#mesh belt conveyor

[phoenixindustry0]

Top PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt Manufacturers - The Phoenix Industry

The Phoenix Industry is a leading name among PTFE mesh conveyor belt manufacturers, and pioneers innovation and grade. With a decade of expertise, we provide bespoke solutions catering to diverse industrial needs. Delegate us for premium-grade PTFE mesh conveyor belts guaranteeing efficiency and durability in your operations.

[wiremeshes]

Wire Conveyor Belt Manufacturers

Jeetmull Jaichandlall (P) Ltd is a leading Wire Conveyor Belt Manufacturers in Kolkata, India. Their conveyor belts are known for durability,  reliability and can withstand high temperatures. They offer custom conveyor belts for various industries including food processing, automotive, and electronics. They are also a trusted Exporter & Supplier for custom conveyor belt solutions. Contact them for conveyor belt solutions in Kolkata, India. For more information Visit their Website.

[alex-wire-mesh]

Toaster Oven Belt

Toaster Oven Belt is also known as oven conveyor belt. This wire belt is the important component which is used in conveyor. It could carry various types of food items, such as bread slices, bagels, or sandwiches.

Efficiency and Convenience (1) Boosts cooking efficiency. (2) Enhances kitchen convenience. (3) Streamlines meal preparation process. (4) Simplifies cooking tasks. (5) Optimizes time management. (6) Facilitates multi-tasking in the kitchen. (7) Promotes hassle-free cooking. (8) Reduces cooking time significantly. (9) Maximizes kitchen productivity. (10) Offers seamless cooking experience. (11) Enables easy monitoring of food. (12) Enhances cooking precision. (13) Minimizes food preparation effort. (14) Ensures consistent cooking results. (15) Improves overall cooking experience.

Durability and Reliability (1) Engineered for long-lasting performance. (2) Built to withstand high temperatures. (3) Resilient against wear and tear. (4) Ensures prolonged usage lifespan. (5) Withstands heavy-duty cooking demands. (6) Reliable performance over time. (7) Maintains consistent functionality. (8) Resistant to corrosion. (9) Endures frequent use without degradation. (10) Provides dependable cooking support. (11) Designed for sustained durability. (12) Guarantees reliable operation. (13) Withstands rigorous kitchen environments. (14) Ensures continuous cooking reliability. (15) Built to endure daily cooking challenges.

Versatility and Adaptability (1) Accommodates various cooking needs. (2) Suitable for diverse culinary tasks. (3) Adaptable to different food types. (4) Versatile cooking accessory. (5) Compatible with different toaster oven models. (6) Supports a wide range of cooking techniques. (7) Facilitates creative cooking experiments. (8) Enhances cooking flexibility. (9) Adjustable for different cooking preferences. (10) Adapts to evolving kitchen trends. (11) Versatile addition to any kitchen setup. (12) Enables experimentation with new recipes. (13) Offers flexibility in cooking styles. (14) Compatible with different cookware. (15) Versatile tool for culinary exploration.

Quality and Performance (1) Ensures premium cooking performance. (2) Delivers consistent cooking results. (3) Guarantees top-notch cooking quality. (4) Enhances food flavor and texture. (5) Maintains cooking temperature accuracy. (6) Ensures even heat distribution. (7) Promotes thorough cooking. (8) Enhances food presentation. (9) Preserves nutritional value of food. (10) Minimizes risk of overcooking or undercooking. (11) Supports precision cooking. (12) Facilitates efficient energy utilization. (13) Promotes superior cooking outcomes. (14) Elevates cooking standards. (15) Exceeds expectations for culinary excellence.

The product Toaster Oven Belt appeared first on Alex Wire Mesh.

[vishvakarmaequipments]

Chain Driven Roller Conveyor is a versatile material handling solution. Its robust design and durable chain-driven rollers ensure smooth movement of goods in warehouses and production lines. This conveyor system offers reliability, efficiency, and flexibility, making it an essential tool for various industries.

[mayuri-manufacturer]

Special Purpose Sprockets Manufacturer in Pune | Maharashtra

Welcome to infinity engineering solutions, your trusted partner for top-quality Special Purpose Sprockets and Special Purpose Conveyor Chains. If you're in search of a reliable manufacturer in Pune, Maharashtra, look no further. We are a leading manufacturer and exporter of specialized conveyor solutions designed to meet your unique requirements. Our Special Purpose Sprockets and Conveyor Chains are engineered with precision and are known for their exceptional reliability and durability. We understand the importance of these critical components in various industrial processes, and that's why we are committed to delivering the highest quality products.

[jmd-udyog]

We Are a renowned manufacturer of top-quality PVC conveyor belts in India. Trusted since 1997.

[thephoenixindustry-tpi]

Advantages and Application of PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt

High-quality, temperature-resistant PTFE is used to create PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belts, which are engineered to function in tough environments. You can rely on PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt for dependable performance, great efficiency, and simple maintenance.

The non-stick surface of the PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt makes it different from other belts in that it keeps food and other items from clinging to it. Furthermore, PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belts are simple to maintain and clean, ensuring that your production process goes without a hitch every time.

Advantages of PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt

High temperature resistance makes this wonderful belt ideal for businesses that include baking or frying. Additionally, the non-stick coating on its surface guarantees that nothing will stick and harm your products. Due to this belt's effectiveness and ease of cleaning, cleanup is also a breeze. The best part is that it won't need to be replaced every few months because it is strong and long-lasting.

The PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt is not only a superior option for high temperature applications, but it is also reasonably priced. You'll reduce downtime and repair expenses, improve energy efficiency, and save money on replacement costs. Not to mention the advantages this belt has for the environment. It saves energy, gets rid of harmful materials, and is recyclable and reusable.

A PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt is an excellent investment for any company that deals with high temperatures. Due to its cost and robustness, it's a smart investment for any firm. So why persist? Upgrade to a PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt right away and observe the difference it may make for your business.

Applications of PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt

Conveyor belts made of PTFE mesh are used in a variety of industries for high temperature applications. These belts are used in the baking and cooking sectors for baking, cooking, and even frying because of their non-stick surface. These belts are essential to the drying, hot pressing, and garment printing operations in the textile and printing industries. These belts are used in the food processing and packaging sectors for high-temperature procedures including sterilizing and packing.

With so many applications ranging from food processing to printing, the PTFE mesh conveyor belts are a versatile solution for high-temperature applications. They offer superior performance compared to traditional conveyor belts with added durability and easy maintenance. So, if you want a long-lasting, cost-effective solution coupled with environmental benefits, invest in PTFE mesh conveyor belts for your high-temperature applications.

If you've set your sights on acquiring the perfect belt, your search ends here. Reach out to the leading PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt Manufacturers, ensuring you receive a top-notch quality product that will accompany you for years to come. With their expertise and dedication, you can trust in their commitment to excellence.

[the-phoenix-industry]

PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt Manufacturers – The Phoenix Industry

Conveyor belts made of PTFE mesh are made of the synthetic polymer polytetrafluoroethylene (PTFE). In industrial environments where high tensile strength, heat resistance, and non-stick properties are required, these conveyor belts are widely utilised. Due to its unique properties, conveyor belts constructed of PTFE mesh are perfect for applications including food processing, packaging, textile printing, and the manufacturing of electronic components. Due to their excellent quality goods and post-sale services, The Phoenix Industry is regarded as one of the top PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt Manufacturers in India. For PTFE Mesh Belts, give us a try.

Visit: https://www.thephoenixindustry.in/ptfe-mesh-conveyor-belt-manufacturers/

[thephoenixindustry]

Rubber Timing Belt Manufacturers in India for High-Performance

Rubber timing belts are an essential component in various industrial applications. Selecting the right rubber timing belt manufacturer is crucial to ensure that you get high-quality products that meet your specific requirements. The best rubber timing belt manufacturers in India use advanced technology and high-quality materials to manufacture durable and reliable timing belts. They offer customized solutions for various industries, including automotive, textile, and packaging. When selecting a manufacturer, consider their experience, reputation, and after-sales support. Look for manufacturers that provide quality products, timely delivery, and excellent customer service.

[sexhaver]

games where you work for an evil exploitative megacorporation that very obviously views you only as easily replaced capital (Hardspace Shipbreaker, Satisfactory, Deep Rock Galactic) kind of paint themselves into a narrative corner. on the one hand, it's tempting to make your employer the villain and set up a story arc where you work your way up the ranks/unionize/etc to win against all odds in a David and Goliath story. and that would be fantastic if this were real life, but it's not real life, it's a video game that you presumably bought because you, the player, enjoy the gameplay loop provided by what your in-game avatar would consider "exploitative and unsafe working conditions". so you either completely overhaul your entire game once the player hits a certain point in the storyline (bad) or end up with an ending that by definition cannot change anything despite supposedly being focused on overthrowing the status quo (less bad but silly) because it turns out people like to replay games after beating them on the same file.

Hardlight Shipbreaker does this the wrong way by shoehorning in a plot about unionization that ends with the union "winning" against the company, except for gameplay reasons none of these victories translate to any change whatsoever in your in-game working conditions (because that would fundamentally change the game that people enjoyed enough to play all the way through the storyline of).

Deep Rock Galactic takes the approach of having the titular company be less "comically evil" and more "comically focused on profits", which meshes super well with the conceit of the game. for example, when loading into a Salvage mission, Mission Control opens with "a previous crew lost their Mini M.U.L.E's, their Drop Pod, and their lives in this cave." the order those things are listed in tells you everything you need to know about DRG's priorities as a company without having to hammer it home with character arcs

Satisfactory takes imo the best approach by making you an active hand of the evilness of your employer instead of just a cog in the machine. you're sent to a beautiful alien planet full of breathtaking views and diverse wildlife, then told to destroy it by extracting every last bit of value out of it to make stuff that you then turn around and fire off into space. and you do! gladly! like. you know how Spec Ops: The Line had that scene with the white phosphorus that was supposed to make you, the player, feel like a monster for gleefully pressing the buttons to make it happen? Satisfactory is like that but for environmentalism because the gameplay loop gradually changes how you view the world from childlike wonder to ruthless efficiency. what was formerly a rolling grassy field is now a site for mining outposts. you don't see a waterfall, you see placements for water pumps to cool your coal plants. alien forests full of plants unknown to science become annoyances to be chainsawed down so you can run conveyor belts back to your megafactory. in this way, Satisfactory is a much better critique of capitalism than Hardspace Shipbreaker not even trying to be

[phoenixindustry0]

Invest in the best PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt by knowing in detail about them

Conveyor Belts are high in demand in different industries as they are considered as one of the crucial components in the manufacturing process. Though depending on the type of industry, the type of conveyor belts also vary and PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt is one of them. It is primarily used in the chemical processing industry, textile industry, food processing industry, packaging industry, and many more. To ensure proper functioning of these conveyor belts, it is important to buy them from reputed PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt manufacturers. Though, the presence of many conveyor belt manufacturers has made it confusing for industries to decide from where to buy these. But with the help of proper guidance, you can now get reliable quality PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt with ease.

