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the third part of part five
Thank you, arkhnight, for your help with that one scene that was killing me. Your ideas continue to be good for my muse.
Jedi practice their saber forms in a salle, and I can’t spell anything to save my life. This is now here so I can find the word again. It is French, and pronounced Saul. It rhymes with Paul. I was calling it sawl-leh in my head.
pain, platonic cuddling between men, feeding tubes, IVs, catheters, medical check ups, feels, Anakin’s low self esteem
Anakin slowly, slowly raised himself out of his meditation. However involuntary the session had been, he had still gone deeper into the Force than he had any place being, and it was best to let his mind adjust to the different stimulation inherent to a physical body. Anyway, he needed to check the integrity of his new shields.
He came to in increments.
He was not in pain, beyond some kind of dull ache, everywhere. Easily ignorable.
His new shields were very impressive, if he did say so himself. Solid, unlike his old ones apparently, and dense as anything. He had used almost every technique he knew of in the many many layers around his mind. He had used all but one.
As loud as the Force was, he wasn't quite desperate enough to use a Desert Child's shade shield. He didn't need that kind of scrutiny from the Jedi.
He rose higher still, and finally makes contact with his body. He is immediately informed of the feeling of his blood pulsing though his skull.
Give him a few days, and he might change him mind about those shields, though.
Kix is still nearby, still calm, and...sleeping? Yeah, he was sleeping. Though his Force Presence had a grip on the semi-knotted rope that is most of Anakin.
He shouldn't be able to do that.
Anakin would really like to know exactly how much Kix could do. He probably can't do all that much by way of telekinesis, but empathy? Unusually high "luck"? Steady hands, for sure.
Anakin pushed it all out of his mind. Kix still couldn't afford that getting out, and right now, neither can Anakin with how his shields were acting. He wouldn't be able to do anything to keep Kix safe if worse came to worst, so it was better if Anakin didn't know. Better if no one knew.
Anakin pushed up through the Force more and kept going until he was dumped unceremoniously into his weirdly stiff body.
It took some doing, but eventually Anakin got his eyelids to peel open enough to actually get a look around. What meets his eyes didn't compute for several long seconds.
The moment it did, the only thing that kept him from flinging himself up and away was the fact that his body didn't respond to the urge. The arm he had wrapped around the Vod with is back to Anakin's chest barely even twitched, sending a tingling wave of pain that rapidly got worse as it spread.
Ignoring that even as his jaw locked, he took in his situation rapidly.
Lights on, one durasteel wall at the head of the cot Anakin was on. The other three were curtains. Medbay curtains. The Force wasn't telling him much beyond Kix's exact emotional state--calm, content, almost humming peacefully--so Anakin couldn't feel how many people were in the medbay with him, but he could hear conversations happening on the other side of the curtains. Everything smelled like disinfectant and sweat.
None of this mattered in light of the very real fact that Anakin was wrapped like an octopus around a Vod, who's name Anakin couldn't remember for the life of him. The Vod was dozing, mostly because Anakin had both his arms pinned with his sole flesh arm. Anakin's nose and forehead were pressed against the Vod's shoulder blade, and their legs were tangled. There was no way the Vod was going anywhere without some work. It was moments like this that reminded Anakin he wasn't as small as he used to be.
Force, what was going on? How did Anakin get in these situations? Why weren't either of them wearing a shirt?
Ok, what could Anakin do to improve this situation? The answer was obvious.
He needed to, at the very least, loosen his hold on the trooper so he could free himself from Anakin's hold if he wanted to. Better yet, Anakin could let go of him entirely and go die in a corner in privacy.
That was a good plan. Let's do that plan.
Rule number one when facing an enemy: plans don't survive contact with the enemy. Even when those plans are simple things, like: roll away until you hit the floor and keep rolling.
You trip over inconvenient things you hadn't accounted for, like joints locked in place, and connective tissues too stiff to move, or muscles moving like over cook noodles. The cheep kind, with no nutritional value you can purchase for a credit of two at a corner store.
