Last chance to place (or change!) your bets!
I've already received a number of bets, and it is highly entertaining to read your theories about what is going to happen—keep them coming!
To Enter the Pool: Comment below how/when/which chapter you think Qui-Gon will figure out that Ben is Obi-Wan. I will give you until I post Chapter 6 to place your bet, which will be 1 week from now. So Chapters 6 through 15 are fair game. The prize for winning the pool will be one (1) drabble written by me of a "missing scene" from this AU, winner's choice, to be delivered after the completion of this fic. Maybe not the greatest prize, but that's all I got!
May the Force be with you!
ln(💚)
P.S. It occurs to me that if you've read Queen of Diamonds and Wild Card and now this, you have probably come to the conclusion that I have some kind of gambling problem. I promise it's not true; I honestly have no idea how it keeps making its way into my work. XD
P.P.S. I made a change to the last chapter. Just a couple extra lines in the last section. I wouldn't even mention it except that it ties in with the title and maybe some thematic stuff somewhere, so if you're into that, maybe back up a bit and check it out.
Chapter 5: Santay Weeteebah Bongo du Bongo (Stand Together Shoulder to Shoulder)
"Hello there."
The woman jumped and whirled around, and Ben silently chided himself for scaring her. He was too used to moving lightly and silently, so he had an unfortunate tendency to sneak up on people. He ought to know better by now—Ma Jira had scolded him for giving her old heart palpitations enough times.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. But I don't think you're supposed to be in the infirmary."
The woman shook her head, but didn't meet his eyes. Her hands were trembling a little. "It's all right. The major domo sent me here on an errand. He needs a japor bark infusion."
"You're new, aren't you?" Ben asked, though he was already certain of it. "I haven't seen you before, I don't think."
She nodded. "I arrived a couple of weeks ago."
"Welcome to the palace of Her Eminence, Gardulla the Hutt," Ben said as kindly as he knew how anymore. "I'm Ben. Just a word of advice, from one slave to another: the medic keeps a very thorough inventory that he checks daily. Theft isn't tolerated by him or by your new owner."
The woman stiffened. "I'm not stealing. I told you, the major domo sent me."
Ben just waved her lies away with a hand. "Breela Chanchani still hasn't given birth?"
The new girl blinked at the seeming non sequitur, then her shoulders slumped ever so slightly. "No, she's still in labor. Eighteen hours now."
Ben nodded to himself. "It's gone on much too long. The japor bark would help." Of course, neither the major domo nor the medic would spare it for a pregnant slave. Judging by her worried frown, this woman knew it just as well as Ben. "You're very brave to risk such severe punishment for a person you barely know."
The woman lifted her chin a bit, looking Ben in the eye. "The biggest problem in the universe is that no one helps each other," she said softly.
Ben smiled. Very brave indeed.
The sudden warning ripple in the Force had Ben quickly moving to the table in the center of the infirmary, grabbing a bottle of disinfectant and some cloth pads as he went. "Come here," he told the woman as he seated himself on the table and shrugged out of his tunic.
"What?" The new girl balked, bewildered by his abruptness and actions.
There was no time. Ben lunged for her and grabbed her arm, dragging her in front of him. She resisted, but Ben had intentionally jerked her towards him hard enough to throw her off-balance, and she had no choice but to go where he wanted or fall flat on her face. Ben hated the sudden fear in her eyes and in the Force, but it couldn't be helped. There was no time to explain.
The very next moment the door burst open and the medic bustled in. "This is the second time this month I've stitched you up, Ben, you crazy koochoo—" He pulled up short when he noticed the woman. "Who's this then?"
Ben shrugged. "She's new. Seems your friend the major domo thought you could use some assistance."
The medic's face darkened immediately. "That lousy, sand flea-bitten wermo needs to keep his nose out of the infirmary. It's my karking business! Who does he think he is, the head bossof the galaxy?"
Ben smiled mildly at the man's ire. "I believe he is under the impression that he's in charge of the glorious Gardulla's holdings and household. Like some kind of major domo or something."
