Chapter 4
Doctor Zha held Luke's pill container in the palm of his hand, then he slipped it into his pristine coat pocket. Luke watched with growing dread.
"The current medications can affect your brain's usual electrical activities. Taking them can skew your test results." Doctor Zha patted his pocket, flipping through the clipboard papers with his other hand. "Along with your medications, I'll have to ask you to stay away from caffeinated food and drink."
The twinkle in his eyes made Luke burn with shame. He hadn't been able to eat anything richer than broth or ice chips since he woke up for good two days ago.
"That's it?"
"Take a bath tonight. Wash your hair out good."
Luke nodded, not sure what that had to do with anything at all.
He sat up in his bed, sheets folded underneath him. The lights were dimmed for his minor concussion, his casted arm resting gingerly against his sore stomach. His braced leg stretched out in front of him.
"What about…the casts?" Luke asked. Doctor Zha set down the clipboard and reached out for Luke's leg. With two calculated yanks, the straps to the thick, black brace gave. Luke grimaced at the dull, thudding pain of the swollen limb.
"The brace comes off. Hold your cast above the water. Let someone else scrub."
Luke swallowed hard, nodding again. "I'll do my best."
"And we'll do ours, Mr. Skywalker." The doctor strapped the brace back together. Luke squeaked. "The electroencephalogram is scheduled for tomorrow at nine."
"Yes sir."
As Doctor Zha turned to leave, he said: "Oh, and Luke?"
"Yes sir?"
"I have to ask you not to sleep tonight."
"Not-not sleep?" He hadn't really slept all that much the last nine days, even with the help of the sleeping pills now tucked in the doctor's pocket. "Why?"
"Just keep yourself occupied with your friends and family, or go down to the dining halls—but remember, no caffeine to keep you awake—the distance isn't too far for you to crutch."
Luke held up a weak thumbs up with his casted arm. "No caffeine. I'll stay busy."
Doctor Zha walked out of the room, leaving Luke to stare at his braced ankle, his fractured arm, his patched chest, and his stitched neck one after the other, after the other.
Han stared at Luke with a quizzical frown. "So you want to go explore Mon Motha's private hideaway with your little crutches?"
"Not the whole thing. Just the dining hall."
"Right. So you want to go to the dining hall of Mon Motha's private hideaway with your crutches. And your broken ankle."
"Han, if you're worried you can come with me."
Han snorted, poking at the stack of paperwork that sat on the bedside table. Luke's legs dangled over the edge of the bed, crutches poised under his arms. "I'm supposed to be reading the legal garbage for this test which I can't even pronounce, let alone agree to let my friend do."
"It's electro-encephal-o-gram."
"Don't get cocky, kid."
Luke tucked his chin into his chest and smiled. His eyelids were starting to droop an hour in to his all-nighter before the test. The inevitable soreness without all the doses of pain medication in his system was starting to creep into his chest, his arm, his leg. The little lamps on the walls itched at the headache between his eyes. Still, he saved the smile as Han looked him over, overanalyzing him.
"Alright, fine. Go on your exciting new adventure."
Luke quickly gathered the crutches under his arms. "I'll be back in an hour!"
"I should hope so," Han mumbled, shifting through the paperwork again. "Eat something, for all our sake's. Something beefy. Anything other than icechips."
"I thought you liked getting me ice?"
"Kriff, no. Any more bowls of that and I'll lose fingers." Luke was all the way to the door before Han placed the papers down again. "And take Chewie with you!"
Luke peeked out the glass double doors to see the Wookiee sitting patiently on a bench outside of his room, scratching at his hairy thigh. He was waiting for him. He was waiting for him.
"Hey…" Luke said. "Conspirers!"
Han shrugged, flopping the pile of paperwork onto the ground. "Scoundrels! Caught us!"
Luke shook his head, smirking. He tried to push the door with the end of his crutch, then with his good shoulder. They didn't budge. Chewie stood and took the door handle, opening it wide enough for Luke to crutch through.
"Uughgughhhgh wrrhw aarrragghuuhw uuh," he said to Han over Luke's head. Han waved them away, feigning a studious pose.
"I know you will, Chewie. Just get out of here, will you?"
Chewie grinned and closed the door behind them.
Luke crutched down the long white hallway, Chewie lumbering alongside of him quietly. A few lingering droids turned to look at them, but none of the nurses paused their work. In a set of half-closed doors, Luke glimpsed a machine full of what looked like hundreds of wires. Doctor Zha stood with two droids near a large screen.
He quickened his crutching.
Mon Motha's dining area consisted of a long slender table with pristine white benches to match, a counter manned by a small silver droid, and a water faucet with white plastic cups. The bright, iridescent lights burned holes into Luke's head, and Chewie guided him to a seat as he hissed from pain. When the soft hand disappeared from his shoulder, he hesitated in placing his crutches down. With watering eyes, he searched the little area for his friend.
