Fortress Vader

Five - Seminal

It's not that I'm so smart, it's just that my father was a genius.
Year 1, month 6

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"What is that incessant sound?" I grumble into my pillow, absolutely devastated that something woke me up. Call me dramatic, but it feels like I'm being pulled from death, I'm so damn tired.

I go to roll over, more asleep than awake—and then it dawns on me where I am and what's going off. That's a comm.

With a small sigh, I sit up and reach for the device I haven't used once.

"Hello?" My voice cracks from disuse and exhaustion.

"I need you to come up here."

I blink, trying to push the sleep from my eyes. I do not need to ask who it is, as the voice is unmistakable. Plus, it's the only voice I've heard in a long time.

"Okay, I'm not presentable," I mutter and reach for a heavier shirt to pull over my tank top.

"With the utmost speed, Kitten," he growls, and I realize he ended the call.

I shrug off the last of sleep and slip on my shoes, ignoring my soft training pants that are for sleeping and not visiting the yellow-eyed man.

The lift opens and I start down the corridor, which soon opens up to reveal the empty level. And there he is, sitting on a lone crate.

"Oh stars," I exclaim before I can catch myself. The man has a massive fucking wound straight across his stomach from side to side. It's so bad I don't even comprehend that he is half-naked. There is so much blood. The man could die—he fucking will die.

"Come here." I resist the urge to ask what happened and follow his command, approaching him. He sits on a shipping crate in the middle of the still empty room—though I vaguely notice there are more walls, more details—his legs spread wide and his hands full of bloody cloth. Next to him is a decent-sized med kit.

"Fuck, I need them to finish the medbay," he says under his breath as he tosses the towels down.

I do not know what he wants from me, but he's angry. More importantly, he is bleeding, a lot. So, I kneel before him, just far enough that I'm not between his legs but can reach out to touch him.

"Tell me what to do," I breathe.

"I cleaned it and applied bacta powder," he begins, but I shake my head, causing him to stop.

"What?"

I hesitate, nervous energy prickling my senses. "You didn't clean it very well," I say softly, trying not to flinch in fear of his response. "There is..." I clear my throat and start over. "There's something in it," I whisper. I'm not close enough to see, and the lighting is shit. But something is glistening back at me.

He lets out a sigh that could have been classified as a hiss and leans back, resting his hands just behind him so his chest pushes out.

"If you know what to do, then do it."

Shit. That means I have to get closer. My stomach flips but the feeling is not totally rooted in fear, I realize. Sweat glistens off his neck and down his chest, and I can't look him in those bright, terrifying eyes, mine instead locked on his muscles. Apparently, some ancient part of my biology is fully aware of what a half-naked man could mean. Something to do with recreation...reproduction...pleasure.

My knees shift to bring me closer and I reach for the kit. Pulling out tweezers, I inched further, stopping when my knees hit the crate. Oh gods, my heart is thrumming against my chest from his overwhelming proximity.