The Love of a Sith (aka The Chosen One)

Hesitant Reaching

It's long . . . it's late . . . you guys happy? ;)

All growing consciousness seemed to be was a strange burning, spreading and suffocating with the slow torture of a sweltering flame.

Padme groaned lightly, squeezing her eyes painfully shut as her body shuddered in a sudden tremor of icy shivers.  The events of the past were hazy at best- the oppressive heat bearing down to stifle the cold tendrils did the same to her mind, and as much as she was desperate to know the recent events nothing seemed to be able to break the fog.

Agony . . . tiredness . . . something strange . . .

Taking a staggered breath through the stifling air, Padme forced her eyes open, twisting gingerly to peer through the swarming spots of vision into the shadows.  Disoriented, she turned to shake off the blankets, suddenly gasping as a sharp slash tore through her thigh.  Though she stilled her leg immediately the agony continued its searing tear through her nerves, abruptly bringing a frustrated water to her eyes as her teeth clenched with the pain.

Force, it hurt, it felt like-

The door banged open, cold air rushing to hit her sweating form.  "You're not supposed to get up," a voice said harshly, a hand appearing on her chest to push her gently but firmly back down.  "You're not well yet."

"W-What?" she managed, her words barely discernible through the rough scratchiness of her throat.  

The brief silence seemed like an eternity to her spinning consciousness.  "You were- injured, Padme.  Shot in the leg."

"Oh."  Her mind scrambled to form coherent sentences, the overpowering heat and lingering prick of cold and pain in her limbs too much for her mind to handle.  She moistened her lips, finding them dry and parched.  "I- what?"

There was a curse, the voice muttering angrily to itself.  "She has a fever- that damn droid must not have done a good job, she's probably got an infection-"

"I'm sorry, what?"  She was getting frustrated now at the paralyzed state of her brain and the unhelpful person beside her, endeavouring to clear her throat in some attempt to sound more authoritative and get the information she needed.  "What's . . . going on?"

"Just rest more."

"No, I-"  She struggled to push herself back up, only to have the strong hand back on her collarbone.  The face loomed into view, yellow eyes bright with unease.

No state of mind could keep her from remembering that face.

"Get back down," Vader said curtly.  "You're in no position to be moving about."

"I don't feel good."  She didn't feel like arguing any longer, slumping back down as her eyes moved tiredly to the ceiling.  She shivered as another chill passed, swallowing over the strained roughness of her voice.  

There was an extended pause.

When he spoke again the tone of his voice was different- less harsh.  

"Do you need something?"

"It's too hot," she whispered, the prickling heat of her skin growing unbearable.

The silence presided once more.  "Do you . . . want a bath?" he asked finally, his voice quiet. "Perhaps it will help to stem the chills."

She nodded mutely.

He inclined his head in assent, eyes vexingly impassive- if only she could decipher his expression past the dark flicker over his gaze.  "Yes, I'll-"  Now he stopped - seeming more unsure -  looking down briefly at his hands before speaking again, more slowly.  "I'll call in the med droid to help you."