Chapter 26
Begun This Clone War Has…
Obi-Wan struggled not to flinch away as a clone medic applied a layer of Bacta ointment to the lightsaber burn on his upper arm. He sat tensely on his assigned medical cot on board a Star Destroyer as he waited for his treatment to be finished. It felt like it took forever though he knew it probably only took five minutes at the most. When it was finally over, he sank back against the stiff medical cot in relief.
Off to the side Vader lay on another cot utterly dead to the world. After Obi-Wan had forced him deep into unconsciousness, he'd convinced the clone medic placed in charge of their care to keep the young man heavily sedated. The clone had obediently done so and it was now highly unlikely that Vader would awaken until after receiving treatment.
Just as the medic was leaving their room to treat other patients brought aboard this ship, Master Windu and Master Yoda appeared. Both Masters were uninjured but looked worse for wear. Master Yoda seemed to have aged centuries in barely more than a day and Master Windu looked especially grim.
"Greetings Obi-Wan," Yoda sighed as he struggled to climb up on a nearby stool so that he could converse more comfortably.
"How are you feeling?" Master Windu inquired politely.
"Sore," Obi-Wan replied wryly, "but I should survive."
"Good, good," Yoda nodded, laying his gnarled cane across his lap.
"What of young Vader?" Windu asked.
"I'm not sure yet," Obi-Wan admitted, "I'd like him to stay sedated until he can get more than basic field treatment. But I don't think he realizes how badly he's been hurt." Before either master could speak, Obi-Wan asked a question that had been bothering him since the Jedi intervened during the Geonosian execution. "Why was he even there anyway?"
"I offered him passage off-planet but he refused. He wished to stay and participate in your rescue." Master Windu explained.
"He refused?" Obi-Wan repeated disbelievingly.
"Yes, he did, so I assigned him the responsibility of bringing you another lightsaber." Windu confirmed.
"Oh," Obi-Wan murmured, stroking his beard with his uninjured arm. "So what's next?" He asked finally.
"To Anida we are taking the injured," Master Yoda informed him. "High quality medical facilities they have there."
"After you are treated, Senator Amidala has invited you to Naboo to recover before returning to full duty." Master Windu added.
"She has?" Obi-Wan glanced towards his unconscious 'Padawan'. "If I accept, am I allowed to bring him with me?"
"Yes, insist on his inclusion we did. Reluctant the Senator was, but agree to it she did." Master Yoda replied. "Accept this invitation, you do?"
"Yes," Obi-Wan nodded.
"We shall inform the Senator of your decision then," Master Windu bowed and headed for the door.
"May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan," Master Yoda sighed, dropping off the stool to the floor and hobbling away.
"And may the Force be with you, Masters," Obi-Wan called softly after them.
As the two masters stepped through the doorway and out into the corridor, Obi-Wan caught a fragment of their conversation.
"…tragedy it is. Begun this Clone War has. Survive it–"
The door snapped shut, cutting off whatever else Master Yoda was saying. Troubled, Obi-Wan tried to settle back onto his cot and get some sleep. However sleep was very difficult to find.
At some point, Vader became aware of bright sunlight burning through his closed eyelids. After a while, it became annoying enough that he threw an arm over his face to block it. Though the arm on his face felt…odd somehow. Cool. Hard. Definitely not normal. But he was too sleepy to really care.
Then he was aware of a headache. A dull but strong throb inside his skull that pulsed in time with his heartbeat. He tried to hide from it, tried to ignore it, but it was no use. It drove him to full consciousness and he really wished it hadn't.
His mouth felt thick and dry. His throat was no better. His head hurt even worse now, and the stabbing sunlight only aggravated it further. And it wasn't just his head, everything was sore. Then there was his hand and part of his right arm, it tingled like it was asleep.
With an incoherent groan, he somehow managed to roll off the bed he'd been sprawled out on and slid to the floor. He blinked dazedly, trying to get his vision to focus, but had little success. Desperate for a drink to clear out his mouth and needing to use a refresher, he staggered upright and blurrily stumbled around in search of some facilities.
He staggered out of whatever room he had been in, out into some hall, and down the hall until he came across an open door that led into a refresher. Tripping slightly over the threshold he clutched at the sink to steady himself. His right hand didn't seem to work right and it made an odd clanging sound against the porcelain sink basin. Ignoring the strangeness for the moment, he awkwardly pulled the door closed behind him to insure privacy and leaned against a wall for a while to wait out a dizzy spell.
When it didn't feel like the floor was rolling under his feet, he groped for the sink, got the water running, and splashed a few handfuls of it over his face. The cool clean liquid washed away some of the thick fog in his head. It also washed some of the grit from his eyes, making it easier to keep his eyes open. And as his vision cleared up, he found he didn't like what he saw.
