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gabriel4sam · 3 years

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Not love at first sight (But love at the sixty-third life defying idiocy), a CodyWan story

Written for @swbigbang, with the help of @kitcatkim in the role of the patient beta and @outernorth for artist (art just there)

Because all the other members of their small outpost were not in shape (read, hungover), Cody and Obi-Wan go on a small, simple, totally not possibilities of explosions supply run.

Cody comes back with a headache the size of Coruscant, a new hate of insectoids life. And a brand new significant other, in the shape of his exasperating General

It’s not a hangover, it’s a hecatomb. Whatever Boil had put in his new still was a terrible, terrible idea. The entire Separatist Council could do pointes in tutus on the flight deck and the vode would neither see it, nor care about it.

Cody and Obi-Wan were the only ones not drinking the day before, them and the communication officers on duty. The communication officers because they were working, and Cody and Obi-Wan, well, because they like the occasion for the men to feel free, and they can’t with their superior officers in their company.

That doesn’t mean the men are supposed to feel free enough to incapacitate the whole bunch of idiots they are apparently in charge off.

“Latrine duties, the first time we do planet fall. The whole of them.” Cody grumbles, assessing the damage with a cold, clinical eye.

“How does that even work? Does every man have latrine duties for his own latrines? Do you make them install as many latrines as they are? ” Obi-Wan remarks. He’s the usual calm and composed Jedi Master Cody knows on the outside, but the Commander is pretty sure he’s laughing on the inside. Cody had met Quinlan Vos, ok? And he poured enough hard liquor in the man to obtain confidences. Confidences which horrified him, Obi-Wan had even less survival instincts than Cody thought, but confidences he can’t un-hear. He will know forever!

Or at least, he will know until a luckier droid kills him. Cody is not an optimist about clones living long, happy, fulfilling lives. He has eyes after all and a functioning brain.

Cody glares at Obi-Wan, just in case. He has learnt, in the two years since he took his position with his General, that Jedi react pretty well to glaring. Not that it stops them from doing stupid stuff, but at least, they feel guilty about it.

If they like the glaring party only. Commander Ponds had a lot of things to narrate about Mace Windu and the horrible, horrible conglomerate mogul.

Obi-Wan takes his most innocent air, something Cody stopped believing two days in their acquaintance, when his newly minted General had destroyed a whole block of warehouses on an unnamed moon and made a grown Hutt call for its parent. It had been a bad month for Obi-Wan. No need to judge. When innocents are in danger, the cost of the repairs is less a problem and more a number for the politicians to handle. And yes, Obi-Wan knows the money used could certainly be used in other useful ways, but no amount of credits could ever buy a life, in the eyes of a Jedi. But that day, when Cody, after a few, very stressful hours of radio-silence, had finally gotten back his General, slightly charred, the hostages, hungry and thirsty and exhausted but all of them in one piece, and a terrified Hutt, in the middle of a devastated battleground, he had understood better the warning of Alpha-17. There, Cody had sworn in petto to never underestimate his Jedi, despite the irreproachable manners, the swishing hair and the smile of a holo-star.

Together, they take the time to check every soldier, to make sure nobody was busy drowning in their own fluid because they were too hangover/still drunk, to roll over. Everybody is alive, and the communication officers are getting ready to do a double shift, and ready to nib their vode about it later.

“It’s a good thing we’re on down time,” Obi-Wan remarks, “I must confess, despite the talents of your brothers, I’m not quite sure we could withstand an attack from Grievous and his various cronies right now.”

“We would get our asses handed to us, you mean.”

“Exactly.”

Obi-Wan cautiously touches one of the abandoned drink containers, with more care than he gives to explosives.

“What did he put in this thing?” he asks, fascinated.

“You’re not testing it!” Cody immediately retorts, because he knows his Jedi, “not in the name of science, curiosity or whatever.”

Obi-Wan touches the container a second time.

Cody could swear the thing moves in return, like it wants to be pet. Obi-Wan hums, his face interested and he leans a little more in the direction of the container. If the thing starts growing whatever strange means of locomotion is on its mind, Cody is using his blaster, no matter the General’s opinion. That’s how bad holo-dramas start, with an unknown thing unleashed on an unsuspecting ship/outpost/space station. He refuses to star in one of those plot-lacking dramas his brother Wolffe pretends he doesn’t love.

The thing doesn’t move anymore and Obi-Wan loses interest and goes back to helping troopers into their quarters and their bunks.

Cody helps, but that doesn’t mean he’s not plotting terrible retributions. He knows the last few weeks have been pretty hard, the hardest in a long time, that’s one of the reasons Obi-Wan and himself made themselves scarce last night.

Now, they have a week just waiting for the Negotiator to come pick them up. One week for the men to rest and to heal and perhaps to train lightly…but that’s no reason for the sort of screw-up Cody is seeing right now. Boil and his still should be transferred from the 501th and put into whatever part of the army that handles studies about biological warfare. Biological warfare that the Republic officially doesn’t indulge in, studying it only as a way to protect its worlds against it. But Cody isn’t convinced. He has a lot of questions he will never ask about parts of the army which are not led by Jedi, and that the Jedi are trying, with no success, to have access too. Obi-Wan has promoted him so much that the Commander now has access to documents he’s pretty sure nobody thought a clone ever would. He’s staying silent for now. If the Jedi need help with that, if they fail, the vode will try, but Cody is keeping this ammunition in reserve. He can only fire it once, because when natural-borns who aren’t Jedi realize exactly how much power Obi-Wan and the Jedi council has given him and some of the other commanders, they will try to strip them of it, he just knows it.

At the end, everybody is moaning in their bunks, or manning communication, and Cody and Obi-Wan raid the nice rations, the ones with the green seals, no less food of unkown origins than the rest of it, but certainly the tastiest. They sit down at the entry of the outpost, sharing a canteen of water between them. They don’t talk, most of the time they don’t need to.

Cody isn’t really hungry but it’s easier to trick Obi-Wan into eating something when those who surround him do too. The warmth of the sun, the sounds of nature, the nice, and so rare, oh so rare, knowledge that they have a little free time instead of having to run to put out another fire. All of this is making Obi-Wan soften, like a carving of stone suddenly becoming pliable.

“Commander?” Cody’s holocom disturbs them, and Cody startles, suddenly realizing he was lost in the light playing into the copper of Obi-Wan’s hair.

“It’s nothing, really nothing probably,” the shiny in charge of this particular console explains to them, “ one of the new models of probes should have been back twenty minutes ago. I tried to raise it per the procedure, but it isn’t answering.”

“We’re supposed to be alone on this world,” Obi-Wan remarks, a line forming between his brows.

“They are still working the kicks out of this model,” the shiny admits, “that’s why we used them specifically on this planet where they are in no danger. We’re supposed to go back with all of them, for study, to hammer out the last problems.”

The line between the General’s brows is growing deeper.

“I will make a report to the Council about the danger it could pose to you, to send any vode on the field with materials not totally ready, and the Jedi Order will issue a formal protest.” His shoulders are tense. No matter the number of tries, the Jedi are blocked at every corner in the Senate in their efforts to better the life of the clones, even in the small things and it’s a terrible possibility that this time will be the same.

“You know what? We should go check ourselves,” Cody decides, because he wants to erase that line, that tension. “Since Boil poisoned the men, we could do it. A little trek in fresh air before breathing the recycled air in the Negotiator again.”

“Oh Cody, I can do it myself,” Obi-Wan offers immediately, “you don’t have a lot of free time-“

“Funny, I would have sworn you didn’t know the concept…”

“I am perfectly capable of knowing when my body needs down time.”

“That’s not what Master Erin said.”

And that’s how they leave the base.

It’s almost noon, birds or other small things Cody can’t honestly identify are chirping, the air is crisp and fresh, and the sky is only slightly purple, with no risk of rain. No matter how many worlds he sees, Cody is still out of countenance on worlds where the combination of gases in the atmospheres and stars emitting other waves than the Kamino sun combine to give entire landscapes strange colours. Most of the time, he’s wearing his helmet which filters the strangeness of it, and it’s only at the end of the battle, when he takes it off, that he realizes everything is weirdly green-tainted.

Also, he’s pretty sure Arc Trooper Fives was lying when he told him once he visited a world on a body guarding mission with his own Jedi were everything was glittering. He’s not putting any money on it, because Skywalker and his men were guarding the Naboo Senator. From what Cody observes, when Naboo people enter the scene, glitter just happens. He also thinks Fives is much better being Rex’s problem than his own.

Most of their supplies have already been packed for retrieval, so Cody and Obi-Wan only took one hover bike out, and for now Obi-Wan is piloting, Cody behind, and the Commander is beginning to think he made a tactical error. The plastoid of his armour is supposed to stop him from feeling Obi-Wan’s warmth, but Cody could swear he can still feel it. For all that the Jedi can seem aloof and strange, nothing makes him remember his General is flesh and blood than encircling a linen-warped waist with his arms.

The world passes around them, the colours of the trees, the playful course of the clouds in the sky, the peaceful scenery of a wild world, with its inherent qualities and defaults. Cody likes those worlds better, untouched by sentient life. Growing up in the sterility of Kamino, there is something intoxicating in nature running its course, forests giving way to meadows, biotopes decided by climates and geology, and not by a careful hand arranging them for the maximal profits in their exploitation.

Cody understands about the need for fresh territory, with the growth of population, but certainly, certainly the most carefully hidden part of him insists quite vehemently, there must be another solution than the desolation of grey and pollution that is Coruscant. Something else than seeing the poorest people of the Republic living in deplorable conditions, never seeing the fresh green of a new leaf, as the richest ones can sample the delights of nature in carefully constructed reserves?

More and more, Cody is curious about the Agricorps, and their works to restore degraded biotopes, but he had the vague impression, when he asked questions about it to his General, that it’s a difficult subject for him.

Probably, Obi-Wan wanted to go into the Agricorps and they didn’t want him to, for whatever reasons. Cody thinks it’s more glorious to restore nature and to help feed a community than to go to war, like Obi-Wan is doing right now, or to negotiate treaties, which he vaguely thinks is Obi-Wan’s job in time of peace.

Cody’s thoughts drift gently as the journey continues, going from nature’s beauty to the exact shade of Obi-Wan’s hair when he has been under a natural sun for more than a few hours. The way the copper of it becomes richer and richer…. After a little less than two hours, they switch pilots, and Cody does his best to keep his thoughts on track. It would be stupid to crash just because he’s distracted by a flight of birds taking off with the noise of the bikes, no matter how graceful they are. He concentrates on piloting, and not on the presence of Obi-Wan behind him, his arms around Cody, and not in the colours of the forest around them, and the bucolic impression of their little expedition.

The last known position of their wayward probe put it next to a small lake, four hours away on hover bike, at the base of the mountainous regions. If this part of the world was in winter season, the most logical reason for their missing probe would be a mudslide. Cody told in his reports time and time again that the probes should fly higher, that the field itself is much less friendlier than believed in the labs, but apparently nobody listens to him.

It’s the end of spring on this part of the planet, the probe was probably eaten by a giant fish, or something equally undignified.

They unseat on a single beach, the last known location. No more probe there than dignity and decency in the Senate. Nothing. No blackened hull of the thing if it had exploded under mysterious circumstances, best known as shoddy work in the conception. Not even a trace they could track back.

Cody turns on himself, surveying the landscape. Vegetation, mountains, peaceful lapping of water on the beach, more mountains with their snowy capes, a lot of weird looking trees. For a vacation, it would be peaceful. For missing military equipment, it’s sadly lacking.

“By incredible luck, you wouldn’t sense our missing flying friend in the Force?” Cody asks, because that would simplify things. That would simplify things, so of course the answer is no. As Obi-Wan struggles with putting together the scanner, Cody gathers pieces of driftwood, intending to start a fire. If they have to circle on foot, on uneven ground, to find the probes, nothing says they can’t do it after another meal next to a warm fire. In the harsh reality of war, Cody has learnt to wisely enjoy the few moments of peace, and he would very much like to teach that skill to his General. Obi-Wan is supposed to have decades of experience in him, but apparently he’s not aware that every sentient has their limits.

Cody is less than twenty meters from the Jedi and the hoverbike, facing Obi-Wan, his arms already full of a nice load when he sees Obi-Wan let go of the scanner, which tumbles on the stones, and turns to him, a hand already at his waist, reaching for his lightsaber.

“Cod-“ Obi-Wan yells, but the sound doesn’t reach Cody, as the stones give way under him, shifting in a dip of grey sand and Cody is gulped down like Master Yoda gobbles a small fish.

For a second, he can’t breathe, there is sand everywhere around him, on his skin, in his mouth, infiltrating his armour by the neck, and the wood in his arms squeeze against his ribs. He feels he’s gonna get crushed alive and he struggles with all his strength. Death has always been the end but he wanted to leave in combat. He can feel unconsciousness threatening and just before it would take him, he’s spit up violently and he rolls over with the momentum, the driftwood, the sand, and a few bits of the armour which didn’t survive the experience.

He can see someone lean over him, no more than a silhouette, because it’s so dark, he can feel the sand under his head, and also the head wound and the blood seeping out of it, and he takes a long breath, and it burns, all the way to his lungs, and then he knows no more.

For a long time, Cody floats. He dreams. Or he hallucinates.

He’s on Kamino again and he learns the world is without mercy for him and his brothers.

He’s training and he can feel Alpha-17’s eyes on him, pensive.

He’s very young and he doesn’t understand where the last of his batche went.

He’s older and he’s meeting his first Jedi, General Tii, and she always has a nice word for every clone, but her eyes are terribly sad every step she takes on Kamino.

He’s meeting Rex and their friendship soars instantly.

He’s seeing brothers dying and he’s seeing rescues and the world is a never ending war, but Cody refuses to let that be the only thing his brothers will know. He watches and he checks and he learns and he places his brothers the best he can, and he’s evaluating Jedi and people, and planets and his mind never stops.

Cody wakes up. General Plo Koon is leaning over him and Cody lets relief seize him, until he realizes something is wrong. No eye covers, no breathing masks, and as much as Cody can see in the very low light, the thick leathery hide acting as skin is much lighter than Plo Koon’s. A Kel Dor, but not the Jedi Master that the Wolffe’s pack would follow to the end of the galaxy and beyond.

After a few seconds of his brain going round in circles, it finally stops at a very important point: Kel Dor and humans don’t breathe the same atmosphere, and this Kel Dor is without breathing apparels. Cody goes to put a hand on his mouth in instinctual movement, like he could stop himself from suffocating, but the other lays a hand on Cody’s forearm, his entire body language non-threatening, and says something he can’t understand. That’s when Cody realizes something translucent is surrounding his head, like a bubble inflating and deflating with every breath he takes. He pokes it, very carefully. It’s flexible, slightly sticky and it smells earthy, a little like those mushrooms his General insisted he try once, when he took him to his friend Dex dinner.

Cody takes a careful breath. He doesn’t die in terrible suffering, so he takes another one. The air entering his lungs still seems appropriate for his species. He tries to sit up, moving very slowly to make the stranger understand he’s not attacking, and the Kel Dor helps him.

Seated, he can better observe the place around him. He has been placed on a pallet of light fur, in some sort of carved place, the walls decorated, not in paint, but in carving, and his armour is against one of the walls, carefully stacked. Cody wants to touch his head, where he was hurt, but once again the Kel Dor stops him before he touches the bubble. The only light comes from a small clay bowl full of sizzling oil, where a wick has been adapted. It doesn’t give enough light to help Cody see more than the small room and a crude overture in the stone, leading to more darkness. He can’t even study perfectly the features of the Kel Dor, more than to be sure it’s definitely not Master Koon.

The Kel Dor says something again and Cody makes a frustrated noise.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak your language.” The other doesn’t seem to understand that, so Cody tries Mando’a, with the same result.

He tries the Galactic Sign Language, no results.

He knows a few signs of the Alderaan Sign Language, the one from their Southern Hemisphere. Queen Organa taught him a few lessons once during a lockdown in the Royal Palace when he was guarding her, between grumbling about clones’s rights and what her husband better do about it in the Senate, and Cody learns fast. The Kel Dor still doesn’t react in any useful way.

“A common language would be pretty useful to know if I’m your guest or your prisoner,” Cody jokes. Sarcasm now. He’s spending too much time with his General.

He shifts, trying to see if he will be stopped from standing, but the other only helps him, carefully arranging on Cody’s torso the ending of the bubble. Now that Cody studies it more attentively, he’s sure the stuff is organic. It’s like they forced his head and the superior part of his torso into some sort of ring of weird looking mushrooms, the mycelium of one of them extended around his head. If this is producing oxygen for him, he really doesn’t want to disturb it.

The world tilts when he stands up but the Kel Dor pushes a shoulder under Cody’s arm and they go out. When Cody passes his armour, he fetches his blaster, and the other doesn’t stop him. Either he doesn’t understand it’s a weapon, or he doesn’t think Cody will attack him. Her? Them? Are Kel Dol gendered beings?

Exiting the small room, Cody can’t see. Everything is dark around them. He can hear movements and the air around him has the quality of an enormous space. A cave, he would think, but the little lamp his new friend has in his claws is not enough.

“Of course,” Cody remarks, “your eyes are much much better. You don’t need a bank of lamps.” He almost jumps when someone joins them and if his head wasn’t still ringing, he probably would have attacked, but it’s only another Kel Dor, smaller, with a skin more brown. They ask something to the first one, but again, there is no sense for Cody.

He’s guided to a stone bench and the little lamp is pushed into his hands. Kel Dor are going in and out of the little circle and Cody tries to evaluate how many of them there are, but he’s, to his great shame, not good enough to distinguish between the Kel Dor easily. He can isolate one or two who have more evident features for a human, like one missing an arm, but the rest of them, all dressed in a very similar way with some furs identical to those Cody woke up on, and the alien features. Cody feels anger against himself. He judges natural borns for not making an effort to distinguish between the vode, despite their efforts to gain their own identity by tattoos or dyes, and he shouldn’t be victim of the same bias.

Finally, someone sits next to him. Cody studies their face, trying to commit them to memory.

People don’t seem unfriendly. He’s pretty sure the one he woke up with is some sort of local healer, and that it is this one who came back to him several times. Children even come to him, chattering in their language in a way which makes him think of the younger ones on Kamino, before some of their batches started to disappear and they started to understand what their fate in the world would be. A particularly daring little one climbs onto his lap and Cody looks around, ready to see the parent arrive and take its offspring from the strange being. But this community seems so peaceful nobody sees a problem with the child on the stranger's lap.

The little one shows him his treasure, a cube deeply carved with symbols Cody can’t decipher. Of course. In a world without sun, carving must be a medium and painting, or writing, must be inexistent.

“It’s a very nice cube,” he says to the little one, whose gender he can’t decipher. If Kel Dor have gender. He’s pretty sure he heard once that the biggest number of genders registered for a sentient species was eight, and the smaller zero, but he has no idea for this species.

The child seems pretty happy with the answer, even if they can’t understand it any more than Cody can understand their own opinion, expressed in an uninterrupted flow.

Around him, he can vaguely perceive people going about their day. How calm. How reposing. Nevertheless, peaceful or not, Cody can’t breathe the same atmosphere as them, and the strange organic concoction they put on his head to help will soon find its limits. He’s getting thirsty, for once, and he can’t drink without taking the thing off, which he can't. And that’s not even thinking about his General, who must be trying to reach him by any means the Force gives him.

If he knows Cody is alive.

No, no, he must know.

And even if the Force, whose exact limitations Cody is quite unsure of, even if the Force can’t tell Obi-Wan Cody is alive, Obi-Wan is not exactly a man to just go back to the outpost and declare him dead. He will search and search and search, and bring Cody back alive to his vode, or his body for his brothers to honour.

Cody knows: it had been a terrible row between the Jedi on one part and the Kaminoan and the Senate on another, this refusal to abandon dead clones bodies to the elements.

And, to the surprise of the Senate who was in the habits to bully the Jedi for centuries, the Jedi hadn’t budged. But Cody had seen what it had cost them: the Senate had made them pay, in late important reports who the Jedi needed for the war efforts, on refusal of important supplies, suddenly labelled unessential…

So, Obi-Wan is searching for him at the moment, and Cody needs to go to him. The ringing in his head, present since he woke up, has slightly diminished, and he has walked with more grievous wounds.

The question is now: how to mime exit to the Kel Dor, how to ask for a guide? Because if he has to feel around the cave until he finds an exit, he will, but that would be so much easier.

“Hoping there is an exit into your cave, little one,” he says to the child, who is falling asleep on his lap, “because if I have to drill through the roof to the exterior of the planet, it’s gonna cause breathing problems for your city.”

An adult approaches them, a long plaid in their hands, and they mime Cody putting it around his shoulders. Instead, Cody wraps the little one in it and puts the resulting bundle into the adult’s arms.

“I don’t suppose you could send me to the nearest exit?” He asks, and of course, the Kel Dor doesn’t have an answer.

He takes the little lamp and leaves to explore. He can’t see well more than two meters from the circle of light, and even with it, his eyes are struggling.

Soon, he’s stopped by a wall, which he follows until he finds a low door, with only a curtain. He risks an eye, feeling quite voyeuristic, but he only sees something resembling a storage space, big amphoras against a wall.

He continues to follow the wall, finds another one, loses himself in what is a succession of low houses. Above him, the roof of the cavern is still invisible and he can’t see the walls. He finds another little place with stone benches.

Or is it the same?

No, even underground, Cody is sure of his sense of direction. It’s another one place, and the city is bigger than he thought possible. He’s also walking way too slowly, because of the problem of light and his still ringing head.

“Kriff,” he whispers, sitting down on one of the benches.

“Obi-Wan, please find me,” he whispers before scolding himself. He’s no melodrama maiden, he is perfectly capable of finding the surface again by himself.

A burly Kel Dor approaches him, mushrooms in his claws and says something.

“I’m sorry, I can’t understand what you’re saying,” Cody tries to explain. The other sits next to him and gesticulates to the mushrooms helping, he thinks, him to breath, and when Cody doesn’t do anything, he starts placing the ones he brought against the first ones. They seem to merge in a frankly disgusting scene which is probably mushrooms porn.

“Does that mean you need to change them regularly for me to breathe?” Cody asks, despite knowing he won’t receive an answer he can understand.

To add another problem to the long list Cody is already shouldering on, the cave floor starts to tremble and people start yelling.

People are yelling, and despite the language barrier, Cody can understand the panic with no problems.

The soil beneath his feet grumbles again. There is a sound like a rockslide, and more yells, and terror is the taste at the back of Cody’s throat, because he still can’t kriffin see.

Finally, the trembling is so terrible he’s thrown on his knees and the sound reaches a crescendo as a great light emerges from the rock soil, three hundred meters from where Cody is kneeling. It’s some sort of giant worm, with a maw higher than Cody. It roars and glows even brighter, the bioluminescence of its chitin almost dazzling for Cody himself.

