Awareness came back to Siri slowly, like she was surfacing from the bottom of an incredibly deep lake. She was groggy, and confused, and felt a little like she was floating. She was exhausted... and there was no more pain, no more white hot aching in her ribs, in her hips, no more burning agony in her chest, so intense that it made it hard for her to breathe. That was... wrong, somehow. She... she should...
“For star’s sake, Obi-Wan, I’m dying. Do you have to interrupt me now?” There was something like humour in her voice, but it was a pale and reedy thing. She was dying. And he would have to watch her go.
“You’re not dying.”
Something occurred to her then, the sentimental idea of a dying woman, and she struggled to get into a pouch on her utility belt. Her fingers plucked uselessly at it, and fear, for the first time, stabbed through her. “I can’t... Get it for me.”
It took him a moment to realise what she was talking about, but he slipped her warming crystal, the one that Talesan had returned to her, and pressed it into her hand. A faint smile appeared briefly on her face.
“No... yours.” She turned her hand, letting the crystal fall into his palm. It carried memories of things they hadn’t spoken about in years, but it was the only thing she had. “Now I will never leave you.”
“You will never leave me,” he echoed.
It took all she had, but Siri reached up, brushing fingertips gently against Obi-Wan’s cheek, before her hand fell. “Don’t worry so much,” she told him softly. She knew him better, knew he would anyway, but she had to try. She had so little time. I don’t want to leave you. She could admit that here, now, at the end. So much wasted time. Her eyes fluttered closed as consciousness slipped from her grasp...
Memory rushed back in, and her eyes flew open. She was in a bacta tank. Which explained the floating sensation. And how she was still alive. Almost frantic (but not frantic, Jedi were never frantic), she pounded on the glass. Obi-Wan. Talesan. Their mission.
What happened?
Were they all right?
Had the mission succeeded?
She could see blurred figures outside the tank, but she didn’t know who they were; all she knew is that they weren’t Force sensitive. She reached out in the Force, seeking (Obi-Wan) someone, anyone familiar, even as she pounded on the glass harder. She needed out of this tank. She needed to know what happened. OBI-WAN. That she reached for him first, called to him first, didn’t bear dwelling on; and the thought that something could have happened to him since Magus shot her, since she’d almost died in his arms, since she’d been put in the tank, wasn’t one that even crossed her mind. He was there, she could feel him in the Force, bright and warm and familiar. And he could tell her what happened. How long she’d been unconscious.
She needed out of this kriffing tank.
She needed to see him.
“For star’s sake, Obi-Wan, I’m dying. Do you have to interrupt me now?” There was something like humour in her voice, but it was a pale and reedy thing. She was dying. And he would have to watch her go.
“You’re not dying.”
Something occurred to her then, the sentimental idea of a dying woman, and she struggled to get into a pouch on her utility belt. Her fingers plucked uselessly at it, and fear, for the first time, stabbed through her. “I can’t... Get it for me.”
It took him a moment to realise what she was talking about, but he slipped her warming crystal, the one that Talesan had returned to her, and pressed it into her hand. A faint smile appeared briefly on her face.
“No... yours.” She turned her hand, letting the crystal fall into his palm. It carried memories of things they hadn’t spoken about in years, but it was the only thing she had. “Now I will never leave you.”
“You will never leave me,” he echoed.
It took all she had, but Siri reached up, brushing fingertips gently against Obi-Wan’s cheek, before her hand fell. “Don’t worry so much,” she told him softly. She knew him better, knew he would anyway, but she had to try. She had so little time. I don’t want to leave you. She could admit that here, now, at the end. So much wasted time. Her eyes fluttered closed as consciousness slipped from her grasp...
Memory rushed back in, and her eyes flew open. She was in a bacta tank. Which explained the floating sensation. And how she was still alive. Almost frantic (but not frantic, Jedi were never frantic), she pounded on the glass. Obi-Wan. Talesan. Their mission.
What happened?
Were they all right?
Had the mission succeeded?
She could see blurred figures outside the tank, but she didn’t know who they were; all she knew is that they weren’t Force sensitive. She reached out in the Force, seeking (Obi-Wan) someone, anyone familiar, even as she pounded on the glass harder. She needed out of this tank. She needed to know what happened. OBI-WAN. That she reached for him first, called to him first, didn’t bear dwelling on; and the thought that something could have happened to him since Magus shot her, since she’d almost died in his arms, since she’d been put in the tank, wasn’t one that even crossed her mind. He was there, she could feel him in the Force, bright and warm and familiar. And he could tell her what happened. How long she’d been unconscious.
She needed out of this kriffing tank.