He looked like death warmed over. He obviously hadn't shaved in a few days. Nor, it seemed, had he showered. He was dressed in nothing but his underwear. And there was something very wrong with his hand.
His left hand was fine. No fingers missing, properly pink, no bandages, nothing out of the ordinary. His right hand, however, was an entirely different story.
From a point just a few inches below his elbow his arm just stopped. At that point, where the flesh stopped, metal started. There was a brassy cylindrical base from which a crude mechanical imitation of the human skeletal forearm and hand sprouted. And as he stared at it in mute horror in the mirror, he saw it move.
The fingers contracted jerkily into a loose fist. Uncomfortable prickles stabbed at nerves that were no longer there. As the fingers and joints shifted, he could hear the whine of servo-motors. Where the metal of the mechanical hand touched flesh, he felt cold.
A wave of nausea hit him hard. He coughed and gagged but nothing came up except a sour taste. Shaking uncontrollably he sank to the icy tile floor and hugged his legs to his chest. But when the false right hand touched his leg, he flinched and forced it away. He started to hyperventilate a little bit.
What the kriffin' Hell happened to my hand! Where am I! What's going on! Where's Obi-Wan! What–
There was a muffled string of whistles and beeps and then the door creaked open. On the other side a blue and white Astromech peered inside. It let out another string of binary chirps; this set contained a tone of worry in them. Half-blinded by panic, Vader wasn't certain if he recognized this particular droid.
"A-Artoo?" He croaked in a weak whimper.
Artoo wobbled back and forth a bit while whistling an affirmative.
Vader clenched his teeth and fought to get his brain working properly. There were a billion questions swirling around in his brain but he couldn't ask most of them. Artoo could only answer yes or no questions or follow commands. There was no chance of getting much detailed information from the Astromech.
"Is…is Obi-Wan around?" He asked finally.
Artoo chirped a yes.
"Could you get him for me?" Vader asked meekly.
Artoo gave him another affirmative and extended his third leg to wheel off and do as requested.
"Wait! Wait," Vader interrupted. When Artoo paused and warbled questioningly, he continued. "I-I changed my mind. Could you, um, find me my clothes?"
Artoo readily agreed to do that instead, and from the sound of it, the little droid was laughing at him as it wheeled away.
With a shaky sigh, Vader lurched unsteadily to his feet and shut the door again. Making a conscious effort to ignore his right hand, he wrestled with his braid, fumbling and cursed as he untied it with his left hand. Once he managed to accomplish that, he made use of the shower.
The warm water was both refreshing and calming. It washed away most of the lingering aches he felt and lessened the throb of his headache. And as long as he kept his right hand at his side and out of sight, he could mostly forget about it, and that helped a great deal. By the time he felt sufficiently clean and human again, he had also calmed down enough to think back on what had happened and try to figure what the heck was going on now.
As he toweled dry with some ridiculously soft fluffy towels, he again wondered just where the Hell he was. Such frilly, fluffy towels seemed to indicate that he was in a female's house, or maybe just a really rich person. And Artoo was here. And Obi-Wan too.
Well, this isn't the Temple, the refresher it way too nice. Not Tatooine either, there'd be sand everywhere. Not Geonosis, there'd probably be sand everywhere too, just a different color. So…either somewhere on Coruscant or Naboo…maybe.
A tap at the door and a cheerful whistle indicated Artoo's return. Vader cracked open the door and gratefully took the pile of clothing the Astromech balanced on his head. From the looks of it, the little droid had managed to bring everything but his boots.
"Thanks Artoo," Vader grinned, "you're the best. Why don't you go bug Obi-Wan now?"
Artoo made a sort of chuckling sound and scurried off to do as he was told.
Vader snickered a little and got dressed. Or at least he tried to. He was pained to realize just how much he used his right hand. While he could get his pants and tunics on one-handed, he couldn't do his belt. Clenching his teeth tightly, he brought his right, ugly, shiny skeleton hand up to fumble with his evil belt buckle.
After about five minutes he was ready to put the Sith-spawned mechanical prosthetic through the wall. Now that he was paying attention to it, the stupid limb tingled and prickled continuously. And every time he got the fingers to flex it was like dipping the damaged nerve endings in acid.
But his stubbornness prevailed. He got the damned thing fastened correctly and sighed in relief. Then he glanced into the mirror over the sink and scowled. Now all I have to do is shave, do my hair, and find my boots…and my lightsaber.
Still scowling, he rifled around for a razor. After finding one, he set himself to the tricky task of shaving left-handed. The Force was with him, thankfully, and he didn't cut himself open while struggling to remove the stubble from his face. Roughly three days worth of growth, he noted.