In this blog, we are sharing all the factors that one must consider when choosing reliable PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt manufacturers in India. Along with that, we will also share the benefits of these conveyor belts to understand their uses and importance in a better way.

Factors to look for when choosing PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt manufacturers

Buy from certified and reputed manufacturers – Industrial processes are of great importance and no one wishes to invest in poor quality PTFE Conveyor Belts. That is why we always advise to buy them from certified manufacturers like The Phoenix Industry. Always go for the PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt manufacturers which are well approved by ISO and other reputed organizations for manufacturing these conveyor belts. These manufacturers adhere to all the mandatory compliances when manufacturing PTFE Belts and do not compromise with its quality.

Check the load capacity of the PTFE Belt – The load capacity of the PTFE Mesh Conveyor belts vary from each other. It depends on industries and the amount of load they will put on these belts. That is why, when investing in PTFE Mesh Belts, always check the load capacity. Ensure that they will be able to bear the amount of load the industry requires it to bear. Investing in the one with right load bearing capacity also increases the life cycle of the conveyor belt. Ask the PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt manufacturers about the load bearing capacity of the belt you are investing in.

Check the heat or temperature resistivity of the PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belts – These conveyor belts are operated at relatively higher temperatures. They are mainly designed for high temperature applications. That is why, we recommend checking its resistivity to heat to ensure that they function well without compromising on their performance. This quality makes these PTFE Mesh Conveyor belts suitable for industries like electronics industry, automotive industry, food processing industry, and many more. 

Check the size and quality of the PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt – According to the requirement of the industries, the size and length of the PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belts also vary. If you are seeking any particular size and length, go for the PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt manufacturers that offer customized PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt. Along with checking the size and length, do check the quality. Know the grade of material they are made of, its thickness, and resistivity to heat, chemicals, and corrosion. Checking all this will help you invest in a durable and efficient PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belts. If you wish to get all these qualities in your PTFE Conveyor Belts, buy from The Phoenix Industry.

Benefits of PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt

Known for their strength and sturdiness – PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belts are utilized in the production process continuously. Depending on the industries they are used to, they need to withstand the load of heavy materials throughout the process. Being made of PTFE Coated Glass Mesh, they are suitable to bear such heavy loads with ease which shows their strength. Despite being light in weight, they are sturdy enough to undergo continuous processing without the risk of getting damaged. If you are also in search of such conveyor belts, buy from The Phoenix Industry. Investing in such PTFE conveyor belts also saves one from regular maintenance and repair. 

Resistivity to high temperature, corrosion, and chemicals – PTFE mesh conveyor belts are excellent when it comes to using them in high-temperature environments. They are capable of bearing high temperatures up to a great extent. Other than that, PTFE Conveyor Belts are also known for offering exceptional resistivity to chemicals and corrosion making them suitable to use in the chemical processing industry, printing industry, and textile industry. The resistivity to corrosion helps in keeping them safe from moisture and liquids. But do not forget to ask the PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt manufacturers about the same before buying.

Comes with Non-stick Surface – PTFE mesh conveyor belts manufactured using pure PTFE coating shows non-stick properties. Such conveyor belts have excellent releasing properties and are convenient to use in the food processing industry and chemical processing industry. They help in preventing adhesion of materials such as sticky food items and ingredients, adhesives, sticky chemicals, or paints or coatings. The presence of non-sticky surfaces makes them easier to clean and maintain for a long duration.

With all the information shared above you will be able to invest in the best quality PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belts. But if you are in a dilemma, then look no further than The Phoenix Industry – one of the leading PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt manufacturers offering an affordable and premium range of PTFE Conveyor Belts.

[alex-wire-mesh]

Bread Baking Oven Belt

Bread Baking Oven Belt is also named bread conveyor belt. It is a metal type of wire mesh conveyor belt for bread oven. As food grade conveyor belt, it is famous in the food field.

1: Introduction

Overview (1) Crafted for precision baking. (2) Elevates baking efficiency. (3) Unparalleled in the baking industry. (4) Unveiling the Bread Baking Oven Belt.

Features (5) Heat-resistant technology at its core. (6) Seamless design for optimal consistency. (7) Enhanced durability for prolonged use. (8) Precision engineering ensures uniform results. (9) This wire belt is easy to clean and maintain.

Benefits (10) Boosts bakery productivity. (11) Delivers consistent and golden-brown perfection. (12) Versatile, accommodating various bread types. (13) Accelerates baking time without compromising quality. (14) Cost-effective solution for commercial kitchens. (15) Elevates the overall baking experience.

Applications (16) Ideal for artisanal bakeries. (17) Perfect for high-volume production. (18) Ensures even baking for delicate pastries. (19) Enhances efficiency in pizza oven setups. (20) Essential for meeting industry standards.

2: Innovation

Design Excellence (1) Revolutionary belt design for precision. (2) Incorporating cutting-edge materials. (3) Engineered for seamless operation. (4) A testament to innovation in baking technology.

Materials Used (5) High-grade, heat-resistant polymers. (6) Advanced composite construction. (7) Resilient against wear and tear. (8) Ensures longevity and consistent performance. (9) Crafted for the demands of professional kitchens.

Technology Integration (10) Smart technology for temperature control. (11) Responsive to diverse baking requirements. (12) Adapts to different oven configurations. (13) Elevates baking precision to new heights. (14) Guarantees a hassle-free baking experience. (15) The bakery wire belt is ideal for modern, tech-driven bakeries.

