Armored Passion | The Mandalorian

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Fun Fact: an individual's body will flood their mouth with saliva before vomiting in order to protect their tooth enamel from deteriorating from the stomach acid that they happen to be... discarding in slightly dissatisfying ways. 

Unfortunately, I've been experiencing that "Fun Fact" quite a bit today.

"Mae, that's the third time you've vomited since your training session with Moff Gideon last night," Ben says in a way tone as he steps into my personal quarters. 

"Thanks for reminding me," I mutter. I spit into a black basin set next to my bedside, clearing my mouth once more before slowly leaning back onto my plush bed. Another wave of nausea consumes me and a deep groan rumbles from the bottom of my throat as the back of my head hits the soft pillow set beneath me.

My mouth tastes fucking disgusting.

"You know, with all this vomiting, I'd say that you're—"

"Please don't say some stupid ass shit right now," I beg in a raspy breath.

"—pregnant," he finishes, grimacing slightly. I let out a rough, struggled laugh and shake my head. 

"Well, if you actually cared to check the bucket beside me, you'd know that I'm not pregnant. I just happen to have internal bleeding," I say, letting out another laugh before wincing and quieting down.

"What?" he gasps, dropping a few rolls of bandages at the foot of my bed before racing towards my side. He peers down into the bucket beside me, looking at the vomit that had been discolored with bright hints of red amongst the dark hues. "Oh shit."

"Oh shit indeed, my friend," I mutter, draping one of my arms over my forehead. 

My body feels like it's shutting down and I'm pretty sure there's nothing I can do about it. Hell, even if I wanted to try to force heal myself, I don't think I have enough energy to get the job done. I'd probably just end up over-exerting myself to the point of sorrowful death, which is one of the rules that I'm not supposed to break.

No disappearing, no getting hurt, and no dying. 

I've been doing so fucking phenomenally at following those rules. 

"Alright, don't panic. Just stay here while I go grab some stuff to help you and maybe another medic to help out too—bottom line, stay here. I'll be back—don't go anywhere!" he exclaims, whipping around and running out of my room. 

"Not like I could go anywhere even if I tried," I mutter, watching the metallic door slide shut behind his rushing figure. Maker, he's quite panicky for being the head medic. I blankly stare at the ceiling, feeling something deep in my chest and throat rising up again. I swallow down whatever it is, letting out a deep breath after I do so. 

"Well, you're about to be in for quite a surprise."

"Where the hell have you been?" I groan, slowly propping myself up onto my elbows. Anakin's force ghost is standing near the foot of my bed, smiling with his arms crossed. 

"Around—"

"—watching me get my ass beat?" I fill in for him, tilting my head to the side as I spoke. 

"Technically, yes," he says, smirking a bit while shrugging his shoulders. 

"You're an asshole," I mutter under my breath. 

"It's not like I could have done anything about it," he says, holding his hands up in faux surrender. He looks towards the door for a few moments before looking back over to me. "Also, I wasn't lying about what I said earlier. You're about to be in for quite a surprise."