All around Cody, Kel Dor are yelling and struggling on their feet with great difficulties, as the rock soil is still trembling. The beast roars again and it sounds like a thousand ships taking off at the same time in the confined environment. As Cody is helping a Kel Dor to their feet, the pandemonium reaches an even higher spike as another worm emerges, further than the first, and the quake of the rock sends them flat on their bellies.

Cody really regrets letting Boil distribute his production yesterday, what he wouldn’t give for ten men and a rotary canon right now! Even for Hardcase, who he’s really happy is most of the time Rex’s problem, and his tastes for explosives.

He hoists himself more or less vertical, swearing all he can at the same time. He helps the Kel Dor to their feet again and then assesses the situation.

The lights of the worms let him have a good gaze for the first time at the enormous cavern they are in and the low buildings in it. Behind them he can even see big overtures, probably an entire network of caverns. An entire city in the dark, deep in the soil, protected from the outside world and its atmosphere which the Kel Dor can’t breathe, and from the Republic scanners which never knew they were there.

Protected from the sun, too.

And now that the light has come to them in the form of predators, they are defenceless. Cody can see people trying to flee, with a hand on their eyes, and with no success. By the time Cody has succeeded in approaching the scene of the disaster, at least three Kel Dor have been swallowed.

One of the worms, the closest, roars again and Cody doesn’t lose time: the maw, unprotected by the chitin covering the body, seems like a perfect target.

He raises his blaster and fires.

Another roar, even more deafening, as blood splatters all around in a gorish scene. A good part of the mandible has exploded, but the beast isn’t dead. It strikes, trying to gobble Cody like it did the poor Kel Dor. The difference is that the Commander can see in the light, on the contrary of the first victims. He evades just in time to escape certain death.

He rolls over and raises his blaster a second time, but the angle is worse than the first time, and the shot dampens itself on the chitin with no more effect than darkening it, and enraging the worm even more.

Again, it tries to kill Cody and the man dances out of range, blessing the hours of training the Jedi gave all of them. It had been the first thing the Jedi had done, because they thought the training the vode had received on Kamino didn’t focus enough on the art of dodging.

Cody never told them it was because the trainers and the Kaminoans thought the vode easily expandable and more useful for a suicide strike. He suspects the Jedi knew, if the way they act around the Kaminoans is proof.

Dodging, advancing, retreating, taking a shot every time he sees an overture, Cody fights, more a reflex than anything, to protect the Kel Dor. He wouldn’t refuse a little help; with spears even if they don’t have other weapons, but the cavern inhabitants are useless. They are not even running away from the worms, full of the terror of death, and the light, which have come in their city.

Nevertheless, the issue of the fight was never a real question. Even hurt and far away from his usual fighting grounds, Cody was bred a warrior and he had honed the skills given to him by his genetic donor all his life. The worm, a female, is in the habit of only fighting other female worms during the mating season for access to the best breeding ponds and to gobble Kel Dor and every animal it could. It never had to fight a sentient being, especially one with a blaster.

The blaster’ shots finally damage the roof of its mouth enough and one of them burns its path to the brain. The beast dies immediately, but the nervous system needs time to receive that message. For a moment, Cody fears the convulsions of the enormous body will cause the entire caves system to collapse on their heads.

When the movements finally stop, he vaults himself over a rock slide, caused by the events, and approaches carefully. The worm is still partially obscured by the rock he emerges from, but Cody can see a good twenty meters of it. He’s bringing back a chitin part to the GAR, because he wants ships protected like that!

A sudden movement to his left makes him turn, but too late. His zoological fascination has caused Cody to make a horrible, rookie mistake, the sort of mistake which makes a rookie never have an occasion to become something other than a rookie.

For a moment, he had forgotten there was a second worm.

He brandishes his weapon, but it’s too late. Only his reflexes save him from being cut in two, but a razor sharp incisor scraps against his armour, parting it like butter and only missing the skin by half a centimetre. The worm has no interest in the Kel Dor, no matter how easy prey they are. It just wants to kill the stubborn little creature who just killed its mother. His blaster clatters on the rock, too kriffin far away. Cody rolls on himself, tries for it, but he already knows it’s too late, when the sound of a lightsaber being ignited announces the arrival of the cavalry, just in time.

Obi-Wan Kenobi arrives on the scene like an armed deux ex machina. He’s wearing Cody’s helmet in order to breath in the cavern and death is burning light-blue in his hand. Rare are the materials which can resist the power of a lightsaber, and Obi-Wan doesn’t take chances with Cody’s life, no matter how he is repelled by the taking of a life, even an animal one. The head of the worm falls on the other side of the body as Obi-Wan is still airborne from one of those improbable jumps Force Sensitive do. The second his feet touch the rock; he’s rushing to Cody, trying to assess his health.

Across the galaxy, Anakin suddenly sits down in the marital bed, sending Padmé, who was asleep across his torso, tumbling into the sheets by the violence of his movements. The vision of a chitinous torso opening, full of meaty juice, dances before his eyes.

“Ani?” The young Senator asks, once he has succeeded in making her put down the blaster she retrieved from even the Force doesn’t know where. Padmé doesn’t do peaceful when she’s woken up abruptly, something he learned quickly in their marriage. Convincing the handmaiden that every noise inside their bedroom wasn’t a murder attempt and that they shouldn’t rush in, weapons drawn, was another interesting adjustment to the married life.

“I just.….I’m not sure…” He tries to grip what woke him up, but it already has disappeared. “I think I’m hungry,” he admits, “sorry to have interrupted your sleep.”

“The droids can make you something,” she suggests, burrowing into the nest of pillows, less prone to sudden shifting.

“Do you think we have insects?” He asks.

****************************

“Cody! Cody, are you alright?”

“Obi-Wan, General, are you hurt?” Cody and Obi-Wan ask at the same time, hands searching, patting the other bodies in gestures less destined to triage of wounds and more to the simple animal need for contact.

“The air of the cavern isn’t breathable for us,” Obi-Wan says, after a few seconds and Cody nods: “I deduced that, but the thing on my head….it’s helping.”

“How did you deduce such a- Oh, um, hello.”

Around them, the Kel Dor have begun to assemble, all of them an arm on their face, trying to protect their eyes.

“Your lightsaber, turn it off,” Cody says and, making something purr in the Commander’s chest, Obi-Wan immediately obeys, no question, no hesitation.

The Kel Dors guide them away from the scene of the carnage. Cody sees a few of them with stone machetes and axes, already working on taking apart the pale flesh of the worms, working from the wounds Cody and Obi-Wan made, as the chitin is too hard on other places of the big bodies.

Cody watches for a few seconds. One of a Kel Dor yanks open the cranial cavity. Cody turns to the other side very quickly, because butchering enormous worms is apparently more than his battle-hardened stomach can take. Nothing should make the noise an axe makes against flesh.

Cody finds his little lamp again. It’s not even extinguished, the events haven’t probably lasted more than ten minutes. The universe is a hard place, thinks Cody, where he could get eaten by any abomination with too much teeth in less time than an oil lamp runs its course.

They sit next to each other on the closest bench and in the halo of the lamp, Cody inspects his General better. He’s covered in stone dust and whatever else disgusting stuff is on his tunic: he probably crawled his way there.

The adrenaline is still burning through Cody, and joy too, as he turns to his General. On the whole, he misses the days life was simpler on Kamino, with no worms for example, but on Kamino, he never heard the sound of a lightsaber and knew, with a certainty so burning it could have well resonated in the Force, that he was saved. There is comfort, in the hard world he’s living in, in the certainty that his General will tear apart entire solar systems to rescue any clones. That all Jedi would. For a clone, raised to be interchangeable, this strong-willed refusal to leave even one of them behind is a balm to the soul.

“You found me,” he says, and he tries to infuse that with professionalism, and fails miserably.

“I will always find you,” Obi-Wan promises. It’s strange to talk to him like that, with Cody’s helmet on his head. Cody hadn’t realized he relied so much on the Jedi’s face to understand him.

“Yes, sir, but for a moment, I confess I thought you would more, avenge me or something.”

Obi-Wan touches his shoulder.

“I’m sorry to have been so long,” he says, “the system of caves proved itself tricky, and the Force insisted I couldn’t just blow up my way inside.”

“That would let the atmosphere on the outside enter,” Cody theorized, “and I think, our hosts….”

Like they have been summoned, two Kel Dor approach them. They are dressed as simply as all the others Cody has seen, but on the bust of the smaller one, there is some sort of ceremonial pectoral and it has a very big difference with everything Cody has seen since stepping into the cave. It’s in metal.

“Obi-Wan”, Cody whispers, “look at that.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t speak the language more than Cody. He can recognize it’s not the actual principal language of Kel Dor, which he has heard before, but no more than that. Nevertheless, it’s less a problem for a Jedi. He can feel in the Force other’s intentions, enough to understand easily that the people here don’t want to harm them, which Cody had deduced himself hours ago, and that they want to bring them to see something.

Cody is very happy to leave the dead bodies of the worms behind them.

And to General Skywalker eats insects! Bless the Force that Skywalker is Rex’s Jedi.

One cave. Another. Another one.

“How many are there? How big are these caves?'' Cody asks. He’s tired, hungry, thirsty, and more or less ready to go back to camp, thank you very much.

They find a ship, or more, the skeleton of a ship, in the last part of the caves system, the deepest one. It’s less a cave, and more the memory of a crash. The ship has been cannibalized, years after years, of everything useful, to the latest scrap of metal, except for the framework.

“It was probably made with a metal too dense for the meagre set of tools they have,” Obi-Wan theorizes.

“I can’t recognize the type of ship that is, the form itself is so strange,” Cody remarks, watching it with the eye of a man trained to recognize enemy and ally ships in a nano second in the middle of battle. Obi-Wan is touching the metal with his bare skin, with great reverence.

He always loved old things, his Jedi.

The happiest Cody had seen him was for a protection mission in a dusty archive, on a faraway world. General Skywalker was with them, and the young Ahsoka too, and the intel had been faulty. There had been no attack, Obi-Wan had had his Padawan and GrandPadawan close and safe, and spent his days making amorous noises at poetry treaties centuries old.

“It’s incredibly old. Probably before the foundation of the Republic."

"But that’s….that’s old as kriff."

"During the first time of space travel, ships weren’t as reliable. They probably are the descendants of a crew of explorers. After the crash, staying inside the caves was the only long-term possibility for them, if they hadn’t the means to produce enough respiratory apparatuses. It was the only way to survive for them. Nevertheless, it stopped anyone from finding them. And little by little, they regressed technically and lost the way to contact the outside."

"Do you really think they would have travelled from their world without a way to breath on other planets?"

"Perhaps it was stocked in a part of the ship lost during the crash. Perhaps it was so long ago, it was long before the Kel Dor knew very few worlds have an atmosphere breathable for them…Every species has the tendency to think the world at large tailored for them.”

They don’t leave immediately. Obi-Wan is of the opinion that Cody is too tired to use the path he himself used to find him. And he’s probably right. Cody’s head is throbbing where he hurt it during his fall, but he doesn’t see how he could get better here, where he can’t eat or drink.

What follows is a game of mime between Obi-Wan and the Kel Dors which Cody won’t forget, ever, no matter how much Obi-Wan asks, and he regrets he doesn’t have a holocamera.

After a time, and an unforgettable time it was, Obi-Wan and he find themselves stashed in a little room, so low they can’t stand. It’s more a bed stuffed inside some sort of structure made in the same weird-looking, weird-smelling mushrooms. Cody takes off the bubble around his head and Obi-Wan takes off Cody’s helmet.

The red head has the worst case of helmet’s hair Cody has seen, ever and Cody can’t stop an unprofessional laugh around his first mouthful of fresh water.

“I don't Not a head made for helmets, do I?” the Jedi smiles, as he tore in two a strange looking loaf of bread.

They fall on the food, famished, and tease each other at the same time. There is water and what Cody thinks is some root vegetables, and flatbread, and some meat he isn’t touching with a ten foot pool, just in case it's giant worm.

“If you swear to wear armour instead of linen in battle, I swear to the Force I will never mock your hair,” Cody smiles in return, and Obi-Wan makes a face, like he did already wear good, solid protection instead of tunic and leggings and whatever he calls the multiple layers of his Jedi’s clothes.

“I thought….for a moment, I thought…” Obi-Wan stops. It’s rare to see him lost for words, he of the Silver tongue, the Negotiator.

“I’m not dead,” Cody reiterates, because there is no need to beat around the bush. Even risking their lives every day the Force makes, nobody likes the kick of adrenaline when one of your men is missing. It never becomes normal. It never should.

“And yet, for a second I thought you were. When I saw the earth opening under your feet and gobbling you. And when I arrived during your battle, the Force trumpeting in my heart about the mortal danger you were running to.”

“The Kel Dor were pretty useless against those things. Couldn’t let them get eaten like that. Not when they rescued me and helped me.”

“I know. I know. And I would have done exactly the same thing.”

Obi-Wan sits on the bed, less gracefully than he usually does. From where he’s leaning against the mushroom wall, Cody stares. He can see the lines around his mouth, and after his late-night conversation with Master Quinlan Vos, he knows they aren’t from laughing. He can see the lines at the edges of the eyes, discreet for now, a little more present every day. He can see the first traces of grey on the temples, simply a trace of silver in the red mane…. He’s, almost, sure there was no grey at the beginning of the war, he has seen the holos of Obi-Wan against Prime, against Jango, all those years ago, on Kamino.

Obi-Wan is burning too bright, burning himself.

And Obi-Wan isn’t the only one not getting younger. The accelerated aging isn’t exactly good for Cody’s health, starting with his knees.

One day, he won’t be quick enough for the next giant, bioluminescent man-gobbling worm. Or Obi-Wan will be too tired against Grievous. Since they met, an assignment Commander- General decided by Alpha-17 himself, their life has been full of Separatist assassins, murderous fauna, Sith assassins, murderous geology, Separatist assassins pretending to be Sith assassins, and Sith assassins pretending to be Separatists assassins, brain-washed murderous Senators, murderous flora, murderous black holes, and one time a murderous sentient ship.

The whole galaxy is conspiring to kill clones and Jedi, for what Cody can see.

If his math is right, he survived today the sixty-third attempt on his life from Fate since he left Kamino. Obi-Wan was there for most of them, and Cody was around for the latest attempts on Obi-Wan’s life.

And one day, it will stop.

Cody opens his mouth before he can talk himself out of it. Life is short and he’s a soldier slave, he doesn’t have the luxury to wait for another time.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” he says, and Obi-Wan looks like he has been whacked on the skull with a heavy object. It’s not exactly his best face, mouth round in surprise, and Cody only feels affection. Then Obi-Wan’s lips curve into a smile like a sun, blinding, warm, and the Jedi touches the side of Cody’s face.

The Jedi touches the side of Cody’s face.

He doesn’t speak. Not yet. His head against Cody, his breath sharing Cody’s own air, they close their eyes, and Cody experiences the strange idea that he’s detaching himself from his brothers.

For the first time, there is something in his hands, or well, in his heart, that he doesn’t want to share with Wolffe or Boil, or even Rex, who has become his closest brother.

He doesn’t want to hide Obi-Wan from them, but he wants….

He hasn’t the words. Not yet.

But, with Obi-Wan at his side, he hopes he will learn them.

And he hopes his brothers too can find something, or someone, so precious they need to share the joy of knowing it, but also to keep it to themselves, like he wants to keep to himself the smile of Obi-Wan when Cody tells “I love you”, or the small freckles at the side of his mouth, visible only so, so, so close.

The first “I love you” Cody hears from Obi-Wan is whispered against his lips.

The first kiss tastes of the bread offered by the Kel Dor, of the cave’s dust and it’s perfect.

They’re still in the same situation, two exhausted men, in a cave full of toxic gases, only protected from them by some unknown mushrooms exuding oxygen, and Cody feels like he could take over the entire Republic. He sleeps curved around Obi-Wan, like two parts of the same whole, touching as much as they can, and if the headache from his head wound brings Cody to the surface a few times during their nap, he feels rejuvenated after it.

After, the Kel Dor help them find the surface and Cody and Obi-Wan leave their new friends, hand in hand, quite happy to find back the sun and the sky, the fresh air of a late morning…and almost all their men crawling around their area, trying desperately to find them.

Obi-Wan keeps Cody’s hand in his and a few brothers less intimidated than others by Cody’s glare, embarrassed and proud at the same time, even bumped their big brother’s shoulders as a sign of congratulation. Obi-Wan immediately goes red, like he’s a teen on his first crush, and not a seasoned Jedi Master whose touch can bring life or death.

Cody finds it adorable.

*******************

It’s the middle of the night shift on the Negotiator, but Cody is still working on a different time zone, so he lets Obi-Wan sleep peacefully in their shared bunk. Their shared bunk! A notion that still makes him giddy like a shiny at their first kiss, even a month after getting together. They are taking things pretty slow, or in the wrong order, Cody isn’t sure, they sleep in the same bunk every night, but haven’t got very far in term of sex, and this perfect, because this is them, and not some sort of artificial list of relationship’s milestone. And Cody already knows, deep in his soul, that he will never love a man like he loves this one, even if Obi-Wan is killed tomorrow, and he’s sure it’s the same for Obi-Wan.

The Negotiator is in route to join with the Steadfast, so General Koth is on board after a conjoined mission where Obi-Wan and him gave Cody new grey hairs. He finds him easily in the mess, demolishing a healthy serving. The stamps outside the rations are a different colour than the ones Cody and his brothers eat.

“Can I join you?” Cody asks.

“Of course,” Eeth Koth immediately answers and the chair on the other side of the table moves on its own, offering itself for the Commander. Cody arches a brow.

“Don’t tell Obi-Wan,” the General jokes, “or I will endure a lesson for frivolous use of the Force.”

Cody sits and they stay silent for a moment, the General apparently happy to let him come to his questions in peace, continuing to eat his meal. Despite being tailored for a different species’ nutritional needs, it looks exactly as unappetizing as most rations Cody is used too.

“General Ke-“

“You can call him Obi-Wan in front of me,” Eeth Koth interrupts. “There is no need to be ashamed of what binds you.” He grimaces. “Force knows we will all need all the comfort we can get before everything is set and done in this war.”

“Obi-Wan and I, we had a bit of an adventure, last month.”

“From what I heard, you have a lot of them.”

“Yes but….it was…it was the first time I was around civilians. Normal people, I mean.”

“Not Jedi and not clones, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Putting apart the fact that you are normal people, and that we are too, that it is a slippery slope to consider us different, because then the rights…”

“I know you’re fighting for us in the Senate. I know. That isn’t the question…I just mean. They were civilians. Even more civilian than usual. I have only met natural borns who are Jedi and Senators and politicians or some sort of official. This was different. And I realized how little we know about the world outside the GAR. And how little we know about societies, and species who aren’t us. They raised us for war only…” Cody was almost trembling with it. Eeth Koth put a comforting hand on his wrist and Cody continued:

“Obi-Wan, I don’t want Obi-Wan to become my teacher. It’s not his role. But if we want to have a chance outside the war, us, the vode, we need to learn about the outside world. I wanted to ask you if there was something…a way…”

Eeth Koth had totally abandoned his meal and Cody could feel the weight of his gaze, the same gaze as Obi-Wan, transcending their species.

“Let me call a few people,” the Jedi said.

**********

Years later, Cody thinks a lot about that moment. Eeth Koth joined the Force during the war and Cody has to remember this moment for the two of them, this simple moment around a table, this moment which became one of the tipping point of his life. Not the too numerous almost-death, not the many battles, not even his first kiss with his dear Obi-Wan. This moment, in Cody’s mind, is the one which changed his fate.

Eeth Koth died not even two months after that, one among a lot of Jedi who gave their life, alongside the vode, for a chance for the galaxy and its people. Not that people are particularly thankful about it: the discovery of the Sith engineering the two sides of the conflict rocked the easy confidence of the Republic in the solidity of its system.

Democracy is never forever, if people don’t work for it.

No, democracy is only saved for now, and never will it be saved forever and ever. But that shock to the system is treated by the most intelligent of the bunch like a chance to seize. All across the reunited Republic people are working hard, entering politics, creating organizations to teach the population, to hold those in power accountable….

It’s a sad thing so many vode, jedi and civilians had to die and suffer for that. It’s even sadder to think it didn’t almost happen. The Republic almost burned, the Sith almost won, the beloved former Padawan of Obi-Wan Kenobi almost helped murder Mace Windu, Master of the Order...Mace Windu isn’t exactly the type to hold a grunge, but Obi-Wan still needed months after that to stay in his presence, the guilt that should have eaten Anakin transfered.

Honestly, if Obi-Wan forgave Anakin much too quickly, and Windu too, the vod needed a much longer time. Skywalker had almost helped the man who had engineered them as slave soldiers, the man who would have wiped out their free will, the poor part of it they still had. The vod had needed a long time to forgive, and would never forget, but Cody still has the desagreable impression Rex’s anger is a most important consequence in Skywalker’s mind that the almost death of the democratic system and the almost rise of a dictatorship.

Sometimes, late in the night, Obi-Wan stays awake, something lost in his eyes than mediation never totally makes disappear, and Cody is sure that day figures in a good part in his dark thoughts.

Obi-Wan, and Cody too, think about what could have been. If Cody hadn’t been there that day, in the Temple, who would have been in charge of keeping an eye on Skywalker in the Council Room? No one, that who. Because Skywalker was a Council member, if a very fresh one, and there wasn’t on hand a Jedi Master with enough years to take a look at a Council Member and decide he needed baby-sitting. All those Masters were deployed, or in beds in the halls of healing. But Cody, Cody was there, and since he and his General had become an item, he had taken sometimes to act, despite what his logical brain told him, not like a soldier Anakin could order around, but like an exasperated step-father. Exasperated and concerned, as the war advanced and Anakin seemed less and less attached to his morals.

Who would have followed him to the Senate when Skywalker had refused to wait anymore, and tackled him at the last minute? Who would have stopped Anakin Skywalker from doing something as tremendously stupid as to save a Sith pitted against Mace Windu?

And all of that had been possible because Jocasta Nu had taken the first excuse she could to keep Cody on Coruscant that month. A well-known linguist was visiting for a series of talks, and she thought he could be a good professor for Cody, and more importantly that well-know linguist had enough political power to obtain permission for a clone following his courses.

And the Republic had lived, because Cody loved linguistics, or more because he had loved the little he understood of it at the time.

But Cody refuses to let the horrors of those years of war, and his terrible first years on Kamino, define him. He prefers to think, again and again, to that moment with Eeth Koth.

Cody didn’t know exactly what he wanted. His accelerated childhood, raised for war and war only, hadn’t given him the words for it. He just knew that for his brothers and he to have a chance after the war, they needed more. Or even more terrible horrors would certainly befall them. Soldiers without wars aren’t useful anymore, and tools with no use are only fated to be dismantled for parts.