He didn't want to be alone—what if everything he had been told was wrong, and the Emperor wasn't dead, and Vader hadn't disappeared, and they were looking for him, waiting for their opportunity to strike—
The lights dimmed, and Luke blinked and blinked as scenery appeared.
Chewbacca stood by the light switch.
While Luke arranged his crutches so that he could access them quickly and without help, Chewie ordered two plates of food from the little droid. She slipped into the back room, reappearing with a plate of green gelatin and broth. Luke swallowed the stomach acid he could already taste on the back of his tongue.
Chewie set the two plates down on the table, staring at Luke expectantly.
Luke poked a few holes in the cubes of green gelatin, wishing for his stomach to settle down. His hands shook, his lips dry and cracked. His whole body felt tense.
Chewie shook his head. "Aarrragghuuhw raahhgh."
He set his fork down, looking at the cubes with a queasy expression.
"I don't think I can eat it, Chew," he said. Chewie pushed the plate closer, pointedly. "I-I guess I'm too nervous to eat. I'll eat after the testing's done."
Chewbacca rubbed his eyes, growling and mumbling, but Luke's brain had clogged up again. He stared at the white plaster without blinking. His casted arm rested heavily on the table, the near perfect right angle making it awkward and painful to lean on. It throbbed and pulsed from the slowly dwindling pain medication. And he was already exhausted…
"Raahhgh raahhgh aaaaahnr!"
Luke licked his lips. "I know the testing is tomorrow, Chew, but I…" Chewie pushed the plate even closer, picking up a spoon in his large, furry hands. He dipped it into the broth and held it up to Luke's mouth. "What? Oh, no, Chewie. I-I-I—I can feed myself. Thank you, though."
Chewie cocked his head. "Aarrragghuuhw huurh uugggh uuh."
Luke nearly choked.
Chewbacca fed him when he was out?
The image of Chewie spooning liquids to him while he laid on the bed, white as the sheets—completely oblivious to all his friends were doing for him, going through for him—flashed through his mind. Chewie's rare spurts of patience that shone through when he was around Luke, his fatherly companionship, his protective nature…more than anything, Luke could remember Chewbacca's hands pushing his hair gently away from his forehead.
Luke went from reddening and embarrassed to ever so slightly grateful.
"I—thanks, Chew. I owe you one."
Chewbacca just wiggled the spoon by Luke's face. Luke took his good hand and guided it back to the plate.
"I'll try the green stuff, how about that?"
And the Wookiee agreed.
Luke had made it a total of ten hours awake and he felt awful.
His arm had gone from throbbing to screaming, his foot uncomfortably tight in his brace. His chest bandage had been taken off, revealing the pocks of stitches and bruises, of smaller gauze pads and bacta patches. The visual made him feel even worse.
Leia sat patiently at his bedside, receiving droid instructions and nurse's admonitions while Luke zoned in and out of conversation. Most of the medical terms Luke had never heard of—what was an anesthetic, and what did it have to do with the stitches along his neck?
After some time, the droids skittered out of the room and only one human nurse remained, talking softly to Leia in the far corner of the room. If he strained, he could hear pieces.
"—be careful of the—"
"—he's just so—"
"I know, but—"
Luke settled into the pillows, eyes drifting closed for just a few seconds…he wouldn't fall asleep…
"Luke?"
Leia's voice drifted through the sparks of golden light that had started to form in Luke's dreams. He started, snapping up out of the pillows, eyes wide.
"I wasn't asleep!" he said, feeling the sleep in his aching bones even as he said so. Leia frowned, reaching out and tracing a line along his jaw where the pattern of the pillow was etched in.
"And I believe that." She smirked turning back to where the nurse stood stiffly, clutching what looked like plastic rap in her hands. "Now, how about a bath?"
The next thing he knew he had both crutches under his arms and Leia was ushering him into the 'fresher. The small porcelain bathtub sat kitty corner to the toilet and sink. There was a flimsy curtain, a bar of soap, and the basin Luke had spent most of the last two days retching into. Leia placed a small container of shampoo next to the soap, then guided Luke in to the room with one hand outstretched, one hand balanced on Luke's back.
He could feel his heartbeat inside his ribs.
Not the normal lub dub, lub dub of normal hearts. Something different.
More like flutter stutter.
He leaned his crutches on the sink and Leia helped him with taking the brace off of his foot. His tunic lay somewhere back on his bed. His stitches along his neck strained against his bare, shivery skin.
Leia took his casted hand carefully into her own. "How do you feel?"
"Um," Luke started, staring down at his feet. "Dizzy?"