"Don't get smart with me, ma bukee. The major domo can eat bantha poodoo if he thinks he's in charge of my infirmary."
Muttering invective under his breath, the medic stormed through the room, slamming open cupboards and drawers to get out his tools. "Don't just stand there, girl, make yourself useful! Get to cleaning that boy's wound while I get the sutures ready," he barked, seemingly forgetting that he was objecting to her being there in the first place.
Ben released a breath, relieved that his play to pit the medic against his long-time nemesis the major domo had distracted him from questioning the woman's presence too closely. Ben gestured at his back, and the woman obediently took up the disinfectant and a cloth and moved around to the other side of the table. He heard her sharp intake of breath as she caught sight of the four parallel lacerations scored across his upper back.
"That wound looks awful," the medic complained at him. "You look awful."
"You should see the other guy," Ben said, tilting his head back slightly to give the woman a quick smile and wink, trying to set her at ease.
"I have seen the 'other guy.' Two weeks ago, in the arena. Feasting on a Gamorrean's intestines." The medic grimaced as he glanced at Ben again. "Looks like that nexu got you good, kid."
Ben winced as the woman dabbed at the edges of the scratches with the stinging cleanser, then grinned. "Not at all—this was just a love tap."
The medic snorted. "A few more of those 'love taps' and you'd be in bloody ribbons, boy. You need to quit sleeping in the beast's cage. As your medic, it's my professional opinion that it's bad for your health." He deposited a tray with needles, sutures and tweezers on the table at Ben's side. "Move over, girl, let me have a look…"
"I certainly do not sleep in the nexu's cage," Ben said, grimacing as the medic prodded at his back. "I sleep in the massiff kennel. They're much better bedmates." The medic snorted, though Ben was being serious. They were certainly better than his fellow gladiators, none of whom really liked Ben and some of whom actively hated him. He felt safer sleeping with vicious animals than anywhere near most of them. At least no one tried to sneak up on him in his sleep if he was surrounded by such a large number of fangs and claws. It had taken Ben a few days and several unsuccessful experiments to get the hang of the Force technique used to calm and control animals, but now the massifs practically ate out of his hand. He knew that his affinity for the bad-tempered beasts had raised a few eyebrows, but no one had made the leap in logic to him being Force-sensitive—not that he was afraid they would, when there were plenty of people that had a knack for animal handling, Force or no. The only revelation that had occurred was that the head trainer had started teaching him to be a beast fighter and handler.
Only the first scratch was deep enough to need stitches, which the medic carried out with his usual ill grace and no additional effort or anesthetic expended for the comfort of his patient. Ben gritted his teeth against the unpleasant but by now familiar sensation of needle and thread sliding through his skin. Through it all, the woman stood by, swabbing the injury with disinfectant and fetching dermal glue on the medic's orders.
The medic had just finished stitching when his door burst open again. Two people hustled in, supporting a third barely conscious man between them. His back was covered in bloody stripes.
"What's all this about?" the medic shouted.
"Her Eminence had Banai flogged."
"What the hell for?"
"He spoke out of turn. Asked her to help his wife."
"Help her? With what? You know what, never mind, I don't care. Ben, get your ass off my table, I need it. Girl, put a dressing on that and then both of you get out of here."
Ben knelt on the floor in the corner so the woman could finish dressing his back. He felt her fingers twitch against his shoulder each time Rakir Banai moaned in agony and sensed her worry in the Force when the man finally passed out. Ben, for his part, was relieved that Banai at least would not suffer through the medic's ministrations.
When the woman finished with him, he stood and helped her disinfect and put away the tools. The medic wouldn't thank them for leaving his infirmary a mess. Ben stretched up to put the needles back on the highest shelf in a cabinet, but flinched as his back flared with pain. In his sudden spasm, he knocked a jar off the shelf. It burst open, scattering its contents on the floor.
"You moron!" the medic roared as Ben hastily bent to clean up the mess. "What do you think you're doing, knocking my things on the floor and messing up my infirmary?"
