The Droid and The General

The droid and the general

A/N: This is my first Star Wars fic ever, and I know I probably got a lot of stuff wrong, but please bear with me. While I'm a great Star Wars fan, I don't know much about the technology, biology, etc. so I'm sure there are some inaccuracies in this. Plus I doubt there's any chance Grievous could have survived. . . but hey this is fan fiction right? ^^ Thanks to my beta readers, especially Matt ^^

*Disclaimer: This is where I state that I do not own anything involved nor am I making any money off of this story. Stuff like that. This disclaimer applies to all future chapters.

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Chapter 1 The droid and the general:

Grievous Shakar groaned in agony. His mind was overwhelmed with pain, so much so that he was aware of nothing else. It was a searing, burning pain, coming from both his head and what remained of his torso. Trying desperately to gain control of himself, Grievous managed to stop moaning by gritting his teeth.

As he slowly opened his golden eyes, the Kaleesh cyborg found himself staring up into the vision sensors of a battle droid. The oddly benign, almost comical face peered down at his inquisitively. Grievous, who hated to be examined closely, growled and tried to turn away, only to find that he could not move. Slowly it dawned on him that he was not even aware of his droid body. He could see and feel what remained of his natural body, he was breathing, but he was paralyzed.

"I'm sorry, sir, but you can't move," the battle droid said apologetically, his mechanical voice painfully loud after the long silence. "I was afraid that the condition of your droid body might cause you further injury, so I temporarily disabled all but the ventilator."

Grievous tried to focus his thoughts on something other than his physical condition. "The Jedi. . . Kenobi. Is he--"

The droid was silent a moment, then he replied, "He escaped, sir."

Grievous tried to speak again but was seized with a fit of feeble coughing. The battle droid seemed to panic as he reached down and adjusted something on the ventilator. Grievous' breathing easeda little.

"Don't try to speak any more, sir," the droid pleaded. "You were gravely wounded, and you need to rest." He turned away from Grievous and went over to a cabinet, rummaging through it. From the look of the room, they were in the medical bay of a ship. "As I was saying, Kenobi escaped, and I believe the rest of the droid army has been destroyed... all except for me. I followed you when you were. . . ." The droid paused, most likely to avoid saying the words "running away." "I got there too late-- the Jedi was already gone. After everything was over, I got you to this ship. I. . . I'm so sorry, sir." The droid's thin shoulders slumped as he plucked a jar from the cabinet and stood, facing his commander.

Grievous remained silent. How had things gone so wrong? How had he survived so much, only to. . . to LOSE? And here he was now, in pieces, his army gone except for this one straggler. A failure.

"Kill me."

"Sir?" The lanky droid stalked forward, looking down at the general.

"Kill me," Grievous rasped again. "End it."

"Sir!" The droid drew back a little. "I know the pain is bad, but this ointment should help--"

"Not the pain, you fool! Everything. . . I have. . . no reason to live--" He broke off into a wheezing cough, but managed to croak out, "I've lost-- everything--"

The droid hesitated, torn between protecting his commander and obeying him. "I can't do that sir."

"You bastard!" Grievous snarled, but he was helpless. Without his body in operation, he could hardly move, much less do anything to end his life (or the meddling droid's for that matter). The droid's shoulders slumped again and he hung his head as if hurt, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he put his hands on Grievous' inert chassis and began to pull its two halves apart.

"No!" Grievous roared helplessly, struggling to move but succeeding only in turning his head. "Don't-- don't look at me--"

"I have to, sir," the droid said quietly. "This will make your burns stop hurting." He opened the General's chassis, revealing the blistered remains of his torso. He scooped some of the jar's contents out and began smoothing it on with his metal hands. The pain from Grievous' burns finally eased as the droid rubbed the ointment into his flesh. The cyborg closed his golden eyes, though it did little to lessen his humiliation at having his flesh seen, touched. Soon the droid carefully closed the chassis of Grievous' mechanical body over his torso, hiding it once more, then reached for Grievous' faceplate. The cyborg winced and hissed as the metal lifted from his face, further tearing his skin where it had blistered and stuck to the faceplate. The battle droid made a soft sound of sympathy as Grievous felt a gentle touch on his forehead. He relaxed his tensed jaw as the droid carefully applied the ointment.

"Is that any better, sir?" Grievous opened his eyes to find the droid's face close to his once more, peering down at him with black vision sensors.

"Yes," he whispered hoarsely. The droid nodded, carefully lowering the face plate over Grievous' head before turning away.

"I'm working on repairing your body, sir," he said as he straightened things up in the bay. "I retrieved your upper hands, and salvaged several of the other droids. . . . I think it should be enough to get you moving again until we can get some better parts made."

"Why bother," Grievous muttered, closing his eyes once more. The droid didn't reply. Grievous heard him moving around some more, then what light he could see through his closed lids dimmed.

"Try to get some rest, sir," the battle droid said quietly. Grievous heardthe sound of a door sliding open and shut, and he was left alone.

---

Despite his depression, Grievous managed to sleep. When he woke next, the droid was back, soldering something onto Grievous' metal body.

"What are you doing?" the cyborg asked.

"Fixing your arm, sir," the battle droid replied. "I've already fixed your right hand. . . . In a moment I'll reconnect you to your body so you can test it. Only your upper arms will work, but it's a start."

Grievous turned his head slowly to look at his right arm. His hand was reattached, a little messily, but it WAS there.

"You said you only found two of my hands. . . ."

"Yes sir. I'll have to attach battle droid hands to your lower arms." He turned off the soldering iron and set it aside. "There. I'm going to reconnect you to the upper half of your body. Just please don't try to move much, sir." The droid fiddled with something on Grievous' chassis, and suddenly the general was aware of his droid body once more. He sat up immediately, pushing his torso up with his repaired arms. His head swam with dizziness at first.

"Careful, sir--"

"Shut up," Grievous snapped at the droid as his head cleared. He flexed his arms and tested the movement of his fingers, then unlatched his lower arms, which fell and dangled uselessly. Grievous looked morosely at the stumps left where his hands had been severed before studying his legs.
They seemed to be intact, although he couldn't move them.

"Activate my legs."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't until you have healed more. You might injure yourself."

"Damn you, activate me!" Grievous snarled, but the droid only shook his head while standing wisely out of Grievous' reach. Growling, Grievous looked down at his chassis, intending to do it himself, but the connectors that held the wires leading to his legs were missing. Grievous looked around the room wildly, but the battle droid had hidden them. Grievous thought briefly of dragging himself off the table with his arms, but a fit of coughing made him reject that idea. As his metal body was shaken with the force of his coughing, the droid approached him then slid his thin arms around Grievous' back, supporting him. Too weak to even push him, Grievous let the droid lay him back on the table.

"Sir. . . please let yourself heal," the droid begged. "You're too weak to be moving around yet. I promise I'll connect your legs as soon as your burns have healed and I've finished the repairs on your body."

"Fine," Grievous growled, turning his face away from the droid. After a moment, the droid picked up the jar of ointment and opened Grievous' chassis again. Grievous moaned softly as the droid massaged the medicine into his torso.

"Are you all right, sir?"

Grievous nodded gruffly. Already his burns were starting to heal, and the ointment lessened what pain he still felt. Even the metal hands of the droid were comforting on his aching body and he subconsciously pressed against them as best he could. He was actually disappointed when the battle droid closed his chassis.

When the droid lifted the general's faceplate and began to medicate his face, Grievous kept his eyes open, watching him. The droid seemed a little embarrassed by this, working faster and ducking his head so he wouldn't have to meet the cyborg's gaze. Grievous wondered just which droid this was. They all looked the same to him, but he didn't remember ever dealing with one this courteous yet stubborn before.

"Do you have a name?" Grievous asked, his eyes still fixed on the droid's face.

"My designation name is OOP-937, sir." The droid finally looked at him askance before withdrawing his hand.

"You should feel better soon, sir," he went on as he moved away from Grievous. "If you'd like, I'll repair your legs before finishing your other arms, so that you can use them as soon as your burns heal a little more."

"Yes-- I can do without my other hands for a while. Just make it so I can move!" Grievous folded his long arms across his chest, sulking a little.

"Yes sir," the droid replied mildly. He began to tinker with Grievous' legs as the cyborg watched.

"How did you learn how to do all this?" the general asked after a moment.

"I was friends with some medic droids, sir. They taught me things on long flights." Grievous blinked, a bit surprised that droids had things like friends. Even though he was 95% droid himself, he still considered the robots inferior.

Over the next few days, Grievous' wounds began to heal. The battle droid had his legs repaired long before he allowed Grievous to get up, and had finished attaching a third hand by the time he activated the lower half of Grievous' body. The cyborg stood, wobbly at first but regaining his balance after a few steps. He tried to stretch to his full height, but a stab of pain in his torso caused him to hunch over in agony.

The battle droid was at his side instantly, helping him to sit back down. "Maybe I shouldn't have let you get up so soon," he fretted. "I guess your wounds haven't healed enough--"

"I'm all right," Grievous wheezed, shoving the droid away roughly. He stood again, ignoring the pain this time. The droid watched him worriedly as he silently handed Grievous his tattered cloak. Grievous flung it over his shoulders and stalked around the medical bay.

"Show me to the bridge," he growled, activating the door to the medical bay. The battle droid led him down the hall obediently, his feet clicking on the floor as Grievous stalked behind him. Once on the bridge, Grievous looked around the deserted area.

"Where are we going?"

"Mos Eisley, sir. On Tatooine."

"Mos Eisley?!" Grievous turned on the droid and growled. "Why there? There's nothing there but trash. . . and Hutts." Grievous shuddered.

"I'm sorry sir, but after doing some research I think it's the best place for you to go right now. The Jedi can't find out you're still alive-- and there won't be any Jedi in Mos Eisley."

Grievous bristled. . . but the droid DID have a point. It would be easy for him to hide in the port city until someone else disposed of Kenobi. Let Sidious do his own work for a change and wipe out the damn Jedi himself. Grievous could conveniently re-emerge after that was over.

"Fine," he growled at the droid. "Keep the ship on her current course."

The droid nodded his oblong head. "Yes sir. We'll arrive at Mos Eisley soon."

Chapter 2 Mos Eisley:

By the time they landed at the spaceport, Grievous had formed at least a rudimentary plan. His first priority was to get rid of the ship OOP-937 had taken. Not only could it help lead the Jedi to Grievous, but he also figured he and the battle droid would need the money the ship's sale could bring. At some point, Grievous would have to get new hands made for his lower arms, and Oop needed a few repairs himself.

Grievous spent an entire hour after they landed haggling with one of the used ship dealers who hung around the landing strips, looking for business. The dealer didn't seem to know who Grievous was-- or else he didn't care. Grievous supposed this was a good thing, but he couldn't help but think that he might have gotten more for the ship if he had been recognized.

Grievous was leaving the spaceport and trying to remember which area of the city had decent-- for Mos Eisley anyway-- housing when his thoughts were interrupted by a startled sound from Oop.

"Sir-- ow! Stop poking me! Sir--?"

Sighing impatiently, Grievous turned around to find the battle droid surrounded by a crowd of short beings in hoods who were prodding and examining him. Jawas. Grievous stalked toward them, intending to shoo them off, but they turned to him excitedly.

Grievous didn't understand Jawa, but from their chattering and gestures, he realized that they wanted the battle droid. Growling, Grievous grabbed Oop's arm and started to drag him off, but three of the Jawas clutched at the droid's waist and hips.

"Let me go!" Oop pleaded, trying to shake the little creatures off. "You don't want me, I'd be horrible at moisture farming!" The Jawas ignored him, instead chattering at Grievous some more. One held out a sack of credits and rattled it at him. Grievous snatched the sack away from him and peered inside to count the money. He was surprised at how much the Jawas were offering for a fragile, battle-damaged droid like Oop.

"This much? For him?" The Jawas nodded, tugging on Oop's body. Apparently battle droids were a rarity on Tatooine, no matter how useless they were for farming.

