The Senator And The Jedi

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Breathe

Ahsoka

"NOOOO!"

In that moment, Ahsoka felt like the very life had been yanked from her soul. A part of her heart suddenly clenched itself so tightly she felt it would burst, and as Lux fell, a piece of her fell with him. But for what felt like forever, she could do nothing more than stand and watch.

After a split-second that felt like an age, Naboo started turning beneath her feet again, and Ahsoka snapped out of her trance. She dove after Lux, catching him before he could hit the ground.

Her breathing came out in ragged bursts as she cradled his unmoving form against her chest, and she scanned his face for any signs of life. Mercifully, his beautiful green eyes were closed. She didn't know what she would have done if they had been open to her and allowed her to see the terrible outcome of Dooku's murderous scheme.

Ahsoka grabbed his wrist, pressing it and waiting, frantic, for a pulse. She nearly cried out in relief when she felt a very weak beat, but, sadly, it was short-lived: a spot of blood suddenly pooled at his lips and formed a thin crimson streak down the side of his face.

He wasn't breathing.

You have to make him breathe, came a voice from the back of her mind.

"I can't," she whispered. "He's gone."

Do it, the voice ordered her. Ahsoka, you have to do it now, before it's too late.

Ahsoka snapped into action. Lying Lux flat out on the ground in front of her, she linked her fingers together and pushed down on his chest.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

"It has already begun. It is too late for him, young Padawan."

Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty.

"It's never too late," she hissed.

Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-four. Twenty-five. Twenty-six. Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty.

She tilted his head back and opened his mouth. Inhaling deeply, she pressed her lips to his and expelled her breath of air from her lungs into his.

Come on. Come on.

She could taste blood on her lips. But she didn't know if it was his, or hers from worry-induced biting.

No reaction. Okay, let's do it again, the voice coached her. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

She repeated the cycle fourteen times with no reaction. Ahsoka forced herself to focus on the numbers; on counting properly to make sure her intervals were accurate. Numbers would never let her down. Uncontrollable emotion would.

It was another six times before his heart stopped entirely.

Ahsoka ran a hand over her face, ignoring the smear of blood that came with it. Her eyes were wide and feverish, and she was gasping for breath, but she couldn't stop. She refused to let herself stop.

She needed to save him. She needed to keep him alive. Every time Ahsoka paused to catch her breath, she saw an image of a coffin being lowered into the cold, dead earth play out behind her closed eyelids.

She knew she had to stop it from becoming a reality, but her sense of logic was hanging on by a thread. The only thing that truly remained was desperation, and even so, the foolish, totally absurd hope that fueled it was running out fast.