She needed to see him.
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His posture was still stiff and formal. So was his tone. Too many people around for anything else, but he did step forward, taking something from his belt. If she didn't guess what it was, she would have recognized it as he pressed it into her hand. The warming crystal.
"You asked me to hold this for you."
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The stiff posture and formal tone in front of others was so very... him, and the rush of warm fondness that followed was enough to chance away the lingering cold of the realisation of just how close she had come to becoming one with the Force.
And then he pressed something into her hand.
Oh.
He’d kept it. She looked down at the warming crystal in her hand for a long moment, before pressing it back into his hand and curling his fingers around it. “Hold onto it for me just a little longer.” She offered him a crooked smile and a half-shrug. “I don’t have any pockets.”
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"All of your clothes have been cleaned and repaired. They're in your quarters." He stepped aside so she could pass. "This way." He made a sweeping gesture with his hand.
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He opens the door to her quarters and stands by to allow her to precede him inside. He doesn't relax his posture until they're both in the room with the door sliding shut behind them.
"So how are you, really?"
He knows her and she looked shaken.
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But they were alive. And that counted for something. Meant more than her unsteadiness. Her disconcertedness. She looked up at him, blue eyes unnerved, haunted. “I’m alive. Beyond that, I... I’m not sure.” It was an honest admission; she couldn’t bring herself to do otherwise. But telling him how she was, aloud, putting that into words wasn’t something she was sure she could do. Even if he could sense it.
She had almost died. And he had almost had to watch her. She was unnerved, and confused, and rattled. There had been danger before. There had been dangerous situations that had been difficult to get out of. It wasn’t something Jedi were strangers to.
But this was different.
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But she wanted to know if he was all right. More importantly... “You’re all right?” He appeared to be. She just... wanted to make sure. Needed to make sure. That was all.
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Now, anyway. Now that she was with them again.
He glanced around. "I, um. I should let you get dressed," he told her, taking an awkward backwards step towards the door.
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He started to move towards the door, only a step, but she reacted without thinking. “Wait. I... It won’t...” She frowned. She was out of sorts and no doubt sounding so kriffing awkward. “It won’t take me very long. I can just...” She glanced towards the adjoining room, where she was assuming the facilities were. “Please.” The word slipped out without her meaning for it to, but it didn’t really bother her. She would rather not be alone at the moment. Although she’d never admit it aloud.
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When Magus has shot her.
She was shivering, although she didn’t notice, and her hands were trembling as she fumbled her way back into her clothes. She was alive. That was what mattered. Everyone had survived the mission. That was what was important.
Gathering herself, she made her way back out to Obi-Wan.
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Except not at all. Because when she almost died, he almost Fell and he couldn't not acknowledge that. But not to her. Never to her.
But he may soon have to acknowledge other things to her. Things that caused it.
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And she’d come so very close to dying. To becoming one with the Force. Danger wasn’t unusual, and neither was the threat of dying. But she’d never...
She’d felt herself slipping away. (From Obi-Wan.) From the Order. And he’d almost had to watch her go.
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"You don't have to jump straight back into your duties."
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His voice was stern, but his eyes were concerned. She could probably see it.
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Her fingers drifted over where she’d been shot, before she pulled her hand away (realising what she was doing), and folding her arm across her ribcage. She didn’t know what to do; there were certain things the Order didn’t teach. Not specifically. How to properly recover from nearly dying was one of them. She was trying to accept what she was feeling, accept it and let it go.
But she couldn’t.
“How long was I... submerged in the tank?” How long had she been unconscious? How long since their mission had been completed?
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Oh KRIFF. He has to ask that question. Out of every question he could have asked... why does he ask that one? Awkwardly, she looks away. “I told you why, when I gave it to you,” she replies quietly. “So I’d never leave you. So you’d have something of mine. Of me.” It all sounds like the sentimental ideas of a dying woman. But it’s the truth. And as close to a confession of feelings as she’d come since they’d spoken of it the first time all those years ago.
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He paused, vulnerable in this blatant violation of the Code, pressed on by him, not her.
"Why do you still want me to have it?"
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“Because I...” She faltered, wondering what this conversation was going to do to their friendship. “The sentiment hasn’t changed, just because I’m alive. I still...” Feel the same. Feel the same way about you. Twenty kriffing years, and she hadn’t managed to set aside, let go of her feelings for him.
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What that meant, what that COULD mean, stunned her. Her hand found his cheek, gently cupping his face as she once again searched his eyes. "Are you all right?"
She knew how much that had to have... concerned him. Whatever the actions that he'd almost taken meant, her first concern was him.
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