Kaeden’s twelve hour shift in the medbay was almost over when the bomb went off. She didn’t know the details (it wasn’t her job to know those details when there were lives to save), but she knew it was bad when people began to carry in the injured and the dying in one unending wave. Person after person after person was wheeled into her operating theatre. Her nurses triaged everyone the best they could, but there had been many casualties, and Doctor Larte could only do her best to save the lives of those most grievously injured. Some would be scarred for the rest of their lives. Some would lose limbs. Some bled out despite her best efforts.
She’d thought her loved ones safe until an orange-skinned togruta was transferred to her operating table. To her credit, the only sign of shock Kaeden let herself show was a slight widening of eyes before her hands immediately fell into a familiar, steady rhythmn. Shrapnel was removed, wounds were cleaned, bones were set, and then Ahsoka was being wheeled away and replaced by yet another poor injured soul. Person after person after person. She stitched and cauterized and staved off death for dozens without pausing or hesitating.
Only when the worst of it was over and all the critically injured had been treated did she begin to falter, and her head nurse relieved her from duty. ‘Go sleep,’ he’d told her, ‘You’ve done enough.’ Kaeden promptly collapsed into the chair beside Ahsoka’s bed, and slept. And slept. And slept. She kept sleeping until a raw, croaking voice whispered her name, and finally her head rose up from where it had been pillowed on her arms.
“’Sohka,” she mumbled, voice rough with sleep, but she quickly sobered up. She sat up straight and immediately her back and neck lodged their vehement complaints. “-It’s okay. You’re in medbay. You were caught in an explosion.” Her voice became soft and solemn then. “How are you feeling? They say… they say it would have been a lot worse, if you hadn’t been there to contain the blast. We would have lost that entire wing and most of our fighters.”
𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊, 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐂𝐓. An instinct that left her called reckless more than once, but Ahsoka trusted in the Force, allowed it to guide her. Even a moment's hesitation would have cost them lives today. Perhaps her own.
"You know me. Always happy to help." A smile — then a wince. The ringing in her montrals ebbed and flowed, settling into a dull ache at either temple. "I've been better. But something tells me I'd be a lot worse, too, if you hadn't been here." Blinking through the fog, her eyes took in Kaeden's uniform, worn by every medic that tended to the Rebellion's wounded. She knew Kaeden and Miara both found their way into their ranks. Miara, so awed by the B-Wings that ensured their escape from Raada, could only be satisfied in joining them. She'd been less sure where the eldest Larte would hone her skills; all Ahsoka knew for certain was that she couldn't compromise her identity, her position as Fulcrum, for either of them. Especially Kaeden.
Jedi hang-ups. That's what she called them. In the middle of their makeshift insurrection, there hadn't been time to explain the finer details of the Jedi's views on attachment, what it all meant, or if it even still applied in a galaxy without the Order. Those years could give her no better lesson in letting go ( indeed, she hardly had anything left to lose ). Maybe that's why, when the transmission of Kaeden in the Inquisition's custody made its way to her hands, she had no choice but to act. Ahsoka couldn't guarantee she wouldn't do the same thing again, even now — even to the detriment of the Rebellion. Better to keep her distance, and let their paths take them where they may.
Leave it to the Force to bring them to bear again.
Bit by bit clarity returned, her eyes sweeping over fresh details. Kaeden's rumpled coat, a little bit of drool at the corner of her lip, and despite her own exhaustion, she smiled. "Did you fall asleep in here...?"