"Sir. . . ." Oop said pathetically, looking at Grievous. "You're not going to. . . sell me, are you?" Grievous looked down at the sack of money again, pondering. The extra cash would come in handy, and he didn't really need the battle droid anymore. He was about to agree to the Jawas' offer when he happened to look at Oop again. The battle droid's thin body had drooped pitifully, and he hung his oblong head. Seeing this, realizing that Oop wanted to stay with him. . . with HIM, Grievous hesitated, then shoved the money back into the Jawa's little gloved hand.

"No. He's not for sale." The Jawa started to protest, but a good glare from Grievous changed his mind. He motioned for his friends to let Oop go. Almost immediately, they spotted a lone Gonk droid and started chasing after it. The droid tottered off as fast as its stumpy legs could go, "gonk"ing frantically. Grievous stalked off, leaving Oop to follow him.

"Thank you sir," Oop stammered. "I--"

"Shut up!" Grievous snarled. "Don't make me regret keeping you." Oop fell silent after that, though Grievous could hear the faint creak of his joints as he followed closely.

As they entered the residential district of Mos Eisley, Grievous looked around for quarters that appeared vacant. He didn't have much luck until he and the battle droid came across a pair of humanoids who appeared to be on the same mission.

Grievous grabbed the arm of the male half of the couple. "Where can I find the landlords of these buildings?"

The man's female companion let out a little shriek at the sight of Grievous and the sound of his deep, raspy voice. The man looked a little startled as well, although he answered fairly steadily. "There's only one landlord for this whole part of the city."

"LandLADY," the woman hissed at him. "She's with Huttling now, remember?"

Grievous looked from one to the other with a sinking feeling. "She's a Hutt?"

"Of course. Lor-- uh, Lady Melba is from a long line of Hutt nobility. You'll need her permission to be shown any of these apartments." The man squeezed the female's hand tenderly and smiled at her. "Zeeba and I were just married, and Lady Melba was kind enough to let us make an offer on an apartment."

"I think being pregnant has made her rather sentimental," Zeeba said confidentially to Oop. "It's a good time for you two to seek her favor.

"Roger roger," said Oop.

"Are you two married?" Zeeba asked brightly, turning back to Grievous.

"No!" snarled Grievous, horrified.

"Droids can't get married, you silly girl!" Zeeba's husband chided her. He glanced at Grievous then whispered, "They're probably just shacking up together."

"If it isn't too much trouble, could you tell me where to find this Melba?" Grievous snapped.

"When we spoke to her, she was on her way to visit the midwife. You might catch her leaving if you hurry." The man pointed down a street to the right. "It's a couple blocks down."

Grievous growled in acknowledgment and stalked away. Oop gave the couple an awkward little bow.

"Thank you both for your help," he said quickly before hurrying after Grievous. As the two neared a small, squat building marked with the midwife symbol, Oop tugged on Grievous' cape.

"Sir, I think it might be to our advantage if I spoke with Lady Melba on your behalf."

Grievous glared down at him. "Why?"

"Well. . . ." The droid looked everywhere but at Grievous. "You don't like Hutts very much, and. . . I think we should stay on her good side if we want a place to stay here."

Grievous felt like punishing Oop for his impertinence, but he grudgingly admitted that the droid was right.

"Fine," he muttered, giving Oop a little push forward as he saw a Hutt emerging from the building ahead of them. "Go on, then."

The spindly droid tottered forward, looking ridiculously small next to the huge bulk of the Huttess. In spite of himself, Grievous was a little concerned for Oop's safety and he stood close behind the battle droid as he tapped the Hutt on her gelatinous shoulder.

"Excuse me? Lady Melba?"

Very slowly, she turned and looked down at the little droid. "Yes?" she bellowed

Oop explained their situation to her, conveniently leaving out the part about Grievous being on the run from the Jedi. Grievous was impressed with his politeness and deference to the Huttess, even managing to work in a compliment on her eyes. When he finished his story with a request for a showing, she chuckled jovially, inadvertently spitting a trail of slime on Oop's chassis.

"What an amusing little droid you are dear," she chortled. "I think we can arrange something. How much money do you have to spend?"

Oop looked at Grievous, who grudgingly told her an amount somewhat less than the total in Oop's pack. He was severely annoyed, when Melba broke out into another laugh.

"How quaint! Well. . . ." She wobbled forward a little to point down the street. "There IS a free room in my slave quarters over there--"

"Slave quarters?!" spluttered Grievous. Before he could continue, Oop reached up and clamped a hand over the speaker grill on the General's mask.

"Thank you very much, Lady Melba," the battle droid replied. "Your graciousness is unequaled anywhere in the galaxy." To Grievous' horror, the droid produced the credits from his pack and deposited them into Melba's slimy hand. The cyborg shoved Oop's hand away and stalked in the direction Melba had indicated without another word.

"You keep him in line, honey," the Huttess said to Oop as he hurried after his commander. She wiped a tear of laughter from the corner of one huge eye as she watched them go.

"I should dismantle you and sell you for scrap," Grievous spat at Oop as they entered the slave district.

"I'm sorry, sir." Oop hung his head pathetically. "I did what I thought was in your best interests. I didn't mean to offend you." Grievous reached for him and Oop cringed, sure he was about to be swatted. But Grievous only wiped the trail of Hutt slime off his chest and flicked it to the ground with a grunt of disgust.

They found the only empty apartment with little trouble. Grievous had to duck just to make it through the low door, and he could hardly stand inside, even hunched as he normally was. Still, the place was cleaner than he had expected. There was a small bedroom with a door separating it from the main room, off of which was a small kitchen area and a balcony. Grievous stood in the balcony doorway, looking drearily at Tatooine's two setting suns.

'THIS is what the rest of my life is going to be like?' he thought. To make things worse, a gust of wind showered him with dust, making him cough violently. Instantly Oop was at his side, looking up at him worriedly.

"Sir? Is there anything I can do?"

"No," Grievous snarled at him, turning away as he coughed harder. "I'm going to rest." He staggered into the bedroom, collapsing on the small, hard bed in a fit of wheezing as soon as the door had shut behind him. So what if he survived Kenobi's attack-- the damn dust on the Force-forsaken planet was going to kill him instead! He stood again, bumping his head on the low ceiling, and went into the adjoining bathroom. Grievous shoved his face mask up as he turned on the sink, then he leaned down and brought his deformed mouth to the stream of water. He held the water in his mouth a moment, then swallowed it. It soothed his aching throat a little, although there was the inconvenience of having to empty the tank it flowed into from his esophagus. As convenient as it was, not having a stomach also had its disadvantages.

Breathing heavily, Grievous went back into the bedroom and lay down, lowering the protective mask over his face. His weakened Kaleesh body needed rest, and at the moment he welcomed sleep. At least it was an escape from Tatooine. Drowsily, he wished that Oop were with him; his skin felt hot and itchy inside his droid body, and it would be nice to have some of that medication rubbed into it. But having Oop there meant having to interact with someone, particularly someone who had gone from being a nameless droid to. . . not a friend exactly, but at least a person. It wasn't something Grievous wanted to think about, so he tried to ignore the discomfort of his body and sleep.

--

When he did sleep, Grievous dreamed of his old lover, back on Kaleesh. He hadn't thought of her in a long time, and so in the dream could not see her face. She remained turned away from him, so all he saw was her thick golden hair as she touched and caressed him. He reached down for her but stopped when his hand crossed his vision-- it was a droid hand. For an instant, Grievous panicked, wondering what had happened to him, until with a jolt he remembered everything. The war, the crash, Dooku offering him life in a metal body in exchange for Grievous' allegiance.

He couldn't touch her, not with that cold hand. Yet she didn't seem to notice his condition; she continued trailing kisses along his chest, sweeping his scarred skin with her hair. Grievous moaned as her lips closed over his nipple, sucking gently.

"Sir? Are you all right?" Oop's voice jolted Grievous out of his sleep. His moans turned to a growl as he glared up at the droid.

"I'm fine! I WAS asleep!"

"I'm sorry sir, but you sounded as if you were in pain. . . ." Oop trailed off, but Grievous barely heard him. Instead he was focused on his body, the aching arousal coming from places he didn't even have anymore. When he had first been fitted with his droid body, Grievous had thought there could be nothing worse than phantom pains that wracked his missing limbs. He had felt aches and cramps coming from the spaces where his arms and legs had been as his tortured brain misread the signals flashing from his spinal cord. The worst part was that there was nothing he could do to ease pain that didn't really exist.

However, now Grievous was convinced that there was worse. He squirmed slightly, trying to escape the sensation of being fully, painfully erect.

"Sir. . . ?" The droid laid a hand against Grievous' arm questioningly. Grievous snarled, slapping the droid across his long nose with his hand and knocking the fragile robot backwards.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" the cyborg roared. His body, on the other hand, ached for the droid's touch. Even if he couldn't fulfill his dream, the thought of Oop massaging what was left of his body was tempting. Perhaps it would bring some relief. . . .

Grievous forced the thoughts away and turned his head from the droid, closing his eyes. "Leave me alone," he hissed at Oop. He heard some creaking as the droid get back to his feet, followed by the noise of the door opening and shutting. When he was alone once more, Grievous heaved a sigh before pressing the control on his body that opened the front of his chassis. He slowly brought his connected right hands to lightly brush the scarred flesh of his torso.

The cyborg shuddered at the contact. He wanted to withdraw his hand, yet he craved the sensation of something, anything against his skin. Grievous spread his fingers, drawing them over the frail torso that still housed one lung and his heart. Closing his eyes distanced the sensation from its cause, and he tried to imagine it was his lover's hand on him, her six fingers gently caressing him. Tried to remember her face, her greenish yellow eye gazing up at him. But she was so far away from him now, in time, in distance, and in what he had become. He might still be Kaleesh in his mind, but his body was droid, and his metal hands against his flesh reminded him not of her, but of Oop. That was easier, to believe the droid's hand rested against his chest, drawing metal fingers over his sensitive scars and exposed muscle, teasing him. Grievous moaned softly as his fantasy went from vague to distinct with his thoughts of the droid, unconsciously bringing his other hand to run along the underside of his torso.

A memory floated into his mind, one of hands on his chest, massaging him and brushing his nipple. Metal hands. It must have been something he dreamed, but his own hands crept upwards to mimic those in his thoughts.

"Harder," he hissed to no one. As he touched himself, his droid hips thrust upward automatically, meeting nothing but air. Grievous split his arms apart and brought his two lower hands down to stroke the touch sensors on his legs while his upper two remained on his chest. His flesh warmed under his hands, the heat a familiar sign of Kaleesh arousal. He scraped a finger roughly across his nipple as he gripped the corresponding muscle on his other side, groaning.

"Yess. . . ." The fingers on his leg sensors moved faster as he drifted in the dream-memory, imagining metal hips thrusting against his, an oblong head pressed against his chest in adoration as hands groped and explored him. "Oop," Grievous whispered, living flesh trembling as it tensed under his hands in union with the building sense of power in his droid body. He raked his fingers across his chest one last time and gasped for breath as he shuddered in the closest thing to an orgasm he had had since he lost his body.

After the surge of electricity passed through his droid body, Grievous lay still on the bed, wheezing as his head cleared. If he hadn't wanted to think about Oop earlier, he certainly didn't now. He ruthlessly pushed all consideration of the droid from his mind, and soon fell asleep again, exhausted.

Chapter 3 Sand Storm:

Grievous awoke just after sunrise. He peered blearily out the small bedroom window into the desert morning. Elsewhere on Tatooine, the moisture farmers would have been up for a couple hours already, but Mos Eisley still slept.

The cyborg opened the bedroom door to find a cleaner, neater room than he had left the night before. Oop had unpacked their supplies from the ship and swept up the sand that had blown in the vacant apartment. Now the droid was sitting out on the small balcony, his head tilted up to look at the sky. Grievous regarded him a moment before opening cabinets in the kitchen area in an attempt to find the medication for his wounds.

After he finally located the jar, Grievous tried to sneak back to the bedroom with it, but Oop saw him. The lanky droid came stalking back in from outside, bringing with him a small cloud of dust that caused Grievous to launch into his first coughing fit of the day.