Leia took his good hand in hers then, helping him hop to the edge of the tub. He sat, staring at Leia in the dim lighting for his concussion. Her hair was let down and wavy, brown curls cascaded over her shoulders. Her hands were intertwined with his, soft and cold. She was beautiful.
Then, Leia ruffled his hair, kissed him on the top of his head, and laughed.
"Well, I hope you like your women tough and short, because she is going to get really comfortable with you really soon," Leia half-whispered, suppressing her giggles with her fingers to her lips.
Sister, Luke reminded himself. You can't punch your twin sister.
The nurse burst through the door with her plastic wrap and shooed Leia out of the 'fresher, who left with a wink. Luke blushed, eyes darting away.
He sulked as the nurse whisked off his pants, lowered him into the tub, and turned on the faucet.
"Now, I'll do my best to scrub you down," the nurse tittered, wrapping Luke's arm full of clear plastic until it was twice the size and glittering with clear wrapping. "And all you have to do is keep your cast dry. Can you do that for me, Luke, honey?"
Luke nodded, feeling his blush reach his ears.
The nurse scrubbed him down as promised, the jarring soap bar stinging in his healing cuts and stitched wounds. Once, he tweaked his ankle wrong and sent himself into a flurry of agony and regret. When the white spots cleared, the nurse was done with the soap and sat staring at him with the bottle of shampoo in her hands.
"Aw, did you twist your ankle wrong, Luke, honey?"
Luke couldn't bring himself to answer. He just lifted his casted arm a little higher out of the water and scrubbed at his wet face with the other.
The nurse massaged the shampoo in and rinsed it out just as quickly, jabbering about how important it was to have clean hair for the test. Luke nodded when he thought it would be appropriate, keeping his eyes trained on the white porcelain lip of the tub.
The water started to curl and drain underneath him. Luke sat up straight, anticipating the end of the bath. The nurse rubbed a towel over his dripping hair, gently patting down the stitches on his neck and cuts on his shoulders. He winced a few times when the fabric caught on a scab or stitch. The nurse would note it and slow down her scrubbing.
"There, honey," the nurse said as she placed the towel down and braced his ankle again. "Let's get you out."
Feeling soggy and sheepish, Luke was helped out of the bath and back to his feet. The nurse swept over his body one last time before she threw on his pants, tugging the thin linen over the large boot. She ripped open new packets of gauze and bandaged his chest. She wrapped his tunic back around him and congratulated him on his keeping his cast dry as she unraveled the fifty feet of plastic wrap.
Luke tried at a smile, but not with much effort.
Then, careful not to slip on the puddle-ridden floor, Luke crutched out of the 'fresher, glare set and ready for Leia when he got into the room. The Princess sat with grace and dignity on his bed, ankles tucked, with a packet of papers on her lap. Luke assumed it was the portion that Han didn't get around to reading.
"Oh, you're done?" she commented, looking up briefly.
Luke crutched over to the bed, mumbling. The nurse clapped her hands.
"Well, I'd love to stay and chat, Princess, Luke, honey." The nurse dipped her head at both of them on the bed. "But I've got to get some sleep before the electroencephalogram tomorrow. Have a good night!"
She waved. Leia gave a delicate wave back. Luke set his crutches down with a clattering thunk.
Jedi don't feel hate, he scorned himself as he scowled at the nurse all the way out the door.
As soon as the glass door shut, and the nurse disappeared from their view, Leia was laughing. Great, heaving laughs. Luke snorted, slipping under the covers and levering his braced foot up onto a pile of pillows. To his great chagrin, it didn't give much relief.
"Oh, what's so funny?" Luke finally said after Leia looked about to turn violet.
"Did you enjoy yourself?"
Luke let his head sink into the pillows, eyes drifting closed without him thinking of the consequences. He wouldn't fall asleep. The nightmares alone would keep him awake, and Leia's laughing would keep him awake if that didn't…
Leia patted his cheek. "Sleeping isn't allowed until tomorrow."
Luke pried one eye open, looking at the clock on the wall. "It is tomorrow."
He had made it to one in the morning. Only seven hours left.
Leia smiled, shaking a finger at him. "Very clever."
The beeping noise that had accompanied him for the last nine days was gone—they had taken off the oximeter and the monitoring system as soon as he was up and around on his own two feet. He couldn't say he missed it, but… wasn't there something to the idea of knowing you're still alive? That you're heartbeat was filling the room you sat alone in, and in a way that meant you did have company? It lessened the ache in his chest just a little, to hear it still worked, no matter how backwards the rhythm.
Leia touched his cheek again, this time lightly and lingering on the purple bruise gathered at his cheekbone. If he focused too hard, the dark color made it hard to focus. Now, though, he could see Leia fine in the dwindling, dusky night.
"You're so brave, Luke."
