Fandom: Star Wars
Prompt: swficchallenge's #2010-16: Intoxicated. (Originally posted here.) I'm also applying it to my coming-along-nicely fanfic50 challenge, for #46 - Care.
Word Count: 876
Summary: Anakin has a night to himself, however will he spend it?
Author's Notes: If the title makes you think of the Lady Antebellum song, you might be on to something! If you like this fic, you might also like Gizzi1213's 'Him' and Wyncatastrophe's 'Not Him', two sequels this story inspired! (And I feel like Amazon with those recommendations)
It had seemed like a good idea at the time. The day’s work was done, and his Master had given him permission to go out (though Obi-Wan couldn't resist reminding him of tomorrow’s 0600 wake-up time). Anakin was eighteen now, and that meant he could get into those seedy clubs on the lower levels without being on official Jedi business (or using a Jedi mind trick -- not that he would do such a thing, of course). And this night, he would not be a Jedi. There'd be no hallowed Jedi decorum to uphold while he was dressed in commoners’ clothes. He’d be free. Free to drink as much and act as brazenly as he pleased, just one more young male body in the throng of gleeful, sweaty abandon that pulsed to a raunchy beat.
For a while, it was fun. His funds were limited, but it didn't take much to get a good buzz going. He traded smiles with a pretty brunette and they hit the dance floor together. Her body curled against his in perfect rhythm with his movements, her eyes danced with fire. He didn't ask her name, for tonight it would surely be "Padmé." The more he drank, the more true it became. She was quite different from the Padmé he remembered... and the one on the HoloNet (whose images he sought frequently to fuel his memory)... she bore a much closer resemblance to the one in his fantasies.
They didn't dance exclusively with each other, but Anakin made sure to find her in the crowd each time they got separated by more than a few bodies. He couldn't remember ever having so much fun in his life! When she took breaks, he followed suit -- and of course when she smiled at him so dazzlingly, he had to pay for her drinks. He took a sip of hers... not bad. It tasted like iced tzai with a little kick. He switched to those himself. In retrospect, he probably should have stuck with the bright blue stuff he started with. Or maybe he just shouldn't have had more than one.
Back on the dance floor, the room started spinning. The flashing lights were dizzying and the music was loud, too loud, his head was starting to ache... Padmé's body melded with his and then somehow they were kissing... was it the room or his head that was spinning? Maybe both!
His insides churned. It took him a moment to realize that was not a good thing. He pulled away just in time to turn his head and vomit -- mostly on the floor, though not without catching the shin of the Rodian dancing next to him. Said Rodian was none too pleased with Anakin's offering and promptly threw a punch at the dizzy young Jedi. Anakin was too disoriented to evade it, and then too concerned with losing Padmé in the melee to retaliate. She spun away from him and he lunged after her. Padmé...
He found her at the bar with some strange guy... and a deathstick in her hand. What? Padmé didn't do drugs... now her smile was sneering, her eyes glazed over with contempt. Her new friend hurled insults at Anakin and she laughed scornfully. Such a cruel sound... he couldn't match the girl to any of his three Padmés now. He'd lost her.
Anakin felt wretched. The lights he'd found exciting at first now took on a garish hue, every beat of the music assaulted his very brain matter... and the smell of defeat nauseated him more than the puke on his shoes. He had to get out of there.
The bartender wouldn't give him his credit chip back. Would he have to Jedi mindtrick the fool after all? But the Force felt so very out of reach at the moment. The bartender's words finally sank through the fog in his head: his chip was rejecting for payment because he'd spent too much. How did that happen? He'd only had a couple drinks...
So here he was, slumped over the bar because he couldn't sit up straight without falling over, reviewing the night's happenings with the melodramatic eye of the inebriated, his perfect euphoric world transformed so quickly by some strange magic into a wasteland of despair. Had there ever been a more pathetic creature than himself at this moment? What should he do now? Even if he somehow managed to run out on the bartender, how would he get home with no credits? Oh, why had he come here alone tonight anyway! He was going to have to comm someone.
The thought wasn't entirely unpleasant. He hadn't seen a familiar face all night, and now... yes, now he suddenly longed to with such vehemence it surprised him. He yearned for someone who knew him, who knew that he was more than this drunken disheveled bantha fodder he'd so unceremoniously become. Who should he turn to?
Two men came to mind. Both would be disappointed in him. One might not even come to him. But they both loved him... at least, they had before tonight... and he needed them...
Anakin sighed. Decision made. He fumbled with his commlink and waited to hear a groggy voice acknowledge his transmission.
Author's Post Script: The sequels are only POSSIBLE endings to this story. I maintain that we don't know who Anakin called :P