"Damn you," he cursed, turning his hunched back to Oop as he tried to control himself.

"I'm sorry, sir." The droid waited until Grievous finally caught his breath before going on. "Would you like me to medicate you, sir?" Grievous looked over his shoulder at Oop, who was hanging back out of the cyborg's reach, just in case Grievous decided to hit him again. It made Grievous feel guilty, which in turn made him even angrier at the battle droid.

"No! I can do it myself." He started again for his bedroom, then stopped once more. A nagging weakness was creeping through him, which meant his Kaleesh body was low on nutrients. There was a small tank in his droid body that stored the solution that served as Grievous' "food," which was slowly fed into his body through a drip; closing his eyes briefly, Grievous scanned his body's readout and found that the tank was empty.

"Is there any of the nutrient solution left?" he asked Oop.

"Yes sir, a small amount."

"I'll need it when I'm done." Without waiting for a reply, Grievous retreated into his room. He opened his chassis and rubbed the medication into his skin brusquely, not allowing himself to feel any pleasure from it. At least now he had plans for the day-- they would have to go out to find the ingredients for his nutrient solution. What was left might last a few days in his tank, but he would need an IV of the solution for the next couple nights to help him recover from his injuries. And while they were out, they might as well find a droid repair shop. The awkward battle droid hands grafted onto Grievous' lower arms were starting to irk him, and Oop probably needed a complete tune up.

Grievous left his room and silently took the near-empty container of solution that Oop held out to him. After pouring the rest into his suit's tank, he closed his eyes for a moment and waited for the rush of energy that always came when he fed after being deprived. Grievous drew a hissing breath at the sensation of mixed coolness, energy, and pain, then let it out again slowly.

"Come on," he told Oop gruffly. He motioned for the droid to follow him as he walked up the steps that led out of the apartment. Oop went after him obediently, pausing to set up the recognition lock on the door before hurrying to catch up.

"Where are we going, sir?" the battle droid asked, turning his oblong head from side to side as they walked. Slowly, the city was awakening, and diverse crowds of beings were emerging from their dwellings, catching the droid's attention.

"I need to replenish the nutrient solution." As they entered commercial district of Mos Eisley, Grievous looked around him in disgust. "If they have the ingredients on this dustball of a planet."

"You could ask someone where the food stalls are," Oop suggested.

"I'm not asking anyone HERE for directions!" Grievous glared at the motley organics and droids moving about.

Oop tried another approach. "Sir, my olfactory sensors are rather limited, but I do sense what smells like food coming from the east." Now that the droid mentioned it, Grievous could "smell" it too through his own sensors. Why hadn't he thought of that?

"Come on then," he grumbled, stalking eastward. Sure enough, they came across the grocery shops a street over. They were just opening, but even with the light crowds, it took Grievous over an hour to locate the various liquids and powders that went into his solution. He was glad for Oop's droid memory, since he doubted he'd ever remember where to find the ingredients again. When he was satisfied that he had enough ingredients to last him a couple standard months, Grievous turned his mind to the tune up both he and Oop needed.

"What repairs do you need?" he asked Oop brusquely, not sure of how to enquire after a droid's health.

Oop seemed surprised that Grievous had asked. "Well, sir, my joints are getting stiff, and I lost part of my foot a while back. And I certainly could use refinishing." The scrawny droid looked down, as if embarrassed. "I look so awful, you must be ashamed to be seen with me."

"You look fine," Grievous muttered. He coughed harshly and stalked forward. "Well, can you smell any droid repair shops?"

"I'll just ask somebody." Before Grievous could protest, Oop had walked up to a passing EV series droid.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he said politely. The droid stopped and turned to look at him.

"What do you want?" she snapped. She looked rather threatening, so Grievous moved closer to stand behind Oop. The last thing he needed was for his droid to get in a fight.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but we were wondering where the nearest droid repair shop is."

"You were." The EV looked from Oop to Grievous, then stared at him closely. He was certain she knew who he was, but she said nothing. Instead she cocked her long head to the side. "The closest, or the best?" She took a step toward Oop, who stumbled backwards and bumped into Grievous.

"The best, I guess," the nervous droid said through a haze of static.

"Ah. I thought so." She gave a little mechanical laugh. "Do you know where Jabba's estate is?"

"No. Who's Jabba?" Grievous decided it was time he stepped into the conversation. He didn't trust the shifty-looking EV.

She made the laughing noise again. "You have never heard of Lord Jabba the Hutt?"

'Another Hutt,' thought Grievous with a groan.

"No matter," the EV droid went on. "Just follow any road towards the city center, and you will see his estate. The repair shop is near the main entrance." She reached out a spindly arm and cupped the end of Oop's nose. "The owner will LOVE you."

Grievous glared and firmly removed the EV's hand. She looked at him challengingly, then withdrew her arm.

"After you two get done at the repair shop, stop by Jabba's estate-- I work there," she added. "I sure he would be very interested in meeting you."

"Why don't you just take us to the shop then?" Grievous asked suspiciously.

"I have some errands to run before I go home. But I will see you soon. . . I'm sure." Grievous watched her go, noticing that she stopped alongside a long-faced 8D8 droid at one of the food stalls. The two seemed to be speaking, and the 8D8 turned to look at Grievous and Oop.

"Let's go," Grievous said quickly, putting his hand on Oop's shoulder and steering him away from the other droids.

"Are we going to the repair shop?" Oop asked, glancing sideways at Grievous' hand.

"I don't know." Grievous sighed deeply. "I don't trust that droid. I also don't want to get near any more Hutts."

"But sir, if it really is the best repair shop, we should go there. You deserve the best."

Grievous stopped walking and looked down at the smaller droid, but Oop's vision sensors were focused on the ground. Before Grievous could reply a sudden gust of wind blew a cloud of dust over them, sending him into a coughing fit. Grievous finally caught his breath and waited for the dust to clear-- but it didn't. Instead, the wind was growing steadily stronger and the dust clouds thicker.

"Sir, what's happening?" Oop asked worriedly.

"It's a dust storm!" a humanoid cried as he ran by. "Take shelter, quickly!" Grievous looked back towards the EV and 8D8 droids, but they had disappeared. Grievous' already tattered cape whipped around him in the rising gale, and the grains of sand caught in the wind all but blinded him. He held an arm up to shield his face, but it offered little protection. His healing skin stung where the sand hit it, and his eyes burned painfully. Worst of all was the choking sensation caused by the sand he breathed in. Grievous coughed repeatedly, bending over almost double in agony.

"Sir, we've got to find shelter!" Oop screamed over the storm, his vocabulator turned to its highest volume. Grievous tried to nod, not trusting himself to speak with a lungful of sand. Oop raised an arm to point ahead of them; apparently his vision sensors saw something Grievous couldn't with his organic eyes. They plodded forward into the wind until Grievous could just make out the silhouette of a building ahead of them.

The wind chose that moment to grow even stronger, nearly knocking Grievous off his feet. It was too much for the lighter battle droid, and Oop let out a mechanical scream as his feet were blown out from under him and he fell to his knees. He struggled to stand once more, only to slip in the sand and fall again.

"General!" The droid reached for Grievous even as the wind began to physically push him backward. Grievous looked back at him, already out of reach. Oop's dark vision sensors peered back at him pathetically through the haze of sand. "Please. . . ."

The cyborg was racked with another debilitating cough. He needed the shelter of the nearby building desperately, but his only friend was slipping away from him. Grievous split his arms into four, then dropped to the ground and scuttled forward like an insect. He tried to call Oop's name, but it stuck in his throat, sounding instead like a croak. Grievous paused long enough to push his cape forward so that it blew over his head towards the droid. Oop understood and caught the very end of the worn fabric in one hand. The added weight propelled Grievous forward, skidding through the sand even as the cape began to give way. With both of them being blown away from shelter, Grievous knew he'd never catch the battle droid. He steeled himself against the wind, bending his limbs at the elbows and knees, then pounced. He landed roughly on his hands and feet in the sand, straddling Oop backwards. There was snap that could be heard even over the wind as one of Grievous' jerry-rigged battle droid hands snapped off under his weight, but he hardly noticed. He wrapped his two lower arms around the battle droid's waist and stood shakily, clutching Oop tightly. The battle droid, finding himself suspended upside down in the General's arms, squawked and clung to Grievous' leg in an attempt to not be blown away again. Staggering under the added weight, Grievous plunged forward blindly, hoping to find shelter in the direction he was going, since he doubted they could make it back to the building Oop had seen.

Grievous didn't even see the wall in front of him until he walked right into it. With his upper arms, he felt his way along its surface until, praise the Force, he found a doorway. He stumbled in, finding that it was an entranceway to a house. There was a closed door surrounded by a little alcove, which thankfully provided some shelter on either side of the door. Grievous pressed himself into the hollow to the door's left, gasping for breath as he let the battle droid slide to the ground.

Oop shook his head dazedly, then stood. The wind still dashed sand against them, but it was partially blocked, and they weren't in danger of blowing away. Grievous clutched at his chest, closing his eyes in pain as his single lung heaved for air.

"Sir. . . thank you." Grievous opened one eye to look at Oop, who was standing close to him with a hand extended. When the cyborg didn't move, Oop slowly laid the hand against his chassis, over his heart. "Are you all right?"

Grievous nodded slowly, then was forced to close his eyes again as another strong gust of wind assaulted them. "Wind's picking up," he said hoarsely. He reached out blindly and grasped the droid's shoulder, then pulled him close, turning so that his own back was to the wind, and Oop was sheltered between his body and the wall.

"Sir--"

"You've sustained a lot of damage. I can't afford to have you incapacitated." Grievous leaned his forehead tiredly against the wall over Oop's head, draping his upper arms over the droid's shoulders.

"Yes sir." After a moment, Grievous felt the droid's arms creeping around him, then Oop's head resting against his chest. It was such a sweet, trusting motion Grievous couldn't believe it had come from a mere droid-- or that it was directed towards him. Grievous slowly brought up his own lower arms and embraced Oop, one hand and one stump resting against the droid's power pack.

They remained quiet until the wind finally began to die down. Grievous risked a look over his shoulder and found that he could see once more.

"Let's just go home," he said hoarsely, staggering a bit as he stepped out of their shelter into the street. "We'll find the repair shop tomorrow."

"Yes sir." As they walked back to their apartment-- 'Is it really home to me already?' Grievous wondered-- Mos Eisley's other inhabitants flooded the streets, in larger numbers than before the storm. Grievous looked over his shoulder a couple times, expecting the EV droid to be following them, but he saw nothing.

Chapter 4 After the storm:

Grievous didn't feel at ease until they were safely inside the small apartment with the door locked behind them. He sank into one of the chairs, resting his forehead in his hand.

"Are you all right, sir?" Oop asked, taking a hesitant step toward him. Grievous glanced up at the droid, whose beige finish had been badly scratched by the blowing sand. The silver-toned metal beneath his paint shown through in twinkles of reflected light.

Grievous nodded even as he began to cough harshly. Oop didn't look convinced, and he moved a little closer as the cyborg bent over, gagging.

"Sir, you're NOT all right." Grievous raised his head and glared at the droid with watery eyes, but Oop didn't back down. "Let me get you some water." As the droid went to the sink with a bowl, Grievous thought dismally about the expense of water on the desert planet. Still, it soothed his throat as he drank, and he managed to quit coughing.

"Thank you," he rasped.

The droid seemed a bit surprised at the expression of gratitude. "You're welcome, sir. Is anything else bothering you?"

Grievous shifted in his seat, scanning his systems. There was a slight crunch as he moved, and the general winced. "I think I have some sand in my joins. And. . . in my mask."

Oop made a staticky noise of acknowledgment and rummaged around in a cabinet, producing the droid maintenance kit they had taken from the ship. "This should help," he said brightly, holding up a gadget that consisted of a motorized, spinning brush with a small fan. "We used these to keep our parts clear of dust. It might work on sand too."

