Not How Your Stories End

Chapter 13

There were many aspects of being blind that Kanan felt he had adjusted to fairly well. Even before he'd received the help of the Bendu, a childhood spent in the Jedi Temple had already somewhat prepared him not to rely solely on his physical senses, making the adjustment period much shorter for him than that of the average patient. But even with the guidance of the Force, there was a definite lack of certainty that accompanied being without sight, and that lack of certainty had made itself more prominent than ever as he followed the old 2-1b surgical droid down the winding medical hall corridors towards the examination room in which Ezra was being held.

Reaching their destination, the medical droid whirred to a stop, extending a mechanical arm to block Kanan from moving any further.

"Sir," it chirped, sounding far more cheerful than it had the right to, "we have reached our destination. The room is on your left and the patient is straight ahead. The doctor and nurses will guide you to a seat from there."

Kanan resisted the urge to scoff at the droid's weak attempt at sincerity. To him, the only thing worse than a droid that didn't understand sentience and emotions was one who pretended to. At least Chopper was forthcoming about his indifference.

Saying nothing, Kanan walked in the direction the droid had suggested, intentionally turning his sightless gaze as far away from the 2-1b as possible. There was no way in Hell he'd give that thing the hollow gratification of his thanks.

But as he took stepped foot into the examination room, Kanan's solemn demeanor broke. For the first time in at least half a cycle, Ezra's presence felt bright and strong. He was awake. He was conscious. He was improving.

Near Ezra, a female voice, bright and painfully sweet was rattling off questions and information at a rate that Ezra couldn't have kept up with even if he was well. He assumed this voice belonged to the doctor, and a young one at that.

Kanan cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to get the overly-animated woman's attention. "Am I in the right room?"

A rustle of fabric could be heard from across the room accompanied by the gentle pings of various medical instruments being hastily set on a metal tray. "Oh! Mr. Jarrus!" the woman practically squealed, grabbing him by the forearm and hurriedly pulling him forwards towards a small chair next to the bed. "Please, please, have a seat!" Her firm, calloused hand quickly enveloped his own in a short greeting before disappearing just as quickly. "My name is Doctor Freisi. We were just about to go forwards with a spinal tap. Are you familiar with this type of procedure?"

Kanan grimaced. He was trying to stay polite as possible. After all, he was unquestioningly grateful for everything the doctor was doing to help Ezra, but her general attitude about everything was simply exhausting. How could a woman be so cheery moments before literally stabbing a kid in the back? He was sure she wasn't intentionally acting condescending, but it was mildly trying nonetheless.

"Yes, I'm familiar with spinal taps," he explained, his stern expression unwavering as he casually tried to end the conversation so he could finally get to the side of his Padawan. "Is there anything you need me to do?"

"Well, if you'd like, you can help Ezra here onto his side while I prep the equipment!" she replied cheerfully as ever, her coat rustling loudly as she made her way to the opposite side of the room.

Kanan simply nodded, finally making his way towards Ezra.

Finding the edge of the examination table, Kanan knelt down, holding his breath. He had yet to hear Ezra speak, and he wasn't sure what to expect. The last time he had been this close to Ezra, the kid hadn't even been breathing. He was practically a corpse.