A Life Without Meaning

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕋𝕣𝕒𝕘𝕖𝕕𝕪 (𝕀𝕀𝕀)

Ellia had been floating in and out of consciousness as the group attempted to patch her up as best they could in the Slave I's small medical station. After frantically injecting antibiotics into Ellia's bloodstream, Fennec found herself doing most of the work, cleaning the wound mercilessly and applying a bacta patch to the inflamed area. She rounded her treatment off by sealing the patch in place with a tight bandage, wrapped multiple times around the girl's torso.

"Will she be alright?" Din demanded.

Fennec stood back, flicking her hands, which were now covered in Ellia's blood.

"I don't know." she answered honestly. "I've done all I can. But we have no way of knowing how much she lost. Leave her to rest for now, that's all we can do. And we need to figure out a plan of attack."

Din, his mind in pieces, eventually followed her up to the cockpit.

They knew that they needed a way to get into the Imperial database in order to find a location on Moff Gideon. But to do that, they would need someone who could get them an in with the Empire itself.

And Din only knew one person with those kinds of credentials, and he was in prison.

But maybe...he had a way to get him out.

In the end, he ordered Boba to set a course for Nevarro.

. . .

With the Slave I in hyperspace, those on board attempted to get some well needed rest inside of the small barracks.

But not Din. He couldn't sleep even if he wanted to. Between losing the kid, his ship, and having Ellia bleeding out below deck, his mind was running a mile a minute. Any measley attempt to rest would be futile.

So instead, through the darkness of the ship, Din made his way down to the medical station.

As he climbed down the ladder, he could see Ellia's form resting still on top of the examination table. Her tunic had been torn in half so that Fennec could get better access to her wound, and the entire lower half of her torso was wrapped in sand-colored bandages.

He stood there at the side of the stiff bed for a moment, looking down at her pale form solemnly. She looked so close to death, it scared him. It really scared him. He, who had spent a majority of his life surrounded by chaos, blood, and death, now trembled at the mere thought of it. The concept of Ellia's skin growing cold to the touch, her face void of all color, eyes doomed to remain shut forever, that was something that haunted him like a ghost. And seeing her now, it was something straight out of one of his nightmares.

Before he even knew what he was doing, he slipped one of his arms carefully underneath her shoulders, lifting her up just enough for him to slide up and onto the table with her, placing her head down to rest in his lap so that he could better look after her as she slept.

Her blood-drained skin reflected harshly off of the beskar in the blue-hue of the cabin.

Gently, Din slipped off one of his gloves so that he could rest his hand up against her forehead, checking the temperature there.

It was cold, clammy, and just as he feared. He made a conscious effort not to let it freak him out any more than it already was. Instead he sat still. Leaning his head back against the wall, his hand falling to rest behind her head, just to remind himself that she was there, breathing, albeit slow.

After maybe an hour or so, he couldn't really tell at that point, a small, strangled breath tugged him out of that awkward space between sleep and alertness.