Dropped in a Fanfic

Chapter 2

"H-hang on," I piped up, leaning towards the other side of the cot. "I don't think I need this."

The medic's pair of crimson lenses gave the effect of eyes, but its gaze was distinctly impassive as it looked me over. "I detect some discomfort signals from the patient," she observed.

"I fainted because I was tired. Plus I wasn't wearing shoes. The floor was slippery," I answered quickly.

"We should check to be sure," Obi-wan insisted.

"There's nothing wrong, really." I held up my hands, trying to be convincing. "I don't even think I need that nap anymore."

He looked incredulous. "You fainted."

"Low blood sugar?" I said meekly.

"That is highly unlikely. I have administered regular nutrient and fluid infusions to prevent dehydration and malnutrition since your arrival," the medic chimed.

"I only have a scratch. It's barely an injury," I protested.

The furrowed look wouldn't budge. My protest made it dig deeper. "Just a scratch?"

"Yes."

"We both know that's not true."

"It is!" I patted my side and waist, even waving my arms. "Seriously I'm f–" a sharp throb of pain came from my left shoulder when I tried to extend it, making me gasp. Obi-wan's eyes sparked with affirmation.

"I promised to return you safely and I intend to keep it." He stepped in, his voice drawing softer. He looked genuinely worried. "It won't take long so humour me. Just this once."

I cradled my arm in my lap, dumbfounded by the request. And that stiffening ache coming from my shoulder. I could be terrified in my dreams, sure, but never in pain. None of this made any sense. It was like my grip on reality was well and truly slipping.

And maybe that was why my guard against him was wavering, even if the rational side of my brain screamed at me not to. Not with anyone. Not even with the courageous, intelligent, gentleman Jedi with a sarcastic wit and morality score higher than any other Star Wars character I knew. But it was hard not to admire Obi-wan Kenobi. It was harder not to like him.

The door abruptly slid open. A helmetless figure in white and orange armour stepped in. His head was shaved clean, but a healthy stubble sat along his jaw. His expression was set stern and focused, all business. "Apologies for the intrusion General."

And then it hit.

A clone. His orange patterned armour marked him as part of the 212th. Obi-wan's battalion from the Clone Wars.

The Clone Wars being a tv show. A spin-off piece of fiction I watched for fun.

Obi-wan turned to the trooper. "What is it, Waxer?"

"Your presence is requested at the bridge by Devaronians," Waxer said.

"Did they mention what for?"

"They want to know whether the mission to retake the planet will be carried out as scheduled."

A sigh escaped his lips. "Of course, what else could it be," he turned to me with a reluctant look, "I'll come back later." He was going to leave me with the medic droid.

"I didn't agree to this yet," I blurted.

"You would eventually." A grin that felt too familiar lifted the corners of his mouth as he walked towards the door. "If not me, Pipla would definitely convince you."

My mouth dropped open to speak but the droid beat me to it. "Please lie back with your hands at your sides." It rolled a little closer, its hands folded ever so politely in front of herself. And then the door was sliding shut behind the men. Suddenly I was stuck in the room with the patiently waiting droid.