A/N: I do not own Star Wars, Knights of the Old Republic 1 or 2, or any of the characters within. Nadira Obsidian is my OC version of the Exile.
Chapter 36: Vigil
As he walked back into medbay, Bao-Dur sighed inwardly. Nadira hadn't moved as far as he could tell. She sat at Atton's bedside, holding his hand, keeping watch in silent worry.
"How is he doing?"
She shook her head. "No change yet. I guess I should be glad. At least he hasn't taken a turn for the worst. Not since that scare yesterday, anyway."
Bao-Dur rested his hand on his friend's forehead. "His fever hasn't returned. That's reassuring."
Nadira nodded, rubbing a hand over her face wearily. Bao-Dur kept his expression neutral as he noticed the dark circles under her eyes. "General?"
She blinked as she looked up at the Iridonian. "Hmm?"
"When was the last time you got some sleep?"
"Before we reached Malachor," she admitted quietly. "I can't sleep. I've tried, but when I close my eyes…" A haunted light surfaced in her gaze, face paling as her voice trailed off. She shook her head. "Maybe later I'll try again."
Bao didn't press the issue, sensing how unsettled she was. "I relayed your request to Mandalore," he said, irritation edging his tone.
Nadira looked at the tech, eyes narrowing in frustration. "And what was his excuse this time?"
"He says that 'unlike the rest of your infantile crew, the leader of the Mandalorians doesn't need to be mothered like a child.'" Bao-Dur resented Mandalore's condescension and arrogance—almost as much as he detested having to put up with such insults from the leader of the race that had destroyed his homeworld. But he'd remained civil while relaying the message if for the sole purpose of retaining his dignity.
However, he could tell that his CO was just as fed up with Mandalore's comments by the glare she threw in the direction of the cockpit. She continued to seethe, glaring silently for a while before turning back to study Atton, a mask of serenity settling over her features.
Bao's brow furrowed before a sound caught his attention. Heavy footsteps echoed through the ship. And they were getting closer. The door to medbay burst open and Mandalore stormed in, anger barely in check, the Zabrak surmised from the red hue coloring his face.
Bao blinked, then smiled inwardly to see the Mandalorian so enraged.
But Mandalore continued to fume in silence before gathering himself enough to speak. "You wouldn't dare…" he hissed quietly at her.
Nadira turned her gaze upon him, eyes flashing with challenge. "Don't tempt me, Mandalore."
"That's a low blow, even for you, Jedi."
"I'd have thought you'd be impressed." A ghost of a smile tugged at her lips. "It was strategies like this that you admired so much in the war."
"In the war, you out of all the Jedi, at least, used honor."
"After the year I've had, I don't give two credits about honor," she growled, showing she was in no mood to be lectured. "And with all I just went through, I think it is more than honorable that I gave you a warning."
After a second, much to Bao-Dur's surprise, Canderous grinned. "You've got some guts, Obsidian," he chuckled, nodding in approval, it seemed. "It's no wonder it took you and Revan to beat us. To honor that, I will answer your questions. But don't get used to it—a leader of the Mandalorians and the head of the clan of Ordo is not so weak that he needs to be mollycoddled by an overprotective Jedi."
Nadira nodded in satisfaction before debriefing him. Once finished, she turned her gaze to the rents in his armor. "Did you sustain any injuries in the academy?"
"Heh, not as many as you apparently," he scoffed.
At his words, Bao studied the Exile, catching subtle hints of pain that worry had masked before. She'd kept her left arm drawn against her chest since they'd rescued her. But she'd hidden it masterfully in the chaos of trying to save Atton. She'd even changed robes to conceal her condition, ensuring that they'd focus on Rand's needs instead of hers.
"Any serious injuries?" she insisted, neatly thwarting his effort to change subjects.
"Look, I'm just fine," Canderous replied, scowling. "I can see to myself. And you should do the same before chaos comes knocking again."
"The Sith Lords have been defeated," Bao commented. "The war's over."
"Heh, there's always more chaos," Mandalore scoffed.
No kidding, Nadira sighed inwardly.
"Anything specific or are you referring to the galaxy in general?" The Zabrak began to wonder if Mandalore knew something they didn't.
"Take your pick. But there's always something."
