Dropped in a Fanfic

Chapter 2

When I opened my eyes the second time and saw the ceiling of the little room again, I felt a mix of emotions. None of which were pleasant. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to just sink back into subconsciousness and stay there for however long it took for the world to right itself.

But the world wouldn't let me.

"Are you in pain?" A mellow voice asked. Low, accented, and familiar in the wrongest way.

My eyes snapped open, darting to the source. In the corner of the room, he was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his body. A body dressed in tan-coloured robes and battle-worn armor. I recognized the outfit enough to know the hints of red on his shoulder plates were the edges of the Republic army insignia.

I snapped straight up, and the world took on a drastic tilt.

"Easy, you took quite the fall back there–" Hands were on my shoulders, easing me back onto the cot. "Try to relax."

A shiver ran down my skin from the touch, then from the voice. I'd watched enough of the movies to recognize the lilt. The grasp of his hands was gentle, but solid. The worn but study armor across his shoulders and chest was real. And when my gaze dared to lift higher, it fell on his face, all distinctive lines and soft lips under a golden copper beard. His hair was swept back, and his eyes were a freshwater blue, light and clear and flusteringly intent on my face as they drew me in.

This wasn't happening. My mind was playing tricks on me, spinning together an elaborate dream. I'd never had one this long. Or this detailed.

"The medical droid said your injuries weren't critical, but it must have missed something," he continued. His features drew in, utterly serious. "I'm going to have another assessment done."

The words refused to sink in right away. The full weight of his stare did no good for my sense of calm. Or focus.

Obi-wan Fucking Star Wars Kenobi. Wooow oh wow. I've lost it. I'm delusional. This is all an exhaustion-fueled fever dream.

My voice came out like a croak. "I'm fine."

"If that were true, you wouldn't have collapsed in the middle of the bridge. You gave the men quite the scare," he countered, reaching a gloved hand to my face. My eyes went owlish when his fingers touched the skin above my brow. It came with a tiny but sharp strike of pain. I flinched, reaching for the spot. A butterfly bandage sat here.

"I hit... my head?"

"No. That happened before we arrived." His gaze tightened. "Any later and it would've been worse."

"Worse?" I echoed dumbly.

He straightened with a sigh. "How do you feel?"

I was truly speechless. "Like I need to take a nap."

"You've been asleep for a while already." A furrow grew between his brows, like he was concerned. "Try to hold on a little longer until we finish."

The look left me at a loss. Before I could ask what he meant -- what the hell any of this was -- the door abruptly whooshed open. Another droid rolled in, this one more able bodied than the cleaning box. It had an upright body and four arms. One pair handled a tray covered with various supplies, the other tucked around itself with its pinchers closed and folded together.

"Hello. I am here to complete the reassessment." The animatronic voice was low, feminine, and purposely pleasant. I couldn't help shrinking into the cot, watching the medic droid roll forward. Obi-wan stepped aside to let it set down its equipment on a nearby trolly. Nothing looked glaringly pokey or stabby, but panic crawled up my chest anyway.