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Vokara woke with the Force being rather insistent that she wake NOW, and go NOW, and do, do, do NOW. But stay in the Temple.
She still had her pajamas on.
She mindlessly put on slippers, still stumbling from being woken from the absolute wrong part of her sleep cycle.
She grabbed up her pouch of healing crystals and her outer robe and ran through the darkened halls, dropping down several levels using gravity and the Force in the stairwells, instead of waiting for the lifts.
She hadn’t even realized she didn’t so much as have her headwrap on until she stood outside the chambers of…
Obi-Wan Kenobi, Knight.
Then she realized she didn’t have her headwrap on, and hastily pulled her hood over her head and low down, as she never wore it, honestly.
Go. Do. Intervene.
She had hesitated with her hand over the codepad. It was terribly rude, but someone was in crisis. The Force wouldn’t have called her, otherwise. She inputted her override.
The door slid open into a room full of light.
And Mandalorians.
One had… Master Antilles? By the throat? A knife at his throat?
Oh no, you fucking don’t.
Vokara raised her hand not holding her crystals and had numbed out his arms, and then his legs before she even walked in the door. The attacker fell back with a clatter of armor and a string of vulgarities in a language she did not know.
“Oh, hell,” she heard Knight Kenobi mutter from somewhere in the room.
Vokara walked, uninvited, into his private chambers, and directly to Master Antilles.
“Master Antilles, let me help you. Are you well?” she asked, even as she was scanning him mentally, visually, and with the Force. He seemed just as shabbily put back together as usual, and no worse. Possibly. But perhaps she missed something on the first cursory examination?
“I’m fine, thank you Master Che,” the young master croaked out. “Perhaps you might look at our friend, here?”
Vokara blinked at him. “The one who was holding you hostage?” she asked dryly.
“It was a slight misunderstanding. Obi-Wan was working to resolve it,” he assured her, which was no assurance at all.
Vokara slanted a searing look at the knight who should have known better. “It’s none of my business, and I honestly don’t give a fuck, but if you are both fine, why did the Force rip me out of my bed with a sense of desperate urgency, bidding me to run through the halls and jump down the stairwells?”
“Ah,” the erudite and eloquent knight said. “That was probably for… our friend. There. Just behind you? The one you attacked on your way in? He’s quite injured. Was before we grabbed him.”
She narrowed her eyes at Obi-Wan. The Force was telling her to get more answers, first. And if he was holding someone hostage, he wasn’t going to die in the next two minutes, and she could get her answers.
“Did you kidnap a Mandalorian? We have a treaty! That you negotiated! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR FUCKING MIND?”
“It’s not what it looks like,” Master Antilles assured her in his rasping voice.
“It’s exactly what it looks like,” the Mandalorian on the floor snarled.
“To be perfectly honest, it both is and is not what it looks like,” Knight Kenobi added philosophically.
“All the Jedi in this room need to shut up,” Vokara pointed out sharply. “Master Antilles, get out of the way or I drop you.”
He got out of the way and stood closer to Knight Kenobi. Vokara could tell they were talking telepathically behind her, as the room was pregnant with the feeling.
She knelt next to the sprawled Mandalorian on the floor who still had no control of his limbs. “Greetings. I am Master Healer Vokara Che, Head of the Halls of Healing of this Temple, and the Clinics of Coruscant. May I please give you assistance?”
“Yes,” the Mandalorian said gruffly.
She described what she would be doing as she did it, lifting him with the Force and laying him more comfortably, but probably not much more comfortably, as he had some kind of large pack on his back and so he couldn’t lay flat.
A cursory scan on him indicated some things, but not all. There was too much beskar in the way.
“I understand completely that your armor is sacred to you, and that this may not feel like a safe place. Also, I cannot fully assess your injuries with it on.”
“It’s my right leg. You can take that armor off. Just those pieces,” he whispered, and then guided her to undoing the maglocks.
She took off the codpiece, the right thigh armor, then very carefully, the right boot armor, leaving the boot on for now.
Oh, dear. Yes. His knee was rather fucked. His ankle wasn’t in a good place, either.
Having no other tools to hand, and feeling the Force’s urging that she do this now, here, quietly, she informed him of what she would be presently doing, then slipped into a deep meditative trance, her hands and crystals hovering over the area, fingers twitching slightly as she slowly, piece by piece, healed him.
Meanwhile, something brewed in the back of her mind.
His armor looked familiar, and she wasn’t at all sure why.
She came out of the deep meditation slightly tired and definitely hungry. Master Antilles brought a small, low table over to them filled with protein and starch snacks and pouches of nutrient water.
Knight Kenobi was, mysteriously, on a comm call.
And then, strangely, a Force Ghost showed up. Perhaps not so strange that there should be a Force Ghost in Knight Kenobi’s apartments. There were rumors at first, but Vokara had been present at his knighting, and that put paid to all the rumors, as there was a ghost in the inner circle of guests, bearing witness.
And this had been it.
Vokara looked from the Ghost to her patient.
Ah.
So that’s where she’d seen this armor pattern before.
