|SWTOR Fanfic - Adiira and Quinn
||[Mar. 30th, 2012|03:08 am]
Spirit danced pure joy, reveling in the currents and tides of the Force, a garden of bright stars blooming and dying beneath her. One in particular caught her attention, it blazed, coruscated, even as it snuffed the lesser dimmer lights close to it. She drew closer, attracted by something she couldn’t name; found the gossamer cords between her bright being and... his? His, yes. Faint memory returned, brightening as she observed him.
She could feel the need and passion surging along those fine strands now, and with that awareness came material awareness, sight and sound. He picked up the limp body and cradled it; another cord, sturdier but fraying, ran from her to it. She floated above as he ran for the safety of the barricades and laid the body down gently on the ground beyond, kneeling at its side, slicing the armor away, calling out for help. His spirit called to her desperately; she tried to reach him through the tenuous strands but all of his attention was on the body at his hands.
“Stay with me, stay with me,” the best-loved voice chanted low, drawing her down the fraying silver cord to reach him. “Oh, love, stay…” It broke on a sob. She was so heavy now. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak; had to move, had to answer that call. Her fingers twitched, immense effort to move them rewarded with the warm clasp of a hand over hers. “Adiira!” His voice was a caress. “Adiira, stay with me, listen, we’re safe now, help is coming.”
She made another attempt: “yes...” the word was faint but he heard, his hand clenching hard on hers. Consoled, she settled into the broken flesh and merely mortal awareness.
She heard voices over her, low and intense; felt the tug and pull of something on her torso. She was lifted then laid flat then lifted again. Dull pain in her side, a sharp sting in the back of her hand, then a sharp spike of agony as they moved her again. She moaned. The voices got louder; she tried to make sense of them but their meaning slipped away, and so did she, back into the comforting dark.
Adiira came fully aware with a gasp, choking, clear blue liquid streaming from nose and mouth. This couldn’t be the afterlife. No god would be that sadistic. She was bent over a basin, supportive hands holding her in position, cradling her head. It wasn’t ever a pleasant interlude, coming out of the tank. The medics always suctioned as much of the kolto out of one’s lungs as they could but it always felt like there was still a litre or so of fluid to be expelled. Far too familiar with the routine, she drew in deep rasping breaths, forcing racking coughs to clear the kolto faster.
If she wasn’t lying in a cold grave somewhere where was she? She tensed as she took in more of her surroundings. The tanks against one wall were Imperial make, but the room and other furnishings were far more luxurious than she expected. This certainly wasn’t the stark setting of an Imperial medbay. The brusque efficiencies of the fleet medical service were familiar; comfortable, almost homey. This bay with its strange furnishings was more like some rich noble’s bedroom. Where was she? She tried to gather her scattered wits between bouts of coughing.
“My lord, are you ready to sit back?”
There was Quinn. His voice wasn’t tense: wherever they were they were reasonably safe. Adiira relaxed slightly and nodded. The coughing bouts had slowed; any lingering kolto would have to be absorbed into her lungs. She could look forward to weeks of breathing treatments, but at least she could sit back. The hands supporting her head moved to ease her back against the raised bed. Now she could see the other people in the room. Quinn stood at her left side. On her right, a heavyset stranger in a medic’s white coat grinned at her and patted her hand.
“There you are, milady!” he said jovially. “Right as rain!”
That crystallized her vague surmise; only on Alderaan did they consistently fail to use her proper title. The white-haired doctor patted her hand again. She wondered if he’d pat her head next.
“What happened? Where?” Adiira looked from the doctor to her captain.
“House Thul, my lord. It was the closest medical facility not in enemy hands.” Quinn answered the second question but not the first.
The doctor broke in: “Your man there saved your life! The men on the front lines couldn’t believe it; said he just walked right into the firefight, cool as could be, killed the squad and brought you home, milady.”
She looked over at Quinn, wondering. Mouth tight, he stared into the middle distance.
He turned to her, shutting out the garrulous doctor. “My lord. What you said before... It worked.”
“Well, my boy, whatever it was it was good advice!” The man actually wrung her hand in his enthusiasm. “Milady, you should tell all our boys your secret! We’d roll up these motley rebels then!”
Adiira caught Quinn’s arm with her free hand and gave it a hard squeeze. She really didn’t want the doctor murdered right there and then.
She extracted her other hand from the doctor’s avuncular grasp with a jerk and sat up on the bed, swinging her legs over the edge. Her head swam and she paused to gather her strength. “Captain, we need to get back as soon as possible. Please make the arrangements while I get dressed.”
Quinn nodded agreement and turned to a small cabinet, reaching in to gather up her lightsabers and other gear. Silently, he set the sabers and a small pile of clothing on the foot of the bed. Her cuirass was missing; an Alderaanian tunic topped the pile.
“Milady!” the fool protested, putting a hand on one shoulder and trying to press her back into bed. “You can’t leave now. On your man’s demand we pulled you from the tank at the earliest possible point. I’m your doctor, and I insist on at least a week’s observation before I will let you go.”
She easily resisted his push, slipping past his grasp and standing. Perhaps she’d been too hasty, restraining Quinn before. The tile floor was cold on her bare feet; the thin gown she wore barely served modesty, never mind armor. She didn’t need it, not for this.
“I am a lord of the Sith. Not an Alderaanian lady. You would do well to remember that, Doctor.” The cold menace in her voice penetrated the doctor’s obtuse geniality at last. She went on, watching as he recoiled from the lash in her voice. “I will go where I want, when I want. Do you really choose to stand in my way?”
Flustered and angry because of it, he muttered his excuses and left the room in a rush. She spared a grateful glance at Quinn, standing ready at the foot of the bed, and nodded toward the pile of clothes.
He grinned and moved to lend her an arm to lean on. She was shakier than she liked, now that she wasn’t facing down the doctor. Slowly she donned trousers and tunic, belting her sabers back in their proper place.
“Where’s the chest piece?” she asked, holding onto his arms as she slipped into her boots.
His mouth twisted. “I sent it ahead to the ship and set the droid to repairing it. It was too damaged to wear.”
“Did I get hit that badly?” Her eyes widened.
“No... My lord, I would really prefer to have this conversation aboard the Fury, if you don’t mind.” Quinn fell silent; the conversation was over, at least for now.
She frowned but let him be. They left the room with her leaning on his arm as unobtrusively as she could manage. There was no point in alerting anyone to her actual state of health; they might send big burly men to try to put her back in that bed, and then she’d feel guilty for having to kill them to get home. Again.
Quinn dealt with the paperwork of her release with her standing a little behind him for a change. The charge nurse rattled through a notably succinct post-tank briefing, Quinn nodding as if he hadn’t done this many times before. It was amazing what a little well-placed anger could accomplish, she thought dryly.