Perchance to Dream
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Summary: (Oneshot. Spoilers for KOTORII. FemExile/Atton. Deathfic, sort of, with a nice portion of angst and plenty of mush.) She knew he was dying as soon as she saw his broken body, but that didn't make the knowledge any easier…
Rated: PG-13 for icky blood and stuff. Not a lot of it, but it's there. Sort of. 'Cause someone dies. Not really something you'd wanna read to your two-year-old as a bedtime story, I'd wager.
Disclaimer: If I owned Knights of the Old Republic II, this would all be in the game.
A/N: I know, I know—what a cliché title, right? This was a pretty pointless, thrown-together piece, though, and I didn't want to end up putting more time into the title than I did the actual writing, so I settled for some overused Shakespeare quote. Feel free to yell at me in a review if you feel the need to. hint, hint
She was pouring the Force into him as fast as she could, but Sion had indeed been thorough in his grotesque sadism. Atton's body lay before her, torn and broken. It was a long way from its former beauty and strength, and she doubted she'd be able to restore it.
She didn't even think she'd be able to save him.
The bloody stump of what had once been an arm was pouring red onto her robes. He was losing too much blood, so she took off her outer robe and pressed it to the raw flesh in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. It wouldn't be enough, she knew, but it was something.
His eyes opened blearily. "Did I… save you yet?" he managed to whisper. His voice was weak, just like the pulse in his left wrist, the one still attached to the rest of him. "Your eyes…" Dismay filled his scratched, bloodied face in response to the horror that must have been evident in her eyes. "That bad, huh?"
She wanted to scream at him to stop, to shut up, that he was wasting his precious energy—and besides, the pain in his voice was killing her just as surely as the source of that pain was killing him. "Atton," she whispered, but he interrupted her.
"Always was ugly." He chuckled weakly. "Now the outside matches."
No, no, don't say that—Closing her eyes against the tears that threatened to spill, she brought her focus back to healing him. She could feel his life force waning… no, no, no, don't give up, Atton, or I swear I'll kill you myself—
Perhaps he sensed her desperation, because he tried to offer a weak smile. "Was… waiting for this, but—" He coughed. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and she gently wiped it away. "S'not fair… let you down…"
The tears finally fell. "Shh," she said softly, wiping her sleeve roughly across her face and realizing with a morbid certainty that she could not undo the damage that Sion had done. "You… you've lost a lot of blood."
His hand found its way to her face, weakly brushing the rest of her tears away. "Was s'posed to save you," he whispered.
She felt a vicious tug at her heart as he spoke. He had no idea how many times he'd saved her, how many times he'd dragged her—often kicking and screaming—from the edge of the darkness. He had no idea how many times his presence had been the only thing to keep her sane, how certain she'd been that he would always be there to guide her actions and her thoughts. "You did," she murmured, placing her hand over his. "I could not ask for a greater sacrifice."
Atton turned his face away. "I don't want you to see me like this." His voice was barely audible. "I don't want… to die in front of you." He shook his head at her noise of protest. "Can't… bear it."
I'm not leaving. She was about to tell him this, when he turned back to her. "Loved you from the moment I first saw you," he whispered gently, and she felt that tug again. "Thought you were a dream." He closed his eyes, but she couldn't tell whether it was from pain or something else. "Tried to play it off as a joke. Wasn't… funny…"
She adjusted her position carefully until she was cradling his head in her lap, and gently pushed his sweat-soaked hair back from his forehead. "If you're trying to get rid of me," she finally replied, her voice trembling, "it's not working."
He let out a dry, hoarse chuckle. "You… saved me." His voice was growing fainter now, and she shoved more of the Force into him as fast as she could, but it seemed to have no effect. Don't leave, me, dammit, don't! "Joke's on me…" He chuckled again, and then winced. "Hurts when I laugh," he gasped out. "Hurts…"
And then he was silent.
His body lay lifeless in her arms as she bowed her head over his and struggled to remain under control. The tears pooled in her eyes again… and then sorrow turned to emptiness, and emptiness to rage. That's right, she thought angrily, have a good cry, why don't you? That'll solve everything, won't it?