Bao turned to look at Nadira as the medbay door hissed shut. "You weren't going to tell us, were you?"
Nadira looked at him curiously, then frowned as he leveled a pointed gaze at her arm.
"There were more pressing needs at the time." Her eyes drifted to the unconscious pilot. Sighing, she shrugged. "Afterwards I was so preoccupied, I'd forgotten."
"Mm-hmm."
She chuckled at his apparent disbelief. "I've had blinding pain for so long that I notice its absence more readily than its presence."
He nodded slowly. "We still need to see to your injuries, or Atton will not be a happy man when he wakes up."
"No." Nadira smiled at the thought. "He would scold me."
After calling Mical to medbay, Bao ushered Nadira to the far corner so they could see to her needs without disturbing Atton. The Exile attempted rolling her left sleeve but flinched, a hiss escaping her before she'd gone far. Halting her attempts, Bao and Mical cut the sleeve off at the shoulder, soaking the cloth away to avoid reopening her wounds. As the sleeve loosened, the two men swallowed at what they'd uncovered. Seared flesh clung to the fabric, releasing it only reluctantly. A long burn ran the length of her arm, showing how close a call her standoff on Malachor had been. Added to that, splinters of stone shrapnel protruded from her shoulder.
"Nadira, you…didn't notice this?" Mical asked, astonished.
"Oh, I noticed it," she assured him, biting back a hiss. "I just chose to ignore it. Kreia…" Her voice trailed off for a beat. "She didn't feel I needed the breather."
Mical didn't have the heart to question her further. He and Bao continued to treat her in silence. Once they'd patched her up, they left her to rest, their stern glances ensuring that their recommendation was not mistaken for friendly advice. Exhausted, though, in every way, she had little inclination to do otherwise. She winced as she shifted her arm to a more comfortable position, settling by Atton's side once more. Resuming her silent vigil, her eyes drifted over his body. He'd been stripped to the waist as their friends had fought to save his life, leaving Sion's handiwork on display for her to study with horror.
His chest and arms had once borne a handful of tattoos—intricate in design and significant in meaning, she guessed. That or it had lent to his cover in some way. Now crisscrossed and broken by jagged lacerations, their pattern was obscured beyond recognition. His proud features too had been marred by a cruel hand. If not for his Force Signature, she might not have recognized him initially beneath the layers of abuse.
A sob escaped her lips. She kissed his forehead gently and stretched out her hand to hover over his chest. Channeling the Force, she fed its energy into him, pouring out what healing she had left. Still, he did not stir. "You shouldn't have suffered this," she gasped, fighting in vain to stay strong. "Not for me."
She slipped her free arm around his neck, lowering her forehead to brush his, as he'd often done to assure her of his presence. In truth, it was as much for her own sake now as it was for his.
"Well, I sure wouldn't go through all this for Mandalore…." came the raspy reply.
Nadira started as Atton's eyes opened gradually. Despite his weariness, he still managed a small smile as he peered up at her. Her eyes shone as she froze, half-afraid to breathe.
"…Plus I figured this would earn me a bunch of pity points—"
The spell was broken as she captured his mouth with her own. Too exhausted to move yet, he basked in the sensation, banishing his fear that he'd never again experience her touch. Her tears washed his cheeks till she leaned back, caressing his face.
"You're awake," she breathed. "You're alive."
"You sound surprised!" he teased, mustering the strength to lift his hand to brush away her tears. "I can be stubborn too!" Then he smiled warmly at her as he sighed in relief. "You're safe."
She nodded, leaning into his touch. "I was not the worry."
"Yeah right, you weren't," he scoffed, then grimaced as the effort tugged nearly every muscle in his torso. But he smiled again at her worried frown. "We all panicked the moment that forcefield rose."
"You weren't the only ones." She knelt beside him running her fingers through his hair. As she kissed him again, he met her lips eagerly. She deepened the kiss, but stopped when he pulled back, afraid she'd hurt him.
He threw her a half-hearted glare. "Months I've dreamt of holding you in my arms, and you wait till I'm incapacitated to kiss me like that?!" he groaned, voice tight with longing.
Her eyes sparkled. "Consider it incentive to get better soon."
"You certainly know how to motivate a man when you put your mind to it."
"Now you sound surprised," she teased, grinning devilishly as she traced his lips with a finger.
