He takes a very deep breath when they approach the door to the room itself.

Stand up, warrior; you are not yet finished.

...right.

Besides. This, itself, is nothing. This is just fixing, completing. It's not new pain.

He enters.

She's right there with him.

This surgical suite isn't much like the last one. There's a chair for him, of course, but it's cushioned, covered in hunter green plastic rather than uncomfortable, unadorned metal, and there's a matching one at its right for Pradnakt. The lights are bright, but diffuse, rather than spotlighting the chair. The walls painted a pale buttercup, with pea-green accents, rather than stark, claustrophobia-inducing white tile, and there's plenty of room. There's a droid, but - one, not in any way built to subdue a human, standing by with a bowl of water and a towel; he doesn't move at all when they come in.

"Hello," he says to the droid, because if they weren't safe it's exactly what he wouldn't do.

He approaches the chair.

"Hello, sir. Doctor Mabbett will be out in a moment. Please have a seat."

"Sir" again.

He sits (they sit) and waits.

She comes in promptly, drying her hands on a towel that she drops in the wastebin by the door.

"Any last minute questions?"

He shakes his head.

"All right."

The first thing she does is give him the local anaesthetic; it'll take a few minutes to kick in, and in the meantime she'll wash his stump and get it ready.

When she's done, it's just as sensitive as it was when she started.

"...am I supposed to be numb by now?"

"...yes, you are." She seems to be at a bit of a loss.

He resists the urge to tap it with his other hand.

"It feels the same as it did before."

Oh. "Sith can't be drugged unless we allow it. And we're - we count together, now." I can probably work out how to allow it. But she doesn't just know.

but it would take a while. wouldn't it.

He is looking down at his arm – what will be his arm – very thoughtfully.

Yeah.

She sees what he's thinking. She doesn't have his pain tolerance, but she does have pretty good pain tolerance; she's not going to stop him.

He looks up and laughs.

"I guess you're going to have to strap me down."

"I - we - no, sir."

Dr. Deyne has been leaning against the wall by the door; he stands up and takes a step toward them. "Bel'-"

"You can't be serious."

He's not offended, by that. It's almost funny. It's so wrong about how this all works, and nobody knows it but them.

"Do you think he numbed me when he took it off?"

He looks her directly in the eye.

He lost it in pain, he lost pain; now he can take it back in pain, take pain back.

"I don't need anesthetic."

"- yes, sir."

(Dr. Deyne goes to the back room.)

"Next is the nerve block..."

It's very, very painful.

It is.

It's the most painful thing that's ever happened to him, and he's glad.

This is the heart of it – this is the beginning and the end – and Grauzatis came close when He peeled his skin away and dug at his nerves but he didn't touch this. This belongs to him, to him.

He savors every moment of his remaking even as he screams and suffers.

No one can hurt him more than he hurts himself.

Pradnakt stays with him through it - she's not very coherent, but she's there, her and the Force, where it reacts to them.

It's a long four hours. Dr. Deyne comes back, brings in a pair of droids to monitor their vitals and offer them sips of water.

And, eventually, it's over.

...

It's over.

They won.

He laughs, once more, dizzily, forehead drenched with sweat,

and promptly passes out.

Pradnakt wakes up in bed with him, some time later. He's-she's-they're in pain, and she has only hazy memories of why; she curls protectively around him.