Author's Thanks: to Jedi Knight Padmé!
JKP - :) Thank you. blushes I don't think it's that good, but if you say so… There will be more Yoda in Part III: Hanna.
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◊ CHAPTER NINE ◊
She coughed. "Wh—?"
"Sh. Careful." A hand brushed her damp bangs back, off her sweaty forehead. "You got pretty torn up, kid." The man's voice was gentle. "You really got t' be more careful."
She opened her eyes, but everything was one big blur. "What—" she choked.
A hand was against her forehead. "Don't speak. Just nod. You remember noticin' Drevon?"
She nodded, suppressing another cough. Boy, was her chest torn up!
"He recognized your barrette. He decided t' make good on his promise from that time you an' Banni… When Yoda came lookin' for you an' surprised Drevon, lettin' you two escape." The man sighed. "I don't think he liked that Racara came back t' tell Mana how t' heal herself, either. She's in the next room."
"Mana?" she asked quickly, choking on the name.
"Fine. Racara kept him from th' Organas. Vici's provin' t' be th' prime little nurse. Yak's off t' Coruscant t' make sure Jedi Security gets those data disks of yours. Where did you get— No. On second thought, don't answer that."
She ahemned. "It is all right, Keil. I am much better now." She shook her head, her long, unraveling braid falling over one shoulder. "I got the info myself. I have been a hacker since…" She thought about it. "Actually, I do not remember a time when I was not prying my way into things I was not supposed to." She grimaced at an unpleasant memory. "Even when I was supposedly in the Temple nursery twenty-four, seven."
"What happened?" he asked gently.
"Oh, the usual. I sneaked out to a public computer terminal; found what I was looking for—in this case, a bounty hunter that a Master was after; and went to investigate his current abode. After all, who suspects a little gamine to be dangerous, right?" She snorted. "He was an Anzati."
Keil looked at her, shocked. "Anzati exist?!"
"You bet. He almost got me. He was pretty hungry." She was disinclined to offer further details, and her friend didn't ask for them. After a moment's pause, she continued. "That is how I got the info on those data disks. I often followed Drevon."
"Why does he hate you so much?"
Heather sighed. "That," she said simply, "is a long usual story." She coughed.
Keil straightened with worry. "Oh! I'm so sorry! Here I am, askin' you questions, when breathin' probably hurts you!"
She passed him off with a wave of her hand. "You are exaggerating my condition, but I do need rest." Her eye twinkled as she gave his hand a slight squeeze. "Tell Racara I am betting I can recover before her."
The changeling frowned. "You're competin' over how fast you can heal?"
Heather raised a sedate eyebrow. "Do you have a better suggestion that will keep us in bed long enough to do so?" Without waiting for an answer, she settled into a meditative sleep…
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Waiting patients watched in shock as the little girl calmly wiped up blood from the room's tile floor. A patient had come into the emergency waiting area with several gashes, most of them in places that liked to bleed. Chatting with the waiting individuals, she'd immediately gotten a rag and bucket and started cleaning the mess…
The door opened, and her elder brother came from checking on their friends. He stopped, jaw dropped. "By the Force! What are you doing?"
"Cleaning," his sister simply replied, not even grimacing as she wrung out the blood-soaked towel. "How are Racara and Heather?"
"Racara's okay, and Keil won't let me near Heather. I'd bet my pocketknife he's sweet on her."
"He's only nine years older than her," the six-year-old observed. "That isn't that big a deal, is it?"
Her brother sighed, shaking his head. "When will you ever learn?"
"Being eleven doesn't make you an adult."
"And being six doesn't make you Jedi!" he snapped. "What is it with you? You're just like Racara!"
"Thank you, Ron."
"That wasn't a complement!" Ron barked harshly. "I'm sick of this! They wait for him to come after them, and won't go for him!"
"Anger is a tool of the Dark Side."