Following Eeth Koth’s call, Jocasta Nu and her assistants had descended on the GAR with determination, great efficiency and anger that they hadn’t thought about that themselves. By dint of foraging the Jedi Archives, and every friendly archives of the galaxy, for legal precedent to help the Vode, they had forgotten all answers weren’t found between the terabytes of a datapad.

Master Nu is seated right next to Obi-Wan in the public and trying very hard to pretend her eyes aren’t misty, as Cody receives his diploma, earning himself the title of Doctor in linguistics, for his work with the forgotten Kel Dor city, right next to the first Kel Dor of said city to have made the jump to Coruscant.

Cody isn’t the first clone to finish his thesis. Not surprising: he left the GAR years later than some of them, refusing to leave before his lover, who had been pressed into service as long as the Senate could justify it, and even longer. With Anakin leaving the Jedi Order, Obi-Wan was certainly the most famous member of it for the public, and it was as if the Senate tried to make him pay the Jedi’s refusal to abandon the vode. But Cody was the first clone Jocasta Nu talked with, when she arrived to try to help the vode not in pleading that they shouldn’t be slave soldiers, but in demonstrating they were so much more.

Cody wasn’t the first clone to leave the GAR officially, that honour went to Rex who followed Ashoka to Orto Plutonia, the first clone to be officially accepted as a member of the Jedi Corps. For what Cody understands, his life consists of almost losing his toes ten times a month, hunting with the Taz and flirting desperately with every passing skirts, as Ahsoka flirts desperately with her own Senator and supervises Republic-Taz contacts. Obi-Wan and Cody went once during permission, and Cody swore to himself that the next time Rex and Ahsoka wanted to see them, it could be on a tropical atoll.

Cody wasn’t the first clone to find a job outside of the Jedi orbit. That honour went to Fives and Tup, who left together and chose the most pacifist world they could. “We were almost separated once, never again. I’m not touching a weapon again in my life” Fives had said to Cody that day, watching Tup, busy hugging Rex, with something ferociously possessive in his eyes. Now, they have a nursery of succulent plants on a small island, in the south hemisphere of Alderaan, and Cody still isn’t sure if they are the best friends in the world, or one of those pairs who took brothers in a quite different sense, and frankly, he doesn’t care. There is a small potted thing they sent as a gift on Cody’s desk, with red undertones and white flowers once a year, but the former Commander has a black thumb, and only Obi-Wan’s careful nursing in the Force saved the poor thing already thrice.

Cody wasn’t the first clone to enter academia, that honour went to Waxer, who now teaches mathematics on Mandalore and is busy reintroducing Fett’s genes into the population with a long string of ex-partners, who still like him very much and with who he raises an army of children, at least three of them bearing a name honouring Waxer.

Cody wasn’t the first clone to marry, that honour went to Jesse and Cody isn’t touching that choice of spouse with a ten-foot pool.

Cody wasn’t the first in a lot of things. But it’s ok. He doesn’t have to lead his brothers anymore. He doesn’t have to bear responsibilities for death and help who didn’t come, and for the horrors that were their life.

The vode are free and Cody can only be a brother like any other.

He can be only Obi-Wan’s husband, even if Obi-Wan jokes that now, it’s more him that will be only the husband of Doctor Cody Kenobi, his arm candy in gatherings.

#star wars #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #codywan #my fics

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musewrangler · 3 years

Text

In honor of OT Week here’s a little one shot I wrote a while back. My favorite film is The Empire Strikes Back.

This story is entitled— Piett’s Promotion

(In my work, the Lady is sentient and Veers didn’t die on Hoth)

He lost track of how many hours he had spent on the bridge, ruthlessly clamping down on his emotions. He had hated the man, it was true. And had suffered at his hands. But he had not ever wished that death upon him. He could still hear Ozzel’s wet chokes and see his bulging eyes, mere feet from himself. That last, desperate gurgle as he turned toward Piett-- as though the Captain could do anything against the Force. The thud of his body---it sounded like someone had dropped a bag of meat on the deck.

Lord Vader on the holoscreen, dispassionately squeezing the life from the man and calmly informing Piett what he wanted done with the fleet.

You are in command now, Admiral Piett.

So he went through the motions of being in command. Of taking reports. Checking duty rosters. Speaking to the morgue about the disposal of Ozzel’s body. Force . Writing to his family, because someone should.

Then---the asteroid field. His Lady, his fleet now, going to their destruction. And he had tried.

Three years he had worked with Vader and he had watched the obsession for finding Skywalker grow. Say what you would about Vader, and people did, he had seemed to genuinely care about Death Squadron, about the men and ships that served him faithfully. And he was being ordered to take that Squadron to their deaths, throw all that away, to find that damn ship.

So he had tried. He knew his life was forfeit. He went to Vader. His bridge crew clearly believed he would not return from that meeting. Veers had commed him as he walked to Vader’s quarters and begged him not to go. But he had to. For the sake of the men. For the sake of his Lady. And was told it was not an excuse. Vader was willing for the Lady, the pride of the fleet, his flagship, to be horrifically damaged, if not destroyed, in this obsessive quest.

The only moment in his entire career that Piett appreciated hearing from the Emperor happened just in time.

They had moved out of the asteroid field and Piett had an entirely new burden as damage reports flooded his datapad and alarms blared around the Lady’s bridge. So he did what he had to---he ordered repairs, he checked casualty reports, at one point, he personally had his hands in some of the Lady’s wiring, repairing damage to her bridge deflector shield.

And then…..

Avenger reported they had her.

Piett had served with Needa at one point. They weren’t quite friends, they hadn’t had time for that, but he liked the man and thought he was a good officer. And a good man.

So good that he felt he needed to shield his men from Vader’s unpredictable wrath. And for the second time in 48 hours, Piett had to stand by as another larynx was crushed and this time, Vader mocked his prey.

Apology accepted Captain Needa.

And all of Piett’s emotions must be silenced. Because he had his own men to think of. If he was to die, some other poor bastard would be Admiral. He would rather kill himself trying to save them than have Vader crush his throat.

At some point, and he genuinely couldn’t say when in the eternity he experienced, Captain Kelly had walked up to his side, carefully removed the datapad he found he’d been clenching in his hands, and quietly murmured, “Admiral, I have the bridge. Please sir, go and rest.”

Piett had stared at him a beat and then realized that he was being given a reprieve.

“You have the bridge, Captain,” he’d said in automatic tones that must have been his and then he was turning to walk as straight and confident as he could toward the blast doors.

First hurdle cleared, he made it to the turbolift where he allowed himself to lean against the wall for support.

There had been a time when he thought that Vader actually gave a damn about his men. That he was building something which Piett was proud to be part of. But this consuming obsession…..

His deck. He felt as though he was watching someone else as his boots moved slowly toward the Admiral’s quarters---his quarters.

Someone other than himself (perhaps Captain Kelly) had ordered his things transported here, and Ozzel’s removed. He could still smell the chemicals that the cleaning crew had used, to prepare it for their new admiral. He wondered if the smell would have faded by the time the next admiral was installed here. For he had no illusions. His death was coming swiftly in this mad chase for Skywalker.

One of his miniature trees was tipped over. In automatic response, he carefully righted it, scooping the dirt back in with his fingers. They were trembling.

Force. He needed a drink. He didn’t care if he was commed---he was going to die anyway, might as well add some liquid courage to face it.

He stumbled to the cabinet and found his liquor collection neatly put away. He found the strongest one he had--something from Dathomir--- and a glass, and poured it full, cursing the shaking in his hands as it spilled on the floor.

He stumbled to his sofa and sat, taking a long fiery drink, and then set the glass on the table, and managed to remove his hat and gloves. He unfastened the top of his duty jacket and found himself gazing at his very gleaming brand new Admiral bars.

Kriff it. He’d hated Ozzel but this had not been the way he wanted a promotion. Six hundred men had died today as a direct result of travelling through an asteroid field.

Dear family, I’m so sorry to write to you to inform you of the death of your son/father/brother. They were pulverized by a completely unnecessary asteroid trip because our commander has lost his kriffing mind over a Rebel pilot.

Piett took another long drink and poured another. As he made a good start on it, the lights of his quarters dipped into indigo.

He laugh/sobbed. “Yes lady, I am sad. That word…….doesn’t begin to cover what I’m feeling I’m afraid.”

Icey blue light--her color for fear. “Yes, literally afraid. I’m likely going to be dead soon….” He put the glass down again and buried his face in his hands.

The Lady. What would happen if he died next? Would Vader take care of her? Today’s actions didn’t seem to indicate that he would. Piett had to find a way to survive. Someone had to try and stand between Vader’s madness and this ship and crew.

The icey blue was flashing at him as he lifted his face and he realized that she was frightened at his words.

“I’m sorry….I’m sorry, Lady, I will do my best not to be. Lord Vader is….can you sense that he is not….right?”

Her regular lights flashed. <Yes>

He finished his glass and his head swam.

“Lady, if…..if…..I can’t, then you must take care of this crew. Do not let Lord Vader hurt you, do you understand?”

And that was dangerously close to treason, even in his rather intoxicated ears.

She flashed her lights and gave him indigo again.

“I’m sorry, Lady, but you need to be prepared, if I……” he reached for the bottle again, and suddenly strong hands were taking it from him, and he followed the hands with his eyes up to the deeply compassionate gaze of the General.

“Enough, Firmus.” He set the bottle somewhere out of sight and came around the sofa to kneel in front of Piett and begin undoing his duty jacket.

The Admiral’s swimming brain was struggling now, between the alcohol and the exhaustion of terror.

“Max. You’re in sickbay.” He raised a finger to point at him. “You will be in soooooo much trouble with Henley.”

“I discovered today, much to my shock,” Veers began, helping Piett shrug out of the jacket and reaching for his boots next, “that underneath multiple layers of baked on cynicism and appalling condescension, the Doctor might possibly have a heart. When he heard you were on a path to throw yourself between Vader and this crew, he let me go early. And your Lady got my attention a short while ago by blinding me with that white light she’s chosen for you.”

The General had finished wrestling off his boots and Piett noted the still pink and healing lines on his face from his injuries on Hoth.

“Now,” said Veers firmly. “I would say congratulations, but this is not the time and I’m so kriffing sorry that it happened this way, Firmus.”

“He was right next to me,” Piett whispered, and found himself irrationally angry that his hands were still shaking. “I need one more drink, Max, I’ve got to keep it together….”

“You do need one more drink, Admiral, but not alcohol.” The General rose and procured a glass of water which he came back and handed carefully to his friend. “That’s an order, drink it all. I found out how long you were on the bridge, and you are no doubt dehydrated. Drinking that much….” he looked back at the bottle, “damn when you go for it, you really do, don’t you? Dathomirian vodka? Yes, more water it is.”

Piett did not like the feeling of crumbling, but it was happening and he couldn’t make it stop. He tried anyway. “Techina---telechni---kriff, technically , I outrank you now, General Veers.”

He saw Max pause and glance at him with an eyebrow raised. “Well. Even plastered, trust you to know your military protocols by heart. That is true, Admiral .”

Piett flinched at the title. Veers relented, getting more water silently and snagging the duvet from the bed in the other room.

Don’t be comforting Max. I can’t. I will break utterly and I don’t think I have time for that.

Another glass of water was shoved into his hands and then his duvet was draped around his shoulders. Veers seated himself close to his friend.

“I know you pretty well now Firmus, would you agree?”

Piett just nodded, drinking the water, letting it slide down a throat that was feeling tighter by the moment.

Like Ozzel’s, like Needa’s.

“So I hope you can trust me enough to believe what I’m going to say.” Veers paused, considering. “A great deal of bantha poodo has occurred in the last several days. Hoth was a success in some ways. But I lost three walkers.”

“I’m sorry, Max I should have….”

“You should have nothing, Firmus. You haven’t had a single second to breathe until now and I know it. My point is, that our commander is…..not what we had hoped. But we both have men under our command and I know that you care about that. If what I overheard you telling the Lady is any indication…..you don’t expect to make it much longer.”

Piett shuddered involuntarily and in a rare move (he must look pathetic) Veers got an arm around him.

“I’m here to tell you, that you must . Keep your head down, follow orders, do your best as you always do, and hope that Lord Vader remembers that you are one of his most competent and loyal officers.”

And he would like to find some shreds of hope in that, he would, but….

“Did you…..” he cleared his throat and gave another attempt. “Did you hear about Needa?”

A pause. Veers sighed. “Yes. Kriff it. Were you there for that too?”

And the throat that was now unbearably tight wouldn’t work for him to make any words, and Piett leaned forward to hide his face in his hands as his shoulders shook.

Veers’ arm tightened around him.

“Get it out here, Firmus, it won’t help to try and bury that. I’ll be here as long as you need.”

You are in command now, Admiral Piett.

#star wars original trilogy #star wars #otweek2021 #firmus piett #general veers #ssd executor #the empire strikes back #ao3 fanfic

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disneydreamlights · 3 years

Text

I Won't Lose Her

AO3 | FFN

Summary: When Vader sends a hostage video to Padme saying he holds her daughter captive, she does the only thing she possibly could, tries to save her life for her daughter's.

A/N: For @anidalaweek Day 2: Canon Divergence. Basically a Padme lives and becomes leader of the Rebellion AU because honestly we stan.

Yes I did publish this on AO3 hours before posting it here don't worry about it.

She knew she should've told Bail not to let Leia take the mission.

Padmé Amidala sat at her desk, unable to stop staring at the notice on her page. Leia had been sent to Tatooine to collect Obi-Wan and bring him and the Death Star plans to the Rebellion.

Leia had been captured en route to Tatooine by the Executor and had failed to get to Obi-Wan.

"Padmé." At the sound of her name, Padmé looked up at the hologram of Mon. It was clear that her fellow rebel leaders regretted what had happened to her daughter by the guilty expression on Mon's face. "We have news of Leia."

"News…?" In an instant, Padmé leaned forward, her eyes wide. "What did you learn? What happened? Is Leia alright?"

When Mon didn't answer right away, Padmé felt a surge of panic. "Is...she didn't…"

"No. No. Leia is fine," Mon answered, interrupting her before Padmé could continue to focus on that idea. The emphatic denial gave Padmé some reassurance that Leia was alright. "It's...perhaps I should just show you the message."

Mon vanished, instead showing a hologram of Leia and Vader, the mysterious dark lord of the Sith. "This is a message to Senator Amidala, the true leader of the Rebellion." At the sound of Vader's voice, Padmé's blood went cold. "As I am to understand it, the news of your death was exaggerated. As I have found in the princess's mind...you have been alive and in hiding, controlling this war from the shadows while the Organas and Mothma were the face of your rebellion."

"If you would like your daughter unharmed, you will arrive on the Executor within a standard week from receiving this message. As a show of good faith, I am using a private transponder, and will not trace it to the location of your current base. If you do not arrive, Leia Skywalker will be executed. She will meet the same fate as your late husband."

"I look forward to your arrival on my ship." The hologram vanished, and Padmé fought any feelings of nausea as Mon's face returned.

"I'm sorry Padmé. We're hoping General Kenobi will get there in time, but…"

"But we don't even know if he got Leia's message." The moment she had seen the message, seen that Darth Vader held her daughter, Padmé knew there was only one option for her. "I can't leave her Mon."

"I know." Mon looked down, as though she had expected this. "Please be careful in rescuing your daughter."

Padmé nodded. Once Mon hung up the call, Padmé ran to her closet to find her flight suit.

She'd lost Luke, back when she had first given birth Obi-Wan had insisted it would be best to separate the twins, and Padmé had reluctantly agreed, giving up the chance to know her son for the best chance of life he could have. If she lost her other child too, this one to a more permanent fate, she wasn't sure if she'd be able to forgive herself for the mistake.

She had to trade herself for Leia. The Rebellion would survive without her presence. It was the only option she had.

-x-

The Executor loomed in Padmé's vision, an ominous warning of her impending fate as her small X-Wing steadily crept closer to the Star Destroyer. It was large and imposing, and the Sith inside had already done so much damage to her family that she wasn't sure how she would face him. But she kept holding onto the single hope that Leia was alive when Vader had spoken to her. She just had to keep believing that. The dark feeling in the air meant nothing. She could survive.

The radio clicked on as she received a transmission from the empire. "This is the Executor. You're in a classified zone. State your purpose or you will be shot down."

Padmé took a deep breath, hoping to keep her voice steady in spite of her nerves and fear. "This is Padmé Amidala, leader of the Alliance to Restore the Republic. I'm here to trade myself for the princess Leia Organa."

She watched, anxiously, expecting to be fired on as soon as she stated her name, expecting this to have been a trap to lure her out of the shadows she'd remained in for so long. Instead however, there was nothing but silence before a deep voice came from the radio. "Senator Amidala, I will meet you down in the hangar. Do not try anything foolish. My men will shoot without warning."

The radio cut out, and Padmé took a deep breath. So far, she was alive. A small part of her hoped that this wasn't a trap, but a genuine trade to capture a larger target. She hadn't known Vader to be a man of his word, but then again, besides the fact that he was a Sith and the one who had killed her husband, Padmé didn't know much about him at all.

The hangar bay doors opened, and rather than have to pilot herself in, her ship was grabbed by a tractor beam, slowly pulling her in. Once she was safely inside and the ship landed, she opened the cockpit and jumped out, her hand on the only weapon she had on her, her blaster. In the back, she saw a dark imposing figure with his black armor and the mask that kept his face hidden. She couldn't get a read on him, but he didn't seem keen to attack. To her disappointment, her daughter wasn't with him.

Gathering her courage to her, Padmé broke the silence that had remained between them as neither had spoken. "Lord Vader. I see the promise of my safety wasn't a lie. Where is my daughter?"

"Leia is currently being kept in my quarters." The way he said her name caused Padmé's stomach to tie itself in knots. There was a fondness to it, one the Sith never should have had. She hated to imagine any of the reasons as to why. "If you'll follow me, I'll take you to her."

"How do I know this isn't a trap?"

"If I wanted to kill you, you would already be dead."

The statement was a punch to the stomach, a reminder of what Vader was capable of, and one that left Padmé with little idea of how to respond. Her silence left an awkward void, only filled by the harsh breathing of his respirator.

Seeing no other alternative, she relented. "Very well. I will follow you. But if any harm comes to my daughter–"

"I have no desire to see her harmed, though whether you believe me or not is irrelevant." Vader's voice was harsh, and there was an underlying note of offense, as though he couldn't believe she would assume he would want to hurt Leia. With that, he started down the halls of the Star Destroyer, leaving Padmé confused.

She wasn't in binders, Vader was escorting her himself, and he had no desire to harm Leia.

None of it added up. Yet she still followed him quietly deeper into the ship, trying to figure out just what he was doing and why.

When they finally arrived in his quarters, Padmé was surprised to find that it was furnished fairly normally, although nothing besides the pod in the back looked as though it had been used in quite some time, and in the bed on the back of the room was Leia, who looked no worse for wear to her mother's relief.

"Princess." Leia looked up at Vader. At first, her eyes had been narrowed in distaste, but once she saw Padmé, her eyes widened in shock, and the biting comment she had been preparing for Vader fell silent.

"Leia." Padmé reached out.

"Mother." Leia stood up from the bed and ran into Padmé's arms. "Mother I'm so sorry. I tried to keep everything contained like Auntie 'Soka said but–"

"You did your best Leia. You did so much more than I could've ever expected against Vader." Padmé held Leia close to her, not letting her daughter go as she realized how close she had come to losing her. There weren't any marks on Leia, which meant that Vader hadn't done much to harm her beyond mentally, and Padmé couldn't fight the smile that formed in relief that her daughter was alright. "I'm so proud of you."

"I didn't want you to come. I could've handled Vader."

"I already lost so much Leia. I couldn't lose you too." Padmé kissed her daughter on the head, and Leia hugged her once more.

They stood there, holding each other, though Padmé wasn't sure for how long before she heard Leia whisper in her ear. "Artoo and Threepio got away. I think they made it to General Kenobi."

Through it all. Leia still made sure that the mission succeeded. If Padmé thought she couldn't have been prouder of the girl, she was mistaken. Leia had gotten the message to Obi-Wan (and to Luke). The Death Star would still be destroyed and the Alliance would gain the edge they may have needed to turn the tide in this war. There were still so many reasons for hope.

"It is time for you to leave, Leia. Your mother has fulfilled her end of the deal." Mother and daughter sprung apart when Vader spoke, attracting their attention. "I will escort you personally to the ship she came in."

"I don't need your escort." Leia glared at Vader. "And don't call me Leia. You have no right to use that name."

"If you do not want any of the officers or Storm Troopers to capture you once more, you will." Leia remained silent. "You are, of course, welcome to stay aboard my ship, but I would presume that's not what you wish."

Leia remained silent, as though deciding what her best course of action would be. Padmé attempted to give a reassuring smile. "Go, Leia. Find Obi-Wan. Tell him what happened."

Leia ignored Padmé's pleas and looked at Vader, who seemed to have stiffened slightly at the mention of Obi-Wan. "What do you want my mother for? Why did you spare me?" She grabbed onto Padmé's hand. "The moment you learned about her, you stopped torturing me. You refused to answer any of my questions. You forced me to compromise the entire Rebellion for a phone call for a deal that based on everything any of us know about you would be so obviously fake–"

As Leia continued her demands, Vader raised his hands. For a moment, Padmé felt fear. The last time she had seen a similar gesture from a Force Sensitive had been nineteen years ago, right before she'd lost Anakin. Thankfully, it was just a gesture to stop, as he instead spoke. "I spent nineteen years thinking I was responsible for your deaths. I would not wish to see that happen again."

"That didn't stop you from killing my Father!" Leia's words hung in the air, and Vader stepped back, as though the accusation wounded him in some way. "Don't deny it, mother–"

"Your mother was misinformed." Though Padmé couldn't tell because of his mask, it felt as though Vader's eyes were locked directly on her, and she shivered. "I did not kill your father."

"Obi-Wan said–" She was cut off before Padmé could repeat the story she'd heard.

"Kenobi lied. Or perhaps, he could not face the truth himself." Vader continued to keep her gaze, though he didn't elaborate any further on his statement. "Princess, it is time for you to go. No harm will come to Padmé so long as I am alive to see to it."

"You still haven't answered my questions!" Leia protested.

"We do not have the time for me to answer them in a way you would find satisfactory." Vader crossed his arms, finally turning back to Leia. "I cannot hide your presence here forever, and if you would like to escape to your Rebels, you will need to go now."

Knowing she had lost, Leia hugged Padmé. "I'll come back for you. With help."

"I know." Padmé hugged her back quickly. "I love you Leia. If something happens to me, never forget that."

They let go, and Leia was taken out of the room without another word.

-x-

Vader came back into the room about an hour later, Leia no longer beside him. Padmé had taken to laying on the bed that had held Leia earlier, choosing to read one of the holo novels that were on the shelves. He stood next to her on the bed, but Padmé chose to say nothing. She didn't want to talk to Vader, let alone have anything to do with him. No matter how desperate for an answer as to why he was doing everything, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"Leia has left. She flew out on your ship, and will remain untracked." As though he realized Padmé wouldn't speak, Vader did instead. "I'm sorry to have threatened her, but once I knew you were alive, I knew it was the only way to bring you here." She remained quiet, pretending to be invested in the story to continue to ignore Vader. "I would never have hurt her. Had you chosen not to come, I would've found another way."