Environmental Considerations (16) Eco-friendly materials reduce environmental impact. (17) Contributes to sustainable baking practices. (18) Aligns with green kitchen initiatives. (19) Meets regulatory standards for environmental responsibility. (20) A step forward in eco-conscious baking solutions.

3: Industry Standards

Compliance (1) Meets and exceeds industry benchmarks. (2) Compliant with global food safety regulations. (3) Ensures quality in line with international standards. (4) A trusted choice for bakeries worldwide.

Certifications (5) ISO-certified for quality assurance. (6) Endorsed by baking industry associations. (7) Upholds hygiene and safety protocols. (8) Recognized for reliability and performance. (9) Adherence to stringent manufacturing standards.

Customer Satisfaction (10) Positive reviews from leading bakeries. (11) Endorsed by renowned pastry chefs. (12) Enhances customer satisfaction with superior products. (13) Meets the evolving demands of discerning chefs. (14) A testament to customer loyalty and trust. (15) Setting the benchmark for baking excellence.

Global Presence (16) Trusted in bakeries across continents. (17) Exported to diverse culinary markets. (18) Celebrated for consistency on the global stage. (19) A preferred choice in international kitchens. (20) Contributing to the globalization of baking standards.

4: Choosing Bread Baking Oven Belt for Your Bakery

Economic Advantage (1) Cost-effective solution for commercial kitchens. (2) Maximizes return on investment. (3) Reduces operational costs with efficient baking. (4) A strategic choice for budget-conscious businesses.

Ease of Integration (5) Seamless integration with existing ovens. (6) Compatible with various baking setups. (7) Quick and hassle-free installation process. (8) Adaptable to different kitchen layouts. (9) Ensures minimal downtime during implementation.

Training and Support (10) Comprehensive training for kitchen staff. (11) Ongoing support for troubleshooting and maintenance. (12) Accessible customer service for timely assistance. (13) Empowers staff with product knowledge. (14) Ensures optimal performance through continuous support. (15) Choosing ease and reliability in baking solutions.

Innovation for Future Growth (16) Aligns with the trajectory of baking industry advancements. (17) Future-proof technology for evolving bakery needs. (18) A catalyst for innovation in your kitchen. (19) Positions your bakery for sustained growth. (20) Invest in the future of baking with Bread Baking Oven Belt.

The product Bread Baking Oven Belt appeared first on Alex Wire Mesh.

[vishvakarmaequipments]

Vishvakarma Equipments offers efficient wire mesh conveyors, seamlessly transporting various materials. Durable construction and precision engineering ensure reliable performance in diverse industries. Enhance your production process with these versatile, low-maintenance conveyors.

[yourneighborhoodporg]

The Guardian

Chapter 11: Alone (Part 2)

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: ANGST (like, hella angst), non-canon character deaths, descriptions of violence, animal injury/death (I’M SORRY), Reader experiencing Trauma TM, Obi doing his best.

Summary: While leading a clone battalion through a routine supply delivery, you suffer a surprise ambush. However, with Obi-Wan away leading the rendezvous as he simultaneously investigates new elements surrounding your being, you are left alone to make the hard-hitting decisions expected of leaders during The Clone Wars. But when the present meshes with the past, how will you perform as deeply buried struggles are forced to the surface?

Song Inspo: Alone — Neil Finn

Words: 9.1K

A/n: Oh boy, this one is gonna be heavy y'all. And that's all I'll say. Enjoy 😈

Previous Chapter

Series Masterlist

You lose them a thousand times in a thousand ways. You say a thousand goodbyes. You hold a thousand funerals — Sara Seager

“80% of the containers have been secured in the port bay with the rest being carried in as we speak,” Boil relayed, pointed finger strictly scrolling through his datapad that hummed a striking cobalt glow amidst Lanos’s softer, earthy tones.

He stood at the ready to your left with his helm resting under an arm, taking in each and every two-to-three digit number emanating from the device while you surveyed the array of pale blue repulsersleds bustling atop the port’s grayed, metal landing platform. Ferrying tightly strapped cargo into the bay alongside their clone guardians like a flawless, tapered conveyor belt adhering to a strict timetable.

Most notable, however, was the way this living machine collectively dwarfed the sporadic bands of clone lieutenants who, toting their own Republic-issued datapads, coordinated delivery logistics with counterpart supply port stationaries. Though the brighter energies that rippled through the Force certainly haggled for a higher podium, as the latter of those two, similarity garbed groups seemed all the more enlivened by the marginal increase in activity on such an otherwise docile planet.

“The station Sergeant is currently off-base engaging another matter—,” Boil mentioned off-handedly. “—but sends his regards.”

“Thanks, Boil,” you hummed, silver orbs drifting beyond the organized fuss that circled like bees calculating predetermined patterns long ago inscribed in their very DNA.

Those same eyes flitted by the steel, square-cut terrace’s narrowed path which assumed the shape of a bottleneck in its stretch through the far, inner bay. Then, past the raised, blocky, metallic structure trading in checkered viewports for highly reinforced paneling. One that every day offered the station’s clones a welcome retreat from the planet’s emphatically beating, yellow sun. Just as it shielded them from any other element posing as a threat to the Republic’s mission.

To its perseverance through this war.

“I suppose the next step is to finish the delivery before regrouping to return to The Negotiator,” you evenly deduced. “Right?”

The sharp-eyed clone offered a slight nod. “Affirmative.”

But even foreign structures that cried Coruscanti architecture and hammered down brutalist design amidst Lanos’s creamy breezes and florid expanse did little to hold your attention. Those motionless, gray confines battling against any root or creeping vine that dared to snake under its foundation or slither across its walls failed to yank at your outer lip’s muscles.