The battle droid knelt at Grievous' feet and began using the brush to clear the cyborg's ankle joints of sand. Grievous flexed his feet experimentally. "Yes, that's better. . . ."

Oop worked his way up Grievous' legs, dusting and blowing away the offending sand. When the soft brush came in contact with the cyborg's touch sensors, he felt a pleasant, almost ticklish sensation. He hissed sharply, causing Oop to look up at him questioningly.

"Keep going," Grievous muttered, closing his eyes. After a moment, he felt the brush around his mechanical thighs. The location alone was enough to make the sensation erotic, and he bit back a moan of pleasure. Since when had he been as easily excited as an adolescent? And for that matter, since when did he get excited over DROIDS?

To his relief, and disappointment, Oop soon moved upward, running the brush over his chassis and shoulders. "Sir, do you want me to. . . raise your mask?" the droid asked hesitantly. Grievous opened his eyes once more and activated the control that lifted his mask from his mangled face. Force knew Oop had seen him often enough while medicating his burns, but it still made Grievous uncomfortable to have anyone look at his true body. The droid didn't seem affected though-- or else, being a droid, his true reaction was hidden by his impassive face. He cleaned the sand from the underside of the mask, then gently moved the brush over Grievous' face, dusting away the stray grains that clung to his flesh.

"Oop."

"Sir?"

Grievous fixed his golden eyes on the black vision sensors of the droid. For some inexplicable reason, he wanted to know how Oop saw him. "What do you think of my appearance?"

"Your appearance, sir? Well, your finish has been scratched quite a bit, and you need new lower hands, but other than that--"

"I don't mean that," Grievous growled. "I mean my REAL body. My face."

Oop didn't reply right away, instead fidgeting with the brush. "Well sir, I. . . being a droid I am not equipped to judge the appearance of an organic--"

Grievous grabbed the droid by the nose and made him face him. "Don't give me that 'just a droid' crap. I'm still your commander, and I expect an answer when I ask you a question!"

Oop answered so quickly and in such a low tone, Grievous could barely hear him. "I think you're very handsome, sir."

Grievous was so surprised, he let go of the droid's nose and just stared at him. Oop straightened up and looked everywhere but at the cyborg.

"You. . . you do."

". . . yes sir."

Grievous reached out and laid his hands on the droid's sides, against the two metal pipes on either side of his narrow waist. Oop looked down at the cyborg's hands in confusion, then gave a yelp as Grievous pulled him forward, seating him on his lap. Grievous took the brush from Oop's hand and brusquely began working on his arm.

"I'm afraid this sand will cause damage if we don't find some way to protect ourselves from it," the cyborg muttered as he cleaned Oop's shoulder. "Perhaps if that repair shop is as good as the EV droid claims, they can take some preventative measures."

"I hope so, sir." Oop shifted on Grievous' lap, steadying himself with a hand on the cyborg's shoulder. Grievous quickly finished with the upper half of the droid's body and moved to his legs. As he drew the brush over the back of Oop's left knee, the droid made a soft humming noise. Grievous paused.

"Is that uncomfortable?" He already knew the answer.

"No sir, it. . . it feels nice," Oop stammered. Grievous ran the brush down his metal leg, then moved to the right knee. A staticky, tense electric pulse was building in Grievous' droid body, even as his organic heartbeat increased. He wanted the battle droid, and unlike the night before, he wasn't interested in denying it. He didn't know what had changed his mind-- maybe the threat of losing Oop to the sand storm, or the fact that Oop somehow found him attractive.

Grievous brought the brush up the droid's leg and along the joint that separated Oop's hip from his torso. Looking down at the slender pelvis, Grievous spotted a touch sensor on Oop's inner thigh and applied the brush to it. Oop gave a wordless mechanical yelp and rocked his hips upward, trying to bring more contact to the sensor. Grievous smiled, his lips drawing back to reveal sharp white fangs. He moved the brush to the matching sensor on Oop's other thigh and brushed his metal fingers against the first sensor.

"Sir--" Oop's voice was husky with static. Grievous tossed aside the brush and rubbed his fingers over the sensors.

"Yes?" But Oop didn't answer, only looked up at him with a slight hunch of his shoulders that managed to convey his longing for his commander. The submissive posture aroused Grievous even more. Lack of anatomy aside, surely a droid would be the perfect lover. Tireless, obedient, unquestioning. . . and, unlike any organic, undistressed by his appearance.

Grievous stood, moving his arms to hold Oop against him. Oop squawked in surprise and clung to Grievous' neck automatically to keep from falling. Grievous carried him to the bedroom and laid him on his back on the bed, kneeling over him. The droid gazed up at his face, then shyly lifted a hand and laid it against Grievous' cheek. His fingers moved over the prominent cheekbone and along the ragged flesh that clung to his skull. Grievous hissed in surprise, causing Oop to draw his hand back.

"No, don't stop," Grievous whispered gruffly, and the metal hand returned to his face. Grievous felt the blood rush to the spot where the droid's hand rested, heating his skin in a Kaleesh sign of arousal. Grievous lowered his body onto the droid's, exulting in the squirm of the smaller body beneath him. He thrust his hips down, moaning aloud as the droid's angular pelvis scraped against the sensors in his own legs.

Grievous split his arms apart and brought each of his three hands to a different spot on Oop's body, causing the droid to audibly hum with pulses of energy. The cyborg gripped the droid's ankles with his feet and pulled his legs apart before pushing his handless arm between them to rub the sensors there. The fingers against Grievous' face curled in pleasure, and Oop drew his other hand down Grievous' side, searching for a sensor.

Suddenly Grievous wanted to feel the droid's touch on his skin, not through a sensor. He rolled over on his back, pulling Oop on top of him.

"Sit up," Grievous moaned, activating the control that opened his chassis as the droid obeyed. When it was open and Oop was looking down at him, waiting for instructions, Grievous felt a momentary panic. What was he doing, exposing his fragile body to someone, especially in such a position? It would be so easy for Oop to reach down and crush his heart, ending the life that had held on so tenaciously for so long.

But then, Oop could have killed him back on the ship, when Grievous had commanded him to do so. And after all Oop had done for him. . . . 'I have nothing to fear from you,' Grievous thought, reaching for the droid and drawing him down.

"Touch me," he rasped aloud. Immediately, the metal hands went to his chest, lightly resting against the scarred flesh. Oop leaned close to him, stroking his body gently, then lowered his head to rub the end of his nose against Grievous' nipple. The cyborg groaned and clutched the droid more tightly. "Yesss," he hissed under his breath, his hips writhing underneath Oop. In response, Oop nuzzled him harder.

For the first time in a long while, Grievous wished desperately that he were whole, that he had a full organic body-- and that Oop had one too. He wanted to possess the droid, fuck him, mark him as his own. Frustrated, Grievous gripped Oop tighter around his waist and plunged the fingers of one free hand between the droid's legs, mercilessly pressing and rubbing the sensors there.

"Siiiir--" moaned the droid, the humming from his circuits growing louder.

"My name," Grievous hissed to him. "Say my name. . . ."

Oop pressed his face into his chest, digging his fingertips into the cyborg's flesh. ". . . Grievous," he murmured softly, the general's name sounding unfamiliar in the robotic voice. He brought one hand to Grievous' nipple and rubbed it roughly, causing the cyborg to groan with pleasure.

"Oop. . . ." He held the droid's head against him with one hand, the heat of his flesh soaking into the metal. His other two hands teased their sensors, making them both shudder with building pulses of electricity. The droid massaged his flesh, whimpering mechanically as Grievous tensed beneath his touch.

Grievous cried out wordlessly as his organic body shook, and the power surges in his droid body grew almost unbearable. He felt a snap of electricity discharge through his body, leaving him exhausted and gasping for breath. He could barely think for a moment, then he was aware of the droid, still humming and trembling as he clung to him. Grievous grasped the pipes on his sides again and pulled him forward until he was kneeling over the cyborg's head. Lifting his head, Grievous pressed his mouth to one of the droid's thigh sensors and drew his tongue over it. Oop make a frantic noise of pleasure and thrust against his commander's mouth. Smiling possessively, Grievous moved from one sensor to the other, licking and caressing them.

"Sir, I-- I--" Oop tried to stammer, then he bent his head and groaned, "Grievous--" as he came, shaking. Grievous let his head drop back and shut his eyes as he tried to catch his breath. He heard Oop move off of him and sit beside him on the bed; Grievous closed his chassis and lowered his mask before looking up at the droid. Oop looked away shyly, and Grievous turned away as well. He had always felt awkward after sex with any lover, and he had absolutely no idea what to say to a droid who had just given him the most intense pleasure he had felt in a long, long time.

"I think some sand got in during the storm," Oop finally said in a small voice. "I'll go clean it up."

Grievous nodded, not opening his eyes. He heard Oop get up from the bed, then the quiet hum of the door opening and shutting. When the droid was gone, Grievous sighed heavily. He was extremely tired and yet relaxed. Almost. . . happy.

Chapter 5 Hal Eve:

Grievous slept for much of the day, and when he finally emerged from his room, he found Oop had powered down and was half sitting, half draped in one of the chairs. Unlike sleeping organics, droids appeared eerily lifeless when dormant, and Grievous tried not to look at him as he set up a crude IV with a mixture of the nutrients they had acquired.

By then, it was late afternoon and the intense heat from Tatooine's double suns had lessened. After another glance at Oop, Grievous stepped out into the lengthening shadows. He wandered slowly through the dusty streets of the slave quarters, watching the organic, mostly humanoid families coming home from their day of labor. Even young children came in dirty, tired groups to disperse to their individual homes. Grievous thought about the children of Kalee, his home planet-- how after their mornings of lessons they had the rest of the day to play and explore their beautiful world. Growing up there, he had dreamed of something more exciting, of course, but what dreams could these dusty children possibly have?

Dreams of becoming their parents, he supposed. They would grow up, and become those men and women coming from different places of labor to reunite and embrace in front of their homes. Hoping they wouldn't be sold or bartered away from their families.

He watched an exhausted-looking woman who trailed behind the others, her stringy hair the color of the sand beneath her feet. From a distance she looked old, but as she drew closer, Grievous saw that she had less than thirty standard years. However, the wrinkles from sun and work around her eyes could have belonged to a woman of fifty. Her face brightened and she started to run, then stumbled and resorted to a fast shuffle. Grievous followed her with his eyes until she was met by a sun-darkened man who pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply. Some of the children, watching them, giggled behind dirt-smudged hands, but the teenagers, especially the females, watched with longing in their eyes.

That, then, was the dream of the slaves.

--

The next morning, Grievous and Oop set out a second time in search of the repair shop. Grievous felt stronger than the day before; the IV he had used during the night had replenished his energy. Neither he nor the droid mentioned the previous day's events.

Following the EV unit's instructions, they made their way down one of Mos Eisley's wide streets towards the center of the city. Grievous hoped they would be able to find the shop without trouble-- mostly because he didn't want Oop asking for directions again.

At the city's center, the spoke-like streets met in a wide public square. The area was crowded, though it was still early; as Grievous and Oop drew closer, the cyborg realized why. A makeshift platform was erected in the center of the square; on it stood a scantily clad Twi'lek girl in chains, flanked by two guards. On the ground next to the platform was a line of other organics, also chained. Nearby, a Hutt reclined in the shade of a canopy, watching the proceedings through slit eyes as more girls fanned him. Grievous scowled.

"What is it, sir?" Oop asked timidly.

"A slave auction." As they skirted the square, Grievous noticed a second group of captive beings behind the platform. Droids comprised this group. An EV unit stood at the head of the small crowd-- the same one Grievous and Oop had met, judging from her 8D8 companion. She turned to watch them as they went by, nodding slightly to Grievous. Grievous returned the gesture, albeit unwillingly, and he was glad when she was distracted by a misbehaving droid.

"That restraining bolt is not enough for you, is it?" Her grating mechanical voice could be heard over the buzz of the crowd-- as could the zap of the taser she used on the R1 unit. It squealed in pain, and Grievous could have sworn he heard the EV unit laugh. Oop looked over his shoulder at the little Astromech as they walked away.