"Why?" Padmé asked. She put down the novel, finally giving Vader her attention. "You haven't explained anything to either of us Lord Vader. I have no reason to believe you when you say you won't hurt her. I have no reason to believe you won't hurt me now."

"Nineteen years ago, on Mustafar, you tried to stop me from heading down a dark path I could never come back from." Vader started, despite still remaining harsh due to the vocoder, his voice felt softer, as though he was trying to be gentle. She stiffened at the start of his story, wanting to deny everything he was implying. "I wouldn't listen, and I lashed out. I thought I'd killed you, Padmé. For nineteen years I thought I'd killed you and the child."

Padmé's eyes widened, and although Vader reached out for her, she scooched back, as far away from Vader as she could. "No. You can't be. He…" She shook her head, her hand resting over her mouth as she tried to process this. Anakin couldn't. He wouldn't.

Vader didn't deny, and instead let Padmé come to terms with the implication of his words on her own. It was everything she'd feared. Obi-Wan hadn't hidden that he'd fallen, she was aware that Anakin had attacked her that night, but she'd always hoped…

"Darth Vader destroyed him. I'm so sorry Padmé, Anakin is gone."

"I see you needed more time before I told you the news. I'd just hoped…" Vader's words fell to silence, and Padmé couldn't stop herself from staring. There had to be something to prove this wrong.

"Why?"

"I thought I'd lost everything." Vader sat down on the bed, but made no further move to get closer to her. "My master was all I thought I had. I did not care about what became of me, and I became nothing more than a weapon, until I started going through Leia's memories and I saw…"

"You saw me." Vader didn't react, but Padmé didn't need one to know it was the truth. She may not have been force sensitive, but the knowledge of the true identity of the monster in front of her held more answers than the Force ever would. "Ani…?" She reached her hand onto his mask, cupping where his cheek would've been without it.

"I'm sorry. I've done many things you wouldn't approve of since your death." He had, and there would be time for her to process that the atrocities he had committed were all performed by Anakin. There would be time for her to decide if she could forgive him. There would be time for him to prove that he deserved her forgiveness.

But in this moment, all she cared about was that the man who she had spent so many years mourning and fighting to avenge was alive. "I'd thought..."

"So had I." Vader bowed his head, moving away from the gentle touch he could not feel. "But now that I know that you and Leia are alive, I'll do everything in my power to keep both of you safe."

Padmé shook her head. "Anakin, I can't stay your prisoner. I have to go back." She had to make sure that Leia was safe. She had to meet with Obi-Wan and talk to him about this. She wanted to have the chance to truly meet Luke in more than a few holocalls that Obi-Wan managed to set up between her and her son.

To her surprise, he didn't protest. "For now, you'll have to. When Leia gets the Death Star plans to the Rebellion and destroys it, that's when there will be enough chaos in the system that you'll be able to escape without attracting suspicion." Padmé couldn't help but stare. "I'll give you an encrypted comm system to communicate with, just like we used to during the war."

"You'll let me go back?"

"If you stay here, then the Emperor will find you. It won't be safe," Vader said. "There is no other choice, my master must die. If I have to work with your Rebels to achieve that end, then so be it."

Surprising herself, Padmé smiled. "If that's the case, then we'd better get started."

#Heather Writes #Star Wars #Anakin Skywalker #Anakin #Padme Amidala #Padme #Leia Organa #Leia #Darth Vader #Anidala #Anidala Week 2021

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passable-talent · 4 years

Note

Going with Ani to free his mom because you know it’s such a big moment for him (and obviously being there for the aftermath)

oof. here I go to make myself angsty for the evening

same day request answering. its like its april.

Padme Amidala is a really good person. It pretty much all comes back to that.

She’s kind. She’s empathetic. She recognizes when someone is in pain, and when someone needs help. She understands when an unwise course of action is one that needs to be taken.

So, of course, she understood when the Jedi apprentice meant to protect her instead wanted to run away to his birth planet and help his mother. Of course she did.

Though, level headed as she was, she thought that it might be wise to gather up another Jedi. To watch over her while Anakin was distracted, or possibly to help Anakin face whatever plagued his mother.

She suggested Anakin call upon Obi-Wan, which he refused. Obi-Wan’s mission was just as important, and if he knew what Anakin planned, Anakin would never be allowed to go.

So, instead, he called for you.

You were also a Jedi apprentice, at that time training between missions at the temple on Coruscant. Your master, Shaak Ti, trusted you immensely, and granted you permission to leave on your own. You commanded a Starfighter and were on your way- opening a com to Anakin en route. You had never been to Tatooine before, but had heard about it whenever Anakin felt like sharing his childhood. As his closest friend other than his master, you knew how much his mother weighed on his soul, and how much he had wished that Qui-Gon could have saved her, too. You had known that one day, he would try to return. He had promised his Shmi as much.

Anakin’s reunion with Watto was tense for just about everyone there. You didn’t know the terrain, you barely knew Padme, you certainly didn’t know Watto, but you felt the impatience rolling off of Anakin. It put you on edge, and so as he followed Watto into the shop, you kept pace behind Padme, ensuring her safety. It was the one thing you felt you were capable of doing, the one thing you could control.

Anakin wasn’t very talkative. Padme tried- but he was a focused man, and felt closer to finding his mother than he had in a decade. You were a silent support, beside the senator, as though you could take some of the weight off of Anakin’s shoulders. Every emotion he experienced seemed to radiate out from him, and it almost made your head pound to get blasted with them all- the guilt, the fear, the anger. You just hoped that he’d find his mother alive, or else, you imagined, this would get so much worse.

When you left the ship again, you found yourself in the most flat, barren landscape you’d ever seen. Growing up among the skyscrapers of Coruscant, it was almost unfathomable, to look out at the horizon and see nothing between you and it.

There was, however, one little building, which you could gather was your destination. And a droid.

Anakin’s mind must have been clouded by his emotion, or maybe he just wasn’t showing it, because you could feel that something was off. From the moment C-3PO requested to go inside, you knew that there was nothing but bad news here. You couldn’t say anything, though- you felt it wasn’t your place. Anakin was among his family, now, even if they’d never met him, and he needed to hear it from them.

You could tell. Shmi Skywalker was gone.

“It was just before dawn,” Cliegg Lars explained, “they came out of nowhere. A hunting party of Tusken Raiders.” You had heard of them before- in Anakin’s ramblings of the pod racing he did as a child. You sat at the end of the table opposite Cliegg, though it did feel informal. The head of the table was meant for anyone other than you, surely- but Anakin had his place at Cliegg’s right hand, and Owen at his left.

“Your mother had gone out early, like she always did, to pick mushrooms off the vaporators.” At the very least, you were silently happy that Shmi had spent her last years as a free woman with a husband that clearly cared about her greatly.

“From the tracks, she was about halfway home...” Your heart broke with every word for Anakin Skywalker, who had spent years dreaming of returning for his mother, only to arrive too late. “...When they took her.” Anakin’s face was devoid of clear emotion, but you knew him well- you could see that famous temper brewing inside of him. But, this was more than a frustration. This was so much deeper than that.

“Those tuskens walk like men,” Cliegg continued with a sigh, “but they’re mindless, vicious monsters. Thirty of us went out after her, four of us came back.” You lowered your head in respect, but kept your eyes on your friend, whose brows were tightly knit. He was thinking, mulling it over, considering, processing. You couldn’t blame him, but wished you could make it easier.

“I’d be out there with them, but...” Cliegg, too, was weighed down by his grief. His loss, you could see, was still just as raw as Anakin’s. “After I lost my leg, I just couldn’t ride anymore, until I heal.” Anakin’s heart seemed to break open wider with every moment that passed him by, and Cliegg continued, trying to reassure his lost stepson that his mother hadn’t died unloved.

“I don’t want to give up on her, but she’s been gone a month.” Unimaginable it was how much it must’ve hurt Anakin to know that he had missed her by only a month. “There’s little hope she’s lasted this long.”

And there it was- the clear implication to Anakin that his mother was not only gone, but dead. That there was a finality to it, and nothing he could do. You watched him, carefully, as he turned his head, and clearly you could see that he didn’t take such helplessness well.

He stood, and you made to do the same, but the both of you were interrupted by Owen, asking Anakin’s intensions.

“To find my mother,” Anakin said, and you let out a short breath.

“Your mother’s dead, son,” Cliegg said, with the voice of a heartbroken husband, “Accept it.”

Anakin left without a word.

You followed, knowing his plan.

“Anakin, it’s dangerous,” you told him, and he turned, shaking his head.

“I’m going. I have to.”

“I know,” you said, and in the gaze you shared with him, he realized that you meant to come with him.

Padme emerged from the entrance, and her gaze met yours. You nodded, and she gathered that you hadn’t been able to stop him. You hadn’t tried.

“You’re gonna have to stay here,” you said, a little more hardness in your tone than you had intended. “You’ll be safe until we return.” Anakin stood behind you, grief and anger rolling off of him, and though she could not feel the Force, Padme clearly could see a man in pain. After all, Padme Amidala is a really good person. She walked to him and gave him a brief hug.

“We won’t be long,” you promised as they parted, and as she retreated inside, you followed him to the speeder.

The longer he rode, the more anguish he felt. He hardened before you, from a boy who lost his mother, to a man who sought revenge. You could only hope you would serve to curb the damage.

Just after nightfall you reached the encampment of the raiders, their domes still lit by dying fires. You deferred to Anakin’s lead, assuming that he would know your enemy better than you. It had been a while since the two of you had gone on a mission together- if the atmosphere were less dire, you might have even enjoyed it.

You don’t know how he chose which dome to enter, but it was the right one. You felt the world change when Anakin laid eyes on the bloodied woman tied to a post, like you were recognizing her yourself. Shmi Skywalker, still alive.

“Go,” you whispered, stationing yourself between the opening of the dome and the opening Anakin had created. His reunion was his own, and you gave him the best security and privacy you could. It was astounding that she had survived, all this time, and for a moment you were filled with hope, joy, that he had disobeyed Cliegg and searched for her anyway. Otherwise, she likely never would have been found. You kept your eyes to the night outside the dome, a lookout, your breathing calm with the joy and love and relief that Anakin had once again allowed into his body.

And then you felt it change.

You whirled around, and she was dead, and Anakin’s silence was suddenly all you could hear. The world was turning red around the both of you as he felt the grief of his mother’s death for a second time, and his eyes lifted to yours.

“Anakin,” you breathed, knowing nothing else to say. His grief hardened into anger, but he gently closed her eyes and held her close. You didn’t know what to do. Panic hit you hard as his anger curdled into rage, and his eyes lifted.

“Anakin, we need to take her home,” you said, hoping to deflect his focus. He didn’t listen.

As he lowered her gently to the floor so that he could stand, you tried to move into his way, and successfully you cupped his face, catching his eyes for just a moment. In them, you didn’t see the anger you felt from him. In them, you saw so much sadness.

And so you let him go.

It wasn’t the Jedi way, you knew that. And you wished you could will yourself to move, to stop him, because the pain that his actions would cause would haunt him, possibly for the rest of his life. But it felt as though he needed this, as though it was the only thing that would sate his soul. So you breathed mantras, and did your best to combat his anger with peace, thinking that it might invade him.

And when the Tusken Raiders had all given their last breaths to Anakin Skywalker, you went to him.

He collapsed to his knees under his own weight, no longer grieving but feeling a consuming emptiness. You had to force yourself to block it out as you ran to him, and pulled him against you. Never before had you felt someone who needed a hug so bad, and only then did he begin to break, knotting his fingers into the robes at your back. He buried his face, but did not cry, and you stayed as long as he needed you to.

You drove home. He held his mother, behind you, cradling her like she had once held him. You rode through sunrise, back to Cliegg’s home, where quickly you were met by Owen, Padme, Cliegg, Beru. You dismounted quickly and retreated, knowing that this was Anakin’s moment, and his alone. His anger had returned, but it didn’t feel so sharp anymore- it was anger and sadness and frustration, and it just felt to you like pain. Incredible pain.

You stayed in the room with him, wherever he went, continuing the strategy you’d had back at the camp. You held peace in your chest, and hoped that he could feel it the way you felt his pain. You hoped it would calm him. His pain did not fade, but it did dull, and for a while as he tinkered with the shifter, it felt as though maybe the anger had drained from his body.

Padme entered with two meals, and she handed one to you before approaching Anakin, her footsteps light, but her presence noticeable.

“I brought you something,” she said over his shoulder, and when he didn’t respond, she moved around to his front. “Are you hungry?”

“The shifter broke,” he told her, and if it wouldn’t have taken from your concentration you would’ve chuckled. He avoided the question- you knew he hadn’t eaten in at least a day. “Life seems so much simpler when you’re fixing things.” You would give anything to have back the boy you’d trained with on Corellia. So heavy Anakin felt now, with everything that had happened. You wished you could give him back the peace he had once felt. Padme looked to you briefly as she moved to set down the tray near Anakin, and you nodded. You’d get him to eat eventually.

“I’m good at fixing things,” Anakin continued, “always was.” Padme turned back to him slowly, the both of you noticing the waver in his voice. “But I couldn’t...” he trailed off, putting down his tools. “Why’d she have to die? Why couldn’t I save her?” You sat up, more toward your feet, ready to approach him if you felt the need. He was getting ramped up again, but the jagged edges of his grief this time was less anger and more blame. Blame on the Tuskens, blame on himself. “I know I could have!” He turned from Padme and for the briefest of moments his eyes met yours, but he moved forward, away from both of you.

“Sometimes there are things no one can fix,” Padme said softly, and you kept your breathing steady to combat his erratic emotion. “You’re not all powerful, Ani.”

“Well, I should be,” he said, giving her words no time to hang in the air.

“Anakin,” you said, showing disapproval of such a thought, and for the first time wished Obi-Wan was there.

“Someday I will be,” he insisted. “I will be the most powerful Jedi ever.” He turned to face you and Padme again, tears glistening on his face but his expression angry. You didn’t know what to say, even when he levied his gaze toward you.

“I promise you. I will even learn to stop people from dying.”

“Anakin,” it was Padme’s turn to say, and what he said next shook you to your core.

“It’s all Obi-Wan’s fault!” he shouted, “He’s jealous! He’s holding me back!” Anakin launched whatever he’d picked up across the room, and it clattered quietly before coming to rest.

“You know that’s not true,” you said, quickly rising to your feet. You took a step closer to Anakin as he turned away, but did not get too near.

“I know,” he conceded under his breath. Padme sensed what was really going on.

“What’s wrong, Ani?’ She asked, and finally you realized what was truly causing his pain, in this moment. He was looking at his hands as he stuttered the beginning of a sentence, the hands that had killed so many.

The peace in your body faltered- if you had stopped him, he wouldn’t be grieving nearly so much now. It was your fault.

“I killed them,” he explained, “I killed them all. They’re dead- every single one of them.” He turned to Padme with rage at himself and the raiders twitching his lips, tears still falling from his eyes. “And not just the men, but the women and the children, too. They’re like animals, and I slaughtered them like animals!” You lowered your head, trying to push away your own guilt so that you could be there for him. His pain, you knew, was greater than yours.

“I hate them!”

Hate leads to suffering.

As Anakin sank to the floor, you and Padme sat to flank his sides. You were his best friend, closer to him than anyone else in the world, and so you leaned against his side while Padme offered her words.

“To be angry is to be human.”

“I’m a Jedi,” Anakin insisted, “I know I’m better than this.”

“Most Jedi never know their parents,” you said softly, “and never form attachments. There is no one in a Jedi’s life who matters as much as your mother does to you. I’m sure you’re taking this with more grace than Master Windu would have.” Anakin didn’t laugh, but he did quiet, almost as though he believed you. Slowly you found the hand he held beside his knee, and gathered it into yours.

Padme leaned forward and gave him the best hug she could from the side, but then left Anakin alone with you.

She’s a good person, like that.

“Anakin, I’ve known you for a long time,” you started quietly, “and all of that time I’ve known you to be a kind man. A compassionate man. Quick to anger, yes, but not to judgement. They earned your rage, and that’s okay. It does not outweigh all of the good you’ve done in your life.” His grip tightened on your hand, still his breathing erratic, but once again the jagged edges of his mind began to soften. You let silence drift into the room for a moment as he slowly evened.

“She was beautiful,” you said, laying your head down onto his shoulder. He nodded, and slowly, there grew the beginning of a smile on his face. “And she won’t be forgotten.”

-🦌 Roe

#reader insert #angst #imagines #star wars #star wars anakin #star wars prequels #star wars self insert #jedi reader #anakin imagine #poor anakin #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker #fics

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kyber-queen · 4 years

Text

Like Real People Do (Rex x Reader) Pt. 3

Summary: Jedi!reader and Rex fall in love but are separated by the war. They meet again two years later, weeks before the Siege of Mandalore. In this chapter, Rex and Reader are prepping for a mission on an outer rim planet. Some fluff, slight angst, Rex gets to use a lightsaber because I say so. Italics signify a flashback in this fic.

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Mentions of children/family planning ??, insecure Rex, k*sses, mentions of blasters n violence against droids, mentions of alcohol

Author’s Note: I’m not gonna lie this is probably my favorite chapter yet. It’s a little longer, but I think it’s worth it :) Likes and reblogs are very much appreciated!!

Previous | Next

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After your less than satisfying encounter in the maintenance closet, you had made an early retirement to your quarters to sulk. You slept, but your dreams were ridden with visions of a certain bleach-blond captain. You awoke the next morning ill-rested and heartsick.

You showed up late to your first tactical meeting with the upper ranks of the 501st in a disgruntled mess of dark undereyes and wrinkled robes. If Rex noticed your sleep-deprived state, he made no mention of it. You had positioned yourself strategically in the back of the room, precisely so if you peeked between the admirals, you could clearly see Rex discussing troop formations with General Skywalker. His structured brow was furrowed, and you noted the way he gestured at the maps as he made his point. He was so much more confident now, so much more self-assured than that often-anxious shiny you remembered from training drills two years ago. Maybe that was why he gave you the cold shoulder yesterday—had he outgrown you? Two years was a long time, especially during a war. Did he find someone new? Your heart burned at the thought. You hadn’t even tried to move on—at times, at your lowest points, you considered it, but you never gave up on him. You had broken your code for him. You had broken it every day since you met him, and yet here he was, the picture of cordial indifference. You were attached, deeply and painfully. Did he still care about you?

“Commander, I can hear your gears turning—any input?” Skywalker looked at you expectantly.

You eased your tired features into a placating smile. “Looks good to me, General,”.

“Perfect. Rex, you’ll go with the commander. I want you two waiting just outside the village. The Separatists should arrive within around two hours of landing. Comm me when you see the Separatist forces coming, and you guys cut down as many of the first wave as possible. I’ll circle around with the rest of the 501st and we’ll finish off the rest from behind. All clear?”

You nod in assent as Rex answers with a decisive, “Yes, sir,”.

***

Rex was going to have to have a conversation with his general after this. Your very first mission with the 501st, and Skywalker had paired you with Rex on a glorified stakeout of all things. Rex was pissed. He had decided as soon as he found out you would be consulting with the 501st that he would keep his distance. He knew it wasn’t your fault that you hadn’t seen each other in years—war makes love near impossible. He was more upset with himself for falling for a Jedi. It was against the law for either of you to have an attachment to each other. Rex had fallen in love, and it was a stupid, shitty idea. He had spent the better part of two years trying to bury his memories of you, and just as he was beginning to succeed, here you were creeping back into his mind. Just the sight of you threw him back to two years ago—back when he was really, truly happy. Rex was built for war, nothing more. The problem with you was that being with you made him think otherwise. When you were together, you would always talk about ‘after the war’. Rex knew that as a clone, there really wouldn’t be an after. You, with your altruism and soft smiles and gentle touches were everything Rex didn’t need.

Rex walked to the pod that would take the pair of you to the Separatist-threatened planet. You were already seated. You thumbed the grip of your lightsaber, and Rex recognized the gesture—it was a habit whenever you were nervous. His eyes were locked on you, debating whether or not he should say something despite his earlier promise to not get involved. You broke the silence for him.

“I can feel you staring, Rex. Talk to me,”.

You could always tell what he was thinking. As your friendship first blossomed, it unnerved him, but as your paths intertwined more and more he found it a comfort to have you understand him so well without him even saying a word. Rex met your eyes, and his stomach clenched. You were still so beautiful. He looked away

“Just thinking about the campaign, sir,”.

Your heart ached. Every bone in your body was screaming, ‘I love you, I love you, I love you,” and yet he called you sir. He addressed you as a superior, another link in the chain of command. He really had moved on, hadn’t he? You bit your lip, the sharp pain of your teeth against the tender skin attempting to draw your attention away from your torturous thoughts. You had a mission to complete. You peeked out the porthole, and you saw the terrain approaching far faster than normal.

You landed with a crash. You were jostled from your seat, your head smacking the metal wall painfully. As the ringing in your skull crescendoed, you took stock of your darkened surroundings through your blurred vision. The lighting in the pod must have been damaged during your landing. You ignited your lightsaber, illuminating Rex with its soft glow. He stood up and rolled his shoulder experimentally, his nose scrunching in pain.

Your brows furrowed, “Are you alright?’

“I’m fine,” He grunted. He felt his way along the walls. “Exit’s been jammed shut, though,”

You searched his eyes in the dim lighting, another pang of longing reverberating through your chest. You dismissed the sensation and plunged your lightsaber into the wall of the pod, freeing yourselves. You emerged from the battered pod, your head pounding as your eyes adjusted. It was bright, with the triad suns beating down on you relentlessly. You checked your positioning system—you had landed a mere 15-minute walk from your stakeout site. You watched as Rex eased himself out of the pod. He groaned, his hand cradling his right arm. You handed him his positioning chip, and the two of you set off towards the village outskirts.

You noticed his hand lingered on his right shoulder, and he would grimace from time to time when it jostled. You reached your hand out to his plastoid-covered shoulder. “Rex, let me—”

“I’m fine,”.

His tone was sharp and dangerous, affecting you like a slap to the face. You sucked in a breath, and walked the rest of the path in silence. The planet was beautiful—you were surrounded on all sides by strange golden grasses that swayed with the breeze. Its beauty did nothing to distract you from the man by your side.

You arrived at the meeting point and immediately settled yourself against the large boulder meant as your cover. Rex sat across from you, leaning against a smaller rock. He tilted his head back, closing his eyes for a moment and swallowing thickly. You traced the sharp line of his jaw with your eyes, following down to the thick cords of muscle in his neck. You contemplated another attempt at offering him some bacta spray, but considering his earlier response, decided against it. When did Skywalker say the Separatists would arrive? Two hours?