At least, not with a vigor comparable to the involuntary jolt you felt strike those same nerves just from the swiping flash of a certain bunch of saffron fur scampering by the tree line.

Though, in spite of the curious, fox-like creature’s daring attempts to acquire the title ‘Honorary Republic Recruit’ from afar, the attentive animal still maintained a devoted caution as they steered a wide berth around the manmade metals which, like a disease, thinned the once lusciously stretching trees bordering its walls.

Instead, the well-groomed critter found temporary solace in nuzzling their tail with cheerfully squinted eyes amidst the deeper, healthier greens and sturdier trunks carrying thicker bark. A microcosm of the wider forest’s hilly character, which rolled around the entrenched, and fairly hidden, compound before flinging back out again for miles, like massive waves frozen in time millennia ago to house a countless abundance of life.

“If you’re worried about that animal interfering with platform operations, I can send a few boys to scare it off.”

“No, no,” you quickly assured with a flicking wave of your hand, dismissing the no-nonsense clone while silver eyes strung to distant, peering yellows.

“That’s alright. They aren’t hurting anyone. Just curious.”

“Understood,” he asserted quickly before stretching back into his planned briefing with a muscle memory akin to the dash of his head toward the glowing datapad.

“Because the storm has cleared it should be an easy takeoff. The shuttles will be able to meet us at port.”

“Sounds like our legs will finally get a break,” you teased lightly, sending the horseshoe-bearded man a knowing glance.

A deep, throaty chuckle fell from his lips as you lifted a few fingers to flit away another droplet of sweat rushing down your forehead from the increasingly belting heat and weakening gusts whose dying breaths failed to chill the air.

“I certainly hope—“

A sharp, singeing thread tugged at your prickling senses from within the Force, snapping your neck toward the source of the sensation before the flaring, scarlet bolt rapidly consuming your vision launched your nimble body, arms fanned out, to roughly shove Boil out of the way. Sending you both tumbling toward the unforgiving ground as the steaming blaze just barely hurled above each of your heads.

“Ambush!” You screamed after sorely rolling off the rather surprised clone and onto a less bruised back, primary hand clawing for your belt.

Your madly thrashing heart reigned into a steady chill with the initial pulse of adrenaline beginning to wean. And by pure chance alone, it was in that very brief second, as blood rushed past ear drums, that you began to feel an unexpectedly sudden heat center on your left wrist.

Thrusting that very arm up and into your vision, you spotted the sporadic, bubbling crackles and scarlet sparks of a damaged wrist comm whose drooping, dark metal structure threatened to melt into your already itching arm.

Quickly, you scrambled to your feet, right hand tightly wrapped around your unclasped saber as you levied it to thwack off the sizzling comm, permitting the decaying device to clatter across the dense platform as it sibilated into spare parts.

Having freed yourself of that discomfort, you swiftly ignited the saber’s buzzing, gray glow before angling toward the damage-inflicting direction. Yet even still amidst such a swift spin, you couldn’t help but absorb just how the landscape’s bright aura, which once overshadowed the rear port’s barren metallurgic twilight, now hung moodier as peaceful woods suddenly turned not so serene.

Emerging from the left side of a large hill positioned before the facility appeared an ever-growing array of creaking and whining metallic beasts.

With the prickling hairs atop the nape of your neck, you felt as the rear clones rushed to their assigned stations while a line of at least ten… twenty….. thirty and counting mustard yellow, beaked droids carrying stringy arms and legs jounced through the ground’s apex with grimy, heavy-duty blasters secured in hand.

Interspersed within their ranks and towering at least triple their size inched forward a darker, all-encompassing model whose pointed soles shredded verdant grass into marred, brittle soil. Colicoid-like droids that commanded three jointed legs, two weaponized arms, and a spine contorting into some sort of red-fanged face that curved inwards, all behind a spherical shield which quivered a transparent blue.

That’s what must’ve nearly hit Boil, you surmised, when another one of those cold, rigid arms blasted off a similarly behaved bolt toward a far cargo container. Shattering it into scattering, hot white-and-red shards, and sending a few nearby clones flying by some feet as a cacophony of shocked yells stalked their paths.

And, unfortunately, it appeared that second blast was enough to effectively signal the rest of the progressively expanding battalion to finally commence their full-fledged attack.

Streaks of thick, fiery crimson, slender orange, and harsh blue beams coated the sky like violent patchwork, darkening the planet’s once stilled and luscious atmosphere into one of rising, smoky death. Filling your nostrils with the noxious scent of burning plasma and battering your eardrums with strained voices that desperately shouted all around you.

“Men, with me!”

“I need help over here!”

“Medic!”

“Move back! Move back!”

“You two, blast ‘em Rollies!”

Their echoes careened over the sharp buzz of your saber as it swung through the air to collide with showering beams. And while, foregoing your long lost wrist comm, you remained relatively unscathed, you still struggled to afford the men fighting alongside you that same luxury.

Far to your left, a quintet of clones gradually retreated through a clean, V-formation as blue spires erupted from their phasers. Only for the incoming brigade’s ceaseless fire to clip the far right soldier’s arm, tearing at his upper plate which oozed a deep crimson athwart its snowy glaze.

Another profuse liberation of deadly rain, and an additional victim emerged as a flaming, hot bolt dug its way through the stepping foot of one of the middlemen, eliciting a pained groan while smoke sprang from the blackening wound.

