Ahsoka's POV
Anakin just sat in silence, glaring at me with gaping eyes. Seconds ago I asked "will you donate midi-chlorians to Shmi?" I had explained that it would be a quick procedure, taking only a day or two to heal. But something about his hesitated reaction made me worried.
"Um, uh sure. I don't really understand why you didn't tell me at first though," He answers. A sigh of relief flows over me life the mild shores of Serreno. "Were you just looking for the right time to ask?"
"I guess you could say that, or I was looking for the right way to say it. I hope you're not mad." I say, tapping my fingers on the controls in front of me. I still avoid eye contact, creating the illusion that this isn't a big deal. Though it's quite the opposite.
"I'm not mad, Snips. Did the council make you keep from telling me?" Anakin asks, getting up from his seat. He looks disturbed and confused. I'll try to keep it simple enough to comprehend.
"No, not at all Master. Like I said it was harder to say than do for me. You do know that you'll be weak for a couple of hours after the surgery." I make a humorous gesture.
"Huh, you're funny aren't you?"
Yes. I knew this wasn't a big deal to ask or do. And the fact Anakin practically brushes off its side effects makes me even more comfortable.
The cruiser lands feet from the temple around dusk. Master Dell thanks Anakin and I before leaving for Felucia in a couple of hours. It was nice to meet him, since he rarely sits on the Jedi Council when I get briefed for missions; I never had the chance to speak to him.
I decide to bring Anakin along to nursery, since he has to go to the infirmary just across the hall to get his wounds looked after. I hope to Shmi bubbly and healthy, but I hope wrong: she is strapped up to the very same incubator since when I came back from Nilban.
I crash down into a seat and caress Shmi's tiny hands. She is sound asleep, looking healthy on the inside though I can't imagine what's on the inside. Anakin takes the scene in the same as me. He sighs and gazes over the tiny child inside the crib. Neither of us speaks, though we know the feeling is mutual: we need to do the procedure as soon as possible.
Night falls, and neither of us has left Shmi. Sure we have left for food or the latrine, but one of us stays present with her at all times. Anakin constantly talks about getting Master Yoda, though I assume he already knows.
"She looks like you a lot Ahsoka." Anakin breathes out. He sits completely still, slouched in a circular chair.
"I don't see it as much as everyone else does. But I can understand why they compare her to me not her- father." I remember Shmi's maroon eyes when she was born, an everlasting example that Kayril is her father. He seemed so nice and innocent, though he in most ways was worse than Dooku.
Anakin decides to speak to the council about him being a donor, leaving me alone with Shmi in the nursery. The soft beeps of the medical equipment vibrate off the walls. Sure it's not the best time to fall asleep, but Shmi's not going anywhere.
My feet dangle underneath me. I'm in a relined medical chair, but I'm very uncomfortable. I reach fruitlessly into the air, escape futile. Large black belts pin me down to the chair. I jiggle around more in the chair, hoping to break one of the buckles.
I get tired easily, feeling my throat literally burn.
I cough thickly and feel the flames trickle down my throat as my breathing returns to normal. Across the bleach white room I hear the cry of man; surely he's dead by now. The scream echoes off the walls, though we aren't in a cave.
Hello? Is anyone there? I'm about to struggle out of the chair again, but ghostly figures circle me. They smell foul so I close my eyes hoping to cloud out the stench.
The ghosts begin to twirl faster and faster, before they retreat as a man enters the room, brandishing a red saber.
Dooku. I strangle around in the chair, hoping to get a good punch at him. Dooku looks over me with a curious eye, through his triangular mask, with a large breathing machine at the front. My left arm wriggles out of the belts and I jab a punch at Dooku's face.
My fist is inches from his face, before he snaps his hand up to my wrist, breaking my hand limp. I bite my lip in pain, watching my broken hand sift away to sand…
The next morning, I readily tell Anakin about my dream. Quite odd for me to say so quickly, but I need to tell someone. At some point anyways. Considering what happened when I popped the donor question, this may turn out better than I usually think.
He grimaces and ponders for quite some time. I'm in no hurry, really. I have Shmi in my left arm at the same time, since she was released yet again last night.
Anakin seems to abandon his theories and tell me about what the council had decided last night.
"Anyways, the council decided to go ahead the operation for my donation to Shmi," He exclaims. I'm caught off guard, considering our earlier conversation on my dream, but I'm still ecstatic. "And they're expecting preparations to be done by the end of the week."
"Are you serious? Even with your injuries from Serreno?"
Anakin smirks. "What do you think go ahead means?"
"That's great! I'm sure Shmi is very excited, right?"
I look down at the snoring Shmi, pursing her lips out as she breathes. Anakin and I laugh as we get no answer.
We continue various drabble-talks, about the war, past missions, things like that. Not the most riveting conversations, but I feel like nothing can bring me down at the moment. We decide to get dinner later in the evening, after we leave Shmi in the infirmary for status updates.
We crowd with Obi-Wan at a spare table who sits next to –to my surprise- Master Dell. Anakin shakes Dell's hand strongly, sitting next to him on one side, while I scoot in with Obi-Wan opposite them. We munch on greens served on familiar gold plates.
"So Padawan, I hear special supplies are being flown in from the Outer Rim for the transplant," Master Dell starts a conversation between bites. "Some fancy chemicals for your Master to take in, courtesy of the council." Dell nudges Anakin jokingly, both of them cracking a smile.
"Well, anything for Shmi, right?" Anakin states cheerfully. We all raise our goblets. I am taken back a little bit: It was not like Anakin had been very excited to go into surgery when I had asked him, but I am still happy he's thinking of it as favour rather than a sacrifice.
"From everything the council has spoken of, they are being very cautious with the chemicals for the transplant. Considering what happened with yerophyll during your pregnancy," Obi-Wan assures me. I'm glad that my pregnancy has been taken into consideration, but I wonder if they might be too cautious with the medicine. I know Anakin would rather be out in battle the day after, than stay bed written until he recovers.
The ground beneath my feet starts to shake. I fall clumsily off the bench onto the cool floor. Anakin jumps over the food covered table, grabbing his hilt from his belt. Master Dell and Obi-Wan scamper across to the window, closing steel shutter down upon the glass.
I clear the messy leaves and broken glass from my legs and follow Anakin to the door as the shaking stops. He peers over the frame of the entrance, like looking over a mysterious detonator.
"Follow me, slowly though." He whispers, prancing down the hall. At first I think the explosion happened somewhere near the infirmary- which makes my heart stop- but the smoke wisps from the opposite side of the temple.
Obi-Wan bellows from behind us, "I will check on Shmi, you two follow this corridor."
"Yes, Master." Anakin and I yell back to him, before continuing down the hallway. The smoke gets heavy and thick. I can nearly feel my lungs getting full with it. I wave my hand across the air in front of me, clearing the smoke before just for a quick few seconds. Great.
We soon discover where the explosion happened, of all places the laboratory. Yes, the exact place where numerous medical supplies sat, just waiting for a situation to be used in.
Small flickers of flames crack from the charred shelves; puddles of green, blue and yellow medicine cover the floor. Anakin gapes wordlessly at the smoldering room, feeling the exact same way I do.
We know because of this, the practicality of Anakin donating, and Shmi recovering anytime soon- is zero.