Capture

Chapter Two

Seven months later.

Kanan sat in meditation, bonded with the Force. Something was off, something was different. Far away, but close enough, he sensed something. A pain, a distraction. His own pain? Or someone else?

Kanan frowned, his eyes still closed. Someone was in pain. Someone else, not himself, but someone he knew. Or had known.

His eyes shot open. No. It wasn't possible. He watched Ezra die, a long time ago.

Seven months ago, he watched the Inquisitor put his blade through Ezra's back. Felt his loss. It wasn't possible at all.

He closed his eyes again, focusing in on that feeling, that pain. So far, but so close. He felt the person, felt their exhaustion, their hopelessness. No. No hopelessness. Just pain and suffering. But they had hope. Even with their pain.

It was Ezra.

~//~

The Inquisitor was losing his patience. And Ezra, his hope. When his interrogator entered his cell now, he didn't wear his self-assured smirk. Nothing but calculation there.

The cell door flew up, and the Inquisitor entered. Think of the devil, Ezra thought to himself, before closing his eyes, focusing, moving his hand slightly. He pushed the Inquisitor into the wall weakly. He was weak, but at least he could do that.

"Ah," the Inquisitor said, righting himself. "You've been practising, I see."

"It gets kinda boring in here. You should think up something to help to pass the time. Even the holonews would be great, thanks."

Ezra wished he really felt the cockiness he spoke with. But all he felt was fear and hopelessness. No one knew he existed, except maybe Vizzago. But he didn't care.

All Ezra's friends were dead. Every day, every moment, he wondered if it was his fault. Had he had the chance or means to save them?

The Inquisitor interrupted his painful musings, but this time it was almost welcome. "Where were we yesterday, again?"

With an effort, Ezra gave a smirk, filling his voice with false bravado. "I think the part where you were giving up."

The torturer didn't crack a smile. He reached out, his hand hovering in front of Ezra's face. "You're strong, for one so small, so insignificant." It was only a murmur. "You're all alone now." The pain began. "Alone, but still fighting."

The pain increased, starting in his temples, then moving down to his face.

"Why are you still fighting? Tell me."

He resisted as much as he could. He focused on the only reason he was still alive, trying to distract himself. They thought he had information about more rebels. And he wasn't about to let them think otherwise. If they did, he'd be useless. They'd just kill him.

"You are difficult. Maybe I should have let that Mandalorian girl live, and taken her. But I will break you, as I have broken those stronger than you."

The thought of Sabine in his place made his blood run cold, but her death was what really got to him. The idea that she--that they all--were dead, made him feel so angry. Ezra tamped it down. He couldn't let his anger control him. Not now. Not while he had hope.
He was still holding onto a shred of hope. Hope of what? He didn't know. But he was still believing.

Kanan had told Ezra some of the old Jedi proverbs, and Ezra kept a few in the forefront of his mind. 'He who surrenders hope, surrenders life', 'Only through fire is a strong sword forged', and 'Adaption is the key to survival'.
Ezra was living prove of that last saying. Adaption was how he'd survived without his parents. Adaption was how he'd survive this.

Ezra could endure the pain without crying out now, and his anger was gone. He felt more focused. He opened his eyes before he realized he'd shut them, and locked them on the Inquisitor's. He frowned slightly, as he followed the Force, entering his interrogator's mind.

He probed gently, no pain, as he searched the mind of the Inquisitor. He found fear, anger, hatred, and pain.
"What are you afraid of?" His voice, a low whisper. The Inquisitor looked surprised, and almost frightened. He didn't seem to notice himself pulling his hand back, relaxing his hold on Ezra's mind.

"Your master. You're afraid of your master. You hate him. And me."

The Inquisitors hand fell to his side, and he stepped backward, fear lining his face.

"And you're filled with pain. Because you left someone. No. Something. Something you felt strongly about. But what?"

Before he could see further, the Inquisitor practically ran from the room.

"What did you leave?" Ezra murmured to the empty room.