[SW Fanfiction] You do or You Don't [2/2]
Title: You do or You Don't
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Barriss, Ahsoka; mild onesided Barriss/Ahsoka
Warnings: Mentions of blood and two females showering together, but nothing explicit; mild spoilers for S2 of The Clone Wars.
Disclaimer: Don't own Star Wars; title from the Lindsey Buckingham song of the same name.
Summary: Ahsoka and Barriss get cleaned up together after a battle. For my hc_bingo wildcard space.
Part One
The 'fresher is small and tight; less than a meter separates Barriss from Ahsoka, and it's impossible to avoid bumping into her as she turns away from her and shoulders off her heavy robes. The ship is freezing, and she shivers as she tosses the thick cloth into the corner, even through the jumpsuit that she wears beneath.
Ahsoka elbows her from behind just as she's about to bend over and undo her boots. "Sorry. It's pretty small in here, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is rather cramped." Barriss kicks off her shoes and straightens up, trying not to allow her nervousness to translate into sarcasm. This is... not wrong, precisely; not really improper, but it's different. Awkward.
She fumbles with her belt, congealed blood scraping off onto its buckle, and then drops it into the corner, on top of her cloak. Quickly, before she can change her mind she peels the skintight pants off, and then straightens up and shrugs off her shirt. It was ripped during the battle, ruined, and wasn't the best to be wearing while helping in the med-bay; blood leaked through the thin cloth and through the rips, leaving sticky stains on her skin to mingle with the sweat that accumulated while she worked.
Barriss finally turns around and sees Ahsoka leaning against the wall, arms folded over her bare chest. The laceration on her side stands out against her red-skin, dark and angry. "You're slow," she says, shivering. "Hurry up."
"I'm so sorry." She hesitates, then figures that it would be foolish to bother getting her undergarments soaked and removes them, not meeting Ahsoka's eyes. "Are you ready?"
"Yes, in fact, I am ready to see if I've got any skin left beneath the blood. I've been ready for the past three hours." Ahsoka pulls the frame back from the shower and steps inside, not bothering to try do any of the 'after you' formalities that Barriss would have done. "Come on."
For a moment she considers telling Ahsoka to stop being so bossy, but the words sound childish, even in her head. Besides, it really is cold in hyperspace, on a ship that can't be bothered with a proper heating system.
The shower is twice as cramped as the 'fresher was; she's pressing up to the back wall and Ahsoka is on the other end, but she can tell that there probably won’t be any way to avoid contact. Not that Barriss expected there to be, but this is, well, close. Intimate. She faces the back wall, not allowing herself to look at her friend.
Ahsoka is closest to the shower's small control panel, nearer to the shower-head -for a ship with as poor heating as this, it's surprising that they wouldn't opt for a more economical sonic shower, but she's thankful for the small luxury. "Warm or cold?"
"Warm.” She turns around, just for a second, to glance at Ahsoka, keeping her eyes firmly on her face. “It's freezing."
Ahsoka nods in agreement and nimbly runs her hand over the panel, fingers flicking quickly and without hesitation as she sets the specific temperature. "And... go."
The resulting stream of water hits her instantly, melting through layers of sweat, blood, and fatigue. For a moment she braces her arms against the wall and closes her eyes, relaxing to the feeling of the drops pound her sore skin. She could almost fall asleep right there, and maybe she would have, if Ahsoka didn't break the moment by thrusting a small packet into her hands. "Shampoo," she says smugly, grinning over her shoulder. Her montrals quiver. "I figure I won't need to bother with it."
Barriss surprises herself by making a rude gesture at Ahsoka, something she would never dare do otherwise, but these aren’t typical circumstances, and Ahsoka's surprised laughter is worth breaking the protocol, she thinks. She rips open the shampoo packet and rubs it onto her hair, massaging her scalp, taking more care than she usually would. The water slides off her back as she works in a calming rhythm.
"You're rinsing off your soap onto me," Ahsoka informs her, not sounding particularly angry. "Just another reason why I'm glad I don't have hair."
