Something has to stop the flow

It wasn’t that Siri minded being assigned a mission with Obi-Wan. Far from it; she enjoyed working alongside him. It was this mission, in particular, that was making her... uncomfortable. Some unidentifiable emotion had settled in her chest. And it grew stronger every time she watched Obi-Wan and Duchess Kryze together. Watched the woman curl her hand around his arm, press close to him when she thought no one was looking.

But she ignored it, putting it aside to focus on the mission.

She knew they had a history together. When he was a Padawan he’d been assigned with Master Qui-Gon to protect her from the insurgents threatening her planet. She knew that.

What she hadn’t known about was Kryze’s attraction to Obi-Wan. It was... obvious. Even to her. Not that it bothered her. It didn’t. What he got up to in his free time was no concern of hers. And if she was sharper with her tongue than usual... well, so be it, then. It didn’t interfere with the mission. He was the Negotiator. He could handle the personable aspect of things.

She would focus on other aspects. Gathering information. Listening to whispers. She could blend in well enough with the Mandalorians if she changed out of her unisuit and left her cloak and lightsaber behind. It would involve the proper style of clothing and hair, but that was an easy enough matter to take care of.

For now, though, she walked slowly behind Obi-Wan and the Duchess as they toured the garden, putting a bit of distance between them. The invitation, she was certain, had been for Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan alone. But he’d turned to her and made some comment about how she could see how it compared to the Room of a Thousand Fountains; she’d found herself dragged along before she could do more than open her mouth to decline.

Kriff, the temptation to slip off, see if she couldn’t find one of the pieces they were missing elsewhere, was painfully intense. Anything to remove herself from... from this.

Exhaling softly, she attempted to ignore the unidentifiable emotion tightening her chest.

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.