You tried to help them. Mostly by tapping into their interlinkage with the all-encompassing Force as you’d discovered to do in recent weeks. Relying on this riddled tactic to empower your connection against insurmountable odds as you shoved pre-fired blaster heads into non-lethal directions and tugged out the legs from underneath yellowed battle droids while their brethren marched on unfazed and unfettered.

It wasn’t a chief, battle-altering tactic, but it was sure to meet at least one goal you had in mind: doing everything in your power to give the clones around you those precious, few extra seconds needed to seek cover from this overwhelmingly multiplying attack force.

But you only had so much to give.

No matter what, you couldn’t take your eyes off the eternal task of reflecting away each bolt that careened toward your person. And that was all while making every attempt to reduce the droid’s numbers with a deliberate swipe of your saber or a dexterous application of the Force. But it was when you considered the added responsibility of aiding any nearby clone struggling to defend against perpetually growing enemy numbers that the muddling task became quite daunting.

Suddenly, the corner of your vision caught a familiar, garish tone, drawing your gaze back behind the gradually receding quintet and toward a clone marked by an unavoidable, olive-green circle. A symbol that would’ve blended with the planet’s wider greenery had the billowing plasmic smoke been given enough time to clear.

However, unlike the rest of the platoon, this particular soldier chose instead to steadily march forward, soon passing the withdrawing V-formation like passing ships in the wildest of starless space sectors as he covered their retreat with an azure floodlight of bolts flying from his blaster.

“Get back, Getter!” You commanded, saber swinging elegantly in a controlled retreat as you sent an occasional hard glance toward the disobedient clone.

“I’m Forward Line!” He shouted through the muffled feedback of his sound-amplified helmet, failing to spare any glance away from the threat that marched head-on.

His feet crept forward, indefinite tone communicating his plans while the increasing barrage of bolts threatened your versatility.

“I’ll cove—“

A dense, blistering flare of plasma swiped straight through the eye of Getter’s helmet, leaving a charred, flaky perforation in its place that stifled his body like an off-switch.

He didn’t even tense.

Instead, the moment gravity recalled its birthright, he collapsed like a rag doll. Simply becoming a jumbled pile of arms and legs.

Your jaw slackened as a pinprick chill consumed your body.

“Silvey! Orders!?” Boil cried from close behind as his blaster ricocheted into the panoramic mob.

Row upon row unfurled across the hill’s peak, spilling into the valley’s depths like loose marbles from an endlessly deep bucket.

Though the frigidity that repeatedly ripped down your spine seemed to momentarily disconnect you from its horror as your mind focused on the present threat.

Those larger, curved ‘Rollies’ could transform into whirling spheres, empowering them to rocket down the hillside. Treating anything you were unable to Force shove away in time, be it scattered equipment or Front Line clones, like loose pins for the taking.

And it seemed, as your brain dizzied at the lives being ripped out of good men’s hands, that such a manipulation considered effortlessly simple by any Jedi was becoming too much of a task.

“Get a comm to Kenobi that we need reinforcements yesterday!—“ You yelled somewhat hazily as your mind desperately centered a connective blanket around one of the barreling Rollies so to redirect it into another speeding down beside it, coercing their shields to interact and combust into blue sparks and stinging flames.

You heaved in another gasp of chemically tinted, plasmic smoke.

“—And to bring any ideas on how to cut off this slope! Else we’re sitting ducks!”

“Copy!” He called before you sensed him spin on his heel toward the rear command center.

Until your next words stopped him in his tracks.

Because Getter’s sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain.

And you needed to do something.

“I’m getting in the trenches to try to cut these rolling things off!”

You creaked your neck sideways as another hot blast whizzed past your tingling ear.

“You’ll need support!” He advised with a hand cupping his mouth. “I’ll redirect a few boys your way!”

Another bolt diverted toward an unsuspecting set of droids smashed a few of the batch’s heads together.

“No!” You slammed, fending off another wall of vivid fire.

No more men die today.

They can’t.

Not during your first command.

Not ever.

Not after—

No.

“You focus on getting that message to the General,” you continued with gritted teeth, saber spinning into a swelling, pallid fireball. “If I need help, I’ll ask. Now go!”

His boots squeaked against the once sun-dried platform, now spattered with occasional streaks of thick, deep-crimsoned goop. Smattering the sound of his voice as the subtle scent of copper trailed in the air like itinerant pollen that clogged your sinuses and sullied your tastebuds.

“Comm to me in the bay!”

—

Oh, Anakin.

That was the repetitive acknowledgment encircling Obi-Wan’s thoughts as he silently observed Master Yoda, Master Windu, and Chancellor Palpatine’s shivering, blue holocomms occasionally snap out of shape, all while he stood casually in one of the ship’s empty, gray conference rooms to ensure a private meeting.

Calling from such distances was sure to elicit additional signal disturbances, and, sometimes, would even cause temporary blackouts. But fortunately, or unfortunately, for the General, none of those occurrences prevented Kenobi from discovering his former Padawan’s unsanctioned change of plans through a similar comm exchange a few hours ago.

Of course, it was his responsibility to ensure the arrival of the escort in Anakin’s charge. Maybe that’s because, whether tied to the mission or not, Obi-Wan always seemed to be the first to learn about Skywalker’s impulsive decisions. This time being his insubordinate choice to rope his own Padawan into a patched-together rescue mission following ambivalent reports regarding Master Plo Koon’s fleet.

He certainly always found a way, didn’t he?

Yes, technically, because it was just Anakin and Ahsoka redeploying, then the convoys would be unrestricted in meeting the arranged rendezvous with the rest of the fleet.