She stood, letting his head fall gently to the floor. A humorless laugh escaped her lips as she ran the words through her mind like a mantra: Apathy is death. Apathy is death. Action alone is life, and apathy is death. Later, perhaps, she would fall to her knees and sob and make the universe aware of her loss. Later she would break down and cry like there was nothing in the world but her sorrow—but not now. Now, Kreia was waiting for her
(Kreia?)
and she had to be stopped. Cori still had a duty to her other companions. She would face the old woman
(but she's still on Dxun)
because she had no other choice. Behind her lay Sion and the entrance through which she had come, so Kreia could only logically be the other way. She began to walk
(wait—this isn't Iziz)
in what was presumably the ugly, traitorous old scow's direction. She had a mission, after all,
(yes, a mission, I have to stop Vaklu from killing Talia)
and she had to finish it. More people were counting on her than just her friends; she could not allow Kreia to bring harm to the galaxy.
(hold on, isn't she on my side?)
Because nobody betrays me, she thought angrily. Nobody betrays me and threatens my friends and kills the man I love. A lesson needed to be taught here, and Kreia would learn it; there was no question about that.
betrays? Wait a minute—who made all this up?)
She ignited her lightsaber, the familiar snap-hiss and the softly glowing shaft of light providing some small measure of comfort. Cold comfort, to be sure, but it was better than none. With her trusty 'saber back in her hand she felt calmer, more in control.
More powerful.
Her pace became brisk, her stride purposeful. She did not know how to deal with this pain, nor did she know how to rebuild what had been broken inside her… but she knew how to fight, and she knew how to destroy, and so she would. She would fight Kreia, and she would kill her. Not to save the galaxy or to help her friends; this had gone beyond all that now.
She would kill the old woman because she was responsible for the monstrosity that had broken her love and taken his life—but first she would break the witch into pieces, make her feel all the suffering that Atton had felt in his last moments.
She would break Kreia.
She would show her no mercy.
(but a thirst for revenge can only lead to the dark side!)
A malicious grin spread across her face as she brandished the lightsaber.
(No, wait, think about what you're doing—)
"Let's dance, shutta," she whispered, sending thick, dark tendrils of the Force out to search for the old woman.
(No—stop! STOP!)
But it was too late to stop now.
There could be no redemption for the wicked.
---
The sky prepared to fall.
Dark, ominous thunderclouds roiled across the stars, blocking them out one by one. Below them, the city of Iziz was oddly quiet. No late-nighters walked the streets; no drunken fools filled the cantina. The atmosphere was heavy and still, as though the very air could sense the brewing struggle.
The overly ambitious General Vaklu had turned openly hostile to the peaceful Queen Talia. He was currently gathering his forces, and all anyone could do was wait for the clash. It could not be long in coming. The Queen's only hope—the former Jedi Corsela Drace, exiled from the Order years ago—lay sleeping in a shoddy hotel room, tossing and turning in the throes of her nightmare.
Outside, the first thunder crashed.
She sat up, breathing heavily, and her first thought was, Gods, it's so dark. Then she thought, Where am I? I was just fighting Kreia and Atton was—
The thunder crashed again, and the panic set in.
Oh gods oh gods he's dead
She struggled to untangle herself from the twisted bedsheets—Kreia's turned on us and Atton's dead—and fought her way to her feet, looking frantically for her lightsaber, but it was too dark to see anything and she wasn't thinking clearly. So she stumbled toward the door and fumbled for the lock, before remembering that the lock was broken. She hit the control panel—a little too hard, but it got the door open.
The hallway was just as dim as her room had been, but she knew where she was going and there was nothing to trip her up. The door she wanted was directly across from her own. She placed a hand on the panel and paused, afraid to open it, afraid of what she might find—he'll be dead, because Sion killed him—but somehow more afraid of not knowing. So she pressed the button before she could change her mind, and the cracked durasteel doors quietly slid open.
His room was on the right side of the building for the moonlight to shine through the single dusty window. A soft patch of light fell on the floor, a little ways away from the bed where he lay.
Lightning struck for a third time, and for a moment his body was illuminated by the harsh, ugly light. And maybe it was just her imagination and maybe she was just going crazy but where was his arm?
She closed her eyes in horror, backing away until her back was pressed to the wall and she couldn't back away any farther. The thunder crashed in her head and the room was crashing down and all she could think was gods oh gods it wasn't a dream Sion really did kill him—
And then it passed. The hard, cold light was replaced by the gentle moonlight and she opened her eyes cautiously, slowly.
Relief washed over her as she realized that his arm was just bent under him, out of sight. There was no blood, no cracked, bruised skin.
She sank to the floor, using the wall for support because her legs would not support her weight. She hugged her knees to her body and let the dry, tearless sobs of relief wash over her, releasing the remnants of the blind panic that she'd felt moments earlier.