How long have I been out of it? Vader wondered as he rinsed off his face. And why have I been out of it? Somehow I doubt I'd sleep through getting this monstrosity attached, he thought as he glared at the offending mechanical appendage.
Well, lemme back-track a little bit here, he decided, leaning against the edge of the sink, staring down at the metallic drain. Padmé dragged me off to Geonosis to help Obi-Wan. Bad idea. We got caught and separated. I had to save the both of them in the execution arena. Then Obi-Wan and I chased down Dooku. Not smart. I got pissed off and charged Dooku. Really stupid. Obi-Wan got cut up keeping Dooku off me and I had to save him. Again. I did okay for a little while, but then Dooku…damn it! The old bastard cut off my hand!
Vader fumed for a minute or two before shaking himself out of it. So, what happened after that? He asked himself. I…I think I hit my head. There might have been more fighting, but…who was still in shape to fight? I was out, Obi-Wan was out… Somebody else must've showed up…I guess. Then…then I think that…maybe I might've started to wake up. And…
He went very still as an icy chill rushed through him. Force damn you Obi-Wan! You know better! Vader cursed, trembling. I oughta track you down and smack you across the face for that! With my right hand! But he didn't track the older man down, nor did he smack him with his metal hand. He just trembled and mentally raged for a little while.
When he managed to calm himself down, he glanced at the counter near the sink where he'd left the ties for his hair and the strings for his braid. Then he glanced down at his prosthetic hand and sighed in despair. There was no way he could braid his own hair with that hand. He doubted he could even do the simple ponytail.
Wilting under a heavy wave of humiliation, Vader gathered up the ties and strings and slunk out of the refresher in search of Obi-Wan. Thankfully he didn't have to look too hard to find the Jedi. All he had to do was follow the faint sounds of Artoo's electronic whistles and squeals.
Peering into the nicely decorated bedroom where Obi-Wan was located, he found that Artoo had taken his last order: 'go bug Obi-Wan', to heart. The little droid rolled back and forth over the floor beside Obi-Wan's bed and chirped some binary nonsense incessantly. Obi-Wan looked angrier than Vader had ever seen him, his eyes fixed on the parading droid, unblinking. Vader didn't know whether to laugh or to cringe.
Eventually, he just decided to get Artoo to stop. He padded up behind the Astromech and knocked a few times against his sensor dome with his left fist. "Hey Artoo, give it a rest." He sighed. "Do me a favor and try to find me my boots, will ya?"
Artoo obligingly stopped tormenting the Jedi Knight and left the room to find Vader's missing boots. Vader stared after the Astromech before anxiously turning to look over at Obi-Wan. The Jedi Knight looked furious, but that expression quickly dissolved into one that turned Vader's stomach. Pity.
Swallowing hard he forced himself to walk over to Obi-Wan's bedside and speak. "Sorry 'bout that. Didn't think Artoo'd take me that seriously." It was a lame excuse. Of course Artoo would take him seriously. He was a droid after all, not a human being. The next part was harder, almost physically painful, to say.
"I…I can't…do my hair… Could you…" He trailed off, praying he wouldn't be forced to actually complete that last sentence.
"Of course," Obi-Wan replied softly, "sit down."
Staring fixedly at the thickly carpeted floor, Vader obeyed, sitting stiffly on the edge of the bed. He passed over the hairs ties and strings and impatiently waited for Obi-Wan to finish. As he waited, what felt suspiciously like tears burned at the back of his eyes. If that was indeed what they were, he refused to let them fall.
As Obi-Wan was finishing up, finally, Vader pulled himself together to ask a question. "Where are we?"
"The Theed Royal Palace on Naboo. Both Senator Amidala and Queen Jamilla have graciously allowed us to stay here for a few weeks before returning to the Temple." Obi-Wan answered quietly as he tied off the last colored string.
"Thanks," Vader grunted tightly, almost leaping off the edge of the bed to put some distance between them.
"You're welcome." Obi-Wan replied.
Vader fought not to flinch. He didn't want pity. He didn't want sympathy. He just wanted to wake up from this nightmare. But that wasn't going to happen, which made it worse.
Thankfully, Artoo returned, clutching Vader's boots in one of his mechanical claws. Welcoming the distraction, Vader strode over to the Astromech. He took his boots, yanked them on, and hurried for the door.
"I'm going for a walk," he declared, striding away quickly enough to miss any reply Obi-Wan might've given him.
Hopefully a nice long walk would clear his head, calm him down. Or maybe it'd just find him a place to curl up and cry alone for a while. Either way, it would get him away from Obi-Wan and his pitying looks and sympathetic words…