The cart jostled as it bumped along the unbeaten path. Snow swirled in a blinding haze, accompanied by a howling wind that whipped the loose flaps of the canvas covering the storage part. And, on occasion, the two Tauntauns pulling the cart along would falter and stumble.
Discomfort twinged in Satine's back and rear end as she squirmed in the hard wooden seat. She nuzzled deeper into her parka, but it did little against the nipping wind. A sigh escaped her chapped, numb lips.
She didn't want to sound impatient, but she had to know. She wasn't sure how much longer any of them could take. They were running out of provisions and it was only getting colder the further they went. "Are we nearly there?" she asked, injecting as much innocence to the question as possible.
Qui-Gon, hunched over in his Jedi poncho and his hands clutching the reigns, glanced briefly at her. Frost and ice were stuck in his beard and eyebrows. But he seemed overall unperturbed. "It's hard to say in this weather. Why don't you join Obi-Wan in the back?" he offered. "You seem to be getting tired."
Satine slumped further in the stiff wooden seat in a vain attempt to get comfortable. "I'm fine," she muttered. She sniffed and wiped at the snot dripping from her nose, shivering. Qui-Gon didn't press the matter further.
Eventually, the swirling snow seemed to cloud her mind. A dull headache beat against her skull and her body had stopped shivering. Everything seemed a little hot, like her face was burning. Grunting, she fumbled at her mittens and hat, struggling to get them off.
"You should keep those on, Duchess," came Qui-Gon's displeased voice. Ever the observant one. Satine paid him no heed. "I'm hot. I'll put them back on once I've cooled down," she grumbled.
Concern both warmed and sharpened Qui-Gon's pale eyes. He turned a little more toward to face her. "It looks like you might have frostbite," he remarked worriedly. "If so, it'd be best if you kept your winter clothes on."
Satine paused. That hadn't crossed her mind, but it made a lot of sense.
"You should join Obi-Wan. His fever will keep you warm," Qui-Gon suggested tenderly.
Satine reddened at the thought of snuggling up next to the Padawan. She eyed Qui-Gon suspiciously. Did he know what was going on between the two of them? She decided no. He wouldn't suggest such a thing if he suspected anything. But still.
Noting Satine's hesitation, Qui-Gon tried a more pragmatic reason.
"I need you to check on his wound. The infection might need some more of that ointment from the village," he said. "I trust you know how to apply it?"
Satine reluctantly nodded.
"Then go," Qui-Gon urged, returning his full attention to the path ahead. But still, Satine hesitated and bit her lip. Looking to Qui-Gon, then the sealed flaps of the shelter, she finally sighed and caved in.
Her limbs felt stiff as she climbed out of her seat and tumbled into the back storage space. A wall of stuffy warmth hit her as she quickly wrestled with the flaps and pinned them shut. Relieved, she leaned against the wooden frame of the inclosed space as the cart continued to jolt unpredictably. Obi-Wan hadn't stirred. He was locked in the grip of a healing trance. One that didn't seem to be working fast enough. In Satine's opinion.
Stumbling, she worked her way to the basket in the corner. After multiple failed attempts with her unfeeling fingers, she managed to unfasten the button keeping it closed. Her hands fished around the contents until they closed around a familiar jar.
Then she crawled and shuffled her way toward the small heap of pillows and quilts next to the crates they were supposed to deliver to the next village. The one they were currently traveling to.
The inner storage compartment had been converted into some haphazard living quarters as their supplies slowly dwindled. And it proved to be an excellent shelter against the wind.
Obi-Wan was turned away from her, curled in a fetal position facing the wall. His face was tight with restlessness and flushed red. She wished she could spot sweat beading his brow, a sign his fever was breaking, but it was dry as a desert. His breathing came in slow wheezes. Memories of his confusion and disorientation came back to her and she suddenly remembered how much she hated illnesses. Especially when she wasn't the one who was ill.
If only Obi-Wan hadn't been so reckless then maybe he wouldn't be in this situation so often. Oh, how she hated violence. She hated it with a burning passion. A passion that superseded the sensation of her frozen fingers thawing out.
If she ever made it back to Mandalore, she promised herself that she'd put an end to all violence for as long as she was Duchess. No amount of hypocritical debates with Obi-Wan would change her mind. The jetti di'kut.
Sniffling, Satine uncapped the jar and gently peeled back the film cover. She shuffled on her knees toward Obi-Wan and dabbed a clean-ish cloth into the gel. With one hand, she carefully peeled back the quilt nearest the mutilated blaster wound.
Swollen and leaking pus, the sight of it almost made Satine gag. But she swallowed her discomfort and tentatively dabbed the angry, inflamed wound. She gently wiped away the pus, smothered it in as much ointment as she dared, and then freshened the bandaging. Satisfied she did as much as she could, she tucked the quilt back into place.
Her hand lingered on Obi-Wan's shoulder for a moment as she let herself feel reassured by the rise and fall of his breathing. Then she turned aside and stored the jar of ointment away. By the time she was done, she was shivering again. The warmth of the storage compartment had finally sunk into her, reminding her body she was freezing and borderline hypothermic.
Foggily, she crawled next to Obi-Wan and just sat there for a moment. What would Obi-Wan think if he woke up and saw her next to him? If he wasn't delirious, that is. She watched him wearily. Surely, Qui-Gon could explain for her. Obi-Wan wouldn't mind. Yes, he was touch-sensitive, but he would understand. If anything, she was an ice pack cooling him down.
That was enough for Satine. She slipped under Obi-Wan's large blanket and tucked it underneath her to make sure none of the warmth would escape. Almost immediately her arm brushed against his back. Heat radiated from every inch of his skin like a heat lamp, through his dry robes. She shuddered.
Then, quietly, she nuzzled her face into the folded clothes that made up the pillow and pressed her back against Obi-Wan's. It was undeniably pleasant. Despite the slight guilt gnawing at the back of her mind, the tangible relief outweighed it all. He was so warm.
Slowly, her eyelids slid shut and she let her body go lax. Her blonde hair touched Obi-Wan's thin braid.
And she fell asleep.
When she woke, she was drenched in sweat. Obi-Wan's sweat. His fever had finally broken. Groggily, a slow smile spread across her lips and her eyes fell back shut. She couldn't wait to tell Qui-Gon. But for now, she indulged in just a few…more…minutes….