You spent around an hour in silence. You meditated, as General Secura had taught you. Time moved thickly around you, your aura burning bright as it cut through the hours and seconds. With your deep focus came little flashes of memories.

You saw Rex, smiling. His golden skin was warm against the soft sheets. His thumb traced the apple of your cheek. You grinned.

“What do you want to do, Rex? After this is all over?”

He paused, his hand resting heavy on your jaw. “I don’t know, cyare. Guess I never really thought about it,”. His eyes flicked over your gentle smile and bright eyes. “I’d wanna be with you, though,” he whispered. You’re everything he could ever want. He’d never loved anything so much, and he knew he’d never love anyone else the way he loved you. What the hell did he do to deserve you? “What about you?”

“My parents—I barely remember them now—had a house on Naboo. We could live there, just us. No war, no fighting. It’s so beautiful there, Rex. The grass is long and tall—as a child, I’d play outside for hours just soaking up the sunlight. It’s a good place for raising children,”. Your face heated as you said the last part.

“Raising children, eh?” Rex tilted your chin, and you lifted your gaze to his eyes. You nodded slowly. “With me?” His eyes shone in the morning sunlight, his brow furrowed.

“Yes, Rex. Who else?” Rex’s expression eased, and you pressed your lips to each of his cheeks, followed by a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose. Rex sighed contentedly. He had no clue why you were with a shiny like him—he was one of a million genetically and physically identical men. He was sure that eventually you’d realize just how much better you could do than a clone, but until that day he’d savor every precious moment with you.

“You’re gonna be a great parent, one day, cyar’ika,”.

“You will, too, Rex,”.

You jolted out of your trance. It was just your luck that Rex had infiltrated the one escape you had from your relentless thoughts of him. You opened your eyes to find him studying your face. He averted his gaze quickly.

“Rex,” you called.

He fiddled with the straps of his armor.

“Rex,”.

He dropped his hands to his sides with a harsh sigh. “Would you just stop it?”

You were stunned. “Rex, I—”

“I spent two fucking years trying to forget I ever loved you. I was nothing, I was nobody, and you were this—this ideal being. I had no fucking clue why you gave me the time of day, but I let myself fall for you anyway. When we left for our tours, I broke. You were the first real thing, the first good thing I ever had, and you were gone. I was sure I was gonna die over there—and you wouldn’t have even known if I had. It was so much easier to believe that you had moved on, that you were through with me. Now you’re here and you’re alive and I—” his voice broke, “I don’t know what to do,”. He met your gaze, and his eyes glistened. His voice was barely a whisper, “You were always the rational one. Please tell me what to do,”.

Your wide eyes watered. You turned your head to the golden fields and let out a tiny sob. What the hell do you answer to that? Just as you opened your mouth to speak, you spotted what seemed to be a thousand metal heads just over a rolling hill. The separatists. You hastily wiped your eyes and took a deep breath. This would have to wait.

“The Separatists are here,” your voice wavered more than you would have liked. “I’ll comm the General,”. You sniffed, rubbing your eyes again. Get it together, you thought. You were a Jedi Master, for gods’ sake. Ever since returning to Coruscant, you’d been an emotional trainwreck. You were starting to see why the council discouraged attachments.

You allowed Rex a moment to collect himself, turning to face the oncoming droids as the two of you prepared in silence. The metallic clang of their footsteps grew louder and louder. Rex slipped his helmet back on over his head and unholstered his blasters.

“It’s your call, Commander. When d’ya wanna go?”

You looked back over your shoulder at him, and you were instantly thrown back to the hours of training exercises you had completed together. You grinned.

“Think you can take down the battle tank over there?” You motioned to the gargantuan hunk of steel situated right in the middle of a sea of battle droids.

The competitive edge you had so dearly missed was back in Rex’s voice.

“You know I never miss,”.

“Race you there,”. And with that, you were off. The two of you flew down the hill, cutting down the droids as if they were made of straw. You swung, decapitating a droid and ducking as Rex put a blaster hole through the one taking aim at you from behind. You worked well together, always did. The rest of the 501st seemed to be making easy work of the droids from behind.

“Rex, blaster!”

Rex tossed one of his blasters into the air, and you force-pulled it into your grasp in an instant. You fired off three quick shots at one of the tanks, damaging the traction treads. Rex looked over at the tank, and recognized the maneuver you had initiated in an instant. He took off for the tank, and called your name once he was just yards from its base.

“Saber!”

You switched off your saber and hurled it in Rex’s direction. He had barreled past at least ten lines of troops, snatching your lightsaber from the air before igniting it and plunging it into the battle tank’s generator while simultaneously firing off a few rapid shots at the droids. The droids’ main attention, as planned, was on you, and you were beginning to feel the heat. You force-pulled your lightsaber, still ignited, from Rex’s grasp and into a line of battle droids before its heavy weight met your palm again.

“Blaster!”

You tossed Rex his blaster, and he caught it with ease. With your lightsaber in hand, you began cutting a path to Rex, who had holed up against the decommissioned tank.

“Need to get me one of those,” Rex motioned to your lightsaber with a grin.

You shook your head with a laugh, deflecting a blaster shot as Rex took aim at the next line of droids.

It was your fault. You got distracted. Something about the focus in Rex’s masked stare as he picked off the droids one-by-one pulled your attention away just long enough for one of the droids to press the cool metal of its blaster against your neck. Before you could react, Rex fired two quick shots into its head.

“Told you, cyare, I never miss,”.

You missed this. The nicknames, the banter, working together like this. It felt good. It felt like coming home. You snuck one last glance at Rex before sprinting out from your cover to cut down the next row of droids.

Rex was fucked. Did you realize he called you cyare? It just slipped out—something about being here with you, fighting next to you—it brought him back to two years ago. He shook his head, firing at a droid that had pointed its blaster at you. He was done with pretending he didn’t care. He still had no idea what to do, or where this would go, but he could figure that out later.

You finished off the last droid, looking back at Rex with an easy smile before waving to General Skywalker. Rex jogged over to you, pulling you back behind the tank and away from the prying eyes of the rest of the 501st.

“Rex, wha—”

He ripped off his helmet, letting it fall to the ground as he pulled you into a kiss. His hand fell to the small of your back, and you practically collapsed into him. His lips were hungry against yours—he was all tongue and teeth and desperation. He needed this. You needed this. You raked your nails through his close-cropped hair, drawing a little groan from deep in his chest. His hands were everywhere—your hair, your neck, your waist—

“Rex, where are you? Are you injured?”

For the second time today, Rex was going to kill his general. He pulled away from you reluctantly, his hand lingering on your waist. You take his hand, and press your lips to his palm.

“We should go,”. Rex nods. “Meet me in my quarters tonight—you still like firewhiskey?”

“Rex—are you over here?”

You meet Rex’s eyes, and he smiles. A real smile. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“See you tonight,”.

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Like Real People Do Taglist: @pinkiemme @callme-eds @dinpoe

#captain rex #captain rex x y/n #ct 7567 #commander rex #rex x you #the clones #the 501st #rex x reader #captain rex x reader #captain rex x you #the clone wars

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glimmerglanger · 4 years

Text

Whumptober 2020 - Day 9

Day 9 of Whumptober, part 9 of the oof!au. And now we come to the turning of the tides. This one is SUPER long (6k) and is also the only part of the series to have a split POV.

General Info: Post Order 66 Vader-Captures-Obi-Wan AU. Eventual happy(ish) ending. Past/eventual Codywan. One-sided Vaderwan.

WARNINGS: Mentions of past torture and loss of a limb. Implications of non-con. Mistreatment of a prisoner. Fall-out of mind control. Mentions of/thoughts about suicide. Death (including a major character. For the sake of spoilers, I’m not going to say who dies, but if you need to know before you read shoot me a msg and I’ll tell you).

No 5. WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?

On the Run | Failed Escape | Rescue

Victory left Vader feeling warm inside, pleased. For a time. He got what he wanted, what he deserved, Obi-Wan begging for his forgiveness, using his proper title, obeying. He got all the apologies he was owed, and it only cost a few bodies, slumped against a wall.

Obi-Wan’s agony and horror filled the entirety of the Force, ratcheting higher with each clone that died. He was such a weak fool. They were nothing, just things, and broken things at that, for all that Obi-Wan carried on, his pain so large it felt like a living creature, sucking up all the air in the room, filling every possible piece of Vader’s mind, battering at him from across their bond.

He’d never, actually, felt pain like that from Obi-Wan before. Never once. It brought back memories of their time on Zygerria, where similar emotions had swirled out of Obi-Wan’s head, but… Obi-Wan had more control, back then.

Under Vader’s command, he cracked and broke, shattering like glass each time Vader so much as threatened one of the clones. It was ridiculous. Every single one of them would happily put a blaster bolt in Obi-Wan’s head, and yet he fell to his knees and he groveled and he said, obediently, whichever words Vader wanted.

He did whatever Vader wanted, without protest, without hesitation, for all that his expression was some blank and empty thing. Sometimes, Vader had one of the clones shot, anyway, just to make sure Obi-Wan didn’t lose track of the stakes.

He did everything Vader wanted, so agreeable, the great General Kenobi brought so low. Finally put into his place. Agreeing, with the rasp that remained of his voice, that Vader was right to take his arm, stretching it out, head bowed, fair was fair, after all. Agreeing that he’d been wrong. Agreeing while his agony curled through the Force, staining everything.

Vader worked to hold onto the initial pleasure of his victory, fought for it, temper growing worse as Obi-Wan spoiled things, once more. He could barely breathe, around Obi-Wan’s cursed emotions, by the time it became obvious that Obi-Wan needed to go to the medbay, no longer shaking, no longer doing much of anything but breathing shallowly, gone pale all over, staring at the troopers, intently.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan was murmuring, barely audible, as a pair of troopers lifted him and carried him away - strange that they had not dragged him, Vader considered, but only briefly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he kept repeating, as they carried him through the door. He had been slurring the words for some hours.

Vader appreciated the apologies, but, truly, they were far too little too late.

He turned away as the door shut, moving to look out over the open viewport along the side of the room, staring out across the lava fields below. He curled his hands around the railing, breathing hard, and reassured himself that he had, in fact, gotten everything he wanted, finally.

He turned away from the view, eventually, and went to check the messages his Master had sent him, over the past days.

Cody warned Crys to watch his expression when they were out of the medbay. To control his emotions. Vader was one of the few Force sensitive people left in the galaxy, as far as Cody knew. That meant he could, technically, pick up emotions.

Cody worked to keep his feelings contained. To stay as blank as possible. But there was fury in him. Fury and rage and guilt and hurt and--

And Obi-Wan had taught him, back during the war, how to breathe slowly and deeply, how to settle himself when the noise in his head got to be too much. Cody remembered sitting beside him, quietly, meditating in a dimly lit room with the sweet smell of incense all around them, listening to Obi-Wan’s breath and falling into the same pattern, so they were breathing as one and, he had imagined, perhaps their heartbeats even changed to match--

Obi-Wan floated in a bacta tank as Cody walked back into the medbay, hours after he’d left, leaving Crys to continue on with their preparation. Obi-Wan’s remaining limbs curled close, like he was trying to make himself small, even while unconscious.

Cody remembered everything his body had done. Remembered, so clearly, giving the order to shoot Obi-Wan down on Utapau, the cool slide of satisfaction in his mind as he’d watched his General plunge into the waste-water pit. He remembered moving out, remembered reassignment, remembered people begging, pleading with him--

He dug his nails up into his palms, when the memories got to be too much, and marched forward, back towards where he’d left Bones. Who was… bent over another trooper, when Cody entered the room, and who snapped, “Don’t say a word.”

And so Cody didn’t, because you listened to the medics when they gave you orders, even when you, technically, out-ranked them. He waited, patiently, moving a bit around the side of the bed to watch as Bones did… something to the side of their brother’s head.

It didn’t take very long before Bones shifted, pressed a bacta patch into place, and looked up at Cody, scowling, to snap, “Chips.”

“Excuse me?” Cody said, considering that the aneurysm may have caused more damage to Bones’ mind than they’d first assumed, adjusting his plan to work around that, and--

“There are chips in our brains,” Bones said. “Frontal lobe. I assume that’s what’s controlling us, because I’ve removed four of them so far, and the results have been favorable.”

Cody blinked at him, struck, abruptly, by how good it was to have his brothers back, to have help, to remember that Bones was every bit as competent as he was, if with the tools of the medical bay instead of combat planning. “Where are they?” he asked, “The ones you freed?”

“Waiting for you,” Bones said, mouth quirking, his eyes hard and flat as Cody’s felt. “I sent them to the barracks and told them not to draw attention to themselves. Guv is going to stay here, though. He’ll help me, we’ll move twice as quickly.”

Cody nodded, calculations streaming through his head. There wasn’t much of the 212th left. Their men had been thrown onto the front lines in the immediate aftermath of the war. He didn’t believe for a moment that hadn’t been intentional, another jab at Obi-Wan, even though everyone had thought him dead.

Palpatine and Skywalker had wanted them all dead, at first, just because they were Obi-Wan’s.

The survivors were mostly clustered on Mustafar, such as they were. “How long to free them all?” he asked, as Guv started to stir around.

Bones shrugged. “A few days? Maybe less, if I can find another medic or two.”

Cody reached out and gripped his shoulder. He said, “Good work. Stay out of the way in here, you hear me? Just leave if Skywalker comes by.” To see Obi-wan, he did not add. He didn’t think he needed to. “But make sure I’m informed.”

“Will do,” Bones said, and Cody left him to his work, a piece of his plan that he’d dared only hope for slotting into place. He’d been prepared to bring this entire place down on his own, if necessary. It looked like he was going to have help. He could work with that.

He looked at Obi-Wan again, on his way out of the medbay, bile burning in the back of his throat, and then set his expression. He stared forward and worked to keep his expression cool and blank. Empty. Just like the faces of all of his brothers.

Cody knew every face around him. His men, wiped clean. Emptied. Screaming inside their own heads, the way he’d been. Begging for someone to help, where no one could hear. Trying desperately to regain control of themselves long enough to - to make it stop.

Cody had spent three long years trapped inside the prison of his own mind, watching his body commit atrocities. All he’d wanted was the opportunity to put a blaster to the side of his head and pull the trigger. It had seemed, for so long, the only way to escape.

He’d managed to fight his way to a different kind of freedom. He didn’t understand why he hadn’t been strong enough to do it weeks ago, before--

Before Vader had gotten his hands on Obi-Wan. Before he’d made Cody--

Cody fought to keep his breathing steady and lost, but none of his brothers looked his way as he reached out, bracing a hand against the wall, back curling over as his heart lurched, off-rhythm and agonizing.

He’d beaten Obi-Wan. With his own hands, he’d-- he’d thought about the best ways to cause pain and then he’d done it, methodical. Effective. And he’d - he’d - Force - Obi-Wan had begged him not to and he hadn’t been strong enough to stop, he’d--

Never again, he thought, straightening and continuing towards the door to move through all the expected motions and to check on his brothers, such as they were. The bunk room. That was where Bones had sent those he’d freed.

They were all packed in, barely enough room to walk between the beds. The space felt claustrophobic and empty at the same time, because even when the bunks were all full it was silent. No one talked. No one laughed. They just… moved about. Silent. Ghosts made flesh.

Cody walked between them, memories of the past dogging his steps, drawing to a stop by Swoop, who was… sitting like all the rest of them. They were supposed to be cleaning their blasters. It looked like he’d started the process and abandoned it.

He was sitting, staring straight forward, blaster in hand and shaking, badly, as he slowly raised his arm, his finger on the trigger. Cody’s heart lurched in his chest and he reached out, without even thinking, grabbing Swoop’s wrist with one hand, stripping the blaster away with the other.

He said, quietly, hoping Bones would understand, “Report to the medbay.”

Swoop stared forward, breathing shakily, his ear shiny with red blood, and Cody swallowed, wishing he could do more. “I’ve got you,” he said. “Just go to the medbay. That’s an order.” He’d been able to hear things, while he was trapped.

Swoop must have been listening, because he let out a shuddery breath, and stood, moving without a word towards the door. Cody checked on the rest of his men - his brothers - and found those Bones had freed clustered together, looking over to watch him with haunted, shadowed eyes.

“Come with me,” he said, as he reached them, tilting his head towards the door. He had so much to do and intended to waste no time accomplishing it. He gave them instructions and sent them on their way, smiling grimly as they moved off. He turned on his heel; there was so much to do, and had a moment where he thought everything might go wrong, when he stepped out of the barracks and found Vader walking down the hall, ridiculous cloak flapping behind him.

He resisted the urge to go for his blaster. It wouldn’t work, he reminded himself, and instead drew to attention, the way he’d been forced to do for so long. Cody stared forward, face carefully blank, focusing on being...empty, inside.

He hoped Vader wouldn’t glance towards him and his heart lurched, unpleasantly, when Vader drew to a stop before him. Cody saw his own reflection in the side of Vader’s helmet, the lines on his face deeper, a distortion of himself.

“2224,” Vader said, something pleased and thick in his tone. Gloating. Smug. “Obi-Wan asked if you were alright. Did you know that? So worried you were hurt. The things he did, to make sure I allowed the droids to tend to you. Can you imagine them?”

There was no reason to tell him. No reason at all, except to revel in the hurt he was causing Obi-Wan. Vader, as far as Cody knew, thought they were all… dead inside. Cody fought with himself; he’d been doing that without respite for three years. He’d gotten very, very good at it, apparently. His expression did not twitch as he said, blank, “No, Lord Vader.”

He expected Vader to notice how very badly Cody wanted to kill him. Instead, Vader just said, “You’ll report to my quarters when he’s recovered. I think it’s time we ended his fascination with you.”

And he turned away, resuming his march. Cody exhaled, harshly, as Vader exited through the doors at the end of the hall, heat from the volcanos beyond sweeping in, temporarily, before the doors closed. His hands itched, not with the urge to reach for a blaster. He’d rather beat Vader to death, he realized, with a dark, twisting slant of his emotions, beat him the way Vader had forced him to beat Obi-Wan, until he wasn’t moving anymore and--

But that would have to wait. He was not ruled by his emotions or the flat, cold fury inside of him. He had one possible opportunity to get Obi-Wan out of here. To rescue his brothers. He wasn’t going to waste it.

No one cared where he went around the base. Vader had, after all, left him in charge of so much, ever so confident in the power of his control, in his ability to make Cody do whatever Vader liked. Well, Cody considered, heading for the munitions bay to check on Crys, keeping his expression studiously blank, he was in the mood to do what he liked.

He’d always favored explosions.

Vader wanted nothing more than to enjoy his crowning moment of victory for a little while. He didn’t see why, after all he’d done for the galaxy and his Master, that could not be allowed. But, apparently, he had been silent for too long after his successes.

His Master had sent Tarkin to check on him, as though he were a wayward child. Vader recalled being quite impressed with Tarkin, once. He’d seemed sure of purpose, during the war. Willing to do what needed done.

Currently, Tarkin only irritated him. Lectures appealed not at all to him, but he had his orders and, besides, Obi-Wan would be in the medbay for some time yet. Vader had been forced to punish him, to remind him of his place, to take a pound of flesh; it was nothing Obi-Wan hadn’t taken from him.

And when he recovered enough to be stable, Vader would take the rest of what he was owed.

Tarkin asked after his current projects and sneered at the base and was, generally, an irritant. Vader resisted the urge to lift a hand and strangle the man. His Master would be displeased, if he did.

His irritation built up behind his bones, restrained and held back. This was Obi-Wan’s fault, anyway. If he hadn’t distracted Vader so much, he’d have completed the tasks set before him and wouldn’t have to deal with Tarkin’s overbearing presence, for however long the man decided to stay.

Vader scowled behind his mask, and resigned himself to playing the unwilling host for nearly three days, before Tarkin finally left, apparently satisfied that he’d thrown his weight around enough.

It left Vader’s temper surging through his veins, burning hot and stinging. He sent an order to the medbay that Obi-Wan be dragged from the bacta, ignoring the droid’s complaints that he was not fully healed; apparently, there was some kind of internal damage. “He’ll live,” Vader snapped, “I want him brought to me.”

He needed to settle the pressure in his head, the rage in his blood.

It was, after all, all Obi-Wan’s fault.

Cody worked unceasingly for three days, getting everything moved into place. Exhaustion beat at the insides of his head, forcing him to get his head down for a few hours at a time. He wouldn’t risk ruining the mission because he was kriffing tired, so he made himself wedge into a bunk and shut his eyes, determined.

The nightmares woke him after what felt like moments, leaving him gasping and jerking to sit, vomit rising in his throat. In the nightmares, he saw Obi-Wan, every single time. Begging, bloody, held down and hurt and--

And Cody was the one hurting him, every time.

He swallowed, hard, panting and feeling sweat break out across his skin. His stomach hurt, terribly and his head throbbed. But a few nightmares were less of a punishment than he deserved, for what he’d done. He was going to get Obi-Wan out of here. He was going to drop the entire base into a volcano. He was going to kill Skywalker, with his bare hands, if possible.

And then he’d think of a way to pay for what he’d done, and pay the cost, gladly.

Until then, he scrubbed a hand across his face and stood. He’d slept a few hours. More than long enough. It would have to be. He couldn’t bear the thought of putting his head on the pillow again, of shutting his eyes, of leaving his subconscious free to return to the monstrosities he’d committed.

He loved Obi-Wan. Had loved Obi-Wan for so kriffing long. And he’d still--

Cody pushed the thoughts away, rising from the bunk and meeting Reck’s eyes from the bunk across the aisle. Reck nodded, just a little, barely a sign of movement, but enough to show he was in there.

So many of them were free.

Soon everyone on the base would be themselves again. They’d gotten lucky in that regard, Cody knew. The visit of the Admiral had distracted Skywalker, something Cody hadn’t anticipated. Thus far, Obi-Wan had been the only thing that adequately kept Skywalker occupied and--

And Cody hadn’t been willing to use that distraction again. Skywalker was never going to raise a hand to Obi-Wan, ever. He was never going to get the chance.

Cody held onto that thought, moving out into the base, expression studiously blank, just in case. He threw himself into the last stages of his preparations; making sure the base was wired appropriately was important. Taking care of the ships in the hangar needed handled, as well. They needed one clean - free of any tracking devices - and the rest… well.

Cody wasn’t taking any chances. There’d be no way for Vader to get off of this rock, if somehow Cody failed to kill him directly. He didn’t plan to fail, but having contingencies never hurt anyone.

He spent hours in the hangar, ensuring everything was just so, nodded grimly once finished, and moved back through the base, looking for something else to keep him busy. It was so vitally important that he stay busy. It kept the memories away, kept his thoughts from spiralling inward in a way that made him want to reach for his blaster.

He didn’t think he could kill Skywalker with it. Yet. But lifting it, pressing it to the side of his own temple, was…

He swallowed, marching blank faced down the hall. Those were thoughts for another time. Save Obi-Wan. Kill Skywalker. Blow up the base. Get his brothers out of here. Those were the goals he needed to hold onto. And he gripped them, tight. Focused on nothing else and nothing more.

