Dr. Anreson looked in the window of the patient’s room. Looking at the notes in her pad, she smiled. Getting him away from work pressures has done remarkable things, she thought as she jotted down the new set of notes. He really does want to get all this behind him. He just needed time.

Smiling, she walked away, preparing herself for the next series of patients that awaited her in her office.

*

Wes Janson looked up at the window, seeing the shadow leave. He knew the doctor had just been observing him. He knew the feeling of being watched all too well.

He smiled and lay back on the bed. Much better than the padded cell from last time, at least this wardroom resembled something civil.

Not being around the Rogues was a downer, in his opinion. He missed his friends. But sometimes, they just drove him so crazy…

Don’t think like that. They only wanted to help.

“If they wanted to help, they should have listened, and not pushed.”

It was their job to push. They wanted you back to normal, and they thought they were right.

“I know, I know.”

You really did a good job to Tycho’s office.

Wes laughed to himself. “I did, didn’t I? He’s going to take that from my paycheck, I bet.”

As well as Ngo’s med bills.

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault! He looked like an Imperial!”

Excuses, excuses. But now no one will ever think to say you can’t fight.

“Just what I’ve always wanted.”

Maybe next time you should go after Hobbie. He’s the only one you haven’t attacked yet.

Wes turned over in his bed, sighed and began to scratch at the medical cast on his hand. “Oh, shut up.”

*

“Is it normal for a patient to talk to himself when in solitary?” Hobbie asked the doctor that evening.

Dr. Anreson nodded. “Major Janson seems to be a social creature. He needs to be with others, as so his mind won’t focus on what’s happening in his own life. Now, since he has no one to talk to, his only companion is that self that he ignores.”

“So hopefully by having these conversations with himself, he’ll figure out everything and get back to normal?”

“Theoretically, but not just this alone. Major Janson still has no real recollection of the events that happened during the Rogue defection. It seems that when he was forced to fight against you, he hid himself deep within his psyche. He knows that he did something, but not what it was.”

“I’m confused.”

The doctor sighed. “Let’s say that you were playing a game, and suddenly all the lights went out. You start to run around, bumping into things and breaking them. Later, when the lights come back on, you see what you did, but you don’t remember how it happened, except that you knew you were moving, and that you hit a few things. That’s the kind of feeling Major Janson has, only he wasn’t blind to it, but instead closed his eyes to it.”

“What happens if we make him open his eyes to it all?” Hobbie leaned forward, the concern etched on his face.

“Hopefully it’ll get him to understand that it wasn’t his fault what happened, and make him finally come to terms with it.”

“Can it backfire?”

The doctor nodded. “It’s been a long time since the incident. Some things might have been buried deep. Others, such as his anger with Jagged Fel, are right at the tip of the mind. Sorting them out can take a lot of effort. And if he finds something that he buried deep down because of a certain pain it inflicts, he could become catatonic.”

“That’s not good.” Hobbie sighed and looked up at the ceiling. He didn’t like being the only one who had contact with the doctor, but she had asked for Hobbie, because he was Wes’ best friend. Tycho wasn’t allowed anywhere near the facility, Wedge either. The doctor feared that their authority might tense up Wes’ disposition. And they wanted nothing to happen that would hurt Wes’ chance for a full recovery.

*

It was night, and the stars shone bright in the sky. Through the cockpit of the X-Wing, Wes smiled at the familiar feeling of flying.

Just like old times. Open space, and nothing to stop me from doing what I want. This is about as far to freedom as a man could get.

For fun, he maneuvered the ship into a flip and a spiral twist in the open vacuum of space, a cry of excitement escaping his lips.

As he straightened out his ship, however, he sat back in his flight couch. On his display, seven blips appeared in red. He brought his nose around to face their approach, and gasped as he saw seven X-Wings in Rogue Squadron markings approaching him.

“Hello Wes,” a voice came over the com. “Glad you could make it.”

“Wedge?” Wes asked. “What are you doing? Why are you registering as imps on the scanners?”

“We’re not the imps, Wes,” Tycho’s voice answered. “You are.”

“What?!”

Suddenly, the ship around him started to morph. The controls became that of an Imperial squint. His viewport turned from the elongated rectangle into a circle with a web design embedded in it. And his helmet shifted to cover his entire face, and struggle as he might, he couldn’t get the thing off.

“Prepare to die, sithspawn.”

“No, wait! I’m not an imp! I’m not an imp!”

Wes struggled with the controls, but his hands took a life of their own. As he watched in horror, his arms maneuvered the ship to chase after the X-Wings.

“NOOOO!”

*

“There is one other alternative,” the doctor mentioned, leaning back in her chair.

“What’s that?” Hobbie asked, interested.

“Major Janson is friends with Luke Skywalker, am I correct?”

Hobbie nodded. “All the Rogues are. But what could Luke do?”

“History in the field dictates that a Jedi might be able to help a trauma victim, such as Major Janson, find the paths leading back to the incident, while maintaining a close and emotional bond to ease the victim.”

“So are you suggesting that Luke come down here, help Wes dig into his mind, and then he’ll be cured?”

