A/N - Got this random scenario in my head and thought I'd share it. If people show interest, I might expand on it, but for now this is all I have.
Spoilers ahead, proceed with caution.
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his deep voice penetrating her thoughts and reverberating around in her head.
It seemed he always popped up via their connection at the most inconvenient of times, and now was no exception.
Lying lazily on her cot, exhausted from yet another long day's training with Luke, she opened her eyes to see his figure appear before her from across the room.
"Nothing," she said shortly, cheeks flushing in embarrassment as she turned over on her side, and pulled the blanket up to her shoulders to avoid facing him.
"Don't lie to me," he said, kneeling down at her bedside. "It's fruitless."
Sighing in defeat, she rolled back over to face him. All intentions of avoiding him fleeing to the back of her mind.
"I can't sleep," she admitted shamefully, all at once feeling small and lost, like a little child. It embarrassed her to have to admit it to herself, let alone to him, and she expected nothing in response other than a snide remark. But to her surprise, she received none.
Instead he asked;
"What's troubling you?" the slightest hint of concern in his voice.
Her eyes shied away from his, and she started pulling at the thread-bear fabric of the blanket that covered her.
"I don't want to talk about it..."
"No?" he pressed further, keeping his eyes locked on hers, despite her refusing to acknowledge his close presence.
Silence. She didn't say anything now.
Blast, how it tortured him when she didn't answer.
When she closed her eyes, his shifted to her arms and body.
Something was a bit off about her position. It wasn't her preferred sleeping side. He'd seen her sleep many nights before (though she was unaware of his watching her) and she never once slept on her left.
He inspected her alignment further, and found that she was gripping the covers tightly. Her legs were curled up to her chest, and her eyebrows were furrowed.
She looked small and scared. Childish and afraid. But what he noticed most of all was the slight shivering. The slight shaking of her limbs that gave her away.
"You're trembling," he observed, causing her eyes to open.
"I'm cold." She deflected, though not too convincingly.
He paused for a moment, then allowed his eyes to glaze over her. His hands slowly pulled back her covers on the cot, and she stared at him, wide-eyed, but lacked the strength she needed to protest.
"Move," he instructed her casually, lying down beside her and causing her to stiffen at his close proximity. It wasn't until he settled himself completely that she was able to relax a little and breathe.
But as much as she wanted to push him away from her, she couldn't. Despite the feeling being strange and unprecedented, it felt right. Almost as if he...belonged beside her, if that made sense.
He brought a gloved hand to her forehead, and felt a chill surge through him. Though she was cold, he could feel it, he knew that that wasn't entirely the reason for her trembling, and so felt no shame in asking;
"Is that all?"
"No." She swallowed uncomfortably, looking at him in her peripheral vision as she turned over to lessen the strange tension in the air between them.
Silence again.
Why did she do this to him?
He sighed, and stared at the ceiling.
She had no idea how undignified it was for him to be lying beside her (even if it did bring him some satisfaction), for it was very un-Sith-like to take pity on a Rebel supporting scum, but he was being chivalrous, and so expected at least an acknowledgement for his effort.
But she gave him nothing.
"Comfort's such a privilege in my life," he told her. "and I'm just giving it to you, freely. You haven't the slightest idea how thoughtful I'm being right now, and you can't possibly appreciate it."