Its things like this that keep Anakin from making plans. This is why Rex was in charge of plans, and Anakin comes up with solutions to the problems that come up in the heat of battle. It has worked well. Anakin should not have deviated from his lot in life.
As such, when he went to unwind himself from the Vod's person, he found he was...unreasonably achy, not just stiff as he had first assumed. Just spent sixteen hours in the lower levels racing and doing mechanic jobs, followed by twelve hours in the salle perfecting his saber katas achy. His movement failed before it became more than a twitch in his fingers.
It could be the beginning of a growth spurt.
Stars, he really hopped he wasn't having another growth spurt. He'd been assured his bones had started fusing during his last physical in the Healing Halls a little over five months ago, after his arm had gotten chopped off. Isn't that supposed to signify that he was done growing up at the very least?
What is going on? He was supposed to be done with this kind of thing.
Anakin must have made some kind of noise, or moved more than he thought, because the Vod he still had pinned down twitched awake.
The Vod began to carefully untangle himself from Anakin. Anakin bit the edges of his tongue to keep himself from hissing against the pain stabbing shards of glass into his joints with each movement.
He doesn't mean to hurt me, Anakin chanted. He doesn't mean to hurt me--keep it to yourself!
The Vod Anakin can't concentrate enough on to identify peeled Anakin's left arm off his torso. Their skin, stuck together by tacky or dried sweat, makes a disgustingly fascinating sound as he did this. Anakin couldn't help the small noise that scraped past his teeth.
The Vod froze, then twisted, jolting Anakin's arm again. He couldn't stop the noise that followed either.
"General?" the Vod whispered. "Are you awake?"
Anakin grunted in acknowledgment. Yep. Very awake. Please stop moving.
"Are you okay?" Before Anakin could answer, the Vod bulldozed on, a rising force of near panic swelling up around him. "You're clearly not okay--let me--" he moved to get out of the cot.
Anakin saw what was coming. His arms didn't move fast enough to stop it. "No, don't--" his throat crackled and chocked off anything else he might have said.
The Vod twisted back in a move he probably used to get himself out of his berth in the morning. He had forgotten he was not only tangled in painfully stiff Jedi, he was also under a carefully tucked medbay sheet of the won't-give-ground verity. Consequently, his legs didn't swing around like he expected, meaning he didn't do a neat tumble out of bed to land on his feet. Instead he fell shoulder first off the cot.
Anakin lunged and clamped his hand around the Vod's wrist as his arm flailed out instinctively to salvage his balance. Anakin almost regretted his actions as his body shrieked in protest, but gritted his teeth and bore it.
For a breath, the Vod hung precariously, suspended by Anakin's hold.
Then Anakin had begun to slide as gravity demanded the Vod's weight as sacrifice, and the thin sheets gave in and popped off one of the corners of the cot.
Something pulled, sharp and demanding, in Anakin's elbow. A quick glance showed two needles inserted into his skin. If he let the Vod pull him off the cot, those would be ripped out. It would be a bloody mess, and would earn Anakin a sound scolding from whichever medic got there first.
Anakin's choices were obvious. Let the Vod go, or join him.
Anakin, in a rare display of what felt like disloyalty but was ultimately a flicker of self preservation, released the Vod's wrist. He fell into a heap on the floor, and took most of both sheets with him. Anakin barely avoided the same fate.
Just in time for Kix to rip the curtains around the cot open.
Kix's eyes darted between the two of them.
"I'm fine!" The Vod blurted.
Anakin's head snapped around to glare at the traitor. A bolt of agonytore down his neck at the sudden action. He blinked the spots from his eyes rapidly. His shields rattled, but held.
"--doubt that, '97," Kix was saying to the Vod who was apparently called '97.
Anakin poked vaguely around him with the Force. He didn't quite dare to actually touch anyone's Force Signature with how raw he felt, limiting himself to testing the spaces between. "There's very little pain around," Anakin rasped, sinking down to rest his head. Several of his joints ground together in protest. "I think he's fine."
