Rila: And now we're back to bittersweet. Blame "Toxic (15-bit ver)" I knew that patch of fluffy/silliness wouldn't last long. /le sigh
Disclaimer: I'm going to go write that one-shot for Obi-Wan and Satine now. I seriously wanted to cry - did you see Obi-Wan's face? :( Poor Obi-Wan...(what makes it even worse is that in the films, he actually did have a relationship with her.)
Word Count: 675
Chapter Description: It was a slow spreading poison.
Fear.
Though they had won the battle, though a smile spread across her face, it quickly disappeared - the smile, the euphoria from victory - when she realized that he was not amongst those still standing.
Panic.
It was a blinding emotion, one that she really shouldn't have had, especially towards a clone - but she felt it anyway as she turned, searching. Her chest pounded in her chest, and she found herself wondering if he had fallen - there was no way he could have, and it was not because someone would have told her - she would have known.
She knew that her relationship with him went far past what the bond between Commander and Captain should been, and a little deeper than that of friends. She was not supposed to have any sort of attachments - but it wasn't something she could help, and it was not an error she had ever bothered to correct.
Concern.
It was the only thing she could feel when she found him later, secured in the medbay. His breathing was slow and steady, and though that soothed some of her fears, it still bothered her that he was in here at all. It was not uncommon for him to get injured - but they were mostly bruises and cuts, something she herself usually recieved for her efforts in battle - but very few injuries required him to stay in the medbay for long.
The wound in question was on his chest, and while she normally would have expressed some sort of embarassment over seeing him without a shirt, her focus was on the thick bandaging that covered the skin just a few inches from where his heart was. Close - too close for comfort.
"He is stable," the medical droid told her, watching her before he turned. "All he requires is further rest." He didn't ask her to leave, and she didn't offer to. Instead, she took a seat next to the bed that he lay on, her hands falling to one of his.
They were larger than her own, and usually a little warmer - but right now, the temperature seemed to be the same as her own, and she examined his fingers. They were longer and broader, used to pulling the triggers of his DL-17s and breaking droids in half. They were used for combat, for defending what the Republic stood for - but right now, the skin shades lighter than her own and motionless, they looked nothing like what the usually did.
Without knowing quite why she was doing it, Ahsoka brought his hand up and brushed a kiss to his knuckles - a dry, hesitant brush, light and careful - before lowering his hand and squeezing it with both of her own.
Her gaze returned to the bandage and sobered further. She had almost lost him. It was a thought that scared her, just as the thought of losing Master Skywalker scared her, or anyone else that she cared for. And perhaps that was why Jedi were not supposed to form attachments - it made it difficult to part from them, and clouded judgement when those people were involved.
Ahsoka closed her eyes. Fingers folded over one of her hands, and she opened her eyes, gaze flicking up towards Rex's face. His gaze was drowsy and half-lidded, and he didn't say anything before he closed his eyes once more. The pressure, however, remained around Ahsoka's hand. The gesture was simple and unspoken - he was okay. He'd be okay.
Ahsoka exhaled.
