for long, but given the cane she'd come in sporting he figured either she couldn't ditch them or was honestly scared enough about something to not try. He'd accepted their presence without comment, letting them look over his dingy clinic before they took up station in the hallway and door, giving him room to breathe.
"So when did you get around to upgrading your wetware," Doc asked, sitting back from the scanner and watching his patient. He'd seen Book's damned-near phobic reaction to the mere thought of implants before (which was, Mac recalled, stemming from about the same time she came back with a fear of droids) so the idea that Book had somehow taken it in to her head to grab some upgrades was...
Well, it made the man wary. Some of the things Book had come to see him about in the past few months made the man convinced she was in shady business way over what her little head could manage. Not to mention his eyes had spotted the still-healing scars near where he knew 'lukas had no eyes. "If you're in trouble," he began, watching the woman flinch then shake her head. Doc sighed.
"Y' are in trouble Book, or you wouldn't be visiting my dingy little place dressed up like a Jedi again." He'd seen her come in to his place in every sort of garb imaginable - usually it was a lot bloodier than the wrapped brown robes she currently sported - but every time she popped by in robes he shuddered. People down in his sector tended to take not-nicely to Jedi poking into their business. "Look, 'm glad to see you in robes - even if down here that's half-crazy to think about doing - because you're a bit more cautious when wearing them. But you come in here sporting barely-healed scars, a limp I know you don't usually have, and actually letting me dope you for pain while I study your head and there's something horribly kriffed. So f'r once," Doc's voice was pleading now, "Just once, tell me what the kriff you got yourself in to."
He didn't expect his plea to work. The sheer numbers of times Book looked like she might open up were times he could count on one hand, and usually she was a lot closer to drunk before those times happened. And he was usually on enough spice that he'd ask. And she'd tell him 'when you're sober, ask again' so he'd ask when he'd sobered up and they'd danced around the subjects.
"I got in way over my head, Doc," Book said after a long, drawn out silence. "And kriff if I know how to fix this one. Burn the scans for me, would ya? I might need 'em if I can find someone to think about taking them out." And Doc paused, looking from the display to Book then letting out a low, slow whistle.
"Someone, literally, got in yer head." He watched the 'luka flinch. "And they made you an offer on occulars y' couldn't say no to." Another flinch, this one followed by a racking shudder. "And fer all your skills in slicing, y' can't do anything about this kit in yer head," and he watched her clench a hand into a balled-up fist. "I told you," he said softly, turning the display off so that she'd stop staring at the pinpricks of metal in her head, "I told you if you kept it up you'd be kissing dirt for more than a few weeks." Her second hand balled up into a fist before they both relaxed. "Right, get those legs up, I'm giving y' a full workup. I saw that limp, don't try 'n hide it now." His burred accent was out in full force and he heard one of the men who'd come with Book cough.
"Yer boys think y' need it too," he added. "On the table and play nice with the fixed up Bee fer me. And if you really are in a panic over this, I'll dope ya," adding that as his monitors picked up a climb in her heart-rate. "For once, Book, I ain't lettin' you just walk this off. You told me you got in over you're head, I'm gonna see by how much."
The hour it took for the scans and analysis were a study in patience for the doctor as Book had blustered, then pleaded, then accepted the relaxant, then gone into a blind panic once it'd started to take effect. He'd finally had to give her the counter for it while Book's bodyguards (because that had to be what they were, the way they'd come in, guns trained when the woman had panicked) kept their muzzles aimed at his head while he worked. One of the men knew athing or two about injuries it seemed, because the workup of the 'luka had prompted a whistle of surprise from him.
Doc was politely not asking names, they were politely starting to lower their guns, and Book had gone utterly silent, the occasional movement before she'd stop moving altogether for minutes at a time. For a woman as constantly in motion as Book was the pauses were worrisome. "So," Doc said while staring at the myriad of mostly-healed and barely-healed injuries, "Are y' gonna tell me who set all the bones ever so nicely? They did good work."
Fury suddenly was palpable in the air, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "Or," he said softly, placatingly, "Y' can just stay quiet again, like usual, and I can tell you how long to stay off the ankle. You can speed up the healing but you're gonna be on that cane at least a week." And then he'd gone back to the scans.
If this was being in over her head, and this was healing, he didn't want to know what Book actually considered being in trouble, not anymore. "I'll make some more of that Darth special for you, Book, and I want y' to promise me you'll carry it."
One promise later Doc was reaching into his desk, pulling out three vials and offering them to the Miralukan. An hour later Doc watched as Book slowly hobbled her way out of his clinic, guards a protective detail giving her room to move. Two hours later Doc was adding the scans to his file on the woman before wiping his terminal.
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