Awareness creeps back to me, not with the jolt of battle, but with the familiar presence of Obi-Wan's scent, soothing and distinctly grounding. It filters through my senses, gently coaxing me from the depths of slumber. My eyelids flutter open, revealing the Jedi Master standing over me, arms crossed, a silent sentinel in the dim light of the med bay.

"Midnight, come on. Anakin is awake; he wants to talk to you," Obi-Wan's voice is calm yet laden with the subtle urgency that has always marked his demeanor.

A surge of adrenaline spikes through my veins, casting away any remnants of fatigue. I snap to attention, rising on my claws with a dexterity that belies the ache lurking beneath my feathers. "Well, what are we waiting for?" The words spill out, a cascade of readiness and fervor.

I glide past him, wings unfurling with a grace that resonates through the still air of the cruiser. Obi-Wan hastens after me, his measured gait a stark contrast to my brisk pace. "He... hey, wait, you must—" His attempt to impart some piece of wisdom is dashed as I whisk through the corridor with relentless determination.

The clones I pass become but a blur, my sleek tail nearly toppling some while my wings send others tumbling into the forgiving embrace of the walls. A chorus of startled exclamations and muffled protests fills the air, a symphony to my hastened flight, but no harm is done — just the harmless jostling of kin in a rush of momentous revelation.

With every stride towards Anakin's quarters, echoes of the past rush through my mind — the pride of shared victories, the pain of close calls, and the unyielding thread of our intertwined fates. There's a restless energy wandering through my bones, a harbinger of the reunion to come, a meeting that feels both like an ending and a beginning. And as I draw closer, the anticipation builds like the crescendo of a forgotten melody, ready to be unleashed in the light of truths unspoken and confessions long overdue.

We breach the threshold of the medbay, a sanctuary steeped in antiseptic scents and soft beeps of machines that are lifelines incarnate. I pause, the gravity of the moment anchoring me to the spot for a heartbeat. With a deftness born of necessity, I weave past a bustle of medics, each absorbed in their sacred duty of mending the broken.

At last, I stand at the foot of Anakin's bed. He's propped up, a tableau of healing flanked by Ahsoka and Rex — his warriors, his family. When his gaze finds me, it's as if the room brightens, those sea-glass eyes of his sparkling with a resilience that not even the shadow of near-death can dim. "Midnight," he greets, his voice a warm embrace.

Allowed passage, I step forward as the others recede, their retreat a silent blessing for what is to unfold. "Oh, Anakin," I breathe, each word heavy with the weight of silent prayers answered. With reverence, I bow my head, pressing it to his chest with a touch feather-light, mindful of the intricate web of IV lines that tether him to healing's embrace.

His heartbeat is a steady drum, a rhythm that speaks of battles endured and triumphs yet to come. It's a sound that quells the storm of worry that has churned within me since the explosion that threatened to claim him from this world. In this touch, this communion of spirits, we find something that the chaos of war cannot touch – peace.

And in the delicate balance between warrior and healer, we are reminded that it is not the saber nor the blaster that holds the greatest power, but the bonds formed in the crucible of conflict, the silent acknowledgment that we are each other's keepers in the vast expanse of a galaxy fraught with peril.

"Don't you ever scare me like that again," I whisper against his medical gown, my breath warm and shaky, a testament to the storm of emotions held at bay. His chuckle is a subtle vibration, a soft rumble of mirth that fills the space between us. His cheek gently rests atop my head, a gesture of shared relief and enduring strength.

"I can't promise that, Midnight," Anakin replies, his voice a blend of humor and stark realism shaped by the hardships of this unending conflict. "You know this war will bring more than its fair share of trouble."

At his words, a snort escapes me, an inelegant sound that somehow conveys both my displeasure and my acceptance of the brutal truth. Reluctantly, I pull away, my eyes locking onto his, seeking the unspoken strength in their azure depths.

Compelled by an impulse that melds affection with the primal need to reaffirm life, I extend my keen, warm tongue, drawing it across his face in a gesture of deep connection known to my kind. Anakin's surprised shout fills the medbay, a startled confession of his vulnerability beneath the seasoned warrior's veneer.

Heat blooms across his cheeks, a crimson tide rising under my gaze. "Never die on me, ever," I command, my voice a growl of fierce determination, "my moon and sun, do you hear me?"

The raw intensity of my plea hangs in the air, a heavy mantle of promise and desperation. For a moment, there's a hush, a sacred pause that feels as though the Force itself is holding its breath, bearing witness to the vow that coils tight around our hearts.

Anakin's hand finds mine, his grip a firm proclamation. "I hear you, Midnight," he declares, his eyes never leaving mine, burning with a fierce resolve mirrored in my own. "As the moons circle the suns, so too will I always return to you. We are bound by more than this war; we are bound by the cosmos itself."

In the sterile confines of the medbay, surrounded by the technology of healing and the silent prayers of the ailing, our bond is consecrated afresh — not just by the touch of skin or the shared breath of narrow escapes, but by the solemn oaths that even the looming shadow of war cannot tear asunder.

His laughter, light and affirming, floats in the medbay. "I'll try," Anakin says, the corners of his eyes crinkling with the promise of his smile. And then, I can't resist—I lean in and draw my tongue across his face again. He gasps, a brief sound of surprise that softens into acceptance. Deep down, I know he understands this gesture, my unique expression of care—it's my version of a kiss, reserved for moments that words can't capture.

The intimacy of the gesture lingers between us, a bridge spanning worlds of difference, a silent testament to the trust and peculiar kinship that combat has woven into our very souls. Our differences cease to matter here; we exist beneath the gaze of the Force, united in our defiance against destiny's darker threads.

His hand rises to touch his face where my lick had landed, and he looks at me, his grin bolder now, playful and yet full of the depth that comes with shared trials. "I guess that's one way to ensure a full recovery," he teases, and the warmth in his voice wraps around me like a comforting cloak.

In this place of healing, where life hangs in balance with a tremulous fragility, our mutual resolve reinforces the unseen bonds. As warriors, as friends, as two souls intertwined by circumstance and choice, we recognize the profound truths conveyed through each tender, unorthodox caress: that the ties binding us are forged in the heat of battle and soothed in the quiet moments after, that they are both protean and enduring, manifesting in ways uniquely our own.

A subtle ripple of emotion cascades through the Force, and instinctively, my attention shifts. I turn slightly to catch a glimpse of Rex. His usually stoic demeanor is underscored by a faint, unconcealed disquiet. My purple gaze meets his, and an unspoken conversation passes between us—a question asked by my raised brow.

Rex here is jealous, who would have thought? The thought emerges laced with a hint of amusement and surprise. I afford him a small, knowing smile—a silent recognition of the nuances of the human heart, even in the heart of a battle-hardened soldier like Rex.

Jealousy, that green specter, often finds footing in the camaraderie of those who live on the edge of a lightsaber. It is both a testament to the profound bonds we've formed and a reminder that we are, despite everything, only sentient beings, subject to the whims of our emotions.

Yet, as warriors of the Republic, forged in the fires of shared strife, there's an unspoken commitment to rise above such primal instincts. Even as it touches Rex, it's a fleeting shadow, one I know he'll master with the grace and resolve that has become his trademark.

In the silence of the medbay, filled with the quiet hum of machines and the whispers of convalescents, I turn back to Anakin, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze, a silent pledge that acknowledges our complex connection—a connection that extends beyond the battlefield, binding all of us, in all our imperfect humanity, together.