"Angel?"
Cori jumped.
In an instant he was beside her, taking in her shaking form and her pale face. "Hey, what happened?" His voice held a note of panic amid all the concern. "Come on, kid, talk to me."
She took a deep, shuddering breath and shook her head apologetically. "I'm sorry," she said between hiccups. "I- I didn't mean to w-wake you."
She felt him relax considerably, apparently reassured that she was in no real danger. "That's all right." He used two fingers to gently tilt her face upward, forcing her to look at him. There was something in his dark eyes other than worry, something that she couldn't identify, and his words from her dream came rushing back to her. Loved you from the moment I first saw you, he'd said.
But that had just been a dream.
He regarded her for a moment, his brow furrowed. "Was it another nightmare?"
She'd been plagued with nightmares ever since Malachor V. It didn't really surprise her that he knew about them; Mira had informed her matter-of-factly that her nighttime cries often kept the rest of the crew from sleeping. She nodded, still trembling considerably.
He didn't let her go. "Did you wanna talk about it?"
She shook her head, hoping that he wouldn't notice the way her hands were shaking. It was dark, she mused, so he probably couldn't even see them.
He sighed and tucked a few stray strands of auburn hair behind her ear. I must look like hell, she realized with dismay, but that didn't matter just now. "Listen," he began, wrapping his arms around her comfortingly—under normal circumstances, she might have snapped at him to keep his hands to himself, but for now she was content just to lean into his shoulder and let him talk. "There's no reason to be scared," he continued. Cori took a deep breath and tried to calm herself by concentrating on the way she could feel his voice in his chest as he spoke. "Back on Nar Shaddaa, I told you I was going to try and help you. You remember?" he pressed.
She nodded.
"Well, that was a promise, and I intend to keep it. So, anyone wants to hurt you, they'll have to get through me first."
She pulled back, startled at the sudden fierceness in his voice. "No." She shook her head firmly as her dream flashed in front of her eyes again. "I don't want you to get hurt trying to protect me."
One arm remained wrapped around her waist, while the other unwound itself from around her shoulders and found her hands. They were still trembling violently. "And I don't want you to get hurt at all." He took one of her hands in his larger one and interlaced his fingers with hers. "So no more nightmares." He used the arm around her waist to pull her closer. "Don't think about anything. I'll make sure you're all right, Angel."
She relaxed into him with a sigh of relief. His words made her uneasy—wasn't that urge to protect her exactly what he'd been killed over in her dream?—but as she sat there, surrounded by the warm, comfortable scent that was his alone, it was somehow easier to think of her nightmare as just that.
A nightmare.
Just a nightmare.
She snuggled closer to him, her eyelids growing heavy. Her panic earlier had brought her to full alertness, but now she realized just how tired she really was. He probably is, too, she thought lazily. I should go and let him sleep. She sighed and pulled away again.
"Kid?"
"I'm okay now," she said, and it was mostly true, though she was already missing the warmth he provided. "We should probably both get some sleep, huh?"
He nodded. "Probably." His head cocked to one side, and his arm remained firmly around her waist. "Did you want to sleep with me tonight?"
She blinked.
"Oh, no, nothing like that." He grinned mischievously. "I actually meant sleep. I'll even promise to try not to pull anythin' dumb." There was a pause, and he threw her a roguish wink. "Unless you want me to, of course."
She laughed for the first time that night. A look of relief flooded his face, throwing the cocky grin off for a moment and providing a rather comical effect. "All right," she said.
They stood up, and he smiled at her—a genuine, warm smile, not his signature smirk—and for a moment she felt that odd tug in her chest again. But it didn't last long, and she smiled back after a moment, forcefully pushing the unease out of her mind. It was just a nightmare. All of it, just a nightmare.
After all, what else could it possibly have been?
Outside, the thunder crashed.
A premonition, perhaps? her mind offered apprehensively as the room lit up with the flash of lightning.
No. Just a nightmare, she thought, her body tensing. Atton's hold on her tightened protectively and she leaned into him. He was warm, and very much alive.
It was just a nightmare.
And as she lay in his arms, warm and comfortable and safe, she was almost able to believe that.
FIN.
A/N: Like I said before, it's not really much. It's a little pointless, and not entirely sane… But hey, I got to write Atton's death AND I got to write the much-overused sleeping-with-each-other-but-not-sleeping-with-each-other thing! It's like a two-for-one deal! Fun stuff!
…Review! Please?