On the other side of the square, a slightly more elaborate version of the squat, dusty Tatooine buildings hulked. Grievous assumed this was the estate of the Hutt, Jabba.

"I suppose that's the main entrance," Grievous muttered, looking at a fortress-like gate guarded by two Gamorreans.

"It would appear so, sir," Oop agreed. "Should we try going left?"

They walked along the outer wall of the estate, Grievous glad to leave the sounds of the slave auction behind him. As the EV unit had promised, a small shop was located just beyond the wall, set back off the street and so unobtrusive, Grievous almost missed it. It had no sign, but a small gear was painted above the door.

Grievous opened the door and stepped inside, having to duck to fit through the little doorframe. Oop followed, hanging behind him nervously. An aqua-haired humanoid dressed in surprisingly rich robes looked up from where he was peering at a tangle of electronics on the counter.

"May I help you?"

"Do you repair droids?" Grievous asked gruffly.

"Well, you could say that," the humanoid replied with a little smile. "Although I must ask how you found me. I have rather. . . select clientele."

"An EV droid recommended you. Are you saying you won't serve me?"

The humanoid chuckled out right. "I said nothing of the sort. An EV droid, eh? So you've met Eve."

"Eve?"

"Yes. Jabba the Hutt's droid overseer. She's quite unique-- I've done some work on her myself." The man stood and moved out from behind the counter, his elaborate robes obscuring his whole body. "I am called Hal. And you?"

Grievous hesitated. Perhaps, in the interests of avoiding discovery by the Jedi, he should use an alias. "Shakar," he finally answered, giving his little-used family name. "And this is OOP-937."

"A battle droid," Hal mused, moving around Grievous to examine Oop. A tentacle snaked out from beneath his robes and prodded the droid, who looked at Grievous nervously. "I have to say I have little experience with these-- the Separatists do not have much use for this little planet."

"I can see why not," Grievous muttered.

"What sort of problems are you having with it?"

A little irritated that Hal had asked him and not the droid himself, Grievous commanded, "Tell him, Oop."

"Well sir, my joints keep freezing up on me," Oop began, eyeing the tentacle. "My right foot is damaged, and we. . . got caught in the sand storm yesterday. I think I still have some sand in me." He paused then added shyly, "And if it's not too much to ask. . . I'd like some new paint please."

Hal chuckled again. "Of course it's not too much. Except for the problem with your foot, I think a standard tune-up will do the trick. And I do have a few battle droid parts in the back, so a replacement foot shouldn't be any trouble." He withdrew his tentacle-- to Oop's apparent relief-- and turned to Grievous. "What about you?"

"It's mainly this." Grievous held out his arms, splitting them into four so Hal could see his hands.

"Hmm. This might be more difficult." Four tentacles emerged from his robes this time, each one exploring a hand. "I assume your body is unique-- I've certainly never seen any parts like this. I'll have to study your other hands so I can replicate them."

"How long will that take?"

Hal shrugged, leaving Grievous to wonder if he had any shoulders under there or just more tentacles. "A couple days at most, provided none of the Hutts need emergency droid repair." He smirked a little. "Angering a Hutt is rather counterproductive to my safety here." Grievous wondered what that meant, but he had to admit it applied in his situation as well. If the Hutts were as powerful as they seemed to be on this planet, getting on one's bad side-- especially if they knew Grievous' true identity-- might lead to him having to deal with the Jedi again.

"I can go ahead and make the repairs to your droid if you'd like, however," Hal was saying. At Grievous' nod, the man indicated an almost medical-looking worktable to Oop.

"Climb up there, if you will." After the battle droid obeyed, Hal gathered some tools from his counter. "I'm going to power you down while I repair you so you won't feel any discomfort."

"You won't wipe my memory, will you?" Oop asked worriedly. Hal looked at him with an amused smile.

"No, that won't be necessary." He glanced at Grievous. "Unless your owner wishes it of course."

"No," Grievous replied quickly. "I want his memory intact."

"All right." Hal extended a tentacle over Oop's chassis. "Ready?" Oop looked up at Grievous, who slowly put a hand on his shoulder. He wanted to assure the droid he would be all right, but decided it would look rather silly to do so. Oop seemed satisfied with the cyborg's touch, and he rested his head against Grievous' hand as Hal turned him off.

"You're quite fortunate to have acquired one of these droids," Hal commented as he began to remove Oop's damaged foot. "I imagine he set you back quite a bit."

"I'm not his owner," Grievous responded gruffly, leaving Oop's side to examine the array of droid parts on display in the counter.

"Oh, don't tell me I'm dealing with a hot droid," Hal said with a chuckle.

"He isn't stolen if that's what you mean," Grievous snapped, glaring at the man, who now had six tentacles moving over Oop at once. "He doesn't belong to anybody. He's free to leave if he wishes."

"Is he?" Hal gave Grievous a look that sent a shiver down the cyborg's truncated spine. "You seem rather attached to each other." When Grievous didn't reply, he went back to work. "Ah well. I did wonder why he didn't have a restraining bolt."

Hal's seemingly endless supply of tentacles was efficient, if a bit unnerving. He soon had Oop's foot replaced and his joints running smoothly. "I'll take him in the back and let my own droids give him a new coat of paint-- they're better at that than I am. I'll have them coat his joints to keep the sand out as well." He gathered the lanky droid up in a few tentacles and drifted into another room at the back of the shop. When he returned, he picked up a hand-held computer. "Let me take a look at your hands."

Grievous patiently held his arms out as Hal muttered and hummed over his hands, scanning them and taking notes with the computer. "Yes, I believe I have the appropriate parts for replicating these. If you'll come back in two days, I should have them ready." He moved around Grievous in a circle, examining him. "Your body is quite remarkably constructed-- although it does look as if you've had some low-quality repairs made. Goodness." A tentacle probed at Grievous' calf. "I hope you didn't pay much for THIS shoddy work."

"Oop repaired that, and it's held up fine," Grievous snapped.

"Oh." Hal made a coughing noise that could have covered a laugh. "Well, that's different-- battle droids aren't well-known for their repair skills. Still, let me have a go at it while your droid dries. It needs reinforcing at least."

By the time Hal had repaired Grievous' leg and a few other minor issues, Oop was dry and had been carried back to the front of the shop by another droid. Hal turned his power back on, and the battle droid sat up, looking around curiously.

"Do you feel better?" Hal asked him, standing back to admire his work.

"Yes sir. Thank you very much." Oop got to his feet and went over to stand next to Grievous while the cyborg paid Hal for his work. As they left, Oop had a new spring to his step.

"I feel so much better," he commented, the twin suns reflecting brightly off his new paint. "Although I was afraid they might wipe my memory by accident."

Grievous wondered why a droid, who surely must have undergone many memory wipes, was so concerned about it, but he was glad it hadn't been necessary. Without his memories, Oop's personality would disappear as well, and Grievous had grown accustomed-- well, if he were going to be honest, fond of it.

"I wouldn't let that happen," he assured the droid brusquely.

"Thank you sir."

As they came to the city square, the slave auction was ending. Grievous had hoped to get home without incident, but the EV unit saw them and came stalking over.

"You have been to visit Hal I see," she commented.

"Yes. He seemed to know you rather well," Grievous replied, trying to think of an excuse to get away from her without seeming too rude. He wasn't sure how fond Jabba the Hutt was of his droids, but making an overseer mad might get on the Hutt's bad side.

"I have Hal to thank for some of my special modifications," she said, with an emphasis on "special modifications." "I suppose I should introduce myself, if Hal spoke of me. My designation is EV-9D9."

"I am Shakar."

"And you, little one?" Eve turned to Oop, her vision sensors glowing a bit brighter. "Don't you look nice."

"Thank you, ma'am," Oop said shyly. "I'm OOP-937."

"I told Jabba about you," Eve went on, leaving Grievous unsure if she were talking to them both or only Oop. "He is very interested in meeting you. In fact--" She looked over to where the Hutt who had been observing the auction was talking to a young Twi'lek man. "If you have a moment, I would like to introduce you."

Grievous groaned inwardly, but supposed he had no choice but to agree. He and Oop followed Eve towards the Hutt, joined by the 8D8 unit who nodded morosely at them but didn't speak. Once in front of the Hutt lord, Eve waited until he finished with the Twi'lek, then bowed deeply.

"Most illustrious Lord Jabba, I present to you Shakar and the droid OOP-937." Oop promptly bowed as well, as had the 8D8. Grievous wasn't going to do anything until he saw the Twi'lek motioning at him frantically; swallowing his pride bitterly, the cyborg gave a half-hearted bow.

"Ho ho ho," laughed Jabba, then said a few words to Eve in the Hutt language. Grievous didn't speak one lick of Hutt, and he thought grumpily that Jabba could at least have the courtesy to use the standard language like Melba had.

"He says he is pleased to make your acquaintance and that he hopes you enjoy your stay in his city," Eve translated to Grievous and Oop.

'HIS city?' Grievous thought, but instead replied something about appreciating the sentiments. Jabba made another guttural statement then dismissed them with the wave of one huge hand and turned back to the Twi'lek.

"What did he say then?" Oop asked Eve as the droids and cyborg walked away.

"That you, my dear, are welcome to visit his estate at any time."

"That was nice of him," Oop said cheerfully. Grievous looked suspiciously at Eve, but the overseer was telling Atedee to round up the unsold droids and take them back to the estate.

She turned back to Grievous and Oop briefly. "I hope you will accept my lord's invitation soon." She looked Grievous up and down and added, "And I hope you find time to visit Hal again as well. I'm sure your lack of matching parts is a discomfort to you." As she stalked off after her droid slaves, Grievous thought to himself that at times, a good memory wipe just might be appropriate.

Chapter 6 The missing droid:

Two days later, Grievous and Oop set out for Hal's shop once more. In the mean time, Grievous had counted their remaining credits and made some rough calculations on how much they would have left after his own repairs were through. They would have enough credits to last for a while, he decided, although they would have to find some source of income before too long. At Oop's urging, Grievous did make a purchase that day-- a new cape to replace the scraggly bit of cloth he had left.

When they reached the shop, Hal was finishing up work on a protocol droid. After sending it on its way, he turned to Grievous with a nod.

"I believe I've replicated your hands successfully. If you'll have a seat. . . ."

Grievous sat on the work table and examined the hands Hal had created. They did seem to be exactly like the originals Dooku had had made. Hal started with the arm which had lost its hand in the storm, disconnecting the arm from Grievous' nervous system so the cyborg would feel no discomfort.

"Damn," the tentacled organic swore after a few moments. "I didn't realize how tight these finger joints were. I'll have to go purchase some lubricant after I get done. I hope you won't mind waiting."

"I can go get it," Oop volunteered.

Hal looked up at Grievous. "Is that all right with you?" When the cyborg nodded, Hal picked up his computer and walked over to Oop. "There's only one stall that sells the kind I use. I'll program you with directions there so you don't get lost." As he plugged the computer into the droid's data port, he added, "Tell the vendor to put it on my account. I'm transferring my digital signature into you as well for him to verify."

"Yes sir." The droid started for the door, then looked back at Grievous. "Will you be all right, sir?"

"I'll be fine, Oop."

Hal smirked a little. "I won't put him in any danger, I promise. Go on, now."

Oop nodded and left the shop. Hal chuckled as he went back to work on Grievous' hand. "He's quite attached to you. I've never seen such devotion in a droid before."

"He saved my life," Grievous said quietly, not sure why he was confiding in the strange, tentacled being.

"You must be fond of him then."

". . . yes." Just how fond, Grievous decided to keep to himself. He wondered if Hal had ever been intimate with any of HIS droids. Of course, Grievous' experience with Oop had been a spur of the moment encounter, not something that would happen again. After all, despite his personality quirks, Oop was just a droid, not a being that could be considered a lover.

'If he's just a droid,' a voice in Grievous' head muttered, 'why are you getting aroused just thinking about him? Why did you dream of him last night, and why were you so jealous when Eve touched him?" Grievous pushed the thoughts away and tried to watch what Hal was doing instead.

