Chapter Six

Risky Ramblings

She had returned to her room without even so much as looking at her assistant. She was so angry at the moment, Padmé thought it would be best not to speak. She would probably just say something she'd regret in the morning.

But of all the irresponsible, half-witted, foolish things to do! Committing biological warfare against a Jedi Master? What could Dormé possibly have been thinking? What had she hoped to accomplish? A life sentence in the Temple dungeon? Did the Temple have a dungeon? Would Obi-Wan press charges against her?

And what would she have done had Padmé not contacted the Temple Healer? Ignored it? Gone about her business and expose the entire city? Was the woman set on genocide?

Padmé massaged her temples in an effort to ward off the incoming headache. She had told Anakin they would discuss things further in the morning, so that she wouldn't lose her temper. She'd already struck Dormé once; there was no telling what she might do if the girl said one more idiotic thing!

Knowing her agitation had reached its peak, Padmé forced herself to put the situation out of her mind for the moment, which would've been easier were it not for the Jedi Master lying on her bed.

Following a quick inspection to make sure he was breathing regularly and his fever hadn't gotten out of hand, Padmé slipped away to her bathing room to prepare for bed. It was late, and if she were to face the inevitable difficulties of the next day, she needed to rest her mind.

Having cleaned her face and teeth, loosened her hair and changed her clothing, Padmé returned to the bedroom, carrying some clean, cool towels to wipe down Obi-Wan's brow. At some point, he had displaced the ones she had laid across his head earlier, and besides, they were too warm to do any good anyway. Tossing the used ones back toward the bath, she placed a new one down, quickly noticing his temperature had once again spiked.

Padmé recalled as a youth she had gotten similarly ill, and her mother made sure her feet and hands stayed warm, but her head and chest stay cool.

But to follow that bit of advice, she had to undress him. Surely, he wouldn't mind, Padmé thought, especially since he wouldn't know. He had yet to regain any kind of awareness.

"That Gattis root better get here soon," the young woman murmured as the struggled to unbuckle his boots, and then removed his heavy socks.

Just as she'd thought. His feet were ice cold!

At first, Padmé began rubbing them with her hands, but decided her efforts were not working quickly enough. She hesitated but a moment, glancing once more to his face to ensure he wasn't waking up, before lifting her nightgown suddenly and settling his frigid toes against the warmth of her belly.

The cold impact sent a shiver coursing through her, but this was the fastest solution. Soon, the coolness had seeped into her own body and was replaced with soothing warmth. Satisfied with the accomplishment, Padmé wrapped his feet with some of her own socks, then covered him with her thickest duvet. She then focused on warming other extremities.

For some reason, this act was far more intimate. These were the hands he worked with and trained Anakin with. They were used in battle, in peaceful negotiations, to wield a weapon, to shake hands with a friend. Padmé studied them as she worked the digits, suffusing her body's heat into each joint.

They were manly hands; thick knuckled and calloused. The nails were trim and clean, the backs coated with a fine copper down and a few sun marks. But they were still cold. She then held one to her face until it had warmed, and then the other to her neck to accomplish the same.

Once the task was complete, she tucked Obi-Wan in, and placed the cooling cloth onto his forehead. He still had not moved a muscle, though his pulse was steady and his breathing regular.

Padmé wished she would've asked the Healer a few questions while she had the chance, but the Jedi medic did say the illness had to run its course. All she had to do now was wait.

She just wasn't sure where to do it.

There was a lounge chair in the room which would suffice, Padmé decided, gathering some extra blankets from her closet. She settled on the seat as comfortably as she could, took one more glance at her visitor, and then fell asleep.

Hours later, Padmé was awakened by a noise. At first, she wasn't sure what she'd heard, but then remembered who was there and why he was there, and returned to her bed to check on his status.

Obi-Wan had kicked the blankets off at some point and was beginning to thrash. In the glowlight next to her bed, Padmé noted beads of sweat popping up on his brow. At first, she had been relieved, thinking his fever had broken, but when she checked, discovered it was just as high as before.

Disappointed and concerned, she began to rise in order to retrieve some more cool towels, only to be held fast by a powerful grip to her arm.

He had opened his eyes, but the whites were bloodshot and the pupils glazed. Padmé could tell just by looking at them, he was not yet himself.

"Don't go in there!" he muttered. His grip had loosened, although his eye movements became frantic. "Stay here…stay with me….don't…don't go.."

"Sh," Padmé spoke softly to ease Obi-Wan's feverish murmurings, pushing away the locks of damp hair off his forehead. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

Did he even know who she was? Where he was?

"Padmé…" she heard him moan, having to lean forward to hear the rest. "Padmé, you're so..berful…"

What? The young Senator had to resist the urge to shake him, to make him repeat what he had mumbled so badly it was incoherent.

Instead, she resigned herself to benevolence although it was extremely difficult. "Sh," she hushed him once again, "rest Obi-Wan. You need to rest."

He did indeed close his eyes as she had suggested, only to pop them back open, repeating what he had said earlier, though this time with perfect clarity.

"You're so beautiful….My angel."

And then he passed out once again, and it was Padmé's turn to feel weak and flushed.