Dr. Anreson shook her head. “I still believe that time and guidance is the best cure for the Major. But I don’t believe that solitude for that long of a time will be good for him either. Some patients take months or even years to overcome PTSD.”

“Years?”

The doctor nodded. “See what I’m getting at? I’m going to work with Wes for a few more days, to see what his rate of progress is. From there, I will suggest to him about having Master Skywalker join in the treatment. And if all goes well…”

“Yes?”

“If all goes well, I’m sure your friend will be back to his normal self in no time.”

Hobbie let out a deep breath. “That’s all we want. We just want Wes back to himself.”

“There will, of course, still be residual aftereffects from the resurfacing of these memories.”

Hobbie lifted an eyebrow. “Such as?”

“Well… he probably won’t be able to fly until he’s ready for it, and not pressured in any way but by himself. While I can place him back into active duty, his fit to fly status will be held until the Major proves to himself that he’s OK.

“He’ll also be mad at people involved, though not the kind of fits that cause the kind of outbursts he’s been having lately. But I think they might only be reflected on one person.”

“Fel.”

The doctor nodded again. “Fel was part of the cause, from what I can gather. Having him around…”

“And dating his little sister…”

“Exactly. I would like to talk with both of them at one point later on in Janson’s therapy, so they know what will happen.”

“I can talk to them and make the arrangements.”

“Thank you, Major Klivian.”

“Anything for Wes.”

Suddenly, the door burst open and an aide ran inside. Out of breath, the aide gasped, “Major Janson… having nightmare… we can’t wake him.”

The doctor and Hobbie exchanged a glance, and then Anreson ran from the room, Hobbie right on her heels.

*

The entered the room, and Wes was curled up on the floor. His eyes were shut tight, and his cast was chipping off from the pressure Wes was using to make a fist. The doctor knelt beside him, trying to open his eyes and look at the pupils with a flashlight. “Somebody get me a painkiller and some sedatives, stat,” she shouted to no one in particular. One aide nodded and took off running.

“I was afraid of this,” the doctor stated, trying to support Wes’ head.

“What could have brought this about?” Hobbie asked.

“He’s trying too hard.”

“He’s what?”

The doctor looked up at him, a sad look on her face. “He wants to be back to normal, Major. And he knows you all do too. So he keeps trying, but he’s trying too hard now.”

The aide returned with two needles. The doctor took them and injected them one at a time into Wes’ arm.

*

“Come on Wes, you’re not even trying!” Gavin’s taunts. But it was only his voice… Wes had to keep reminding himself that. Sparks from fried systems bit into the side of his arm.

“I’m not your enemy!” Wes shouted, and he tried to will his hands away from the flightstick. But they had a mind of their own, and continued to chase after the X-Wing that danced in front of him. Suddenly a bright flash made him shut his eyes, and he felt the ship tremble as laser fire bounced over the squint.

Without warning, Wes felt his fingers squeeze on the trigger, and saw lasers come from his ship and lace the back of the X-Wing in front of him. Suddenly the ship exploded, and the splinters from the ship came at him, breaking the viewport of his own squint. He could feel glass embed itself into his body.

And the pilot from the dead X-Wing followed the glass into the squint. As another set of laserfire from one of the X-Wing’s hit the squint, Wes found himself face to face with Hobbie.

“Good job, Wes. I knew you could do it. Now keep fighting.” the corpse of his best friend said.

“I’m not an imp…”

*

“I’m not your enemy.”

“He’s coming around,” Dr. Anreson stated. She motioned for Hobbie to come beside her. “Talk to him, Major. Maybe hearing your voice will break him out of it.”

Hobbie nodded and knelt beside her. We had stopped struggling and was relaxing, but his face showed he was still in the nightmare. “Come on, Wes, come back to me. Come on…”

“I’m not an imp…” Wes muttered, his eyes fluttering.

“Good job, Wes. I knew you could do it. Now keep fighting.”

Wes’ head turned to face Hobbie’s voice. Hobbie watched as his best friend’s eyes opened, unfocused. He blinked a few times, then began to focus on Hobbie. “I’m not an imp…” he whispered.

Hobbie bit his lip, trying to keep himself strong. He had heard Wes mutter similar words in the middle of the night after he had been released. He had never thought of it before as being more than a nightmare. “I know you’re not, Wes,” Hobbie said. He reached out and gripped Wes’ shoulder. “You never were.”

Wes tried to smile, but instead his eyes closed as the drugs kicked in. Doctor Anreson motioned for two aides to help her bring Wes back to his bed that had been messed up in Wes’ struggles. She checked his vitals, talked to an aide, and then led Hobbie out of the room.

Once they were outside, the doctor turned to face Hobbie. “I’m sorry you had to witness that.”

“That’s not my friend in there,” Hobbie muttered, leaning his body against the wall. “That’s not Wes!”

“No it’s not. But he is in there, stuck inside that mind. And we need to get him back out.”

“I’ll call Luke,” Hobbie stated. “And he’ll be here tomorrow if I have to go and fly him here myself.”

-------END-------