"So? There has to be some right in using it, to get rid of someone like Drevon!" he spit out the name with much spite.
Young Vici looked at him as she docily cleared the last of the mess. "Be glad you aren't Force-sensitive." She stood, taking the bucket and going into the Employees Only section—the AMC staff had accepted her as an apprentice, of sorts. After all, the Alderanean Medical Center did rely on her parents for funding.
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Mana hummed as she chopped vegetables for dinner's soup. Naturally, the palace did have a cook, but she didn't like employing him for her family's day-to-day fare. She liked to show her love to her three children, and this was one way she did it.
She coughed. Hm. That sounded like it was in her chest. Maybe she should see a doctor about it.
Mana shrugged, absentmindedly handing her youngest child, Veni, a piece of nerf to snack on. She didn't like doctors. It would have to be one serious condition that would send her to a hospital, and a cough wasn't serious.
She would keep an eye on it, though.
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The woman before her moaned. She took a warm damp cloth and put it on her patient's head.
As she'd half expected, her action woke her patient. The woman tried to sit up.
The little nurse put a small hand on her chest. "No," she said softly. "Rest, Racara. We're all fine, thanks to you."
Racara opened her eyes, looking at the speaker. "Vici…" she said hoarsely.
The child stood. "Want some water?" The Shi'ido nodded. Vici took a thermos, putting the straw within easy reach of Racara's mouth. "There you go." She smiled brilliantly, sitting at the end of the bed. "Heather's made a bet."
Racara thirstily gulped half the liter container. "Yes?" Her voice still sounded forced.
"She thinks she can heal before you."
The former Jedi Padawan closed her eyes. "She's probably right."
Vici looked worried for a long moment, then brightened. "Well, you can try to beat her, can't you?"
"That I could," Racara admitted, her voice having a bitter twang. "But I doubt it." Her face was lined with pain. "Thanks for the water."
Vici nodded, watching Racara intently as she entered her meditation-sleep…
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The fifteen-year-old Heather sat, back straight, on her bed's edge, carefully testing and stretching an arm, making sure her three weeks' rest had been long enough for it to heal.
"I have been in bed so long that I am bed sore!" she complained. She sighed, dropping her arm. "And poor Racara is still recovering."
Keil nodded, standing stiffly. "That's too bad," he consented. "I'm sure she's sorer than you."
Heather gave a half nod, dropping to the floor. A good head shorter than himself, she was short, period. When she'd sat on the bed, her toes had scarcely reached the floor. She tried to circle around him. "What are you hiding?"
The changeling looked at her innocently. "What?"
"I am not stupid. You are hiding something."
Keil shrugged. "Aww, it's nothin', really…" She stood in front of him, examining him in that same unblinking manner that had so unnerved him the first time they'd met. "It's just I got this reservation t' th' Golden Palace, an' thought you might like t' eat there for your recovery present…"
Heather blinked, surprised. "No."
He smirked, knowing precisely what she was thinking: How in the galaxy could you afford that??!! The Golden Palace was run by the Organas' own chef when his services weren't needed. It ranked among the most expensive restaurants on the planet.
The Fallanassi looked at him oddly. "Why did you do that?"
"Well…"
"Yes?"
He shrugged. "I just wanted t' do somethin' special for your third survived encounter with th' guy who keeps tryin' t' murder you."
Her gaze didn't waver for several seconds. Then, she said lightly, "Well, if you are serious, we had better go get dressed." The Golden Palace was a highly formal eatery.
Keil hid a smile, knowing Heather well enough to doubt whether she had any formal clothing. "If you don't have anythin', I'll dress down."
She turned her head, looking straight at him. "Do not do anything of the sort. I will dress properly." With a bearing befitting an aristocrat, she left.