Hal finished attaching the first new hand fairly quickly and moved on to the second. Grievous tested the hand and was pleased to find it worked as well as the original, save for the slight stiffness in the joints Hal had mentioned. Oop still had not returned by the time Hal had attached both hands, so he sent Grievous to the back of the shop to have his paint touched up. A modified SM scavenger droid did the painting, hovering around Grievous rather annoyingly as it sprayed fresh grey-white paint over his scratches and scrapes. After the painting was through, the little droid blasted him with an air gun to quickly dry the paint, then used a different nozzle to spray clear protectant over Grievous' joins, making them invulnerable to sand. Another pass with the air gun, and Grievous' makeover was complete.

The general came out of the back room, expecting-- and looking forward to-- Oop's praise of his improved appearance. But the battle droid was nowhere to be seen. Hal saw him looking around and frowned slightly.

"Oop isn't back yet. Is he usually this slow?"

"No!" snapped Grievous. "Maybe YOU gave him the wrong directions!"

"Of course I didn't." Hal glared at him. "I've lived here for years; I think my directions are correct!"

Grievous snatched up his cape, flinging it over his shoulders as he went to the door. "I'm going to look for him."

"And just when do you intend to pay me?" Hal asked acidly, folding two tentacles over his chest indignantly.

"After I make sure you haven't sent my droid into danger!" Grievous snarled as he stalked outside. With a sigh, Hal joined him, locking the door behind them.

"I don't need your help!" the cyborg retorted.

"Oh? I thought you might like directions to the shop your droid was going to."

"Hurry up then! He'd better be there," Grievous grumbled as Hal led the way through the city.

"Just remember he volunteered to go. And you allowed it." Hal moved quickly, tips of his tentacles appearing and disappearing beneath his robes as he "walked." "That's why droids need restraining bolts, so they don't run away."

"He didn't run away! He wouldn't." Grievous stared straight ahead. ". . . he wouldn't leave me. Not like this." Still, he replayed the past few days in his mind. Had he done something that might make Oop want to leave? True, he could have been nicer to the droid at times, but he hadn't done anything to REALLY alienate Oop. . . had he?

The visit to the shop proved fruitless. The shop keeper said no battle droid had been in that day, or any other day for that matter. To make Grievous' mood even worse, Hal went back to his own shop, saying that he was too busy to hunt for a runaway droid.

"And when you DO find him, I expect to be paid!" the tentacled man added over his shoulder as he drifted away from Grievous. Infuriated but helpless, Grievous tried to think of places a droid might go. The space port, perhaps, if he really were running away. Or maybe he somehow managed to get lost despite Hal's directions. Grievous retraced his steps back towards Hal's shop, stopping at every stall and cart that might have caught the droid's interest. Next he investigated the space port. He was relieved when he learned that neither guards nor pilots for hire had seen a battle droid. That at least meant Oop was still on Tatooine.

'What if he went out into the desert?' Grievous thought morosely as he slowly exited the space port. But he doubted the fragile battle droid could get far in the harsh conditions of the Tatooine wilds, and as Oop was a fairly sensible droid, he probably wouldn't even try. If that were true, it meant Oop was somewhere in Mos Eisley.

Unless-- a horrible thought occurred to Grievous as he remembered the Jawas they had encountered on their first day in the city. What if the little beasts had captured Oop? He could be on his way out into the desert right now, imprisoned in a sand crawler.

The cyborg tried to reassure himself that it would be fairly easy to find out; he just had to rent a speeder and ride out to the sand crawlers near Mos Eisley to investigate. Then, if he had to, he could buy Oop back, either from the Jawas or from the moisture farmers, if he had already been sold. Grievous started towards the rental speeder kiosk near the space port, then thought better of it. His search through Mos Eisley had taken nearly all day; the suns were already setting. Also, Grievous was nearly exhausted. His healing burns ached, and he needed another IV of nutrient solution to replenish his strength. Besides, there was a chance that if Oop had gotten lost or confused, he might have just gone home.

Grievous tried to keep that hope in mind as he trudged back to their apartment, but there was no sign that Oop had been there. The general sank down into a chair with the jar of medication and methodically rubbed it into his sore flesh as he tried to think of any other places to search.

'It MUST be the Jawas,' he thought angrily, slamming the jar back onto the table. 'Filthy little rats.' He went back into his bedroom and hooked up the IV of solution before lying down. Maybe, Force willing, Oop would come home during the night. Maybe he hadn't been able to find the shop and in his failure-is-not-an-option programming decided to avoid Grievous' imagined wrath by hiding.

Grievous didn't really believe that, but he tried, imagining the sound of the door sliding open and his droid coming in, bringing life of a sort back to the too-quiet apartment.

'I won't be angry,' he thought half-consciously as sleep over took him. 'Just please, come home to me.'


Chapter 7 The found droid:

If Grievous didn't like the Jawas before, he loathed them after spending the morning searching their sand crawlers for Oop. Not only had none of them seen the battle droid, they actually had the nerve to try to sell him another droid as a "replacement." By the time Grievous had returned to Mos Eisley, it was mid-afternoon, and he was beginning to get desperate. If Oop hadn't left on a ship or gotten captured by the Jawas, he MUST still be in Mos Eisley. . . but where?

He had started on his way to Hal's shop, intending to pay the tentacled man off, when he glanced up at the huge gate to Jabba the Hutt's estate. The Gamorreans were entertaining themselves by poking the vision sensor of the gate's guard droid-- who consisted of a large "eyeball" on a stalk-- with their staffs. Watching the poor droid trying to avoid the pointy tips, Grievous stopped dead in his tracks.

Why hadn't he thought of it before? He stalked over to the gate and shoved the pig-like guards out of the way.

"I need to see Jabba," he gasped, staring the guard droid in the sensor.

"Regarding?" Despite being rescued from the Gamorreans, the droid wasn't very friendly.

"Regarding the fact that his EV unit has stolen my droid!" Grievous bellowed. Infuriatingly, the guard droid just laughed.

"Lord Jabba has little concern for droids," it replied, as if it weren't a droid itself.

"I'll show you concern for droids," growled Grievous, reaching for the guard droid's spherical body. Before he could grab it, however, the doors creaked protestingly and started to open.

Grievous found himself facing the Twi'lek man he had seen speaking with Jabba a few days ago. "Is there a problem?" the man hissed, peering at the cyborg with small red eyes.

"I have reason to believe your overseer droid has my droid in her possession," Grievous replied, trying to regulate his tone. Obviously the Twi'lek had clout with Jabba, and Grievous thought it best to stay on his good side.

"You and half of Mos Eisley," the Twi'lek muttered. He gestured for Grievous to follow him inside the gates, rearranging his lekku carefully around his neck. "You will have to speak to Eve herself about this."

"Jabba doesn't care if he has stolen droids?" Grievous followed the Twi'lek down a wide, open-roofed passageway, then down a curving flight of stairs. The man just gave Grievous an amused look in response to his question.

From the foot of the stairs, Grievous found himself in a large, open room filled with droids of all shapes and kinds. In front of the crowd stood Eve, along with 8D8. Atedee was holding a taser, his long pale face impassive as Eve called a nervous K-3PO protocol droid forward.

"Please, miss," the droid pleaded, "don't punish me. It was only a glitch in my programming, it won't happen again--"

"Quiet, bitch!" Eve snapped at her. "Mistranslating a word in Rodian is a sign of IDIOCY, not to mention the fact that you called Lord Jabba a fat slug while doing it! You are lucky he did not order you deactivated!" The overseer turned to 8D8 and motioned towards K-3PO. Silently, Atedee stepped forward and pressed the taser into the exposed wires in the protocol droid's midsection, then fired. She squealed with pain, but what disturbed Grievous most was that Eve actually moaned, as if deriving pleasure from the other droid's pain.

As the now-silent protocol droid withdrew, her shoulders hunched as she put her arms over her stomach protectively, the Twi'lek approached Eve. She glared him like she wanted to taser him as well.

"Can you not see I am busy, Fortuna?" she growled.

"Remember who you're dealing with, droid!" he returned haughtily. The two regarded each other in anger for a moment, then Eve relented. However powerful she liked to appear, it was obvious that the organic was the one with Jabba's favor.

"You have a visitor," Fortuna told her. "I suggest you see him." For the first time Eve looked at Grievous, and she nodded.

"Fine. Atedee, carry on." Eve motioned for Grievous to follow her. He gave Fortuna a nod of thanks as he passed, getting a hiss of acknowledgment from the Twi'lek in return.

Eve led the cyborg into a small room and closed the door behind them. "Yes?"

"What have you done with my droid?"

"Your droid?" Eve cocked her long head quizzically. "You mean that battle droid? I was not under the impression he belonged to you."

"What," Grievous growled, looming over her, "gave you that idea?"

The EV unit didn't give an inch. "The fact that you told Hal you were not his owner, perhaps?"

"How do you know that?!"

She gave a staticky laugh. "I had a chat with Hal a couple days ago. And even if I had not, the battle droid did not have a restraining bolt."

Snarling, Grievous grabbed her shoulders and shoved her against the wall. "You KNEW he was with me! You had no right to steal him--"

"I did not steal him."

"Then what--"

"He came with me. Willingly."

Grievous lifted her forcibly off the floor and shook her. "That's a lie! He wouldn't leave me for YOU--" He stopped short, realizing how much he sounded like a jealous lover. Eve made a noise that was half laugh and half moan, and Grievous dropped her in disgust.

"If you don't believe me, you can talk to him yourself." Eve opened another door in the room and gestured for him to walk through. On the other side of the door lay what were either Eve's private quarters or a miniature torture chamber. There was an array of restraints on the walls, and various instruments of pain scattered on the floor. But Grievous barely noticed, because Oop was sitting in the middle of the room.

"Oop," gasped Grievous. The little droid's legs were splayed on the floor, his arms dangling in front of him. He looked up at Grievous as if vaguely curious, but did not speak.

"See?" Eve goaded, standing next to Grievous. "He doesn't have a restraining bolt-- I'm not making him stay here."

"Oop, is that true?" Grievous asked, moving closer to the battle droid. Oop slowly got to his feet.

"Yes," he said quietly. "I like it here. I want to stay."

"What's she done to you?" Grievous walked around the droid, searching for a restraining bolt, but true to Eve's word he found none.

Eve chuckled. "Are you sure that is a question you want answered?" Grievous looked at her sharply as she went to stand beside Oop. "But what I believe you mean is, what am I doing to restrain him? As I told you, nothing. You seem to believe that droids should be free creatures without owners, so I do not see what the problem is. Oop has chosen to stay with me. If he truly IS a free creature, then should you not let him stay where he wishes?"

Grievous looked helplessly at the battle droid. What Eve said was true-- he had boasted that Oop was not his property, that he stayed with Grievous of his own free will. And if that was right. . . maybe Oop really did want to leave him. Grievous found it hard to believe that the sadistic EV-9D9 could treat Oop better than he did, but maybe Oop. . . liked that.

"Oop," he tried one more time, moving close to the droid. "Do you really want to stay here? With her?" He reached out to touch the battle droid's nose, but Oop turned away from him, pressing up against Eve's side. Grievous stared in shock, unable to look away, as Oop drew a hand down Eve's chassis, manipulating a sensor on her abdomen. She made a soft noise of pleasure and began to stroke the touch sensors on Oop's thighs.

"Yes," Oop finally replied. "I love her."

A tremor went through Grievous' flesh, so strong it shook his droid body. He tried to speak again, finding he couldn't-- but Oop seemed to have forgotten he was even there. Horrified, Grievous watched as the battle droid began to touch Eve faster and more intimately, making mechanical noises of pleasure Grievous had thought were reserved for him. Eve glanced at him, her vision sensors glinting, then she turned back to Oop, pressing her hand between his thighs.