She looked back and forth between the two identical men. The Ghost looked less worse for wear, and was wearing more armor, though his helmet was held beneath his arm, and her patient’s helmet was nowhere to be found.
Her patient started swearing in Ryl.
And shit, her lekku weren’t bound and were signing without her permission. She blushed and turned away, realizing just how unprofessionally she was dressed, and scandalously without a headdress. She tried to tame her lekku from instinctual signing, but it was hard without binding them first.
“Ah,” the Ghost said. His voice was just the same as her patient’s voice had been, though somehow, ephemerally far away, even though he was right there, sitting across from her. “I think you must be Master Che. I’ve read your original research paper, and your more recent ones, with interest. We owe you a debt for so kindly healing us. Thank you.”
“What was your original research paper about?” her patient asked much calmer and more at ease than he was when she’d first started healing him, probably an hour or two ago. He was taking his gloves off and then struggling to sit up. Vokara reached out to help him, and his grip was strong and warm. She was glad to feel it, as it was a good simple indicator of health. He stretched and reached behind him, first pulling off a short red cape, and then the pack off his back, which come to think of it didn’t look like a pack, so much as it looked like a set of rockets.
She was morbidly fascinated by the rockets he had strapped to his back.
“I’ll tell you, if you tell me how you use that thing without burning your ass off,” she said, nodding to his rocket pack.
Her patient laughed at the same time the Ghost did. It was in stereo.
From across the room, the comm caller started speaking very loudly, and Vokara vaguely recognized him as part of Knight Kenobi’s family, or perhaps one of his betrotheds.
‘Oh for fuck’s sake, they’re flirting?!? BUIR! IS NOW REALLY THE TIME FOR THAT?!’
Both the Ghost and her patient turned to the comm caller, shown in head and shoulders format. “Jan’ika, peace,” they both said at the same time. Then the Ghost turned to the patient. “That’s a deal you should take.”
The patient turned to the Ghost. “I am aware of that, you know.”
“This is fascinating,” Master Antilles remarked mildly.
Vokara ate more of the snacks and offered an unopened pouch to her patient, who was clearly the dead member of Knight Kenobi’s extended Mandalorian family. And the rumor had it that the dead member was his father-in-law, the near Human former emperor. So this was the father-in-law. Who died some time ago. Except one of the two of them before her hadn’t died some time ago, she’d just healed him instead.
She turned her head to Knight Kenobi and interrupted him. “Does Plo Koon know you’ve been fucking about with time travel?”
Then the Force corrected her, and she almost choked on the dried cheese round she’d only just popped in her mouth. Her patient quickly handed her her half consumed pack of nutrient water.
When she stopped coughing and had something to drink, she attempted further words. “I suppose,” she said, her voice raw, “if the Force has just witnessed your Mastery, it wasn’t technically ‘fucking about’. My question stands, Master Kenobi.”
“Master Plo was fully apprised of all but our most recent progress on the subject. We haven’t had time to report just yet.”
Sounded like a bullshit redirection of an answer to her, but she shrugged it off. It wasn’t actually her business.
‘Why is my father still on the fucking floor, Ob’ika?!?’ the comm caller - who was probably the sitting emperor, come to think of it - thundered across the line.
Master Antilles drifted over. “Perhaps, ‘alor, you would be comfortable now retiring to Obi-Wan’s extra room? I’ve made up the karyai for you. I’m sure it would be a very comfortable place to talk privately. Master Che is a most accomplished healer, second only to Master Fay of Vizsla, who is my own buir.”
Vokara saw her opening to return to her own rooms, even though she was curious about the rocket-ass issue. It did not bear thinking of, the fact that the Ghost and her patient were both very handsome when they laughed. Not that she could see with her eyes, of course, but all of her other senses, including her very unbound lekku, were growing uncomfortably fond of him, and at an uncomfortably quick clip.
“I’ll see you made comfortable and then take my leave of you,” she said quietly, finishing her packet of water and setting it back on the table.
Her patient caught her hand. “Wait. We had a deal.”
She let her hand be caught. “I don’t recall you ever agreeing to it.” Neither had he agreed to be moved, but again, not really her problem. Master Antilles could move him, if he decided he’d prefer to stay in the main room for a while longer.
Besides, the hood - ugh, she hated hoods, hated anything that covered her cones - was starting to irritate her, now that she wasn’t angry, exhausted, or in a meditative state.
“I’m agreeing now,” he said softly. “Stay? Just for a conversation?”
“I’ll make you some shig. All three of you,” Master Antilles said, and drifted away again.
He started to put his armor back on, though he removed his boots. She gave him a hand to his feet and walked back to what would be Master Kenobi’s padawan’s room, when and if he decided to take one on. She could feel her patient padding softly behind her.
“Mmm, no footwear in the karyai,” the Ghost said, already sitting off to the side of yet another large pillow pit with a table in the center. It was smaller than the central one in the main room.
Vokara looked back and saw her patient put his boots down next to an odd wire contraption. Then, somewhat fascinated, she watched him take the majority of his armor off, though he kept his forearm armor (were his forearms in immediate danger?) and his weapons belt. Her patient put the armor on the wire rack, which belatedly, Vokara realized must be made for such a thing. Though the rocket pack he set on the low dresser.
