Precipice by shadowsong26
Aftermath: Chapter 2
Bail Organa's hands were not shaking.
He might have been proud of himself for that, for his composure, for his self-control, if he hadn't known damn well the only reason they weren't was because he was gripping his steering column too tight to allow for it.
His heart hammering in his throat, he peeled away from the smoking Temple, trying to forget the image of that boy, that boy cut down in front of him, by GAR soldiers, by the clones they had all trusted for so long.
It didn't work. The boy and his lightsaber danced in front of his eyes, darting in and out of traffic. Bail had come to the Temple expecting the worst; or what he'd thought, until just moments ago, was the worst-another bombing, like the one that Padawan had orchestrated, months ago.
Obviously, this attack was bigger. He'd known that going in. The smoke on the horizon, visible from his apartment building, had told him as much. But he'd been on battlefields before, and he'd seen bodies. He had done his best to prepare himself for the destruction. He had prepared himself to help, if he could-even though he'd figured it was far more likely he'd be told to stay out of the way.
But if he hadn't gone…
Less than an hour ago, Bail had gotten a frantic call from Padmẻ's protocol droid, begging him to come talk sense into her. Their apartments were close, and he'd managed to catch her just as she was heading out the door. She'd been wild, terrified; but she'd had that steely I'm-doing-this-nomatter-what-Bail-don't-argue look in her eyes.
"I'm going to the Temple," she had said flatly, daring him to challenge her.
He'd looked over at it, through the windows in the corridor, belching smoke into the sky. "You can't."
"I have to."
"You don't know what's going on, if it's-"
"Of course I don't!" she'd snapped, her voice cracking. "That's why I have to-Bail, I have to know what's…if…"
He had understood, more than perhaps she'd realized. Ever since he'd heard that first distant boom, ever since he'd first seen the smoke out his own windows, he'd been trying his damnedest not to think too hard about his own friends in the Order, or the children, or…
"You can't," he'd said quietly, keeping his fears at bay as best he could. He had to focus on the immediate problem, and calm her down, keep her from getting herself killed. The rest could wait.
"It's not safe. We don't know who's behind this attack, or why."
"I don't care," she had said. "I don't care." She had tried to push past him then, but he'd caught her arm.
"What about your child?" he'd asked.
That had been the first time either of them-or any of their other friends, so far as Bail knew—had acknowledged the open secret aloud. It was a low blow, and he'd known it; but if that was what it took to get Padmẻ to see sense...
And, sure enough, she'd frozen for a second. "My…my child," she'd whispered, and slumped against him, all the fight going out of her in a rush. He had caught her and guided her back into the apartment and over to the couch as gently as he could before signaling C-3PO to get her some water.
"Are you all right?" he'd asked.
"No," she had said, numbly. "How can anyone be all right, when-" She'd looked out at the horizon again, her voice trailing off as she'd started to shake. Bail had stood up and started to black out the windows. If she can't see it, maybe she'll calm down.
"Don't," she'd said. "Please?" She'd accepted the water from Threepio, but just sat there, toying with the glass. "I can't…I need to…if I'm n-not there, if I'm not at least watching, if he's-" She'd cut herself off abruptly and looked down at her hands, drawing in a deep, shaky breath. He'd known that they were entering into dangerous waters then, dancing around secrets that Bail had half-guessed, but did not want to know. But she and-well, they had never really been subtle, though he imagined they'd thought so. In truth, Bail was fairly certain that almost everyone who knew them had known how they felt about each other.
But there were rules, and Bail-and, most likely, everyone else-had assumed they'd followed them, and kept their distance. And he had been sure, after realizing she was pregnant, that she'd finally put it behind her. Moved on. Found someone available.
He'd tried not to think too hard about the alternative. It was her business. And he didn't want to know. So all he'd said was, "All right," and he'd left the windows as they were before joining her on the couch again.
She'd fidgeted silently for a minute, then shook her head again. "I can't…I can't just sit here, Bail. I have to know what…please."
"I'll go," he'd said, even though he hadn't really been planning on it. Even though it was the last damned thing he'd wanted to do-because he'd have been in the way; because, as used to battlefields as he was, this one would be something else entirely. He'd known that, even before knowing just how different this one would turn out to be.
But if the alternative was letting Padmẻ, who, for all her diplomatic skill, was endlessly stubborn and almost as reckless as-if the alternative was letting her run into that mess, in this mood, he would do it. He had to do it. "If you promise me that you'll stay here until I call you, I'll go and see what happened. Please, Padmẻ?"
She'd stared up at him for a long moment, her eyes glittering, then nodded. "I will. I promise."
He had stood up and let himself out of her apartment, making his way for the garage and his speeder as quickly as he could.
And all of that-a favor to a dear friend, and the need to protect her, especially with the likely loss of so many others as plain as the smoke on the horizon-had led him here, to grim lies about a rebellion, a boy dead on the Temple steps, and the sickening knowledge that someone, somewhere, had betrayed them all.
And his own friends? He still had no idea-but not all of them were stationed on Coruscant. Maybe the ones who were still out on the front, at least, were all right. Bail tried to take comfort in that thought, irrational as it would have been on any other day. He decided to look into that possibility first. He would find out if there were-if this had happened everywhere, and then call Padmẻ when he had more information. He didn't want to frighten her more with nothing but guesswork and a brave, dying boy who-
Without warning, the steering column jerked under his hands, as his speeder developed a mind of its own. Bail yelped and fought for control-losing-as the speeder plunged through traffic, back to the burning Temple.
No, no, no, I want to get away from that place, what the krifing hell-
With a wet thunk, a bloody, slightly charred body landed sprawled approximately in his passenger seat. One hand, still clinging tight to a deactivated lightsaber hilt, slammed into Bail's face, and he saw stars for a second.
And then his speeder stopped ignoring him and his brain caught up.
A survivor-this is a survivor!
Only one, but one was a damn sight better than none. He would take what he could get. He yanked on the Jedi's blood-soaked robes-Skywalker, it was Skywalker; Bail recognized the bulking glove on his prosthetic; he'd etched distinctive carvings into the buckles-to make sure he was fully in the speeder, then headed off into traffic again.
Don't speed, you can't afford to get pulled over right now.
He spared a glance over at his passenger, and immediately looked away again, swallowing hard.
He wasn't any kind of medical expert, but he didn't need much more than that glance-and the wet, ragged sound of the Jedi just barely breathing-to know Skywalker's condition was critical. He had survived the attack itself, by some miracle, but if Bail didn't act quickly...
All right. New plan. Get him off -planet, to an underground medcenter just in case, then try to contact the other Jedi, any other Jedi, and find out what-if what happened here was an anomaly.
Please, please, let it have been an anomaly.
All thoughts of Padmẻ and her half-guessed secrets now buried deep under the urgency of the situation and Skywalker's dire injuries, Bail made his way as fast as he legally could to the spaceport.