But still, Skywalker was a General now. Could that chestnut-haired man not go off on his own without at least informing another Jedi tasked with this mission first?

Anakin could have told him.

And, honestly, while Kenobi knew he would’ve put up a bit of a fight at the suggestion of such a change of plans, the Jedi Master still fully comprehended that, in the end, he had the trust to watch his former Padawan go.

Because, deep down, Obi-Wan knew that, despite the potential strategic sacrifice, it was the right thing to do.

Not that he had much choice to do anything else since Skywalker had already arrived at the attack site.

And now, consequentially, in his station as both military General and Jedi Council member, Kenobi was the one required to deliver this pesky news to the necessary officials in his place.

“Twice the trouble, they have become,” Master Yoda sighed, rounded eyes dribbling toward the ground in contemplation. “A reckless decision, Skywalker has made.”

The weary Chancellor’s snow-white furrow deepened. “Let us hope it is not a costly one.”

Palpatine exhaled gradually, dipping gaze giving room for the three Jedi hovering subserviently in his presence a moment to absorb the flickers of combat fatigue that affected the deciding politician. Though, despite the momentary pause, the Chancellor was quick to recover, flicking his far-out stare toward the trio with a manufactured smile that struggled to assure that he was, in fact, quite alright.

“I do apologize, gentleman, but I have another meeting with the Senator from Kestos Minor shortly, so I must leave you.”

“Of course, Chancellor,” Kenobi acknowledged for the Jedi in attendance.

And with that, the former Senator’s unstable image evaporated into azure sparks before fading into the room’s wider darkness.

“An eye on your former Padawan, you must keep,” Master Yoda noted, motioning a hand clasped around his irregularly curved gimer stick toward Kenobi. “An update, I request, next we meet.”

“Yes, Master Yoda,” Obi-Wan assured. “I will keep track of him.”

But not before addressing the puckering questions that prodded his brain tissue all afternoon.

At least, ever since speaking with you.

“Do you have a moment, Master Windu?” Kenobi questioned, just as the Grand Master’s digital picture similarly flickered into cerulean specks of nothingness.

The older Master glanced at Obi-Wan out of his peripheral, torso still respectively angled toward the empty cavity where Yoda’s silhouette once stood before smoothly pivoting with a subtly tilted neck toward the inquisitive Jedi.

“I do,” he punctuated with taught features. “And what is this regarding?”

“Silvey,” Obi-Wan plainly replied, allowing his voice alone to carry him through the next few seconds so to disallow himself from failing to speak of these matters at all.

“I was made aware earlier today that they were not fully informed of their condition following the incident. As their Master, and the one tasked with notifying them in place of the Healer, I was hoping to inquire as to why?”

A blank stare of unreadable stillness crossed the thousand light years in a fashion only Mace Windu, complexion of secrets and answers, could achieve.

“As their advisor, I provided only necessary information,” he clarified simply with the gesturing support of his hand. “It was unnecessary to subject Silvey to the past when they successfully recovered.”

Obi-Wan’s lips twitched into an imperceptibly partial frown.

Perhaps Master Windu… knew more than he was letting on?

He talked of deeming certain details imperative to share, which could suggest that there were facts being kept secret, even from you, for reasons beyond the bearded Jedi’s current knowledge.

At least, that’s what Obi-Wan convinced himself.

It would be the only explanation for such a decision, he thought. For seemingly sending you on a mission without any concern for the unknown factors at play, and for this indefinite justification of why.

That would be the only thing that made any lick of sense.

And that also could’ve meant, maybe, just maybe, Kenobi wasn’t the only one beginning to sense remnants of your mind within the Force.

Perhaps Mace Windu already discovered this development. Or perhaps, it was even possible the elder Master had something to do with it.

That, as your ‘advisor,’ he was already a few steps ahead. And that, in your meditation sessions, he found something. Triggered something.

Knew something.

Either way, the General desired to understand.

“And how are we to know that?” Kenobi tested carefully, eyeing the strict Jedi’s cheekbones for any small, reflexive hint. “You yourself admitted to an inability to perceive their mind, the cause of these headaches, or the incident’s nature. By those facts alone, how can it be possible to assume that this is truly in the past?”

Pressing his lips into a thin line with arms confidently folded into themselves, Master Windu intrepidly spoke as broadened shoulders secured his stance.

“The Republic is in need of more Jedi on the field. You of all people are aware of that fact, Master Kenobi,” he stated. “I made the most reasonable decision given our circumstances. Such details are not of our immediate concern. We cannot afford it.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help the taught string of confusion and wiry cords of astonishment that knit across his forehead, muscling down the rest of his features like a sudden tug on the loose end of an interwoven thread.

Mace knew nothing.

And, with that in mind, Kenobi never expected such indifference to be applied to a situation deemed incomprehensible by even the Grand Master himself a few days earlier. Toward a state of affairs clouded by the ever-living Force in a plum of enigmatic readings, which, to the Council, was always a less than desirable sign.

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

Said the Code.

So then to brush this all off? And dismiss its repercussions to his own mentee, no less.

Obi-Wan raised a hand, curling a few knuckles to provide his chin a thoughtful rest. All in an attempt to imbue the Force with interim civility as his mind rapidly flipped through Mace’s words.

And it didn’t take long for him to realize that all this… Every decision made concerning you…

It was this war.

It was changing Windu like it was changing all of them. All the Jedi. Causing them to lose sight of what was once important in the days before the Battle of Geonosis.

But this wasn’t right.