Keil frowned thoughtfully, wondering how Heather would dress…
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Looking in the mirror, Heather smiled mischievously as she gave her silky-smooth hair one final pat. It would be fun to see how Keil reacted to her lack of frizz. It would undoubtedly surprise him. And her dinner gown…
Her eyes gleamed, running her fingers down her sides. She'd never worn a dress before—until now, she'd stuck to the Jedi-style tunic and trousers, although she'd toyed with the shades of brown. She'd never worn a color before, either. Should she try makeup, too?
No… no need. This would already be an interesting evening.
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Keil stood in a formal suit at the restaurant's door, waiting for his colleague. He hoped he didn't look as uneasy as he felt.
A lovely young lady tapped his arm. "Sir?"
"I'm sorry, miss. I already have a companion." He didn't look at her too closely, still searching the crowd for Heather…
The young woman wouldn't be so easily dissuaded. "Perhaps I could help you find her?"
"No, thank you, miss."
"Are you sure of that?"
"Very much so, t' be honest, miss."
She turned away, quivering. He stepped over to her. "Are you all right, miss?"
A silently chuckling Heather met his gaze. "I was about to ask you the same question!"
Keil stared, dumbstruck. His incredulous gaze scanned her. The young Fallanassi looked every bit the upper-class aristocrat. Her smooth, elegant pompadour was held by a clasp covered with the same fabric as her attire. The satin gown and jacket suited her perfectly. Their pale blue was the exact shade needed to complement her seemingly blanched brown hair. The gown followed her body's graceful curves, even through her tiny waist; something he'd never noticed before, with her habitually loose clothing. He felt himself crimson.
"Is something wrong?" she asked innocently.
"Um… no, not at all," he mumbled, beckoning at her to enter before thinking to offer his arm.
She took it regally. "Thank you, Keil." Her dark gaze scanned the room lightly. "Where are we sitting?"
He led her to their reserved table, helping her into her seat. He glanced at her feet, expecting to find them bare, as Heather disliked shoes. To his surprise, she wore espadrilles of the same material as the rest of her attire. He'd never realized how miniature her feet were.
"Do you like them?" She turned an exquisite ankle at an unnatural angle to show him the shoe's bottom, which had been woven of identically colored taffeta. "I made them myself."
"They're lovely," Keil said awkwardly, not really knowing what else to say. It was the truth, though; they were charming. It was just… uh, she wanted complements on her shoes? —But then, she scarcely wore them…
A waiter came with their menus and silverware. Dressed impeccably, he stood tall, a cloth napkin like those he placed on their table on his arm. "Can I get you two something to drink?"
"Certainly, if you would be so kind as to wait a minute." Heather's keen gaze rapidly scanned the menu's beverage section. She glanced at Keil. "I think tea would be nice; cinnamon, if it is available." Tea was among the lowest-costing beverages.
"An' an ardee for me." He turned to Heather. "Now what t' drink?"
Heather's face colored prettily, gaining a rosy tint. "Tea is fine for me." His frank stare led her to offer, "Corellian ale is supposed to be good."
Keil nodded to the waiter. "Add one bottle of that an' one bottle of Ithorian white wine." He reclined easily, looking at the couples around them. Most were necking, or holding hands, or something of the sort. He smirked, viewing in his mind's eye what that would look like with him and the former Jedi student. How absurd! Suppressing a chuckle, he scanned the menu for what to get…
Heather nudged his arm, looking at her menu. "What is nerf?"
"A delicacy. It's considered one of th' best foods in th' galaxy." She's never heard of nerf?
"Hm." She thoughtfully reviewed a few possible entrées. "What are you getting?"
"Red wine fondue, with all th' cheeses." He pointed to it on her menu.
"Could I get crêpes?"
"Certainly." He found himself examining his companion. She'd draped her jacket over the back of her chair, revealing her dress to be sleeveless. Her fair-skinned shoulders smoothly curved down to her arms, whose womanly shape gave no indication of the superior strength he knew they owned…
Heather looked at him oddly. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"You're pretty," he said directly. "I never noticed that before."