"You just don't know what you're missing out on." Satisfied, she tosses it back, accidentally whipping Ahsoka with the long strands in the process. "Sorry."
Turning around to grab one of the washcloths off of their designated durasteel bar, she fully faces Ahsoka for the first time since stepping in. Her back is turned, and Barriss notices a few bruises up near her shoulders, consequences of playing soldier to the Republic. They look new, and Barriss sympathizes; she's got a few of her own from their most recent battle. Her gaze trails downwards, along the smooth curve of Ahsoka’s back and lower, and she notes a few discolored patches on Ahsoka's thighs as well; they'll be sore in the morning if the painkillers are short, and from her time in the med-bay, she knows that they are.
Ahsoka turns around at that moment and their eyes meet. Barriss feels herself blush; she wasn't staring, not really, but it feels like that, and it must look like that, and Force, what Ahsoka must think...
Whatever that is, she doesn't let on, although she is first to break the contact, grabbing a new washcloth and soaping it up. "Back?" she asks lightly.
"What?"
"Do you want me to do your back?" Ahsoka nods, makes a 'turn-around' gesture, as if it really isn't a question at all. "I was going to ask you to do mine."
"Oh -sorry. I'm just really tired." She shakes her head; it's a poor excuse for anyone, but especially for a Jedi. "Yes, please, if it isn't any trouble. I'll get yours right after."
She turns around and pulls her hair off of her back, holding it in a sort of ponytail over her shoulder. "Will that do?"
"You're fine," Ahsoka replies, sounding amused; it must be nice not to have to worry about such things. She hears a low scuffling as Ahsoka carefully moves into a better position, and then feels the low pressure of a hand on her shoulder. The other hand is holding the soapy cloth that's vigorously being rubbed across her back in long strokes at the moment.
Ahsoka does her shoulders first, moving her hands around as necessary, and Barriss almost relaxes under the touch. The cloth is rough, but not exactly scratchy, and despite that, it feels good on her skin.
Hands trace along her spine, pausing midway at the curve of her back. "You're bruised pretty badly," Ahsoka says in a matter-of-fact way, and Barriss feels the truth of her words as her fingers skim over the area. She stifles a wince.
"I hadn't even realized."
"I never do. Almost never, anyway. At least, not until the morning after." She can picture Ahsoka's grimace even if she can't see it. "Kriffing tinnies."
She almost responds by telling Ahsoka not to swear so much, or to use the clones' casual slang, but Ahsoka's hands drift lower before she can, and without thinking she tenses, skin prickling at the touch.
It's too much to hope for that Ahsoka doesn't notice. She draws back, removing the washcloth. "Sorry, I..."
Barriss really isn't sure what to say either, so she just turns around, accidentally brushing Ahsoka with her arm, and ignoring the way that she could swear her skin began to tingle at the slight contact. "Here, let me see the cloth."
Ahsoka hands it over wordlessly and turns around, now facing the shower's nozzle. As Barriss rubs more soap onto it, she lightly asks, "I suppose you don't need me to move my hair?"
"That probably won't be necessary." Her hands feel jittery as they massage the cloth over Ahsoka's back, and when she realizes that she probably isn't doing as good a job as Ahsoka did, she forces herself to slow down. "You're bruised too," she adds, lightly sliding the cloth over her shoulders.
"I know. I think I got 'em at the same time as this." Ahsoka places her hand on her side, indicating the deep cut.
"I'll have to look at that when we get out." Barriss is still tired, but at the same time she feels sharp and alert, like she would leap out of her skin at a touch. "With the blood gone, it will be easier for me to see how deep and how long it is."
"If you insist." Ahsoka stands still as she washes the lower area of her back, not daring to allow her hand, or her eyes, to dip too far. "Almost finished?"
"Yes, I'm done now. Why, was I taking too long for you?" She's rinsing the washcloth out now, wringing it, and then quickly squeezing on more of the liquid soap, then turns around, not wanting to see Ahsoka as she carefully washes her torso.
"No. I was just wondering."