"Sorry, sir, I was just putting the needles away—"
"The suture needles don't even go in that cabinet, you bantha-brained blockhead! They go over there! Clean that up and get out of my infirmary! And don't let me catch you reaching up again. You'll rip your stitches out, right after I went to the trouble of putting them in, too—I'm not doing it again!"
Luckily, the medic was way across the room and busy with the unconscious man, or Ben would have suffered his fists as well as his tongue-lashing. Ben made quick work of the mess he made, then grabbed the new girl and practically dragged her out the door. He had definitely overstayed his welcome with the medic. He'd have to try his best to avoid injury, accidental or otherwise, and stay out of the infirmary for the next few months. No more provoking the nexu into clawing him for a while.
Once away from the chaos, he caught the woman's arm, gently pulling her into an alcove. "Are you all right?" he asked softly. He could still feel her despair at seeing Banai in that state, at knowing his wife was slowly dying in childbed—at failing to get what she had risked so much for.
Her brown eyes found his. "Of course. You're the one injured—are you all right?"
"Yes, perfectly fine. Thank you for staying and patching me up. Your bedside manner is much better than our esteemed medic's." He smiled at her, and she gave him a small smile in return. "What's your name?"
"Shmi. Shmi Skywalker."
"Thank you again, Shmi. And tell Breela not to worry. In you, she has a very brave friend looking out for her."
He pressed the sachet of herbs he'd swiped from the floor as he was cleaning it into her palm. Her eyes widened as she looked down at the japor bark in her hand. Ben smiled softly as he felt her hope kindle in the Force.
"Thank you, Ben," she whispered, her brown eyes bright with tears unshed.
"Ben, could you do something for me?" Padmé asks, as sweetly as she can manage without overdoing it.
"Of course," the man says, looking up from studying a technical schematic of one of the new parts of the pod.
"Would you allow me to treat your injuries?" Padmé asks, bringing the tube of bacta gel out from behind her back.
Ben smiles at her. "You really don't need to waste that on me. I'll be just fine."
"It's not a waste at all," Padmé argues. "I would consider it a great favor. After all, I've already eaten your food, availed myself of your hospitality for most of the day and tonight, and enlisted your help with saving my planet. You could at least do me this one little favor in return, couldn't you?" Given the amount of Ben's sarcastic wit she's seen throughout the day, she figures that a jest would be the easiest way to get him to consent. She is not disappointed.
Ben's smile widens and becomes more genuine, his blue eyes lively with humor, and Padmé's heart definitely does not skip a beat. She's just feeling a little funny and warm because she's been out working in the heat of the two suns most of the day, that's all.
"Why, how rude of me," Ben says. "Of course I will cooperate with whatever you wish, my lady. My debt to you is great."
A great debt indeed, Padme thinks. Regardless of the outcome of tomorrow's race, Padmé cannot in good conscience allow Ben or Ani to remain slaves. They have already put themselves at risk many times over to help them, with no thought to themselves. It may take Padmé months, if not years, to find the means to free them from bondage, but she swears to herself that she will find a way.
Ben takes a seat on his overturned bucket and shrugs off his tunic, completely unselfconscious. Padmé bites her lip as his abused body is revealed to her, back mottled red and purple with bruises and scrapes. She swallows her sympathy and gets to work.
Padmé has always enjoyed helping others. It's what led her to a life in public service. Serving her people as queen is eminently satisfying, but the thing she misses most about it is the personal connection to people. She is the monarch, and thus is meant to be elevated above the throng, but she has never lost sight of who she is really working for—her people, all of them. That is why Sabé often tasks her, as a "handmaiden," with personally attending certain postulants to the throne. Like with cleaning R2-D2—her faithful body double knew that she needed to keep her hands busy, and the chance to be of service to someone, even a droid, was what she needed to center herself after the horror that they had just escaped.
