"Now remember, y' gonna be groggy when y' wake up so don't go lobbing Force around," Doc had cautioned. And then he'd done exactly as the Miralukan had asked him to. The implants had winked out of activity before Doc had begun his incisions, first searing off the connections of the larger implants that matched his first scans of the woman on his table. Then it was the delicate, delicate process of pulling them out from the nervous system where they'd once been linked and wound for Doc could only guess what reason.
He sat back once he'd dropped two implants on the waiting tray, gloved hands slick with blood as he worked. Now to take care of the two Book'd told him about, the ones wrapped into the limbic system, a feat which he really didn't want to guess the purpose of. That was even more delicate work because they'd been attached and Doc swore softly to himself - he worked steadily and slowly, knowing he needed to or he'd do irreparable damage to his friend's ability to feel.
She was already crazy enough, adding brain trauma to the mix would just spell disaster. And if he nicked something in here she very well could wake up losing some ability to empathize, to feel. That was a bad thing in forcies, he'd learned: they needed to have emotions or they turned into mechanical robots with the Force-given powers to liquidate your mind.
After what felt like hours - and very well might have been, Doc didn't set a timer for this operation - the last two implants were added to the bloody pile. The short work closing up the wounds in his friend (because for all of their bitching at one another he counted the woman as a friend and knew she wouldn't have come here for this sort of favor if she hadn't herself) was made easy by her not moving. Kolto to stabilize - knowing she'd take care of the rest once she woke up and was ready to use the Force - and then it was short work to reverse the state he'd put her in to.
Doc'd never done work so delicate before in his life. He wanted to inject himself to calm his nerves while he waited to see if she'd come out of the dead state, wanted to spice himself so the waiting wasn't as nerve wracking as it was while he watched his monitors. But slowly her life signs returned, stronger and stronger, and he let out a long breath. When she started to move around he put a calming hand on her shoulder, his burred accent evident as he told the Miralukan it'd gone well and he watched her subsist and ease.
Doc even managed to keep the Miralukan overnight as she was in no shape to walk, his medical offices shut down as he stayed by his patient's side wordlessly now. Doc knew neither of them would speak about it - she'd do her damnest to avoid talking about the implants he'd pulled from her skull, he'd do his best to not ask why they were there and why she needed them out so desperately - and he knew she wouldn't do more than tersely thank him the next day for staying up to make sure she slept. It was the way they worked, and why they worked together so well: their invisible boundaries flexed or broke but when they did neither of them acknowledged it.
A slight change in how Book pulled her hair hid the light scarring he'd found her sporting; Doc blustered his way through Book's concern over his falling asleep then shoved the tray at her as a distraction. Knowing how much Book'd loathed the implants he expected her to crush them in her hand. He hadn't expected her to pull her arms in tight and close, hunched as if there was something missing. It made him wonder more what they did and what made his patient so conflicted now. She'd picked them up though, pocketing them into one of the many little pouches on her coat.
---
There was a certain freedom in being able to think however she wanted to, knowing that she wouldn't be sliced up and down by wavering emotions fighting for inevitable dominance. Pulling the implants out again she lifted her hand up as if bringing them to eye-level. So small. So much trouble for something so small. And with them out, Doc's work being excellent, she was free to think how she wanted, act how she wanted. Pocketing the devices again Book unsteadily got to her feet.
The call from Sriia came later, after she'd recovered more than enough to silence even Doc's hastily sent "Stay off yer' feet for at least a day or I'll come find ye' meself" that arrived on her holocom. She hadn't gotten the full details before she'd flown the cleaned and swept Bucket to Voss - she thought maybe she was meeting Syose but instead there'd been...
...awkward silence standing next to Norok. Who very politely was pretending to either not see her, not recognize her, or some combination of all of the above. Either way he was not arresting her, which made the Miralukan let out a sigh of relief. J5's tracking of Alex's comm had brought them to a location just outside the Shrine of Healing, a pillar and battle scene covered in blood. Alex's blood, judging by how badly his head was splattered against the pillar he was cuffed near. She'd done her best to keep his condition stable while Norok called for help, waiting until just before the team arrived to scoot her way behind the pillar in an effort to hide. And thankfully medical teams were medical teams the galaxy over - with a patient in front of them they didn't scan the nearby area too deeply instead focusing on the injured Rolo.
Was the Republic military looking for her on top of the Order? The better question was why she'd grudgingly told Sriia about the other Shadows, the ones that Kneecapper had eliminated. And she guessed that unless she kept Sriia distracted eventually the other woman would needle her enough that she'd break. It was surprisingly hard to keep secrets from someone like Sriia.
But at least now she could call Dimmy for help if she needed it without- she snapped her head up. She had to stop thinking that. Sure there were no implants to reinforce the concepts now but the more she thought them herself the more irreparable the damage. Her thoughts cycled back to the question that ate at her before all of this kark began... how much had she changed that she couldn't reverse? Her hands opened and she sat down in the dingy flat with a thud on the crate she used for furniture.
Maybe she should take them - one of them - up on their offers of sanctuary. She had.. three. It felt like a hollow victory that she seemed to have turned up more options now than she'd had when the running, the hiding, the fleeing had begun.
They just all came with the finality of returning to the Empire, and eeking out a life there. Her hand closed again over the pocket she'd shoved the implants in to.
If she was going to be honest with herself she was running out of time to decide. Sooner or later someone would come that either she'd have to handle or she'd find herself unwilling to handle, and then what. Imprisoned, cuffed, stuck in the very places that would make her claw her sockets bloody. Dragged back for questioning maybe, but never let go.
It made the offers all the more tempting when she thought them over.
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