Grievous couldn't stand it any longer. He wanted to destroy the EV unit, rip her apart-- but what good would that do? It wouldn't make Oop love him. Grievous turned and all but ran out of the room, hardly able to wait for the doors to slide open for him to pass. As he stumbled through the open room where the other droids waiting for their punishments, he registered 8D8 looking at him and starting to speak, but Grievous ignored him. He ran up the stairs, pushed past a startled Fortuna, and raced out into the bright Tatooine sunlight. He coughed harshly, somehow feeling nauseated even though he no longer had a stomach. Several nearby beings turned to look at the strange cyborg who had come barreling out of Jabba's estate; Grievous stalked past them, still coughing. He didn't even know where he was going until he found himself at their-- no, his-- apartment in Melba's slave quarters. He staggered inside to his bedroom and sank down on the bed, his head in his hands. Another cough wracked his body, then he was still save for his lung's heaving for oxygen.

For a few minutes, he managed not to think, concentrating instead on his own breathing until it grew even once more. But then thought came rushing back. Oop running away-- maybe even with Hal's help-- to be with that. . . that monster of a droid. Touching her, being touched, and Force knew what else during the past night. The things Eve had "done to him."

Grievous wished the Jawas HAD gotten Oop. Or that he had been kidnapped, taken away on a space ship, anything. Anything but this.

Occasionally, when he had been whole and with his lover on Kalee, Grievous had wondered about the nature of love, languidly pondering how coincidental it was that the one he wanted, wanted him back. He had assumed this was always the case.

Force, how wrong he'd been.

He closed his eyes tightly, fighting the growing tension behind them, but it was no use. At first only a couple tears escaped from beneath his translucent lids, but they quickly became a flood, accompanied by sobs a thousand times more bitter than his coughing.

Chapter 8 The rescue:

Grievous had just managed to go to sleep when the insistent chime of the apartment door woke him up. For a moment, he thought that maybe it was Oop, that everything could have been a horrible dream, and he got up. When he looked through the viewer on the door, however, he saw 8D8 standing outside.

The cyborg pressed the door's control and snarled, "What do you want?" after it opened.

"I have information about the battle droid," Atedee replied. His voice was a mechanical monotone, similar to Eve's but deeper.

In spite of himself, Grievous felt a tiny ray of hope. "What kind of information?"

Atedee looked around, then back at Grievous. "Let me inside. I can't be seen talking to you."

Reluctantly, Grievous let the white droid into the apartment. "How did you find me anyway?"

"It wasn't hard," Atedee replied with what might have been wryness. "You stand out."

After the door was safely shut, Grievous faced the droid with his arms folded. "Well?

"I assume you wish the droid to return to you? But he will not?"

A stab of pain shot through Grievous' chest, and he stepped forward threateningly. "If you're just going to mock me--"

Atedee held up a hand. "Wait. Eve has done this before. She captures droids who are ownerless, or allowed by their masters to roam free, then deceives anyone who interferes into thinking the droids have stayed of their own free will."

Grievous studied the morose-looking droid carefully. "How?"

"With a special restraining bolt. She places this bolt internally, so that it cannot be seen or easily detected."

"So you're saying she DOES have a restraining bolt on Oop?"

Atedee raised his arms in an approximation of a shrug. "I do not know for sure. But it is likely."

Grievous turned away from the droid, looking out the balcony door, remembering Oop sitting out there, gazing at the sky. "Why are you telling me this? Don't you work for her?"

Atedee was quiet for a long time before he answered. "She did the same to me-- stole me from my master. He believed her lies, and the lies she made me tell him. . . and he left me with her." There was a dull clank as the droid moved slightly. "I used to repair starships. And now I apply hot irons to Gonk droids' feet." Another pause, then the droid all but whispered, "I hate her."

"Why does she do this?"

"There is a story that the EV line is corrupted, that they were given the brains of torture droids. Eve's never talked about her past, but it seems she has always been sadistic. You may have noticed she has three photo-receptors. Two are normal vision sensors but the third is a pain sensor."

Grievous turned back to Atedee. "Pain sensor?"

"It allows her to feel and analyze the pain of other droids. It. . . excites her. That is why she's so effective at her job. She LIKES it."

A horrible thought occurred to Grievous. "You mean she could be hurting Oop? Because it gets her off?!"

Atedee looked away until Grievous clutched his shoulders tightly. Finally the droid answered, "She hurt me often-- until she grew tired of me."

Grievous shuddered and let the droid go. "Why did you come here? Just to torture me?"

As if he hadn't heard, Atedee said, "Lord Jabba has ordered that some of our droids. . . amuse him this evening. Eve and I will be occupied with the performance for several hours." When Grievous just stared at him, the droid went on, "She has kept the battle droid hidden from our Lord, so he will be in her chamber during the performance."

Grievous' golden eyes narrowed. "Are you suggesting--"

"I am suggesting nothing," Atedee replied harshly. He turned and plodded towards the door, pausing to continue, "There is a back entrance to Jabba's estate on the desert side of the building. The droid who guards it is very agreeable and open to visitors. Just inside this entrance is an air duct that connects to Eve's chambers." Atedee looked back at Grievous a moment. "The performance begins in an hour." He activated the door and trudged out into the reddish light of the Tatooine sunset.

Grievous watched the strange droid until he disappeared from sight. What if it was a trap? But then, what would be the point? If Eve wanted to capture Grievous, she would have done so when he was in the estate earlier. Besides, he wasn't a droid, and although most organics didn't appreciate this fact, Eve would-- from what Atedee had said, it seemed that her pain sensor would only work on other droids. Grievous would be useless to her.

And besides, if there was even the slightest chance he could get Oop back, he had to try.

Wrapping himself in his cloak, Grievous left the apartment, moving quickly toward the estate. He followed its wall to the edge of the city, then exited through the nearest gate and continued moving along the outer wall of the palace. As Atedee had promised, there was a narrow entrance to the palace out there, nearly concealed by a sand dune.

As Grievous awkwardly clambered to the dune's top, another eye-like droid extended itself from the gate.

Unsure of what to say to it, Grievous began, "8D8 told me--"

"Yes, I was expecting you," the droid replied before he could get any farther. The gate creaked open, nearly dumping Grievous inside as the sand dune spilled into the newly opened space. Grievous spotted the air vent 8D8 had mentioned and pried it off of the duct before crawling inside. Like everything else in the palace, the duct was Hutt-sized, and Grievous had plenty of room to move around in it. After replacing the vent, he crawled insect-like along the wide passageway. At one point it forked in two directions, but by listening carefully, Grievous could hear the bellow of a Hutt and the raucous laughter from assorted other beings coming from the right. Hoping that he was making the right decision, Grievous crawled down the left duct.

After what seemed like ages, Grievous reached the vent at the duct's end. Peering between the slats, he could see enough details of the room on the other side to recognize it as Eve's. And there, huddled in a corner, was Oop.

Grievous pushed the vent outwards, and it clattered to the floor. Oop's head jerked up and watched as Grievous climbed out of the duct and crouched in the middle of the small room, breathing hard. He looked at the droid for a long moment, but Oop didn't move at all. Grievous stood shakily and went over to him, towering over the hunched figure.

"What are you doing here?" Oop finally spoke, his voice even flatter and more mechanical than usual. Grievous didn't answer, instead dropping to the ground next to the droid and running his hands over Oop's body, trying to find a place where Eve might have hidden the restraining bolt.

"Let go of me," Oop protested, struggling and forcing Grievous to hold him tightly in his arms. "Stop, do not touch me--"

"Shut up!" Grievous snarled. "You sound like HER." His eyes landed on Oop's power pack, and he immediately starting feeling for an access panel. Finally his metal fingers discovered a crack, and he pried at it until it gave way and a panel opened. And there, blinking up at him innocently, was the restraining bolt.

"Damn her!" Grievous swore under his breath. He gripped the bolt tightly in his hand and twisted it. Oop squealed in pain as Grievous yanked the bolt free and tossed it away. He slammed the panel closed and stood again, crushing the bolt beneath his metal foot.

It was a long moment before Grievous could bring himself to look at Oop again. The droid was still on the floor, clutching his knees to his chest with his long nose pressed against them.

"Do you still want to stay here?" the cyborg snarled at him.

"No," whispered the droid.

"Then get up!"

Oop timidly got to his feet and raised his head to look up at his commander. Grievous split his arms apart and wrapped the lower pair around Oop, pressing the smaller droid to his chest. He tried to keep any tenderness out of the embrace. He had already been made too vulnerable, and there was a chance this was all a ruse and Oop was still under Eve's control.

"Hang on to me," Grievous commanded. As Oop obeyed, Grievous lifted the droid's hips with his free hands to allow Oop to wrap his legs around the general's waist. Grievous was about to climb back into the duct when the door to the room slid open and Eve stepped inside.

"Oop, Lord Jabba wishes--" She broke off when she saw Grievous with the droid clinging to him. "YOU!" She made a leap for the two, but Grievous was too quick. He dove back into the duct and scuttled away, distantly hearing Eve clamber in after him. Grievous raced along the duct, his movements somewhat hampered by the droid under him, until he saw a vent up ahead. He knocked it loose and dove out of the duct, leaping to his feet in preparation to run.

Grievous found himself staring up into two huge, Hutt eyes. Jabba blinked at him curiously, as did the Twi'lek Fortuna and everyone else in the room. With a sinking feeling, Grievous realized he must have taken a wrong turn and followed the duct that lead to Jabba's court instead. After a moment of stunned silence, the room erupted into sound, including the chirps and beeps of the group of droid "performers" gathered on Grievous' left. He looked at them, only to see 8D8 clutching a taser and giving him an incredulous look.

At the sound of Eve rattling towards him through the duct, Grievous leapt to the far wall of the room, which was decorated with a collection of weapons taken from Jabba's defeated enemies. Grievous crouched on his hands and feet, watching the duct as Eve stumbled out of it and got to her feet, her photo receptors glittering.

"Get that battle droid back!" she snarled to the motley group of droids. When they hesitated, having no real idea what was going on, Eve snatched the taser from Atedee and brandished it at the droids. They beeped frantically and advanced on Grievous, Eve leading them.

As Grievous tried to shrink closer into the wall, Oop leaned his head up and murmured, "Sir, there's a light saber about one meter above your right foot." Praying to the Force that the battle droid was right, Grievous began moving his feet up the wall, under the pretense of moving farther away from the approaching droids. Sure enough, in a moment, he felt a cylindrical object beneath his foot, and he curled his toes around it.

Just as Eve aimed the taser at Grievous' exposed eyes, the cyborg pushed off from the wall with his feet. Faster than any mere organic could move, he activated the light saber in his right foot and sliced it through the air as his feet dropped to the ground in front of him, leaving him facing the ceiling with his back arched. An instant later, Grievous had righted himself with Oop still clinging to his front. As he transferred the deep green saber from foot to hand, Grievous saw the result of his action: the K3PO droid was looking in shock at her severed arm, which lay on the ground at her feet.

After that, none of the other droids seemed to want to mess with Grievous-- except for Eve. She fired the taser at Grievous, missing him but striking the back of Oop's neck instead. The battle droid yelped with pain, making Grievous furious. Yelling a Kaleesh curse at the EV unit, he struck at her with the saber. The blade sliced cleaning through the droid's neck, and her oddly shaped head went spinning into the wall with a crash.

Grievous turned off the light saber, feeling a rush of triumph. . . until he realized that he had just decapitated Jabba the Hutt's head droid. He slowly set Oop down on the ground and looked up at the Hutt-- only to find the monstrous being grinning widely.

"Ho ho ho!" boomed Jabba, clapping his small hands together. He bellowed something in the Hutt language, and the other organic beings immediately clapped as well.

The K3PO droid remembered her duties, despite being short one arm. "The illustrious Lord Jabba says that you have provided him with most enjoyable entertainment this evening. You are welcome to return at any time."

"Erm. . . thank you," Grievous said to the Hutt awkwardly. "It is an honor." Jabba rumbled something else, and Grievous looked at the protocol droid for a translation.

"Lord Jabba says that of course he expects you to pay for EV-9D9's repairs, and that he recommends you also have her memory wiped." K3PO lowered her voice and added, "I suggest you take that last piece of advice, sir. It will make things more pleasant for all of us." The other droids made noise of agreement.