It's silent for a short time, save for the peaceful noise of the water raining down on them, and Barriss thoughtlessly cleans the grime off of herself, until she realizes that she's been rubbing circles on her stomach for what feels like several minutes.
She rolls her eyes, annoyed at her absentmindedness, and carefully turns to the side. Feet firm, she bends down and washes her legs. She blushes furiously, all too aware of Ahsoka's presence, and it feels like she's being stared at in this mildly compromising position, even though she knows that's not true.
Straightening up, she quickly turns from Ahsoka, mindful not to lose her balance, and gently runs the cloth between her legs, still well aware of the blood rushing to her face.
That done, she moves away from the wall once more and rinses out the cloth again. Ahsoka, pressed against the control panel, almost outside of the water's reach, is doing the same.
"Finished?" she asks, giving her washcloth one final twist and slipping it back onto the durasteel bar.
"Yes." Barriss duplicates Ahsoka's actions and enjoys the feel of the water, turned cooler than they had originally set it, running down her body, before Ahsoka presses a few buttons and the stream abruptly stops.
There's a pause, short but awkward, before Ahsoka reaches out and draws the frame away, revealing the rest of the 'fresher. She steps out first, and Barriss follows close on her heels. "There are towels, right?"
"Yes, I think so." Ahsoka crouches next to the sink, water dripping from her bare body to the tiled floor. "Here we go." She passes two towels, rougher than the washcloths were, up to Barriss. "Do you need another for your hair?"
"I won't bother, thank you very much." It seems as though bothering with wrapping her hair up would lead to more wisecracks from Ahsoka, and she can do quite well without those.
She wipes her back herself, not daring to ask for Ahsoka's help, and Ahsoka seems to be thinking somewhere along the same lines. They dry off in silence, except for the constant stream of quiet apologies as they bump into each other.
They're done at almost exactly the same moment. Barriss hesitates, holding the soaking towel, and then wraps it around her body. It doesn't seem right to forgo modesty for longer than they need to, but she still feels reluctant, although she can't place her finger on just why she does.
Ahsoka moves to do the same, but Barriss, seeing the angry gash, quickly says, "Wait. Can I just look at the cut first?"
"Thanks." Ahsoka wrinkles her nose distastefully; it must have been bothering her more than she was letting on, which isn't surprising; although she knows that you can't judge a wound's severity by its appearance, it can usually be a good indicator, and this one clearly says that, although it might not be life-threatening, it certainly is painful.
Without being asked to, Ahsoka spreads the towel on the closed toilet's seat and sits down, twisting so that the injury faces Barriss. She kneels down to have a closer look. "Does it hurt?"
"Yes. Of course." It was a foolish question, but the best one that she could think of.
"The bleeding has stopped on its own. That's good." She presses a hand lightly to the injury, examining it with the Force. “It isn’t infected. You should still bandage it, though.” Barriss stands up. “I’ll get the bacta patches for you. Wait here.”
A rush of cold air greets her as she pushes open the fresher’s door; she hadn’t realized how steamy it was in there. She spots the med-kit and snatches it up as the chill covers her even through the towel, and quickly heads back into the cramped room, shutting the door behind her.
“Here we go.” She kneels back down, face level to Ahsoka’s side, and peels away the largest size of bacta patch available. “Everything looks to be in order, but you should still get that examined.”
“I know. I will.” Ahsoka waits as she stretches the bandage across the cut, tapping her fingers against her leg, the only sign of impatience that she shows.
“There.” Barriss smoothes the bandage down over Ahsoka’s smooth skin, noticing her slight wince. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay.” Ahsoka gets up, wrapping the towel around her waist. “Thanks.”
“Just doing my job.”
“I know, but still. Thanks.”
There’s a pause, both of them facing each other in the cramped, humid space, and Barriss almost opens her mouth to say something -she isn’t sure what, but likely something she will regret later- but Ahsoka turns around before she can, and walks out of the ‘fresher. “I’ll get changed out here, I think. There isn’t much room inside.”
“No, there isn’t,” Barriss replies, and the impulse to speak those other words is broken, and she pushes it away as she reaches out to grab her clothes.