Cody went to the medbay. There was generally something to do there, and most of the rest of his preparations were complete. Bones almost always had a brother in recovery, someone who needed explanations and comfort, who needed to be told it was alright, now, that it was over, the long nightmare they’d all shared.

Cody went over all the completed preparations one more time, as he reached the medbay, making it two steps in before a jarring sense of wrongness swept over him. He froze, gaze jerked towards the bacta tank where Obi-Wan had been floating, last he checked, and--

“They took him,” Bones said, fast, coming forward and gripping Cody’s arms, his expression distraught, openly so. “Sir, they took him, the droids had orders and Crys and--”

“To Skywalker?” Cody asked, hoping that - maybe - the answer was no. That maybe they’d just dragged him to his cell. That would make everything so much easier. Cody planned to keep Obi-Wan away from Skywalker’s execution, if at all possible.

Obi-Wan had loved the man Skywalker had been, once. He didn’t need to see what Cody was going to do to him.

“Yes,” Bones said, sounding gutted. “What are we going to--”

“How many of us are still chipped?” Cody asked, feeling something cold settle across him, ice itself moving through his veins. There was no more time to wait, then. He’d already failed his promise not to let Skywalker touch Obi-Wan again, but-- Running off immediately wasn’t going to serve any of them.

He needed to set everything into motion. Then he’d run off.

“Less than a dozen,” Bones said, “but it’ll take me hours--”

“Order them to board the ship,” Cody cut in. There wasn’t time to waste on explanations and fretting. “Tell them I’ve ordered general quarters. Lock them in. We’ll deal with them later. I want them out of here now, before anyone can start issuing orders. You’re to stay on the ship with them. Get the medbay made ready. We’re not getting out of this without injuries.”

“Yes, sir,” Bones said, nodding, and turned, just like that, motions suddenly calm and controlled. They’d all been waiting for this such a long time, Cody knew. He certainly had.

He turned on his heel, walking out of the room, ignoring the droids watching them curiously. A few droids were no longer a concern. They wouldn’t be able to get word to Skywalker, anyway. Not if he were - were distracting himself with Obi-Wan again.

Cold fire spread in Cody’s gut as he walked. He’d almost made it to the barracks when an order came over the comm in his ear. It seemed he was wanted, immediately, in Skywalker’s throne room.

He could guess at why, and grinned, small and tight. Skywalker would invite him in, would not even be startled when Cody showed up, because Skywalker had called him. Made it easy, over confident and sure he was in utter control. The throne room was more of a problem than his private chambers. There were automated defenses in there. But Cody had prepared for this eventuality. His knuckles itched.

Cody continued to the barracks and gestured, silently, when he stepped inside. The few of his brothers still under the control of the thing in their heads never even looked up, never saw the signs Cody sketched through the air.

The rest of them, those freed, those ready to fight, stood with grim, determined looks, checking their blasters and straightening their armor. Cody looked over all of them, heart beating steady and sure in his chest, and nodded. They were as ready as they were ever going to be. And he was so tired of waiting. He marched through the halls, men falling in at his back, without a word or hesitation.

He gestured again as they reached Skywalker’s throne room. His brothers nodded, spreading out, pressed to the walls, blasters drawn, ready and waiting, as he blanked his expression and waved the door open, stepping in to get a look at the exact situation they were dealing with before he called in all his back-up.

The throne room smelled like blood and the poisoned, volcanic air from outside, in a way that dropped the bottom out of Cody’s stomach. The room was brightly lit, not even the brief mercy of shadows there to hide the sights that awaited.

Obi-Wan was there, and Cody’s heart ached to see him. He was kneeling on the floor, head down, beside Skywalker, who was sitting on that throne of his, the ugly, brutal shape of it looming through the smoke that had been allowed to billow into the room. Cody resisted looking towards the open window, an itching sense of anticipation in his bones.

Skywalker had his legs crossed, a chain wound around one hand, connected to the collar at Obi-Wan’s throat. Obi-Wan’s right arm hung limp by his side, unbond. Cody swallowed bile, the abbreviated end of Obi-Wan’s left arm a condemnation, another way he’d failed, and he’d--

“Come here,” Skywalker ordered, voice a boom, and Cody remembered when he’d sounded like a boy, those first few months of the war. That boy had grown into a monster. Cody wished, absently, that he’d killed Skywalker long ago. Years ago. If only he’d known.

He walked forward, assessing the situation. Some of his brothers were already in the room. But that wasn’t a surprise. Skywalker liked to keep guards around, and perhaps he intended to force Cody to kill them. Or, Cody considered, eyeing the blasters they already held, perhaps they were to be his executioners.

They were all but two of them awake.

He hoped Skywalker enjoyed the surprise he was about to get. It had been far too long in coming.

Cody came to a stop in front of the throne, staring forward, waiting for the perfect moment, and Obi-Wan hitched in a breath, rasping - his voice was still barely a whisper, strained and hoarse, “Please, please, don’t--”

“I didn’t give you permission to speak,” Vader snapped, jerking on the chain, and Cody’s hands tightened into fists. He fought to keep his emotions calm and still. “I told you,” Skywalker continued, after a moment, “that 2224 has been experiencing defects. I think it’s time we resolved that.”

Cody watched Obi-Wan go still, strangely and totally. Centering himself, Cody realized. Preparing for something.

“I know how I’d prefer to handle the execution. We could see how long it would take, if you like,” Skywalker continued, voice thrumming with implications. “But you could, perhaps, convince me to make it painless.” He tugged on the chain, again, jerking Obi-Wan forward against his legs, even as he uncrossed them, and Cody was going to--

“Yes, Lord Vader,” Obi-Wan said, before Cody could signal the other troopers, sliding his hand up Vader’s leg, and there was no more time to wait because Cody wasn’t letting this happen again. Never again. Never--

He made a sign, sharp and short, by his hip, and everything went mad, all at once.

Vader made a harsh, furious sound, standing and throwing Obi-Wan back, viciously. Cody blinked, because there was a flash of red, and for a moment, Cody thought that Vader had drawn his lightsaber and killed Obi-Wan and--

The red went with Obi-Wan, who hit the ground, rolled, and came up on one knee, glowing lightsaber in hand and blood streaking down his chin as he rasped, “You’re not going to hurt them, ever again, Anakin.”

That was when the first explosions started going off, right on schedule.

It was when Vader roared an order to kill him.

And it was when his two chipped brothers opened fire.

Vader told Obi-Wan, when he was dragged in and dumped across the ground, that he had a special treat planned. He enjoyed the way Obi-Wan shuddered at the words, the way his emotions tangled and warped, dread and even still some scraps of determination threading through him.

Obi-Wan still thought he had a chance, even after everything. Even after Anakin had taken his arm - and he thought, perhaps, after he handled 2224, he’d take a leg, make Obi-Wan see exactly what he’d done, make him live it. He was going to undo Obi-Wan, utterly. It simply might take longer than he’d first hoped.

In any case, wrapping Obi-Wan’s chain around his hand and dragging him closer had settled some of the anger left behind by Tarkin’s visit. Obi-Wan still moved like he was hurt inside, carefully, a soft sound punching out of him as Vader dragged him into place.

He considered, for a moment, that something should be done about Obi-Wan’s right arm. There was no easy way to restrain it, though, and anyway, what was he going to do? The collar around his neck prevented him from acting against Vader’s will. And, if that failed, well…

There were troopers in the room. They’d proven so effective at getting Obi-Wan to listen. Just the threat of their deaths was more than enough to have Obi-Wan begging for mercy he wasn’t going to receive. A few executions were a good way to remind Obi-Wan of who was in control.

Still, Vader planned only one such execution for the evening. He’d grown tired of seeing 2224’s face around the base. He had a sneaking suspicion that Obi-Wan was thinking about the defective damn thing, that, even when he was with Vader, his thoughts were elsewhere. Another betrayal.

Besides, 2224 deserved to die for everything it had done during the war, for taking Obi-Wan’s focus away, distracting him.

Vader called it in, sitting back on his throne and relaxing. Tarkin had gone. He had Obi-Wan. He’d soon be rid of 2224. He’d gotten what he wanted and shuddered, just for a moment, at the way the realization left him feeling strange and hollow.

He focused on the twist and ache of Obi-Wan’s emotions as 2224 marched in to face its execution. Obi-Wan’s agony was so rich, so complex. He hadn’t hurt nearly so much when Vader took his arm. That had just been… pain. Physical. Fleeting. The way he split open as Vader told him exactly what was going to happen to 2224 was so much thicker. Choking. Spilling into the Force.

Vader’s mouth twitched behind his helmet - it was wrong that Obi-Wan cared so much about some thing, a clone, anything that wasn’t him - and he jerked on the chain, only slightly mollified when Obi-Wan slid a hand up his leg.

How many times had he thought about Obi-Wan touching him like this? Obi-Wan kneeling between his spread legs, head bent forward, focused on making him feel good? They should have had this before, Padmé would have understood, Vader could have made her understand.

His respiration quickened with anticipation. He knew exactly when he planned to order 2224 executed. He’d order it to kill itself, he decided, after making it watch. After he had Obi-Wan’s mouth on him, after--

His sweet musings were interrupted when Obi-Wan’s emotions shifted, all at once, agony and grief peeling away to reveal something cool and calm and flat. He jerked at the same instant he felt Obi-Wan’s fingers curl around his lightsaber, and--

Vader shoved him back, immediately, with the Force, the saber activating even as he tossed Obi-Wan across the room. A second later and it would have carved up through his gut. Obi-Wan had activated it while it was pressed close to his skin, had intended to kill him and--

Fury and betrayal swirled through Vader’s mind as he lurched to his feet, drawing the Force around him, watching Obi-Wan grip his lightsaber, the red blade glowing across his skin, his eyes fierce and blue, sharp all of a sudden, all the misery he’d worn just pulled away, like a mask, like they’d been put-on, which was impossible.

Vader snarled, reaching for the controls for the collar, and the ground shook under him. Around the room the troopers were moving, suddenly, opening fire on 2224, who jerked away, impossibly, he should have stayed where he was, unmoving, not fired back at them, grunting when a blaster shot caught him in his side before some of the other troopers opened fire, taking out each other, not--

Vader didn’t understand what was happening. It didn’t matter. He moved to activate the controls, to bring Obi-Wan to heel, and 2224 said, “Skywalker.”

Vader blinked, surprise making him look over, sure he’d misheard and--

“For Trip,” 2224 said, calm and flat, as he shot the controls on Vader’s arm, sparks jumping out of the suit even as the rest of the troopers not on the ground opened fire on him. Vader roared in fury, unsure how Obi-Wan had managed this, how he’d managed to corrupt the clones’ programming, but none of that mattered.

Vader could figure that out later. After they were all dead. He lashed out with the Force, throwing them back, lifting three of them into the air at once, grip choking around their throats. He would kill them, oh yes. All of them, one after another, the entire 212th, ending with Obi-Wan. He’d make Obi-Wan watch each of them die, make sure he couldn’t look away, make sure--

He tightened his grip in the Force and made a hoarse, surprised sound when the troopers fell, anyway, his power pulled apart. The Force shifted in the room, swelling up, sweet and sharp, and he looked over, confusion coursing through him, to find Obi-Wan on his feet, saber shaking, breathing hard, what remained of his left arm stretched out.

“I won’t let you hurt them. Ever again,” Obi-Wan panted, eyes blazing, power coursing out of him, holding Vader back, which was impossible. Obi-Wan had ever been able to match him, but Vader had taken care of that, restrained him--

And the collar lay on the floor, twisted, the edges still smoking faintly from the blade of his saber. Vader snarled, moving towards Obi-Wan, fury building in his bones, all his focus on his old master. Blaster bolts hit across his shoulders and back, his chest, deflected by all the shielding in his suit, and then there was another explosion, closer, rocking the room.

Sparks jumped inside his systems, when it hit, a few warnings going off and silencing at once. His respiratory system stopped responding; as did his cardiac. The next blaster bolt hit true, and he stumbled back a step, and then another, as more bolts hit him.

He needed to get out, get away from this madness. Institute repairs. His chest split with agony as his heart struggled to keep beating without mechanical support. He wheezed, gasping for breath inside his helmet, driven back further, until he hit the wall, gripping at the edge of the window.

“No!” he panted, raising one hand, rage and sharp fear echoing through him, allowing him to pull hard on the Force. He lashed out at Obi-Wan, the source of all of this trouble, and heard him cry out, sharply, as half the room came down in the grip of Vader’s power.

Stone and rock spilled across the floor, choking dust swirling through the air, giving Vader a moment to sway, his access to the Force no longer so restrained. Everything hurt. He didn’t - it was impossible. There were alarms going off, everywhere, and no one had come to help him. He hurt. He’d--this was all wrong. Impossible and wrong.

He looked around, as the air currents rising off of the lava moved through the room, clearing some of the smoke. He found cold, furious faces everywhere, and Obi-Wan, up on one knee, somehow, looking up at him with his shining blue eyes, saber dropped so he could extend his right hand, shaking with the effort of restraining Vader’s use of the Force.

The troopers opened fire on him, all at once and it - his suit wasn’t working properly. He felt each impact, terrible.

“Master!” he wailed, unable to breathe, heart stuttering, tripping, because Obi-Wan had so many weak spots and he knew he was one of them. Obi-Wan wouldn’t let them actually kill him. It wasn’t the Jedi way, after all.

A blaster shot caught him dead center in his helmet, shoving him back, almost over-balancing him. “For Dart,” 2224 said, flat, as Vader gripped at the edge of the open window. 2224 stared at him, his eyes dark and terrible even as he bled from the blaster wound in his side, even as he made a sharp sign with his hand and the blaster fire stopped. “For all our brothers.”

Vader gasped, choking, planning to take advantage of their foolish mercy. He started, “Obi-Wan--”

And 2224 said, “Yes,” grimly. “For Obi-Wan.” And he pulled the trigger once more, stepped forward while Vader was reeling, and kicked him, impossible force behind the blow. Vader made a sound, heard it echo in his helmet, as he overbalanced, grabbing for the edge of the window and missing and--

Cody leaned out over the side of the window, listening to further explosions go off, exactly as they should have. The EMP had worked well, he thought. A nice touch. It would have been enough to take Skywalker out, even without Obi-Wan’s help.

But Obi-Wan’s help meant they hadn’t lost more men, and--and that split something open, inside Cody’s chest. Obi-Wan had still fought for them. After everything, he’d tried to put himself between them and Skywalker.

And so Cody stared down into the lava, so far below, watching as it closed over Vader’s head, his one outstretched hand. He ignored the pain in his side, hot and cold at the same time, and the feel of blood sliding across his skin. The shot had gone clean through and he knew he was losing blood, lots of it.

It didn’t feel terribly important, at the moment. “Sir?” Crys asked, stepping up beside him, blaster still in hand. “Did you get visual confirmation?”

Cody spat over the edge, turned away, and said, “Yes. He’s dead. Let’s go.”

They weren’t done.

Not yet.

He’d killed Skywalker. He’d freed most of his brothers and the rest were going to be sorted. All that was left, he considered, turning away from the fire, was getting Obi-Wan out of here. Making him safe and never letting anyone hurt him, ever again.

#whumptober2020 #no.5 #rescue #clone wars #fic #torture #mentions of non con #mentions of suicide #character death #loss of a limb #mistreatment of prisoners #mind control #oof!au #my writing #codywan #vaderwan #please heed the warnings #i've been waiting for this part for so long

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wanderinginksplot · 4 years

Text

Nobody Listens to Kix

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Case 00598: Commander Ahsoka Tano

"Is that everyone?" Kix asked the last set of troopers to stagger into the medbay.

"No, there's one more," Appo said with a glance behind himself.

"Stretcher?"

"No, walking wounded." Kix relaxed at Appo's negative. The walking wounded were always in better shape than those who had to use a stretcher for transportation.

Swoop, leaning against Appo's uninjured shoulder, grinned. "This wounded soldier is probably more than 'walking', though."

"The commander?' Kix guessed, and was answered by matching nods. "What happened to her?"

"She was with the captain, so we're not really sure," Appo said slowly. "We were in the group with the general."

Kix shook his head. "Both of you, find a bed. It's going to take me a while to treat the men who are here, and neither of you are at risk of death. Best settle in for the long haul."

Still, Kix had worked his way through the wounded troopers and was finishing with two men who had received injuries more minor than Appo or Swoop. Still, the commander had yet to appear.

After he finished with the men, dismissed them to their bunks, and checked on the ones who had to stay in the medbay, Kix tried calling Commander Tano's comlink, but there was no answer. With a frustrated sigh, he keyed in General Skywalker's comlink code instead.

"Skywalker here."

"General, it's Kix. I heard Commander Tano was injured in the battle, but she hasn't come into the medbay yet," Kix said, feeling somewhere between a concerned medic and a tattling child.

"Seriously? It's been two hours!" Skywalker made a frustrated noise. "Stand by, Kix. I'll call and ask what got her sidetracked."

Kix's comlink went silent for less than a minute before the general called back. "Expect Commander Tano shortly."

Sure enough, the commander appeared only minutes later. She was walking slowly, her posture announcing that she was in pain as clearly as if she had said it. She looked clean, dressed in her casual clothes rather than her armor, but her face was weary and pale under her facial markings.

"Commander," Kix greeted with a frown. "You should sit."

Knowing she wouldn't appreciate being put in a bed immediately, Kix herded Commander Tano toward the well-worn chair tucked under his desk. She sat heavily and leaned her chin on her fist, eyes fluttering closed.

"Commander?" She made an inquisitive sound, but did not open her eyes. "Commander, I need you to tell me what happened."

"I had about twenty men with me. We were fighting to reclaim a ridge outside of Balith's capital city and the Seppie tanks fired on us. The shots went wide and missed us, but they caught the cliffs up above. There was a rockslide."

She stopped talking and Kix frowned. "None of the men had injuries from a rockslide."

"I used the Force to push them away," Commander Tano explained tiredly. "I thought I could move them out of the way and get out before the rocks reached us, but everything happened faster than I expected and I got hit. I dodged the big rocks, but some of the smaller ones got me."

"And why didn't you report here immediately?"

She shrugged. "I meant to, but I knew there were a lot of men waiting and I figured I would shower first. Then, I wanted to sleep more than anything else. Can I just go back to my bunk?"

"Sorry, Commander," Kix refused. "The big concern here is a concussion. I'm going to examine your head, all right?"

"Do I need to open my eyes?"

"Not immediately."

"Then go ahead."

Kix set about examining her montrals and lekku for damage, even going so far as to lift each one to study the undersides. She was bruised in several places, but he wasn't finding much in the way of cuts.

As he examined the commander, Kix kept up a steady stream of questions: "Are you seeing lights in your eyes? Were you unconscious at any time? Is your vision blurred? Any sensitivity to light? Headache? Nausea? Memory problems? Confusion?"

Commander Tano answered no to every question except headache with light sensitivity, but that could very well be a migraine in response to the aftereffects of a rockslide and corresponding adrenaline rush.

"Okay, we've reached the open-eyes section of the examination," he told her, and the commander reluctantly did as he had instructed.

Kix studied her pupils, relieved to find that both were the same size and normally dilated. She tracked his movements without a struggle and grimaced when he gently pinched her arm.

"Well, you've passed all of my tests," he told her, "but you still need to stay the night here so we can make sure you're resting properly."

It was a testament to how the commander felt that she didn't argue. Normally, she would have fought as hard as any one of the men to avoid spending the night in the medbay.

She paused only once to ask, "You aren't going to plug me into a machine or poke me with needles, are you?"

"No, sir. I'll wake you up fairly often and ask you some questions, but no machines and no needles."

"Good," she said with a hint of a smile. "I would hate to have to Jedi you in my sleep because you messed with a needle."

"Considering you lost a game of chicken with a rockslide earlier today, I think I could survive the experience," Kix replied dryly.

"Or did I win a game of chicken?" Commander Tano asked, clambering up and into a bed. "Besides, I wouldn't have gotten hit at all if I hadn't been protecting Rex. That cold has really slowed his reflexes…"

Kix whipped back around to face her. "What cold?" he asked dangerously.

"Uh…" the commander hedged, clearly trying to find a way out of the situation. Kix's narrowed eyes didn't leave her face and she sighed. "The cold he told me not to tell you about."

Kix nodded slowly, already keying the captain's code into his comlink.

---

A/N - Fun fact: these chapters are mostly being posted in the order they were written. I had always planned for Ahsoka's chapter to come out this week, but last week's episode of The Mandalorian really kicked things up a notch! Out of respect for those who haven't seen the episode yet, I won't say anything more. Concerning this week's chapter of this particular story, poor Rex! He's probably in for it from Kix.

Thank you for reading and extra thanks to those who have reblogged in the past. Reblogs are the best way to share the love, guys!

#Nobody Listens to Kix #star wars the clone wars #star wars #clone trooper kix #commander ahsoka tano #ahsoka tano #clone trooper appo #clone trooper swoop #rockslide #rex is in trouble #clone troopers deserve better #one-shot #but part of a series #more to come

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ohgodmyeyes · 3 years

Note

Your writing kind of uh disturbs me? I know ‚don’t like don’t read‘ and normally I would do exactly that,

But

Rape? Incest?? I haven’t looked more into your writings because I was puking when I saw the luke/anakin stuff

„My new favorite ship“ no what the fuck

Who in their right mind ships that??

I was going to delete this the other night, partly because that's what I'd usually do, and partly because I'm actually not sure if you're serious— my sarcasm detector is broken, and I'm a bit incredulous to the idea that anything I've ever written is enough to shock or upset anybody in the year 2021. You didn't call me any nasty names, though (thanks!), and I don't feel like writing anything for real right now... so I'll indulge us both by answering your ask.

First of all, yes, rape is horrifying— that's the way I write it, because that's the way I see it, and I'm honestly kind of glad you see it that way, too. Some rape stories are meant to be read like porn (which is also just fine, by the way), but mine aren't: If you picked up on that, even just through skimming 'Ani', then I feel artistically validated, and owe you a big thanks.

Anidala, as presented to us in canon, says more about mental illness and domestic abuse than I think it intends. People have been using that ship to explore and depict heavy topics for well over a decade now; we wouldn't still be doing it if it weren't a worthwhile pursuit.

It's been said before, but it's always worth saying again— Star Wars is, first and foremost, a story about people who love each other. They love each other for better or for worse, taking all of their damage and trauma and weird conditioning with them. There's only so much that can be explored in canon without rendering the franchise inaccessible to its original intended audience (I get it— my own kid is in the next room watching Lego Star Wars right now), and that's where fanworks come into play. We have complete freedom to look at whatever we want, solely through our own creative power.

