Work Text:
You hold your datapad in a vice grip, your hands struggling not to tremble through the panic attack
Breathe
Breathe
In through the nasal passages,
Out through the mouth.
You did your best not to bother medbay with every little thing, but after you started recognizing individual droids you figured it was a moot point. After all, you were reminded every visit that the Order required its officers in tip top shape at all times, and you were a bridge lieutenant, not easily replaced at the drop of a hat. Most organic beings saw all droids as the same, cold, unemotional, calculating, but you knew better. Even artificial intelligence could be engaged in conversation, and it calmed you to quip with the metallic beings. Humans were so much more… complicated.
Most commanding officers would be concerned with the frequency of the visits you made, but through the years they had come to recognize the pattern as normal. You did your work, you spent free time others normally spent with other crew in the medbay, or with various droids you came across daily. As long as you kept to yourself and avoided the direct attention of others you could be left alone.
Did you want to be alone? You weren’t quite sure. At first it was a defense mechanism, a way to shield your peculiar behavior from the scrutiny of your peers. Now? You supposed it was a habit. Perhaps you should try to make friends with other organic beings, as had been suggested to you many a time by various irritated droids, but how did one go about such a daunting task?
You made your way to the medbay, as per usual when you didn’t know what to do with yourself.
The IT-S00.2 model you had taken to bothering lately was nowhere to be seen, just your luck. You sighed, making your way through the corridors, going over your mental checklist as your heels clicked against the floor. You were caught up on your paperwork for the next standard month it seemed, your personal quarters were tidy, your uniforms clean.
You hated rest periods, always dragging on when you knew you’d be better off popping a stim pack and returning to your shift. Even your bunk was lonely, without a roommate like most other officers of your status. In the past this had been something you relished, but now… What would it be like to share quarters? Your room was at the very end of the wing, tucked into the bulkheads almost, a bit cramped, but the viewport more than made up for it. Lately you had taken to staring out at the stars for hours, logging movements and observations in an audiofile as they came to you, with drawings on flimsi to accompany.
You fiddled with small objects constantly, turning bits and pieces over and over, some smooth now from the wearing of the pads of your fingers. You scooped them into your drawer and shut it wordlessly. Your throat was taut, eyes wavering and staring out at nothing
Alone
You were alone, trapped in your head
Disintegrating, your body weightless and detached, you flopped down onto the perpetually uncomfortable bunk
Why am I still here?