Grievous looked at the body of the fallen EV droid in disgust. "Few things would give me more pleasure. I will reimburse the shop for her repairs."

Jabba, who apparently understood Standard perfectly well despite his refusal to speak it, rumbled happily at Grievous' response and tugged on Fortuna's lekku. The Twi'lek bent down while Jabba muttered something to him, then straightened and approached Grievous as several of the droids began carrying off Eve's body.

"His Excellency said you may choose any item from the estate as a reward for your entertainment," Fortuna told Grievous, stroking his lekku with his fingertips. Grievous supposed that Eve's repairs were out of the running as a gift. All he really wanted to take from the estate was Oop-- until his golden eyes fell upon 8D8.

The long-faced droid was watching the others carry Eve off, the taser held loosely in one servo-hand. Grievous walked over to him, Fortuna and Oop trailing after.

"Do you want to leave here?" Grievous asked Atedee quietly. "I can take you as my reward and set you free."

Atedee was silent a moment, then he slowly shook his head. "No."

"No?" Grievous couldn't imagine any droid wanting to stay in those conditions, especially one who was as unhappy with his job as Atedee.

"No." Atedee glanced at Grievous. "I know you won't understand. But. . . I can't leave her."

". . . Eve?" Grievous stared at him. "Why not? You said--" He broke off, remembering that the Twi'lek might overhear. "I thought you disliked her."

"I do. And yet. . . ." The droid stopped, then went on, "You were jealous when she was with your droid. So was I-- but I was jealous of the battle droid."

"Jealous of me?" squawked Oop. "Why? She hurt me." He stopped as if embarrassed to say more, and hung his head.

"Yes. But at least she paid attention to you. I. . . I am nothing to her any more. That is the real reason I hate her."

Grievous scowled. "I still don't see why you want to stay with someone who hurts you."

"I do." Grievous and Atedee both looked at Oop in surprise. "Sometimes you love someone too much to care how they treat you. Even if they're mean to you. . . you just want to be with them."

A tremor moved down Grievous' torn spine, but Atedee nodded slowly.

"Yes. Thank you for your offer, Shakar, but you must choose another reward."

"All right." Grievous turned to Fortuna, who looked absolutely baffled at the droids' conversation. Apparently the idea of a machine loving someone was more than he wanted to contemplate.

Grievous held up the light saber he had used to fight Eve. "I choose this as my reward."

The Twi'lek nodded quickly. "A very good choice. May it serve you well."

After bidding a ceremonial farewell to Jabba-- who seemed more interested in the meal being delivered than in Grievous-- the cyborg and the battle droid left the estate, Grievous toying with the saber. It was a very old model, yet quite serviceable as he had quickly learned. He considered it well worth the cost of repairing EV-9D9.

But there was another, greater cost from the fiasco-- the fact that he could find no words to speak to Oop. The battle droid walked beside him, head down as he scuffled through the sand. Grievous sighed deeply and stared straight ahead as they walked home in the deepening twilight.


Chapter 9 Safety:

When they were safely inside their apartment, Grievous immediately locked both the front and balcony doors, though the latter was all but inaccessible from the street. Grievous sank into one of the chairs, dropping his saber on the table with a clatter. He looked up at Oop, finally forcing himself to speak.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes sir."

"No. . . damage?"

"No sir. I don't think so." Oop stared down at his rather large feet. "What about you, sir? How are your wounds?"

"I'm fine," Grievous muttered. In truth, his face did hurt where he had been burned especially badly, and the rest of his healing skin itched terribly, but he wasn't concerned with himself at the moment.

"Sir?" Oop asked quietly, his voice all but masked with static.

"Yes?"

The droid bent his head, covering his nose with his hands in a pitiful gesture. "I'll understand if you don't want me any more."

Grievous blinked. "What. . . ?"

"After what she. . . made me do and say. You might not want a droid who has done those things with. . . with someone else. But if you don't--" He looked at Grievous, still clutching his nose. "--please deactivate me, sir. I don't want to serve anyone else."

Grievous just stared at him a moment. "By the Force," the cyborg murmured, slowly getting to his feet and going over to the droid. "Oop, it wasn't your fault." He gently pulled the droid's hands away from his face. "I'm not going to deactivate you. Or get rid of you." Oop looked up at him trustingly with that sweet, blank battle droid face, and Grievous heard himself say gruffly, "I need you."

"Thank you, sir." Oop continued to look at him until Grievous had to look away. Suddenly feeling very old and tired, he started to go to his bedroom, then paused to look back at Oop.

"Could you bring the medication?"

"Yes sir." Oop got the jar out of a cabinet and toddled after Grievous. The cyborg stretched out on the bed, opening his chassis. Oop hesitantly sat next to him to examine his torso.

"Your burns are healing well, sir." The droid slowly rubbed some of the medication into Grievous' flesh, leaving a soothing, tingly sensation where the cream touched him. After he finished there, he pressed the control to open Grievous' face mask. Grievous closed his eyes, relishing the gentle, now-familiar touch on his face. After nearly losing Oop, everything about him seemed precious to the general, even the feel of his metal fingers at work.

Oop finished far too quickly and closed Grievous' face mask. "You look tired, sir. You should get some sleep." The droid stood as if to leave, but Grievous reached up and grasped his arm.

"Stay with me," the general said huskily. Oop sat back down again.

"I won't get in your way, sir?"

"No. Lie down." Oop obeyed, lying beside his commander and looking at him shyly, making Grievous feel he ought to explain himself. "I'll sleep better. . . knowing you're safe."

"Yes sir. I'll just power down here." Oop put his arms around Grevious' metal neck, pulling himself close to the cyborg and pressing his head against his chest. Grievous' heart beat faster as he embraced the thin droid as well and laid his masked cheek on the top of Oop's head. The faint hum of his body began to fade, and Grievous barely heard him when he spoke again. "Sir?"

"Yes?"

"When Eve touched me. . . I pretended it was you." The hum died down completely as Oop powered off, not giving Grievous a chance to respond. The cyborg closed his eyes and eventually fell asleep, holding his droid close.

--

The next morning they walked to Hal's shop, Grievous' new light saber thumping comfortably against his thigh as he walked. It was a long way from the belt of sabers he used to wear, but it was a start. Oop ambled along beside him.

Hal was working on EV-9D9 when they arrived. He looked up and nodded at them, then went back to reattaching the droid's head to her body.

"Come to pay up, I hope?"

"Yes, I have your damn credits," Grievous growled. "For the work on us, and for HER." He glared at the bronze droid's inert form. "Although I'd prefer to buy Jabba a whole new supervisor instead."

"Eve's unique," Hal replied. "She's irreplaceable, unless you could find one of the few other EV units that haven't been terminated."

"There are more of them?" Oop asked. He hung back behind Grievous as if afraid the deactivated droid could come to life and grab him at any second.

Hal chuckled. "Yes, a few. . . . Eve has a twin sister on Telti, for instance. I just hope they don't decide to have a family reunion. One of them's enough of a handful."

Oop made a little whimpering noise and tugged on Grievous' cape. "Sir, I'm going in the back for a while if you don't mind. I'd rather not be here when she wakes up." Grievous nodded, then turned back to Hal when the battle droid was out of hearing range.

"I hope you don't intend to reactivate that. . . THING until after we leave."

"Of course not." Hal looked down at the droid's face between his tentacles. "I've already wiped her memory anyway. She won't remember you, or anything that's happened for the past several months. I've also adjusted her processor a bit, so I doubt she'll become attached to the battle droid again."

"You DOUBT?" snarled Grievous. "If she does I'll destroy her-- irreplaceable or not. Which reminds me." He leaned forward until his face was inches from the tentacled man's. "If you had anything to do with her kidnapping Oop, I'll kill you too."

Hal sighed. "Of course I had nothing to do with it."

"She said she talked to you-- that you told her I didn't own Oop."

"She was asking about you two. Obviously I had no way of knowing what she intended to do."

"I certainly hope not." Grievous pulled out his swiftly depleting bag of credits and gave a handful to Hal. "There's your payment."

"Thank you," Hal replied smoothly, scooping the credits into a drawer with a tentacle. Grievous stalked around the counter and stood in the doorway of the back room.

"Oop, let's go." The battle droid was sitting in a chair, with the SM droid doing something to his back. Oop stood and toddled over to Grievous.

"Sir, I had some painting done. I hope you don't mind." He turned around; painted in green on his power pack was Grievous' symbol. "This way everyone will know I'm your droid."

Beneath his mask, Grievous smiled. After making sure Hal wasn't watching, he turned Oop to face him and laid a hand along the side of his nose. Oop stared up at him, then nuzzled his hand shyly. Any awkwardness Grievous had felt with the droid vanished, replaced with a desire to pull Oop to the ground and make love to him then and there. He pulled Oop to him, holding the droid against him with one arm and brushing the sensor in his thigh with his fingertips.

"Let's go," Grievous said again, forcing himself to let Oop go. The droid followed him out into the main area of the shop, where Grievous said goodbye to Hal for what he hoped would be a long while. The instant they were back in their apartment, Grievous scooped the battle droid up in his arms and carried him to the bedroom. He flung his cape away after laying Oop on the bed, then knelt over the droid, reaching down to remove his power pack and set it aside.

Oop stretched his arms up to him, his thin body looking even more delicate without his bulky back pack. Grievous lowered himself until their bodies were pressed together before splitting his arms and sliding them between Oop's legs to massage his sensors. The battle droid made staticky noises of pleasure and wrapped his arms around Grievous' neck.

"Sir. . . Grievous," he stammered.

"Yesss," hissed Grievous in reply as the droid's hands moved down the metal spine that encased both his organic and mechanical spinal cords. It was dotted with sensors, and Oop's fingers found every one of them. One hand came to rest on Grievous' lower back, and the other against his hip, where the fingertips just reached his own thigh sensor. Grievous moaned as Oop stroked it.

Grievous used an upper arm to open his face mask, wanting to feel the droid against his own flesh. Oop looked up at him, then rubbed his nose against Grievous' torn cheek.

"I wish I could kiss you," Oop said desperately through a haze of static. Grievous pressed his lips to the end of the droid's nose in response, then moved to lick the sensors on his neck. Oop pressed his face against the side of Grievous', nuzzling him as best he could. As before, the normal hum of the droid's body was growing louder as Grievous caressed and groped him. All four of his hands and his mouth manipulated Oop's touch sensors in an attempt to make the droid climax. Oop shuddered as his programming was overwhelmed with the surge of power in him, and he began to babble almost senselessly.

"Grievous. . . sir, please, oh Force, Grievous, I love you, I think I'm overheati--" He broke off in a burst of static as he came, his limbs jerking roughly. The cyborg thrust against Oop's hands, clamping the droid's pelvis between his thighs so that the artificial hips ground against the sensors there. Oop clung to him, thrusting his hips up against him until Grievous felt the now-familiar electricity in every part of his droid body at once. He bit down on the Oop's neck to keep from crying out as he came, finally lying still against his droid lover.

"Sir, are you all right?" Oop asked when Grievous didn't move for a moment. The cyborg tiredly lifted his head and nodded with a small smile.

"Yes." He moved off the smaller droid but kept his arms around him. "ARE you my droid?" he whispered against Oop's auditory sensor, almost teasingly.

"Yes sir."

Grievous nodded and laid his head down again, lowering his face plate. "I need to rest. Stay with me."

"Yes sir." Oop crawled closer to the cyborg until they were pressed together, the droid's face resting against Grievous' face plate. Grievous felt sleep approaching, but he had one more matter to deal with.

"Oop."

"Sir?"

"Was your programming malfunctioning. . . or do you really love me?"

". . . I love you, sir."

Grievous nodded again before closing his eyes. It was hard for him to speak the words to anyone, especially a droid, but if Grievous had learned anything, it was that his life could change in an instant. He had cheated death twice already, and like a Wookiee in a strategy game, death hated losing-- and sometimes showed up to collect when least expected.

"Oop."

"Sir."

"I love you too."