Which, I guess, brings me to the incest! I was, at one point, pretty nervous about sharing it; needless to say, I don't feel that way anymore. Mark Hamill and Hayden Christensen are two attractive, completely unrelated men who play two sexy, interesting characters. I like imagining Luke and Anakin together romantically because it's fascinating... and, yes, extremely aesthetically pleasing to me.

Darth Vader is a sad, angry shell of a man for years and years before Luke Skywalker comes into his life. When they 'meet' in the trench on the surface of the Death Star, he feels something he hasn't felt in a long time. He doesn't know Luke is his son at that point, or anything else— all he knows then is that the kid is absolutely bursting with Force energy. He's fascinated, confused, curious, and scared. Those feelings escalate and change enough over the time that passes between ANH and ESB that I totally believe Vader might end up finding himself helplessly infatuated (in his own weird, obsessive way) with young Luke before he knows better.

Their relationship culminates with them claiming an emotional connection which, in my eyes, is unrivalled by anything else either of them ever achieves for themselves. It's a very special bond, and because I'm a mushy horny old lady, I readily read romance into it. I can understand why some people wouldn't, but I can't help the impression I get. Human ingenuity has gifted me a perfectly safe and ethical way to revel in the warm fuzzies I have for these fictional men— and it's not just me, if the infallibly kind response of other ao3 readers is any indication.

Luke and Anakin are both such three-dimensional, relatable, interesting people. There is an endless number of scenarios I can imagine that involve them interacting romantically. Some of those situations are whimsically unrealistic and unabashedly sexy; some of them are deeply disturbing, and very sadly conceivable. Some of them are somewhere in-between, but all of them are entirely imaginary, and you can always count on me to label them accurately.

I'm not bound by real-life ethics or morals when I'm writing fanfiction for free, and neither is anyone else. There are some stories I can't bring myself to read either, and that's alright— those kinds of preferences are both unique to individual people, and endlessly variable. Something I love about stories is that they only take an author to bring them to life; that author can depict essentially whatever they want without having involved anyone but themselves in the production of their work. That's magical! Written language is a man-made miracle, and restricting its use has, historically, never really ended well.

Thank you for giving me an opportunity to talk about some of my favourite people, and why I love writing the things I write about them. I'm largely out-of-touch with what other fans like and dislike, both about my own work and in fandom more generally. I don't know what anyone thinks of anything until they tell me, so I appreciate you doing just that without getting rude about it. :)

#thanks anon #fanfiction #luke x anakin #anakin x padme #star wars fanfiction #i never claimed to be in my right mind #shipping

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the-last-kenobi · 3 years

Note

For BTHB "Halucinations" with Obi-wan on Zigoola?

@coalmine301 you do delight my whump-loving heart. Sorry this took so long!

tw for mental breakdown, ptsd, graphic injury, self harm, and torture.

Zigoola was not a place.

At least, it was not only a place. Not anymore.

The power of the Force, honed and used and washed over a place over time, eventually causes great change.

The Jedi Temple was not merely a building, after all, but a beacon of peace and light for all who could feel it. Its bones ran deep with power, layers upon layers of light.

It was the way of the Light to be fortitude, to be patience, to be serenity, forgiveness, humility.

It was the way of the Dark to be recklessness, to be rage, to be thrill, to be destruction, consumption, emotion.

And Zigoola was Dark.

Dark indeed.

And when Obi-Wan Kenobi left that hellish planet, secure in the worried arms of Bail Organa and Padmé Amidala...

Zigoola followed him home.

: : : : :

Anakin and Ahsoka returned from their most recent campaign flushed with triumph and eager to share the bragging stories all the men did, with bravado and cheer to help cover for the losses met and the sacrifices made.

They returned when most of Obi-Wan’s external injuries had been washed away by bacta.

“Hey, Master,” Anakin greeted him, stretching luxuriously as he swaggered into their quarters. He always called him Master when he was worried about him. “Heard you got roughed up on a mission. What happened?”

His eyes were overly keen. He had seen that Obi-Wan is (is?) fine, and now he wanted to know why secrets were being kept.

How dare they send his Master alone on some secret mission?

How dare they allow him to be harmed because Anakin wasn’t there beside him?

“We met with some turbulence,” Obi-Wan said calmly, carefully turning in his chair in a way that showed Anakin his face while casting the still-pink burn on one side hidden by shadow, in a way that didn’t put pressure on his bad leg. (Worse leg.) “I’m all right. Bacta still smells as unpleasant as I recall.”

Anakin chuckled. He came to sit on a nearby chair, kicking his booted feet in the air.

“Anakin,” sighed Obi-Wan. He shifted again. Just a little. Just to keep his face out of direct light. “Please, sit properly?”

“This is properly,” his former apprentice teased. He flipped around so that his feet were off the back of the chair and his head was on the floor. “A chair is for getting off your feet and being comfy. I’m off my feet. I’m comfy. So this is totally proper.”

Obi-Wan muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “graceless ass.”

Anakin launched a cup coaster at him with the Force.

: : : : :

Obi-Wan woke suddenly in the dead of night.

It was pitch black in his room, but he could sense Anakin leaning over him as clearly as if he could see him.

“‘N’kin?” he mumbled.

Anakin shifted closer to the bed. “Yeah. Obi-Wan... what’s going on?”

“What?”

“You were screaming,” his friend said slowly. “In your sleep.”

Obi-Wan flushed, grateful that the darkness hid his face from view. “Oh. I’m sorry. You know how disturbed the Force is these days, especially here on Coruscant. I must have...”

“No,” Anakin cut across him. “It wasn’t like that. What aren’t you telling me?”

“It’s nothing, Anakin.”

“It’s not nothing.”

Obi-Wan sighed and shifted in his bed, tugging the sheets up higher, shielding himself from the chill of the room. “It is, Anakin. I’m sorry I disturbed you, but—”

“It’s not nothing,” said Anakin in a low voice. “If it was nothing you wouldn’t have lived. Why did you live?”

Obi-Wan’s heart stopped. “What?”

“Why did you live?” demanded Anakin’s voice. The dark presence beside him seemed to suddenly swell, filling the entire room, sucking out all the air. “Why didn’t you die, Jedi?”

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan said hoarsely, starting to sit upright.

Two hands caught him forcefully and shoved him back down, pinning him on his back. The bedsheets suddenly felt suffocating; his limbs were tangled in them hopelessly as he began to kick and struggle.

No matter how hard he thrashed, the hands held him firmly.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth - to question, to beg, to scream - something - but more hands came out of the blackness and closed around his throat, cutting off his voice before he could do more than let out choked cry.

The darkness remained, but somehow, Anakin’s snarling face came into view, illuminated in red as if by fire.

“You should have died on Zigoola,” he sneered. “Die, Jedi.”

And he snapped Obi-Wan’s neck.

: : : : :

Anakin meandered up the hallway, chasing a feeling.

It happened sometimes. The Force just prodded and poked with no clarity whatsoever.

He spotted a familiar figure at the end of the hallway, standing next to a large window overlooking the western horizon of Coruscant. Anakin knew long before he got close that it was Obi-Wan.

“Hey.”

The man didn’t move.

“Obi-Wan, Ahsoka wants to grab lunch at Dex’s before she sets out for her solo. You coming?”

He had his robe on, but it was wrapped tightly around him, and the hood was raised.

Anakin frowned and stepped closer. “Hey. Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan pulled his cloak even tighter around him. His head turned slightly. “Go ahead and say what you want to say,” his former Master muttered. “I won’t talk to you.”

Anakin looked as if he’d been slapped; the hand he had raised to touch the older man’s shoulder fell back to his side. “Fine,” he said curtly. “Whatever makes you happy I guess.”

He turned on his heel and stalked off, brimming with hurt and anger.

He was long gone before the Jedi by the window turned his head slowly to look where he had gone, a look of confusion on his face. “...Anakin?”

: : : : :

Night fell again.

Obi-Wan climbed slowly into bed, shaking like a leaf in a tempest. It took five tries - five - just to hoist himself onto his mattress and lay flat, his hands and feet trembling so badly that even his vision was vibrating.

His head began to pound.

Die, Jedi.

Die, Jedi, Die, Jedi, Die, Jedi Die Jedi Die Jedi Die-Jedi-Die-Jedi-Die-Jedi

DIE JEDI DIE—

Bail’s hands covering his. A flash of red. A flash of blue.

Obi-Wan clamped a palm over his mouth to contain the shriek of agony that exploded out of him.

His head - his leg—

Die Jedi

Bail was screaming—

Qui-Gon was reaching for him, then toppling backwards with a beam of red through his chest, his face frozen in a look of shock—

Die Jedi

Obi-Wan slammed his head against the headboard, screaming again into his hand.

“Obi-Wan!”

Anakin was standing over him again, and Obi-Wan curled away from him, clutching his wounded leg with one hand and covering his mouth with the other.

Anakin towered over him, tall, washed in the light streaming from the common area of their quarters—

Wait.

Anakin dropped to his knees, his expression almost frightened. “Obi-Wan! Obi-Wan, snap out of it!”

The older Jedi shuddered where he lay, digging his fingernails into his leg for a purchase on reality.

“Master,” Anakin begged. “Please talk to me!”

Obi-Wan reached further down his leg and shoved his fingertips into the open wound made by his own saber - but - but his fingers dug only into shallow scarring and the dull throbbing of still-healing tissue.

Zigoola.

Bail.

That injury.

It had all been... weeks ago. Weeks and weeks.

His former student knelt next to him, one hand clinging to the bedclothes, clearly wanting to comfort his Master but wary of frightening him further.

“...Anakin?” Obi-Wan whispered around his hand. His voice was small and cracked, a child’s voice after a night terror. “A-Anakin?”

The younger man exhaled shakily, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah. It’s me, Master. Listen. Obi-Wan, you have to let go of your leg... and your face... you’re hurting yourself, all right? Just let go.”

Obi-Wan stared at him.

Anakin stared back, half-stern, half-begging.

After a moment, Obi-Wan obeyed.

He released his leg gingerly, and felt only the residual pain of his slow-healing stab wound and the sharp imprints of his own fingernails.

Then he removed his hand from over his mouth.

His howl of anguish when a red blade pierced Anakin from behind tore through the room, and died into terrified dry sobbing when Anakin fell dead to the floor, his young face painted with shock.

: : : : :

“Master Kenobi!”

Obi-Wan ignored it.

Whoever it was would get his attention more forcefully, real or otherwise. He had no choice but to accept it, but delaying, delaying he could do.

“Master Kenobi! Obi-Wan Kenobi, have you lost your hearing?”

A middle-aged Twi’lek with bold blue skin shouldered her way in front of him; her expression was fierce, but her eyes and the hand she pressed against his chest to stop him were exceedingly gentle. “Obi-Wan?” she repeated.

“Master Che,” he answered dully. “Can I help you?”

“I was about to ask you the same,” she returned, eyes narrowing with concern as she took in his wan visage. “Obi-Wan, your health is deteriorating. An apprentice Healer could tell that at a glance. Why didn’t you come to the Halls?”

“There’s no point,” he said. “It’s just lack of sleep. I’ll pull through.”

Her lekku twitched. “Lack of sleep, hm? That doesn’t explain the rapid weight loss, the new damage on your arms, or your eroding mental shielding...”

“I am fine, Vokara,” the youngest Councilor said sharply. “I won’t be forced into the Halls against my will. If something is really wrong, by all means, feel free to scrape me off the pavement.”

He walked away with his hands folded in his sleeves. His head was bowed.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” the Healer murmured, and picked up her comm unit. “Skywalker. We need to have a conversation. Your Master’s last mission is classified on a need-to-know basis. And you need to know.”

: : : : :

Anakin entered their shared rooms cautiously this time.

The lights were off, save a few small illuminators scattered around the room, radiating soft warm light like candles. Obi-Wan’s robe was draped over the back of the chair, and his boots were set neatly on a mat against the wall, a contrast to Anakin’s, which could usually be found in odd places like on a chair or next to the refrigerator unit.

His former Master’s door was closed.

Hardly daring to breathe, Anakin gently pushed it open.

He blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the deep darkness, and felt his breath hitch.

The bed was empty.

The sheets were tangled and strewn halfway across the floor, as if the occupant had been dragged away or had left in a panic.

Anakin sprang forward, his heart in his throat, as he noticed two things.

A black scorch mark in the floor, where a saber had struck it.

And Obi-Wan’s lightsaber lying discarded in the corner.

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin yelled. “No... no—Obi-Wan!”

: : : : :

Obi-Wan ran.

His vision was flickering like an old holo, flashes of different things all layered together - was he running over damp grass with Qui-Gon - or the polished floors of the Jedi Temple - or the cracked stone of a Sith Temple with Bail - or a strange fiery planet with bursts of lava and Anakin just out of reach - or —

He didn’t know.

He kept running, constantly changing direction as he registered obstacles and turns at the last second.

There was a tree in front of him. He veered left and smacked into a stone wall carved with Sith Runes.

The graven words burned red and fire lanced out at him, biting into his clothing and taking hold, setting him aflame.

Obi-Wan gasped. He stumbled backwards, trying desperately to peel the burning clothing off of him, hearing maniacal laughter echoing from the black corridors all around him, hearing the screams of the dying, the dead.

Someone grabbed him by the arm and he wheeled around, the fire vanishing inexplicably as Cody, wearing bloodstained armor but without his helmet, stumbled into his arms, gasping for air.

Before Obi-Wan could speak, Cody spat out a mouthful of blood and fell to his knees. His hands dragged the Jedi down with him. But when they hit the floor, it was only Obi-Wan, on his hands and knees in some corridor of the Temple, shuddering and crying.

Die Jedi Die Jedi Die Jedi Die Jedi Die Jedi Die

Die Jedi

DIE JEDI

Die

Jedi Die Jedi

Die

DIE JEDI DIE

Die

die

The voices in his head rose and coalesced.

Now the voices of the Sith and the voices of his past and the voices of the future and the voices of the dead were all in agreement—

DIE, JEDI

Obi-Wan reached out desperately for the Light.

There was only Darkness.

Die, Jedi, Die, Jedi

Qui-Gon, running ahead of him chasing a Sith across catwalks. Obi-Wan, desperately racing after him.

Qui-Gon turning at the last second, his verdant lightsaber running Obi-Wan through. The man smiled. Relieved. Pleased. “Die,” he said.

Anakin, ten years old, tentatively asking to spend the night in the same sleeping mat on a mission. Obi-Wan, gently pulling his apprentice into his arms. Waking up hours later with small hands wrapped around his throat and cutting off his air. The innocent face grinned. “Die.”

Ahsoka, dangling out the side of a crashing Y-wing, crying out in pain as her injured shoulder strained. Obi-Wan, diving to catch her hand before she could fall, lifting her back into the ship. Hugging her. And then she kicked him, hard, sending him flying out the door and to his death. She smiled after him. “Die.”

Where was the light?

Where?

...There.

A faint blur of light. A glow.

The feel of fresh air, defying the horrifying visions.

Obi-Wan fixed his eyes on the light, and jumped.

“...NO!”

Someone stopped him. Caught him violently around the waist and dragged him back, pulling him back into the shadows.

Obi-Wan wept, utterly spent.

“Obi-Wan!” a voice raged at him. “What were you doing? What were you even doing?!”

The Jedi only continued to weep silently, letting the strong arms haul him further away. He felt himself lowered to the ground, felt arms come around him in an embrace that felt restrictive.

“Talk to me! Dammit, Master, I need you to focus. Please! Come on, open your eyes properly. Look at me. Look at me.”

The voice became gentler as it went on. Warm and soothing, like the small fires they pitched in encampments, when it was safe to do things like that.

A gentle Force presence brushed against his mind.

It blew through the claws and thorns of Darkness like a hot wind - painful at first, and then calming.

Comforting.

Bright.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and found himself collapsed in Anakin’s arms, his friend looking down at him with a face twisted with fear and concern. They shifted a little into relief when he met Anakin’s blue eyes.

“...A-Ana...An’kin?” Obi-Wan asked, hardly daring to hope.

Anakin nodded fiercely. “Yeah. It’s me. Listen — we’re going to talk about this later. We’re going to fix this. I’m not going to leave you alone for a second, you hear me? We’ll stick together until this is over. But for now...”

He swallowed hard and looked up at the open balcony mere yards away, glowing innocently in the light of a Coruscant night, the only source of light in the long dark hallway.

“Let’s get you somewhere safe.”

Obi-Wan exhaled softly. “...All right.”

And then his eyes fluttered closed again, his head tilting to one side to rest against his Padawan’s shoulder. Anakin jolted slightly in alarm, but when he checked, he realized that his old Master was merely sleeping.

A proper sleep.

For the first time in Force knew how long.

Anakin sighed and stood up, carrying Obi-Wan in his arms. He was heavy, but still too light and too thin for Anakin’s liking.

The report from Master Che... Anakin bit the inside of his cheek hard to contain a curse, remembering the extensive list of injuries and repercussions the Healer had given him with her eyes full of uncharacteristic worry.

But it would be all right.

They’d handle it together.

They always had.

Always would.

Anakin paused at the end of the corridor and looked back. He held Obi-Wan a little tighter— remembering the moment he had come tearing up this same hall not five minutes before, just in time to see him - the man he had followed for twelve years, humorous and serene and kind and steady, his mentor, his best friend, almost his father, even closer to being a brother...

See him sobbing, stumbling blindly, preparing to leap over the edge of the balcony to his death.

Tormented and lured by the Dark Side.

Anakin forced himself to turn away once more and move his feet back home, holding the sleeping Obi-Wan with all his strength.

: : : : : : :

#bad things happen bingo #I write to make you upset #that’s it #that’s why #okay that’s an exaggeration but still #star wars #star wars fic #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #hurt comfort #this time with some actual comfort #zigoola #bail organa #long post

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apomaro-mellow · 3 years

Text

Powers at Work

Read on AO3

Snoke looked upon the trooper before him, his mouth curling up into a smile as he felt the indignation boiling inside Kylo Ren for having to stand side-by-side with this one.

"Remove your helmet. What is your designation?"

The irony of being asked to show his face while also reciting that which gave him anonymity was not lost on the young man. But he obeyed without hesitation.

"FN-2187."

"Tell me boy", Snoke addressed Kylo Ren this time. "What do you feel from him?"

"Nothing", he answered. His own mask giving the illusion of cold indifference. But behind it was a petulant expression. And Snoke could feel it, as well as the particular sort of energy the emanated from the storm trooper.

"He has Force potential. It is weak. But it is there."

Neither of the young men said anything about that. Kylo Ren was slowly simmering from petulance to seething while FN-2187 didn't really know what any of this meant. He knew little of the Force. Just that it was part of some strange technique that the Knights of Ren and Supreme Leader Snoke utilized. There were a lot of rumors about what it could and couldn't do.

"He will become a knight", Snoke continued. "I see great things in his future."

From then on, FN-2187's life had flipped on its head in some ways, but had mostly remained the same. He still had to get up early, dress in a uniform, wear a mask, and go through training that pushed him to the limits of his mind and body.

But one significant change was the way he was taught to process his emotions. Stormtroopers were meant to be unfeeling and simply follow orders. As a Knight of Ren, he still had to follow orders without question. Every time frustration and anger built up inside of him though, he was told to harness it. To channel it into an energy that he could use. Mostly for destruction.

And it felt good.

Shooting with a blaster and using other weapons had their charm. But there was something cathartic about using your own hands, even though he wasn't technically touching anything. When FN-2187 reached out and grasped the neck of a Resistance fighter, he felt it as if his hand was actually cutting off their air supply.

With every insurgence that was squashed, he grew more powerful. And with more power, he became more capable. It didn't take long for him to forget the troopers he had known. Why should he remember them anyway? They were nothing but cogs in a machine. FN-2187 was still a cog himself, but a much bigger one than he had been. And in the end, their goal was the same - to destroy.

The other knights believed the same, having given themselves to the cult of Ren that cared not for right and wrong, only what they wanted. FN-2187 believed that there was no right and wrong. If there was good, how could the First Order ever come into such great power. If there was justice, then how would it punish all of the crimes committed by the vast armies?

There was no hope, no righteous glory to strive for, no happy ending where the bad guys lost. There was only those with power and those without. And if he could use that power to break, to wreck, to crumble, then why shouldn't he?

It wasn't like he was going to get punished for doing wrong, so what incentive did he have to do right?

He wasn't like Kylo Ren. FN-2187's powers within the Force had grown. And he could feel the turmoil within Kylo Ren like it was his own. It was why FN-2187 was glad that they didn't spend too much time together. Eventually, one of the other knights had told him the story; that Kylo Ren had originally trained under a fledgling jedi order under Luke Skywalker before tearing it all down and succumbing to the dark side.

And that explained the torrent that raged inside of him. Some part of him was still clinging to hope. Hope for what, FN-2187 didn't know. Maybe he wanted to be saved and leave the First Order. Maybe he wanted something more than this. Whatever it was, FN-2187 wished that part of their training included learning to hold things in. But they weren't taught much about the spiritual side of the Force outside using hatred to fuel them.

It was supposed to be a mission as easy as any other. They had gotten intel that the Resistance was harboring a very important piece of information.

"We are to find the one who has it. And take it", Kylo Ren said as they were en route.

No one asked what the information was or why it was so important. But FN-2187 was curious. And Kylo Ren's mind was always such an open book. So he flipped through the pages and found that what was so important was a droid with a map to Luke Skywalker.

"GET OUT!", Kylo Ren barked, pushing FN-2187 out of his head.

"Don't keep yourself so open then", he said in reply with a shrug.

FN-2187 had seen other things floating on the surface along with that tidbit. An old man's face, probably Skywalker himself, as well as a few other faces. None that he recognized of course. But he at least understood why the Knights of Ren were being put to such a task.

Luke Skywalker was a dangerous man and had the power to end everything. FN-2187 had heard the legend of Skywalker. But like most things, it was impossible to tell what was actually true and what was just gossip, exaggerations, or stories to soothe children.

When they landed on the planet, stormtroopers had already begun terrorizing the people that lived there. FN-2187 felt nothing as he watched innocent people get gunned down. Because if he felt something, he would have to admit that this was all wrong. And if this was all wrong, that meant there had to be a right side. But there was no right or wrong, only strong and weak.

The Resistance was full of weaklings, those that clung to loft ideals and died because of them.

So imagine his surprise when one of these weaklings, the ones trying to uphold some twisted form of justice and good, snuck up on him and landed a blow on his helmet, nearly knocking him to the ground.

FN-2187 had been checking one of the homes for the Resistance fighter. He had sensed something behind him but only at the very last second. It was why he was able to get away without the full brunt of the attack hitting him squarely on the head. As it was, he only had a crack in his helmet. The fighter closed the distance between them, probably thinking that they could corner him in such a small space.

The amount of room stopped being a hindrance when FN-2187 used the Force to push him back, crumbling one of the walls in the process. The fighter lay limp on the ground on top of the rubble. Fn-2187 approached and narrowly dodged the blaster shot that came at him. A last ditch attempt from the fighter before having a strong boot step on his wrist. The crack in the helmet crew, and a piece fell off. That last shot having done a bit more damage to it.

