Honest
Honesty is a virtue. If I was being honest, I'd say what's in front of me is tearing me apart. In this circumstance, I can't imagine being honest.
Something happened, I'm not really sure what. I was off fighting those guys over there when I sensed she was in trouble ... and pain. I was here like a shot. Only now I know she's not in physical pain. But he is.
I'm standing here, in this eternal second, a case with several medpacs in it dangling from one hand, and I'm watching her. She's begging and pleading for him to stay with her. I can't see where he's wounded, or exactly how bad it is from here, but there's a puddle of blood beginning to pool underneath him, and I can see one pale hand stretched out on the ground, palm and fingers coated in the sticky red liquid. I can smell blood from here ... or is that my imagination?
The eternal second passes and I'm running towards them. As I get closer, in jagged leaps his condition reveals itself to me. He's been stabbed, deeply, in a really bad spot. I crash to my knees in a puddle of his blood, Jedi robes cushioning the blow a little.
I tear a needle from the foam, aim carefully, and stab it into his thigh. He gasps, and she gasps too, but whether it's because she felt it through the Force or because she just honestly feels his pain like it's her own, I cannot say.
With shaking fingers I pull another vial out. As I depress the plunger into his skin, I dare a glance up at her.
She's looking down at him, trying to smile bravely, tears streaming down her cheeks. Tenderly, she runs a hand down the side of his face, and he closes his eyes to feel it better. She strokes darkened hair away from his white face. She has his head cradled in her lap. She talks to him softly, encouragingly, but sobs catch in her throat.
A third dose of kolto, and his breathing eases a little. Blood is still dripping onto the floor, but I think it might be slowing a little. She sobs a little louder, probably because he's going to make it.
I contain the shudder that runs through me with difficulty. But I'm used to tamping down emotion, more than anyone knows.
With each stroke of her hand down his face, she doesn't know it, but she is sending a sharp dagger into my heart. With every look, every word, she tells me that it is all for him. He lives for her. She lives for him.
We don't get along, him and me. Neither liked the other from the get go. Everything I did he couldn't stand, and everything he did I couldn't stand. Perhaps we knew from the first that it would come down to this.
After the fourth medpac he waves a hand at me weakly and murmurs something about being all right. She places her hands on him, takes a few deep breath, and the strength of the Force that I feel her use on him staggers me. She wants him to be well. He must be well, for her happiness.
I close my eyes a moment, feeling my heart shudder and go still. I reach over and lay my hands on him as well, focusing the Force.
:: For you, Exile. ::
He sighs, feeling the pain disappear. I open my eyes briefly and see her looking down at him in surprise.
:: May you be happy, sweetheart. ::
She begins to look at me, so I close my eyes again. Faintly I hear her voice, calling my name.
:: I love you so much. ::
I hold in the breath that wants desperately to escape my body. Through the buzzing in my fingers I feel her try to pry them off him, but it's no good.
:: May you eventually deserve her. ::
I lift away my hands which feel heavy as stone, as heavy as my pounding heart. Pain lances through my side as I fall sideways, then onto my back. I let out my breath in a rush, then shakily lift myself onto one elbow to look at my handiwork. Through a large tear in his shirt I see that the worst wound has been closed.
:: Good enough. ::
The Exile looks from him to me, and back, confused. Then she lays him gently on the ground, her robe for a pillow, and crawls over toward me, her breath still not coming evenly, clear tracks on her cheeks where her tears have been, though she's not crying anymore.
She sits down next to me and wraps me in a grateful hug. She sniffles, but she's determined not to cry.
So am I.
She releases me after much too short a time, half laughs, and smiles at me. I smile back, wondering if she can hear the sound of my heart breaking.
Gratitude radiates from her. I never knew gratitude could cause such agony. But I'll take it, and hold onto it because it's the most precious thing she'll give me. The only thing more precious will never be mine. It belongs to the man who lies quietly behind her, scarred and poor and to her the most beautiful person in the universe.
She swallows hard, and then she says three words that I will cling to desperately for the rest of my life.
"Thank you, Atton."
~~~
A/N
Yes. I'm definitely evil like that.
Personally, I ship Light Side!Fem!Exile/Atton. But the plot bunny bit and so far whenever I've been bitten by a plot bunny of this type (short, contained, angsty) I usually spring for the keyboard rather than the rabies shots. Plus, if I hadn't, this would have taken up residence in my head and it's crowded enough already.
So, there you have it.