"Not surprised. Just…motivated." Sobering, he caught her fingers and held them there, kissing the tip of each one. "I love you," he breathed against them, pain and hope mixed in his tone, his heart carried on those words.
She shivered, cradling her head lightly on his shoulder before brushing his lips again. "I love you too, Atton." Their eyes fell closed as they lost themselves in each others' embrace.
"Well," an amused voice sounded from behind them, causing them to turn, "I suppose this means you're feeling somewhat better?" Mical gave them a warm smile, and Nadira chuckled nervously.
"Not quite," Atton replied, throwing Nadira a mischievous grin when she frowned at him in concern. "I think I may need more drastic measures if I'm gonna survive." Nadira's eyes narrowed as she shook her head. But she couldn't hide her smile or the color that rose to her cheeks.
"I could always sedate you again," Mical offered.
Rand glared at him in exasperation. "Yeah, you're just itching to help me there, aren't you, you syringe-happy lunatic."
"You have to admit, it's quite effective." Mical's grin was devious.
"You let him sedate you?" Incredulous, Nadira fought to hide her laughter.
"Hey, he attacked me when I could barely move," Atton protested defensively, almost sulking.
"And the entire crew applauded the decision," Mical retorted with satisfaction. "In any case, I came to see to it that Nadira gets some sleep after her ordeal." He looked at the Exile in concern before looking back to the pilot. "You could benefit from some sleep yourself."
"I just woke up!" he replied irritably.
"I don't want to leave Atton just yet," Nadira objected quietly, still clinging to his hand.
Both men paused, studying her with compassion. Atton squeezed her hand. "You're only going to worry me if you don't take care of yourself, Dira."
She locked eyes with him, face etched in grave lines. "I've already left you once against my will. Please don't ask me to do it again."
He cupped her face, tracing his fingers over her cheekbone and into her hair till he clasped the back of her neck. Her eyes fell closed as she leaned into his touch.
The Disciple rested a hand on Nadira's shoulder. "Don't worry—you won't have to leave him. I'll bring a cot and you can sleep in here." Nadira brightened and Atton threw him a grateful glance. It was met though with a stern expression. "On one condition." The two frowned, earning an amused smile from Mical. "You both have to promise to sleep. Neither of you are well, and if you break your promise, a sedative will be the least of your concerns." He eyed them warily as they agreed. Nadira at least appeared to be sincere. Atton however smirked impishly.
Mical shook his head, leaving to retrieve the cot. The Exile turned and smiled at Atton.
"So, I'm 'Dira' now?" She arched an eyebrow.
"That's right," Atton retorted smirking, "I think we're that close by now."
She chuckled. "Can't really argue there. Do you know how long it's been since anyone's called me that?"
"I'm guessing it wasn't a part of your title in the Order, or your rank during your stint as a general?"
"Not really."
The medbay door swooshed open again as Mical returned with the cot and proceeded to set it up. "I'm counting on you to keep our unruly patient in line." While he spoke to Nadira, he jerked his head in Atton's direction.
"You just try it. I could take both of you—" His challenge was cut off by a hiss as another wave of pain rocked him.
Mical glared at him, eyebrow raised. "The defense rests." Bowing to Nadira, he departed.
Turning back to her sulky pilot, Nadira smiled appreciatively, moving over to the cot.
"I can't wait till he's taken as much for Visas," the man pouted. "Boy, am I gonna have fun that day…" His voice trailed off as she pushed the cot against the examination table. Grabbing some blankets, she carefully draped one over Atton, then climbed up onto the cot.
"Are you feeling any better at all?" she asked. She knew how stupid her question was, but she had to ask anyway.
He sighed, studying her for a moment before answering. She had a few wounds, all doctored. He brushed the bandage covering her arm, sensing it with the Force. It was a substantial injury but certainly not life-threatening. A relieved smile brightened his face. "Yeah, I am now."
Her smile mirrored his before she used the Force to lift him gently, moving him to where his head rested on her shoulder. He was surprised how comfortable it was considering that every other movement brought him severe pain. As she ran her fingers through his hair, his eyelids grew heavy. "Perhaps…I'll humor the twerp…" he mumbled as his breathing evened out, "…just this once…"
Her light laugh echoed soothingly as he drifted off to sleep.