She nodded, passing off his comment as she addressed the just-arrived waiter. The young woman didn't even give him the chance to ask. "The crêpe sampler, please, if you do not mind."
Keil told the waiter what he wanted, then sipped the ardee the man had brought him. Using her quick, skillful fingers, Heather fluidly put her tea to brew. She didn't seem to think anything peculiar of their outing.
The changeling held both bottles of alcohol. "Corellian ale… or Ithorian white wine. Which do you want t' try first?"
Heather's eyebrows raised. "I thought you wanted something for yourself, not something to get you imprisoned."
Keil laughed. "C'mon! Like you're even Alderanean!"
"I am still a minor," she said tersely, sipping her tea. "Just us eating together would be deemed illegal if we did not work together."
He leaned forward. "But you ain't Human."
"No, but I live as one."
His lips quirked. "You still ain't, though."
The Fallanassi sighed slightly. "You may be right, but I do not know the rules for my species."
"Then make them up."
She tensed, gradually lowering her teacup back to the table. "I hope," she said slowly, "you are not hinting what I think you are."
"An' what am I hintin'?"
Heather's face was a mask, and she did not reply. She redonned her jacket, crossing her legs underneath the table.
Keil drew a sharp breath, realizing what she saw. He gave an embarrassed laugh. "That wasn't what I was thinkin'."
"Oh?" her voice was dry.
"I was referrin' t' havin' a drink, not… Not me—uh, that's a bad start…"
"Not the two of us having an intimate relationship."
Keil reddened. "I wouldn't ask for that, anyway."
"Assuming you were interested."
He hesitated, reminded of his earlier idiotic conception. When he thought about it, he almost wished she would think that way of him. They got along so well… "I guess." He leaned back. "Which did you want t' try first, now?"
Heather looked straight at him. "Keil, I have to wonder if you are either deaf or just downright pushy."
"Oh, it's all in your head. Which one did you want, again?" He held the bottles, preparing to open one.
The Fallanassi rolled her eyes. "Whichever one you want," she sighed resignedly. Surprised she'd given up so easily, he poured her a glass of white wine just as the waiter returned with their viands.
The young lady took an experimental sip. "Rather biting, is it not?"
"That's the alcohol."
"Ah." She gave the waiter a slight smile as she took her plate. "Thank you, sir. It looks delicious."
Both thoroughly enjoyed their meals, even though they ended up splitting them with each other. Heather, jacket off once more, decided to let her emotions surface… After all, she was already experimenting.
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Laughing merrily, the twosome got out from the cab about a block from their respective destinations, which were in opposite directions.
"Let me walk you home," the young man said, taking her arm with one hand, his other arm clutching two half-full bottles of alcohol.
The even younger lady laughed. "What's wrong? Think I can't find it on my own?"
For some reason, her statement alarmed her partner. He gave her a stern glance. "Are you drunk?"
She giggled, ending in a small hiccup. "Nope!"
"I don't believe you."
"And why do you say that?"
"You never use contractions."
She poked him in the stomach. "You never stay out this late with young ladies. Are you drunk?"
"No."
"Well, I'm not either!" Giving another careless laugh, she started walking towards her apartment. The young man gave a quick glance around the darkened streets, and followed her…
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When they reached her building, Heather drew a sober breath. "Here we are." She turned to Keil. "I must ask to take leave of you here."
Keil blinked, doubtless surprised by her abrupt behavioral turnaround. Blinking again, he nodded, turning to leave.
Heather walked up the steps slowly, mentally reviewing that night. Reaching the top of the stairs, she yawned. She couldn't recall staying up this late, before, nor feeling so… How did she feel about tonight? She turned, her sharp gaze finding the changeling easily. "Keil!" she called.
He turned, looking up at her on the balcony, her hair and skirt fluttering in the faint breeze.
She had to be honest. "Thank you for taking me out! …I enjoyed it!"
Keil nodded slowly, then turned back, plodding home…