This had the unfortunate side effect of bringing Kix's attention to him. "It's good to see you awake, General."
Anakin hummed, pushing against the weight that was pulling at his body. He didnt want to sleep.
Kix stepped into the little cubby Anakin had apparently been stored in for his treatment, and closed the curtains behind him before '97 had fought his way free of the tangle of sheets. Kix helped him to his feet, then started to pat him down.
Something about how '97 rolled his shoulders when he was finally upright triggered a memory in Anakin's foggy head. He was one of the few troopers who was both a vet from another company and as-yet nameless. He hated the standard issue socks with a passion Anakin could admire, and spent an unusual amount of time fussing over his fingernails. Anakin had one of those little nail kits Rabè was nuts for on his shopping list for him if they ever got leave.
Kix finished his quick check, and clamped a hand on '97's shoulder. "You're fine, vod--"
Kix continued as if he hadn't said anything, "go sonic yourself off, you need it."
'97 grumbled mulishly, but shuffled out willingly enough. Before he reached the curtains, he snapped off a quick salute. "Goodbye, General," then he was gone. When the curtains stopped moving behind him, Kix locked on Anakin, all humor gone.
"Don't think I didn't notice that flinch, sir."
Which one? Anakin didn't have the energy to do more than blink slowly in reply.
Kix, man that he was, picked up on it. "Alright, let's look you over," he said, and proceeded to manhandle Anakin's stiff limbs unto a configuration he liked.
While he hummed his displeasure over Anakin's joints, Anakin became intimately aware of the various tubes stuck into his body.
The two separate IVs stabbed into his left arm he had somehow avoided tearing out were only just the beginning. He also had a feeding tube inserted into his left nostril, and one of those horrifying urine catheters. He hadn't even known Kix had access to a feeding tube!
"I am never going to get so badly injured, ever again." Anakin decided, watching how the world started to warp and fold in on itself. He was going to pass out soon. He should really get a move on removing himself from Kix's Presence. Before he forgot.
Kix huffed. "It wasn't the injury that almost killed you. I had that stitched closed in a couple of minutes."
Anakin blinked hard at the ceiling. Felt gears turn, trying to process. "Wait, what--" he lost his grip on whatever was keeping him awake before he could ask after that.
Later, he thought even as his vision blacked out, I'll find out later.
When Anakin woke up again, he half remembered what Kix had said, but took about three seconds to decide that he didn't actually care that much about what had half-killed him, because he had clearly survived, so he'd wait for Kix to tell him what was going on in his own time.
Anakin fingered this strange sort of acceptance. Force knew he would have pestered Healer Che for a report the moment he could convey his intent. Then again, maybe it wasn't so surprising.
Kix was a force of nature with a healer's heart. He loved his brothers. He didn't have an ounce of ill will toward Anakin, for all that he was his superior officer and could make his life miserable, and it showed in his Force Signature. Healer Che, Anakin couldn't read to save his life. Kix was an open book, and it wasn't because he didn't have any shields.
Anakin let that rest in his head for a moment, testing how it felt.
Eh. There were worse people to trust.
Course decided, he put it to the side, and set about unwinding himself from Kix's water-cool Signature.
Anakin drifted between being awake and the currents of the Force. If he slept, he didn't remember it.
At some point, the rotation of kyber-bright lights he knew to be his men in his better moments that had spent time at his side went away and didn't come back.
He told himself that it was okay. He wasn't dying anymore; he didn't need someone to hold his hand. Anakin gave himself a few seconds. He wished he could justify wrapping just a single thread of himself around Kix, or Rex, or really anyone at all. Not a Force Bond, for obvious reasons, but just enough so he had a constant reminder that he wasn't alone. Again.
Anakin didn't do it, because that would be an abuse of what he could do. He pulled all his spindly little tendrils into his skin, and tried not to let them slip past his shields.
His success left him with a hollow ache he was all to familiar with.
He tipped backward into the Force so he didn't have to think about it. There would be a time to process it. Later.