Leia's eyes shimmered, and Luke made a promise to pretend to be braver.
"I'm just a kid from Tatooine."
Leia laughed again, but softer this time. Full of regret, of nerves. "Well, we can't have this. Get out of bed; I want to take a walk with you."
Luke pulled his crutches back under his sore armpits, feeling every part of his body groan from the movement. I'll die before I show it hurts, he swore to himself as he hopped up onto his feet. Leia wants a walk, and I will walk with her.
And they did.
Seven hours crawled by, and Luke agonizingly watched the clock. When eight in the morning arrived, he nearly fainted with relief. A droid came in the door to wheel him to the testing room, shiny and smelling of strong sanitation. Luke's head was swimming with lack of sleep and pain, and while he knew his friends were wishing him good luck, he didn't hear a word through his screaming skull.
The specialist stood outside the room he had seen with Chewie, both doors closed. He was short, stocky, with greenish skin and a brilliant white coat. Doctor Zha stood to the side, looking Luke over while he worried his lip.
"I'm your neurologist," the green being said, sticking out his hand. Luke reached out to grab it, grimacing at the effort it required. "Follow me, please."
The droid pushed him forward through the double doors, and Luke saw the machine in full. It's strange wires and screen, the long gray bed, a chair in the corner. The neurologist motioned to everything.
"Would you rather sit or recline?"
"Recline," Luke answered quickly. Thank the Force, I finally get to sleep!
The droid and Doctor Zha helped Luke onto the bed, guiding his head onto the thin pillow. The neurologist reappeared in Luke's line of sight holding little, flat, metal discs. He called them electrodes, and split jobs between the three beings: the neurologist would place a disc on Luke's skull, the droid held his head steady, and Doctor Zha would layer a slab of sticky paste on his skin so the disc would stick down. Luke lost count of the electrodes at eleven, when they put one in his nose.
"I'm just going to hook these up to my computer now, Luke," the neurologist said. "That's how we're going to read the electrical activity results."
The wires were connected one by one, a snapping noise echoing in Luke's head long after they were finished with the task.
"Now go ahead and close your eyes." Luke obeyed, feeling the relief of letting his eyelids close for longer than a blink or two. "And listen to me."
Luke tried, feeling the pull of sleep so close to him that it hurt.
Everything hurt.
The neurologist asked him to take deep, rapid breaths—twenty at a time, for exactly a minute. Luke tried to do his best, feeling the awful tightness in his ribs from hyperventilation. When the minute was up, he was asked to do it again.
And again.
He felt light headed, his fingers went numb.
"Good, Luke. Well done," Doctor Zha said. Luke squeezed away the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He could feel his heart thundering in his chest. "Now, can you open your eyes for me?"
Luke did so slowly.
The room went silent as Luke was allowed to stretch and regain his breath.
"I'm going to show you a light we call a strobe, now. Is that okay?"
Luke didn't answer, and a bright light flickered into existence, flashing quickly and brightly in his eyes. He yelped, raising his hands to block the light out. The droid appeared at his side and held his arms to the bed.
Through the awful, skull-splitting pain, he heard the neurologist "hmm."
When the light turned off, it was as if the world had stopped spinning for a few seconds, and all was quiet. He blinked and blinked, licking his dry lips and keening from the pound in his forehead.
"Sorry, Luke. We won't do that again to you. It was a test," Doctor Zha apologized, but it didn't sound like much of an apology. "How is your head?"
"Hurts," Luke moaned. Doctor Zha apologized again.
A stretch of time wafted by, and Luke lay still, only moving when the test stopped and Doctor Zha told him he could stretch his limbs.
His heart kept stuttering away, loud and hard in his chest, ears.
"Luke settle back down," the neurologist ordered, face lit with the computer screen. "We're starting again."
Luke did, settling back into the pillow and tucking his arms in at his sides.
"Alright, kiddo," Doctor Zha said, clapping Luke lightly on the shoulder. "Here's the moment you've been waiting for. Go ahead and take a nap."
"What?"
"Fall asleep, catch a few winks. It's a part of the test—why we asked you to stay up so long the night before."
Luke lay surprised for a moment before he shut his eyes, hunkering down into the tough mattress, and sighed. He could sleep! The rest of the test, he could sleep—no lights, no hyperventilating, just sleep. And he had been falling asleep all day…
He lay there for fifteen minutes. Twenty.
"I-I guess I'm not tired?" Luke said. The neurologist chuckled.
"Just use the sedative. It won't affect this section enough for us to hold it out."
Doctor Zha held a hypospray to his neck and Luke braced himself for the sharp, icy prick. It was about as bad as he expected—quick, but burning with cold.
He hated drugs. He hated how they made him feel; the way he drifted through…through days, and the Force…simmering…
Luke fell asleep without a single dream.