I woke up in the middle of the night with this story already written in my head. Each scene, each dialogue.
It called, I answered.
I don't even ship Obidala!
Please, let me know what you think. Especially if it sucks.
(Could be a sequel of my other fic, Mud. Maybe.)
Her hair is spread on the bed like a cloth.
I take away a lock sticking to her forehead and caress her head.
She calls my name, feverish.
I hold her cold hand, and all I can think is that I shouldn't be here, that I stand where he should stand.
The Force could ease her pain, but reaching for it makes me sick.
I let her suffer.
Living Healers would shout and run, droids' movements are calm, precise, surreal. They say she's dying the way they'd read me the time.
My eyes linger on the panel that covers the lower half of her body and prevents me from seeing whatever I'm not supposed to - out of respect, maybe, or just as weird kind of prudery.
I turn my head to Yoda and Organa, witnessing to her sufferings from behind the glass.
'You shouldn't see this. Go away.' I'd shout if I still had a heart.
Everything is wrong.
Her hands frantically clench mine, leaving red carvings on my skin.
My name is a plea, between tears.
At least, her physical pain matches her inner one. I could use some pain too.
A last, hoarse cry takes me back.
"Luke," she says under her breath. "Leia."
Her eyes search mine for a promise. The droids give them to me, she's giving them to me.
"Obi-Wan... there is... good in him. I know there is..."
Padme is dying. I have her newborns, Anakin's son and daughter, in my arms.
I feel nothing.
The babies are taken back, and I'm carried out of the room. I keep watching through the glass, hypnotised by all this efficiency around a dying young woman.
I'm so exhausted it's astonishing I'm still functioning.
Yoda looks at me with a concern I've never seen in him. I want to hate him because he has sent me there, and I find out I can't.
We're plotting.
I talk too, I organise, I decide, and, frankly, I don't know how I am doing this.
I suspect they wonder the same; I catch them searching for something broken on my face when they think I'm not looking.
I tell them that, if she lives, they can't take the children. I try to sound derogatory, surprising myself because I didn't know I could still wish for something.
Sitting side by side, we wait to know what it will be of her as our plan slightly changes in either or the other way.
If she dies, Organa will tell everybody her unborn son died with her.
He will take the girl on Alderaan, to raise her as his own.
I will take the boy to his uncle, on Tatooine, and watch over him.
If Padme lives, I'll go there with the three of them, to keep them hidden.
Whether this is the case, Organa will use the death of Padme's handmaiden to our advantage and will bury Sabè in spite of her.
Why Tatooine and what we're supposed to do there is only clear to Yoda.
He rants on about training, Force sources, ghosts, and I don't want to listen to these things anymore.
I give up and trust him once more, probably just because I'm not strong enough to raise any objection.
The wheels start moving the moment they tell us she will survive.
