She stared up at the ceiling, tossing a ball of surgical tubing at it again and again, catching it each time. This was no exercise or test of coordination, nor was it an act borne of boredom. This was, as it had always been, the physical sign of contemplation. This was Maya's mantra, her bodily activity while her mind raced.
She'd had him tipsy and available, able to ask him all the things she dearly wanted to know and she'd let him get away.
Why was she here? Was it her feelings for the dark eyed man? Yes, certainly that but was there more?
Would she still be following him had it not been for the Scarlet Wake and their message of hate? A message that went entirely against her beliefs?
Was she here with him, her mind now bonded to an alien device that lived in her thoughts, out of some sense of loyalty? She had taken the lost Jedi in as a patient, the first she'd tended since her disgrace on Hoth.
Was this guilt, then? Was that it?
Cursing under her breath, she clenched the ball of tubes in her hand, squeezing as tight as she could. So many questions. Things she had wanted to ask him...
...but perhaps she was hoping he could give her answers to the ones she couldn't bear to ask herself.