She hadn’t at all realized she was staring in fascination until he caught her gaze and smirked at her, and at that point she realized she was still wearing her slippers. She quickly put them by the low dresser.
“Feel free to take off your outer robe and be comfortable, Master Healer,” said the dead, translucent version of the former emperor, who still seemed quite lively and was certainly emoting a certain level of good-natured chaos.
Vokara hesitated.
She didn’t have her headdress on.
Ryl women were only bareheaded amongst family, and lovers.
But she was never very good at being a proper Ryl woman. And it was all just crude matter, anyway.
She took a deep breath, then took the outer robe off and hung it on a hook near the armor stand.
Turning around to the twin appreciative gazes who had chosen exactly opposite seats in the pillow pit, Vokara felt more naked than if she’d stripped off her pajamas.
(And her eyes, unfortunately, found them to be quite attractive, as well. So, at least it was a reciprocated thought.)
And yet, it didn’t quite feel like being sexually objectified in the clinics. It was all very strange, so she changed the subject.
“So, how has wearing a sublight engine strapped to your back not already killed you?” she asked, stepping delicately down into the squashy pillow pit, sitting exactly halfway between the two men who were both radiating a deep interest in her. Then she turned to the one manifesting in bluescale. “Or did it?”
They laughed, and something dreadful and beautiful bloomed at the base of Vokara’s spine as she realized she really liked their laugh.
Three hours later, the deal was done, the shig was drunk, the center table had been put away entirely and she was (mmm, somehow… and the exact sequence of events seemed so reasonable at the time…) sitting astride Jaster’s lap, with Jaster also pressed up behind her.
She knew a lot more about armorweave and flight kutes.
They both knew a lot more about dark influence, how to get it, how to remove it, and what it does if you don’t.
And then they’d talked about history. Vokara had admitted her age. Jaster had admitted his, which was a conundrum of time travel, of course. And they’d talked briefly about temporal mechanics and alternate timelines, and the fact that they couldn’t, while she’d been focused on healing, find any difference between the timelines of the two Jasters, so the difference must have been with someone else, somewhere else.
He admitted that he’d never wanted to be emperor-war lord, he just had wanted someone better than the idiot they’d had. He seemed relieved that his son had grown older and wiser and was doing a good job of it now, without him. He was looking forward to his retirement, possibly as a scholar at Jedha, and conceivably being a mercenary on the side, which seemed like an odd combination to Vokara, but the galaxy was vast and everyone was different. Perhaps he would get grandchildren to spoil, or perhaps he would adopt another child of his own.
Vokara had discussed her lightsaber, when asked, and Jaster wanted to know why she couldn’t catch lightning, if that’s what her sword wanted to do. She had no answer.
But it did get her thinking.
Plo might train with her.
And it might be nice to see Jedha.
And somewhere along the line the Patient and the Ghost both became Jaster.
She couldn’t quite recall when.
And somewhere along the line she started flirting back, if somewhat clumsily and bluntly. Strangely, it seemed to work well.
And when Jaster invited her over to sit on his lap, and Jaster became fully corporeal and moved the empty shig set to the floor and put the table away, Vokara had already decided to do this, if they could all agree.
And they did all agree.
Which led to this moment.
Each of her lovers had a lek in their mouths and were sucking and groaning while Vokara writhed between them, her body fully on fire. She was shielding them all, but inside that, she was bare to them, and let their lust wash over her in pounding waves.
She didn’t notice when Jaster behind her started pulling her pajamas off.
She did notice when Jaster in front of her and under her started pulling the zip to his flight kute down, because her hands quickly began to memorize the landscape of his strength, and it just seemed like the right and perfect thing to do. His frame was large and sturdy and heavily muscled, and for being all so much crude matter, it was lovely to touch and look at.
Her pajamas were gone and Jaster behind her caressed and loved her, still sucking and tonguing her right lek, and his fingers roamed wide and when they found her flower flooded she was soon thickly filled, and already it was lightyears better than her previous encounters. Vokara floated on a haze of pleasure, exploring the body of one lover while the other took her softly, gently, completely, and sometime after she flung herself off that blessed and terrifying peak of pleasure, Jaster behind her finished his rut with seven pulses, a groan, and an explosion of ejaculate that Vokara couldn’t help but be scientifically curious about.
She slipped her lekku out of their mouths - it was too much now - and kissed Jaster in front of her, instead. Jaster behind her still rested inside, and kissed her shoulders, whispering of her beauty and perfection.
Words were murmured and bodies shifted and rolled. Vokara found herself comfortably laying back in the pillow pit with her legs thrown over Jaster’s shoulders, while Jaster sucked and palmed her breasts. Vokara had a hand on each of her lovers, one on the shoulder, one on the top of the head. She whispered encouragements to the both of them as tongues did utterly exquisite things to her and slowly worked her back up to heights she hadn’t been familiar with in the past.
And so the night was spent, as many, many nights would be, in a state of total bliss, deep cuddling, and a bit of sleep.
And when, six months later, Vokara Che went on sabbatical, no one in the Temple was surprised.