So tending to Ben's injuries now, when she feels so powerless, is therapeutic for her as well as her patient. She may not be able to help her people, but she can help Ben. Ben's skin is warm and surprisingly soft where it isn't marred with old scars. She can see lines that look like they came from a whip, alongside numerous circular scars from electrojabbers and what appears to be multiple bite marks of various sizes. Ben clearly has not had an easy life. Padmé slathers a generous layer of bacta on his back and his front, which is just as scarred. She has him move his right arm around to see how badly it's hurt, feels the lean muscle flex under his skin. She thinks his arm isn't too seriously injured and tells him as much, though she's no medic to judge. Ben just smiles at her and says he's had worse.
Her face feels warm again. She's never been this close to a man before, touching his bare chest and shoulders all over like this. She chides herself for making something that should be innocent weird. This is for Ben, and has nothing to do with her or her hormonal desires.
When Padmé is finished tending every injury she can find on Ben's torso, he thanks her and finds a cloth for her to clean her hands of the bacta gel. She sinks down into the chair across the table from him, tired from a long day, and idly tries to finger-comb her hair as she watches Ben apply more bacta to a scratch on his calf.
"I can help you with your hair, if you want," Ben offers. "I promise not to pull."
"That would be much appreciated, thank you." Padme is never going to get all the snarls out without help or a mirror.
Ben fetches a hairbrush. It seems odd that he has one, as both he and Ani have short hair, but Padmé is grateful that he does. He doesn't undo the braids at the top of her head, but there is more than enough of her hair left loose that he has his work cut out for him. He is as good as his word though, patiently untangling any knots without yanking and smoothly running the brush through her unbound hair. His soft touch on her scalp and neck is calm and gentle, and Padmé can feel herself relaxing, the tension in her shoulders easing.
"Mmmm, you're good at this," Padmé hums.
Ben is quiet a moment, then says, "I used to help Anakin's mother with her hair, sometimes."
Padmé's eyes open from having drifted shut, curiosity piqued. "If you don't mind my asking, what happened to her?"
"She was sold," Ben responds. "Gardulla took a dislike to her, so she sold her away from Mos Espa, purposely without Ani."
For a moment, Padmé is so overcome with disbelief and anger that she cannot speak. "That's awful," she finally says, forcing the words out around the lump in her throat. "Does that mean that you have not seen her since?"
"Gardulla is one of the cruelest beings I've ever had the displeasure to meet," Ben said. "She sold Ani's mother through a third-party private trafficking operation instead of directly handling the transaction herself, specifically to make it almost impossible for any of her friends or family to find her later on. I have tried to track her down, but there is little that I can do, as a slave myself."
"I'm so sorry," Padmé says. She now has an additional mission: as soon as this business with the Trade Federation is over, she will find a way to free not only Ben and Ani, but Ani's mother too. "How long ago was she sold?"
"Ani was not yet three."
Padmé swallows past the lump in her throat. "You must miss her."
"Oh, only every hour of every day," Ben says, chuckling a little, but soon regaining solemnity. "I never thought I would have to raise Anakin on my own. We always knew that separation was a possibility, even a likelihood. But somehow, I always assumed that I would be the one separated from them." Ben sighs. "If only that were the case. Ani deserves a mother to take care of him, not a boy barely out of childhood himself."
"I would hardly call you a boy."
"I was just eighteen when Anakin became solely my responsibility. And before Anakin, I had no experience taking care of young children."
Padmé turns in her seat to face Ben, letting her hair slide out of his hands. "Perhaps it's not my place, but I think you have done a wonderful job raising Ani. He is compassionate and kind, as well as resourceful and loyal," she says, meeting Ben's sad, blue eyes. "He could not ask for a better father."
He gives her a wan smile. "You're too kind, milady, but I thank you. Ani has grown to be a wonderful boy, in spite of my shortcomings. But I do think I have done the best I could, and I suppose that is all that I can ask of myself, whether my best was good enough or not."
Padmé ponders this. It is, she thinks, a healthy attitude to have. Perhaps she should be giving herself a little more grace than she has been in this situation with the Trade Federation. She is doing her best, now and always, for her people, and that is all that she can do.