Ewan's girl Thank you so much. Sorry for the wait. Seung You'll see. Athena No, not good--at least not on the surface.

Twenty Two: Relief

Oh gods I don't want to be here it looks the same it smells just the same as when

I feel cold, sitting on a molded plastic chair in the waiting area, my hands unable to cease their restless tapping and shaking. I rub them together, but it's like rubbing ice into my raw skin, and I only become colder

When I was here before and I sat for so long I just sat and couldn't do anything and all because I couldn't protect him…I still can't. He wouldn't be here otherwise he would be home we'd be home and safe oh gods what happened what's wrong with him what made him collapse like that just fall dead away and I was so close but I couldn't get to him in time he wouldn't answer me he didn't even twitch what's wrong with him oh dear Force what's the matter with him

Colder, a figure formed of gooseflesh and shiver, blind to everything except the closed door, the second door down the hallway. The healers ripped him from my arms and placed him on a stretcher, then rolled him away, sealing him off from me. The stretcher squeaked

I can still hear it pounding in my head, searing in my ears, squeaking and shrieking

And now there is only silence. No one has left that room, not to tell me what caused him to faint, not to tell me he's breathing. I run Force-fingers along our connection, but he's only present on the most basic level.

At least I have that much--this time.

A healer Padawan is behind the reception desk, her trio of eyes downcast. I know there's nothing she can do, a second or third year apprentice, but that doesn't stop my jaw from setting.

How can she just sit there, calm as anything, while Obi-Wan is behind that damn door?

I lean my head into my head. "Force." I whisper. My stomach is an unrelieved visceral ache, churning and bubbling with dread.

Please. He must be alright.

The last time he was in my arms cannot be when he was ashen and unconscious. There is no explanation for this. He wasn't ill. He shouldn't be in there. This isn't supposed to happen. He should be with me, and if he's in my arms, he should be awake, whole, not limp or battered.

A short beep announces a door opening, and I shoot my head up.

The healer who took him from me is approaching, a wintered man in white tunics. "Master Jinn."

I nearly leap to my feet, heart breaking all records of beating. "How is he?"

"He's fine."

Thank the Force. My eyes close, as some of the panic eases. Thank the Force. When my vision refocuses, I can better see the healer's broad features, his intently carved face. "What happened?"

"It's fairly evident by your apprentice's readouts that his body is in a stage of exhaustion. He isn't dehydrated, which is very good, but his strength has been severely diminished nonetheless." He purses thin lips. "I haven't put him on any sedatives. For now, he's resting satisfactorily without them. I did connect him to a basic intravenous feeder, so that he doesn't become dehydrated while he's asleep. I don't expect him to wake from anywhere to three to seven hours, at the very least. And even after that, he'll need to take things slow to regain the energy expended."

"Can I see him?"

The healer hesitates. "As long as you don't attempt to wake him."

I say in passing, almost absently, that I won't, striding toward the door, overcome with fluttery relief. My Obi-Wan. You're alright.