"Any last words?", FN-2187 asked.

The fighter coughed up a bit of blood and sounded like he was choking before he could answer. "You've...you've got...got a pretty eye... for a bastard."

He gave pause at that. "...Just one?", he asked, bending over.

"Well I can't see the other one, so I can only imagine."

Poe Dameron truly hadn't expected such a pretty brown eye when he shot off that chunk of helmet. Honestly, he'd been hoping to shoot right through their head and get a chance to escape. But now that it looked like he was at his end, why not be honest? It wasn't like this guy would repeat his last words. So no one on either side would know that Poe had complimented the man who had killed him.

He took in shallow breaths, waiting for the final blow. How would it come? Just a shot? Would his skull be crushed under a boot? Or would this one be using the same laser sword as their oh so charming leader?

FN-2187 lifted his foot off of the fighter's wrist and knelt down next to him. He had to know one thing. Just one thing before he left this man for dead.

"Why do you fight?"

The immediate response was laughter. "We fight because your side didn't give us a choice. We fight in defense of everything we love."

FN-2187 could have laughed himself at such a cliche response. Then an idea occurred to him. Something that he had thought about from time to time but had never imagined he'd get a chance at. If wanton destruction in the name of desire was the way of the Ren, then what glorious ecstasy would it be to destroy something as grand and enormous as the First Order?

"Play dead", FN-2187 said.

He dragged the fighter by the arm, walking towards one of the many piles of bodies that had begun to accumulate. Thankfully the other knights were deeper in the village, searching for the droid and its owner. Keeping his half-covered gaze forward, FN-2187 continued. Being a knight had the perk that any trooper he passed by quickly put their head down and pretended to work harder than they already were.

He counted himself lucky that they got as far as the gangplank before someone called out to him. Not looking back, he threw the fighter deeper into the ship, blasted the trooper before he could report and hit the button to lift up the plank.

"You fly?", FN-2187 asked.

With a groan, the other man got to his feet. "I fly!", he exclaimed with a lightness that made it easy to forget he was injured. He put himself in the pilot's seat and got the ship going. FN-2187 felt out for the other knights, especially for Kylo Ren. He felt confusion most of all. And then numbness. And then they were too far away to feel much of anything.

He stopped looking back and only looked forward; to the Resistance that he'd be joining, and the pilot he had saved that was his ticket in.

#apo writes #fanfiction #finnpoe #enemies to lovers but they're actually enemies this time

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commanderbengiskywalker · 4 years

Note

Pick your 3 favorite clones for #82. And if you add in anxiety or a panic attack, maybe?

@crc-commodore-s9

82. “Just breathe, okay?”

Characters: Fox, Cody and Rex.

Summary: Sometimes it can get a bit much when working at the Senate building. Fox has to deal with a lot of unfriendly politicians, but at least he has his brothers to help.

A/N: I have never written a panic attack or an anxiety attack before, so I tried my best. As well as with bring someone down from a panic or anxiety attack. This was good practice for another thing am working on. I would love the feedback.

It was just another day for Fox. He shuffled slightly from foot to foot as he was with the Ryloth representative, Orn Free Taa, as he was complaining of another mistake with the order. He tried to focus on his words though he couldn’t help but flinch with each move the Twi’Lek’s fist moved, up and down while occasionally slamming down on the desk.

“Are you paying attention, Clone?” Senator belowed, slamming his hand on the desk again.

“Y-yes, Sir.” He replied, trying to steel himself. “I will have it corrected at once.”

“Good...now leave.” Taa dismissed.

Fox tried hard not to run back to his office, as he felt his hear hammer against hid chest and his churn in his stomach. He swallowed thickly as he walked.

“Oi!” Someone shouted from behind him.

He stilled, hands shaking. ‘Oh, Kriff’s sake, can’t he leave me alone?’ He thought, as he slowly glanced over his shoulder.

He relaxed his shoulders when he saw the familiar blue and yellow of his vod. Cody and Rex. They walked towards him, smiling eagerly.

“How are you?” Cody asked, as he slowed his pace.

“Fine.” He said flatly, as he straightens.

The two glance at each other before looking back at him with concern flickering across their faces.

“We were wondering if you wanted to get some caf and catch up.” Rex said, smiling. “It’s been a while and Wolffe’s on a mission, so he can’t come. Sends his hello though.”

“It’s fine,” the red armoured Clone replied, fidging with his blaster in hand. “I was head back to my office anyways. Come on.”

They walked silently back to the office, passing by Senators and other vod on their way. He kept his gaze straight as he ignored the Senators. They stopped at the door to his office as he punched in the code.

“Come in.” He said, as he entered.

The office was covered with datapads and empty mugs of caf. To the right there was a desk and a chair with a computer on top of the desk with a tower of datapads next to it. To the left the couch had a pillow and a blanket folded on top of it. As for the coffee table, it was also scattered with loose datapads and mugs. To the back of the room below a window was a table with a caf machine and a few clean mugs.

‘Have to learn to clean up for visitors.’ He thought, as he set down he blaster next to the desk.

“I’ll get the caf.” Rex said, as he followed in behind him.

“Eh, you too, huh?” Cody said, as he sat on the couch. “You should see my office, covered with loose datapads.”

“I think mine is worse,” the blond chuckled, as he turned the caf machine on, “those vod’ika plus the Jetii are danger prone. They keep cause damage left, right and centre.”

“Yeah, but I have to fill out half of them because you’re exhausted half the time.”

“No you don’t! I do it myself thank you very much.”

“Next time you “decide” to visit the Negotiator, I’ll show you the pile you left me. Or if I see another datapad that wasn’t there before.”

Fox felt his ears ring as his two vods debated with each other on who had the most work to fill out, but it was too much. He felt his stomach twist again, as he proceed to hug himself.

“Maybe I will!” Rex, barked, as he slammed his hand down on the table.

Crash!

The mug fell to the floor, but Fox didn’t register it as he stiffened, heart racing against his chest while awaiting the next move.

“Please…” he whispered, he doubled over, staring blankly at the floor. “Please don’t...please…”

“Fox’ika?” Cody said, as he slowly got up. “Are you alright?”

Fox couldn’t hear him, as the steps became amplified in his ears. He hugged himself tighter., as those footsteps drew closer. White boots reached his peripheral vision, but he just blinked as he he shook more.

Who ever stood in front of him didn’t do anything, but that didn’t stop his heart rate from speeding up or his throat from constricting. ‘Why do they always wait?’ He thought, ‘Why can’t they just get it over with? I am just doing my job...I try my best… I didn’t want to get the order wrong or fail to stop the guy who took the wallet… I was made to fight..’

The thoughts continued to run through his head, as he unknowingly heaved.

“Fox..?” Rex asked, reaching out to grab his shoulder.

“NO!” Fox screamed, as he stumbled back, falling out of his chair. Noticing the colour blue in front of him. ”Please!”

The two stood still watching him, as he hyperventilated. They glanced at each other before Rex moved slowly towards his vod’ika.

“Fox?” He said, gently, keeping his hands in Fox’s peripheral vision. “It’s me, Rex.”

“R-Rex…?” Fox gasped, staring at his hands.

“Yes, it’s me. Can I remove your helmet? I am not going to hurt you. I promise.”

Fox stilled as he tried to take off the helmet himself, but his hands couldn’t stop shaking. ‘What’s the matter with me? I am I defective? Is that why they made me go to Coruscant? Was I not good enough for the battlefield?’ He thought, as he tried to regain control of his hands.

He tried again, but the familiar his hiss of the helmet being removed stopped him. He stared his hands as they shook while another pair rested on top of them.

“Fox?” Rex asked. “I just want to breathe. Can you do that? Just breathe slowly, ok?”

He tried to breathe, but his throat felt tight and his stomach churned every time he took a deep breath.

“I-I can’t…” he chokes out, gasping more, “I feel like... I’m going... to throw up…”

“It’s ok, it’s ok...Did I tell you about the one time that my General decided to make food weapons?”

“N-no…”

“Well, you know how General Skywalker is, always trying to avoid boredom. So one day, he was particularly bored….I mean with no action he was shuffling into the mess.”

“S-so what d-did he d-do?”

“Fives, the ever loving troublemaker he is, asked can rations be a weapon?”

There was silence asides from his breathing, as he tited his head up to look at Rex, who sat cross legged in front of him.

“What?” He asked, breathing decreasing slightly.

“That’s what we all said,” Rex continueed, smiling. “He said it again “can a ration be a weapon?” And Skywalker perked up at the question asking “why?” Fives then went on to explain how they were hard as rocks, like they can break your teeth.”

“Oh my gosh,” Cody groaned, tilting his head back, as he sat on his desk.

“Yep...General Skywalker picked up some ration bars and ran out the mess. The rest followed because they were curious. We caught up with him at the hanger bay throwing rations at General Kenobi.”

“I was so confused when I saw them flying at us. Obi-Wan ended up igniting his Lightsaber because he thought he was under attack.”

“General Skywalker kept asking “does it hurt” repeatedly while chucking them.”

“D-di’kut,” Fox muttered, as he started to slowly relax. “Who the Kriff... wastes perfectly good rations?”

“Oh, I should bring you aboard the Resolute, then you can see him in action. The others weren’t concerned as they were laughing their heads off. General Kenobi glared up at him and lectured him on how not to waste perfectly good rations.”

“Like him better.”

“Oh, you two would get along well. Anyways back to the General, he then got the idea to make weapon out of the rations.”

“I thought he already did that.”

“With glue..?”

Fox groaned as he tilted his head back. “What?”

“He went into his Commander’s office and brought out glue that General Koon gave her.”

Fox quirked an eyebrow at the “glue”. It wasn’t normal to have that on a ship. His shoulder relaxed as he leaned forward. “Why does General Koon have glue?”

“Because by Wolffe, he’s Buir and he likes to make old fashion cards by flimsi. Rex answered, rolling his eyes. “Said that they needed to lean how to craft.”

There was no doubt that the Kel Dor General was odd compared to even the likes of Skywalker. Though like most Jedi Generals had a knack for running blindly in or sacrificing themselves, General Koon also had a habit of doing stuff the vod. Such as getting food outside of ration bars or making gifts for them over time. Wolffe liked to complain for his recklessness, but he cared about him a lot and was skeptical of his gifts.

“Anyways, my di’kut Jetii was making a sword out of ration bars,” the blond continued, dragging Fox’s attention to him. “Worse of all my ARCs were helping. They managed to make two stable ones and he gave one to Commander Tano saying they were “sparring”. General Kenobi didn’t believe them, but Skywalker said it was “science”.”

They laughed a little, as Fox felt his hands relax. He liked hearing odd adventures that his ori’vods had as it was more intriguing than any of the complaints from the Senators or business men at the building.

“Obi-Wan got involved with testing the experiment,” Cody said, smiling like he always did when talking of General Kenobi. “He took Commander Tano’s ration blade and proceeded to wack General Skywalker with it as a response to throwning bars at him. All while saying “does it hurt?”

“He deserves it!” Fox laughed, as he doubled over.

“You ok, vod’ika?” Rex asked, as he hesitated on grabbing his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah I am…”

He felt much more relaxed after the story with his heart rate back at normal pace and no longer feeling nauseous.

He sighed and sat up smiling. “Thanks, Ori’vod.”

“No problem,” smiled Rex, “it can get a bit much sometimes. We all get it, Fox.”

“Come on, let’s get you some tea.”

“What about the caf?”

“No, tea is better. More “soothing” is what Obi-Wan says.”

“Alright then.”

The trio got up and walked out of the office, as Fox finally felt a little lighter that day.

__________________________________________

A/N: I hope you enjoyed. I try my best and feedback is always welcome to help me improve. Especially since I never done panic or anxiety attacks before. Have a nice say/evening.

#commander fox #commander cody #captain rex #star wars #star wars: the clone wars

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capricornus-rex · 4 years

Text

A Shadow of What You Used to Be (3)

Chapter 3: Two Ends Meet | Cal Kestis x Irele Skywalker

Requested by Anon

Summary: There is another! Years after young Anakin Skywalker departed Tatooine, his mother Shmi delivers a second child—this time, a daughter. Whilst the circumstance of the girl’s birth remains unexplained, Irele Skywalker has yet to choose the true path between those laid out for her.

Tags: Fem! OC, Irele Skywalker, Force-sensitive! OC, Anakin’s Younger Sister, Skywalker! OC, Darth Vader’s Secret Apprentice, Long-lost Sibling

Also in AO3

Chapters: Prelude – 1 | Previous: Part 2 | Next: Part 4 | Masterlist

4 of ?

22 BBY

Several months after their emancipation, Cliegg had asked Shmi’s hand in marriage—to which she happily said yes. Irele had just turned nine that time; she and mother had grown quite close to the Lars father and son. The joy in her little heart of having a bigger family was overwhelming, it’s almost as if she forgot that she and Shmi were ever a slave. That life of theirs was now past. Irele now has a father figure, and a brother to boot—and she was content.

Eventually, Irele had known friends who were the children of the other farmers that Cliegg worked with. She was also introduced to Beru Whitesun—a fair-skinned brunette who caught her stepbrother’s heart—the two girls grew quite close too quickly. The Lars siblings still helped around with the farm, Shmi had started going to the fields with them as well; though the toll of their debt to the Hutt was slowly catching up to them, having them to work extra hard and persisting to yield more crops so there’s enough to sell and to keep for themselves.

One day in the middle of working in the fields with her mother and stepbrother, Irele’s gaze trailed to her mother—bent down to pick the crops and vegetables that were ripe for the taking, she smiled to herself as she stared at Shmi, until a mild pang pierced her head.

“Irele, are you alright?” Owen noticed and caught his sister by the arm.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she groaned. “Just the heat, maybe.”

“Do you need something to drink?”

“Sure, thanks.”

Pausing from work, she isolated herself from one of the canopies they’ve put up if ever one of them decides to rest. She continues to examine the scene of the field: the farmers including Cliegg, her brother, and her mother working. Though she always focused on Shmi; her grip on the waterskin faltered, causing some drops to spill over, and then sighed and decided to close her eyes to doze off for a bit. As echoing screams in Shmi’s voice haunted her mind, she woke up in a jolt—a single scream escaped when she woke and it alarmed the workers in the field. Shmi ran up to her daughter under the canopy, Cliegg followed behind his wife.

“Irele!” Shmi gasped. “Irele, are you alright?”

Shmi brushed up the loose strands of hair dangling over her daughter’s forehead, sweat smeared on her palm. Irele gasped when she opened her eyes once more and saw Shmi.

“Oh, Mom…”

“Darling, what’s happened?”

“Nothing, I…” Irele shook her head, incapable of explaining what she had just experienced. “This heat is making me see things.”

“Oh, Irele, dear,” Shmi clicked her tongue and sighed. “It’s alright. You can sit down for the rest of the day. You don’t need to work anymore.”

“Okay, Mom.”

Shmi smiled, though it was a worried one. She brushed Irele’s hair back to her ear and returned to work.

“If you need anything, Irele, don’t be shy to call, okay?”

“Okay, Dad.”

Not wanting to worry her family with such episodes, Irele decided to bottle it up to herself—even if the visions mostly revolve around her mother. But there was something else—something that she cannot pinpoint. She was seeing things that are about to happen, which she dismissed as pessimistic imagination, though she doesn’t know that these are events that are about to unfold. Little did she knew that the Force was making its way to her, to warn her of something horrible that has yet to come.

The next few months have been difficult for Irele herself—the visions and the voices persisted—oftentimes she wakes up in a cold sweat when the nightmares have become more jarring. She pretended that everything was fine, though she’s become increasingly worried for her mother, most of the time she pleaded Shmi not to work in the fields and just stay at home—even offering to help around in the house. Shmi detected this new concern from Irele, and then unconsciously recalled the same words that Qui Gon Jinn uttered about her son: seeing things that have yet to happen.

A Jedi trait.

Shmi shook her head and granted Irele’s request, staying at home when the ten-year-old pleaded so. It eased her for a bit whenever Irele’s expression changed when they spend the day at home, however, it worried her that her daughter was perhaps foreseeing events that could spell disaster for the family and ultimately damage the poor girl.

There was one day where Shmi went out alone, before the break of dawn, to the fields. It took her half an hour to scrounge and pick up mushrooms that she needed for her family’s meal today. The chore became her undoing. Tusken Raiders have been prowling the ridges as a vantage point over the fields, they have been scouting the fields in the hopes of raiding the crops. They saw Shmi walking off from the fields, carrying a satchel of mushrooms and other vegetables; not wanting any witnesses, they sprang out on her in numbers—their primal grunts echoed across the empty dunes, Shmi’s scream was short-lived and drowned out by theirs.

The Tuskens incapacitated Shmi by hitting the back of her head with the pommel of their long rifle. They bound her ankles and wrists, and mounted her like a ragdoll on the saddle of their Bantha.

Their echoes have died down, leaving the desert as desolate, quiet, and empty as it always has. Irele gasped, wide awake, beads of sweat dotted her forehead.

“MOM IS GONE!!” She announced with such a loud voice that it was heard throughout the entire homestead, up to the outdoor rotunda.

Cliegg was awakened by the sound of Irele’s voice, but only registered it as a loud sound; he was alerted when his free hand patted his right hand side and found Shmi’s side of the bed empty. He knew that it was her routine to leave early to pick out crops before everyone else gathered in the fields. There was daylight already. Normally, Shmi would have returned even before the sun had risen. When he stood up from bed and comforted Irele in her bedroom, a look of concerned veiled his face as he saw his stepdaughter all wide-eyed and breathing heavily.

“Irele, it’s okay, your mother just went out to pick out mushrooms, it’s okay.” he shushed but it was futile.

“Sorry, Dad, I need to go.”

“Go? Go where?”

Irele spoke while she prepares herself—putting on her overshirt, slinging her bag across her body, and producing a staff that she procured on her own.

“I’m sorry, I just really can’t say. But I do have a gut feeling that I just can’t ignore. Something’s not right, Dad.”

Cliegg was speechless. Irele joined him on her bed, sitting beside him.

“I’ll contact you with the comlink, okay? Keep the lines open.”

The man held his daughter’s cheek, taking a good look at her made him realize that she greatly resembled her mother.

“Be careful. And come home quick.”

She nodded and then left with a small speeder bike. When she had gone a considerable distance from the homestead, Cliegg commanded Owen to call the men and tell them to stand by. Going in the direction of the fields, Irele’s worry grew and grew with each passing moment. When she had caught sight of the vaporators’ silhouettes sticking out, she slowed down the speeder bike and hopped down even before it had gotten into a full stop.

Irele spotted Shmi’s tracks—a straight line from the fields to where she stood—and then discovered more. The footprints were jumbled, indicating struggle, and an impression that might have suggested that a person fell over to the ground—the girl was certain it was her mother. She searched for more tracks, propping her staff in a cautious, offensive position, and then stepped forward to the fields but was immediately stopped when she heard a shuffle amongst the sand and rock.

“Tuskens…” she muttered.

She examined the sand once more—a trail of a neat, single line, with impressions that make it too hard to guess how many have walked in the exact same path laid out before her. Tuskens, alright. She surveyed the surrounding ridges, the distance from the fields to the openness of the desert, and she thought it wise to deduce that it was indeed them. She produced her comlink and reported back to Cliegg before heading home. She already had the presumption her father had prepared a search party.

–

Anakin Skywalker is in a perpetual unrest with himself. Mainly because he had been having nightmares of his mother—the haunting echoes of her agonizing screams, her calls for help, and the quick jab of dead silence had been keeping him awake at night.

That morning, he strolled out of his bedroom and found himself alone in the garden veranda of the guest house that he and Senator Padmé Amidala are staying in the Lake Country of Naboo. He basked in the morning sunlight, the cool breeze wafting through the sleeves of his long beige shirt and drying the sweat smeared across his chest. Padmé found him there and quietly turned around to leave him alone.

“Don’t go,” he simply said, though pleadingly. It stopped her in her tracks. “Your presence is soothing.”

The young Jedi Padawan opened up about his nightmares to the Senator, she hints at the shakiness in his voice, imagining what kind of dreams could he be seeing in the middle of the night. When push comes to shove, the senator insisted she will go to Tatooine with him.

“I’ll go with you.” despite the softness in her voice, there was the conviction that cannot be persuaded anymore.

Upon their arrival, they hired a carriage into the town to escort them from the docking bay. Returning here brought back memories for Anakin—many of which are bittersweet. The carriage had brought them to the market district of the town, where it had passed by a lonely stall—or lack thereof—manned by a single Toydarian.

“Chut-chut, Watto,” Anakin greeted.

The blue, aging Toydarian grumbled at the robed stranger who took the component and started tinkering with it after speaking in the local dialect. Watto greeted back the young stranger in his raspy, aggressive native tongue then transitioned into a bumbling mess when he recognized the Jedi robes; Anakin ignored all this as he was focused with the machine component.

The Jedi spoke once more, again in dialect, “I’m looking for Shmi Skywalker.”

One more minute passed and it hit Watto.

“Ani…?” the Toydarian gasped. “Little Ani?”

Anakin didn’t speak. He simply put down the component back on the small table between him and Watto.

“You are Ani! It is you!!” Watto burst.

Following a few more compliments and one-sided catching up, Watto cut to the chase in the hopes that he can have the boy catch some people who owe him money.

“My mother.” Anakin demanded.

“Oh, right, of course… Shmi!” bumbled Watto. He scratched the back of his chubby neck as he arranged the words in his mind. “She’s not mine anymore… I sold her.”

“Sold her?”

“Years ago. I sold her to a moisture farmer named Lars. And believe it or not! I heard he freed her—and married her! Whaddaya think o’ dat, eh?!”

Both the Jedi and the senator’s reactions were identical: their lips parted and their eyebrows furrowed. Anakin licked his lips and leaned closer.

“Do you know where they are now?”

“A long way from here,” but Watto should have known that is not enough to deter the boy. “Someplace on the other side of Mos Eisley.”

“I’d like to know,” he spoke through the grit of his teeth.

Nervous, the Toydarian gave in and filled him in with all the details. Inside his newer yet smaller shop, the hovering creature produced a small ledger with a tattered leather cover. Running a clawed finger lightly on the page, careful as to not rip it, he stopped after two taps on a specific line of writing.

“I was right, it was Lars!” he chortled.

“Where does he live?”

Watto groaned, poring over his ledger again, and then moved his finger to another part of the page.

“He lives in ‘da Salt Flats, eh, you’ll find it close to Anchorhead. You know Anchorhead, eh, Ani?”

Without answering, Anakin turned tail—with Padmé walking by his side, trying to keep up with his strides—and mounted their rented carriage. Anakin ordered the droid that pulled it to bring them to a point-to-point transport service to get to Anchorhead.

Along the entire trip, Padmé could not find an opening to speak with Anakin; it began to sink into her that she’s only tagging along with the young Jedi’s personal mission.

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