Something was clearly influencing you. And, despite the Republic’s shifting priorities, Mace needed to be reminded that this situation, no matter how diverting, was just as important to the Council’s overarching mission as its efforts in this war.

To the Jedi’s purpose.

To peace.

These headaches and their culminated crisis may have evolved into a creature of the past. But it was their state of unpredictability, and the Galaxy-altering implications of a Guardian thrown from commission, which convinced Kenobi that the Council mustn’t lose sight of such solemnity. Especially not during a decade in which the Grand Master sensed the Force to have grown, in some pockets, indecipherable.

And no matter what, you deserved to know the full nature of these incidents.

Obi-Wan’s jaw released, poking away the useless support of bent fingers as his arm fell to the side at a rate equal to the blooming resolution which consumed the bearded man’s blue-eyed countenance. A visual marker, or signature stamp, of the Master Jedi’s acceptance that no war would stymie him from making these very thoughts known to the glitching holocomm across from him.

So much so, that he nearly missed the echoing chime of the conference room’s automatic door as its mechanics whirred open.

“General!”

Kenobi’s neck snapped toward the urgent inflection shimmering from Commander Cody’s tensed lips, just as brightly as the orange embellishments accenting his trooper armor reflected the white lights streaming overhead.

He was leaned into a forward stance, a puff of air proving him not a still-life statue as he caught his balance. All in an effort to suddenly halt a spirited sprint into the conference room that eventually, from the exertion alone, impelled him to expel the rest.

“There’s been a surprise attack on the supply port and the platoon left behind on Lanos.”

A dryness consumed Kenobi’s tongue as another simply armored clone dashed through the same whirring, mechanical door. Sprightly stepping up to whisper a few quick words to his Commander just before the aperture behind him buzzed shut once more.

“Reports of heavy casualties,” Cody parroted with an ear leaned toward the newly arrived lieutenant. “And they are requesting immediate reinforcements.”

“I will leave you to address this more immediate concern, Master Kenobi,” Windu relayed from the twitching holocomm image strikingly emanating from behind; his expression stilled except for the subtle twinge of disappointment drooping the outer corners of his eyes.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan affirmed, clearing his voice as moisture coated a tickling throat.

At least enough for him to sign off with one final message aimed toward his fellow Council member.

“I will see you at the rendezvous.”

—

A burning ache entangled each limb’s muscles like winding vines as you fended off the coming onslaught. Centering yourself in the lowest dip of the valley’s crease wasn’t necessarily the most strategic move given your current predicament. Especially considering it labeled your dodging figure as prime target practice for the ropes of Rollies that erratically spun down the hillside at spine-chilling speeds.

But you didn’t have any choice.

Not if you hoped to become an unbreakable barrier of pure might and agility, impeding a near three-hundred mix of droids threatening the platoon’s lives who hastily regrouped behind you.

Various squad formations would mark the best vantage points atop the port’s landing platform from which to lay fire upon the siege. Though that was the extent to which the battalion could effectively participate. Joining you in the, quite literal, trenches was a death sentence to any non-Force Sensitive individual hoping to take a stand against an attacking strength of this magnitude.

It was your ability, and your ability alone, to navigate the rapidly shifting elements of surrounding energies that empowered you to fight in their place while dodging and manipulating droids who shot walls of steady fire or suddenly sprung at you with their dense, steel bodies.

Yet, no matter your resilience, you still possessed the same weakness every other living being faced in adrenalizing circumstances.

You were growing quite exhausted.

“Reinforcements are almost here!” You heard Boil yell from far behind while he used a nearby repulsersled flipped into a makeshift shield to traverse the compound drowned in chemical fires and bloodied chaos. “You can’t stay there forever!”

You wrapped your fingers around the air as invisible claws shimmied their way around a Rollie barreling toward your figure before rapidly thrusting that same fist to the side, leading the machine’s suddenly bouncing trajectory to hurtle into a group of about eight battle droids.

One in particular sluggishly swiveled its head toward the oncoming sight with subtle reservation as it expelled creaky, undulating words.

“Oh no.”

Until they became another scattered pile of far-flung, broken parts, an explosion colored by blasting crimson and cobalt sparks.

“I’m gonna have to!” You called back, the swing of your saber nearly transforming into a cloudy blur of heat before your very, watering eyes as you deflected bolt after bolt while sidestepping through the uneven hollow. “We’ll lose our only advantage!”

“Excuse me for saying, Silvey, but I think that losing a Jedi will be cutting our advantage!”

You knew he was right.

But you were quickly learning that in war, there was no easy choice.

You weren’t going to lose anyone else.

Maker… you couldn’t.

You just… couldn’t.

A scorching, slash clawed into your left calf, electrifying all the way down to your ankle as a surprised yelp was drawn from your lips.

And it wasn’t long before that very foot and sorely exercised knee buckled under the shocking pressure, slamming both roughly into the dirt as you felt another breeze graze the touches of your back exposed by rips in the fabric. All from those quick tumbles against newly jagged ground with raised rock shards and disturbed mounds formed by the ongoing conflict.

You briefly glanced down to assess the damage, relying on your senses' contextual intertwinement and the dancing light of your gray saber to defend against the ongoing downpour of bolts. Showers that fell from the hilltop with such magnitude that you could’ve sworn the sky was crying smoky tears.

Speaking of bolts, it appeared one had cut you down pretty good as a severely bloodied laceration oozing black, bubbling soot stingingly throbbed the bottom half of your leg. Consuming your vision with its strongly contrasting, dark tinge even amidst your armor’s shadowy undertones.

So much for those Republic-tested shin guards, you internally grunted.

And, regrettably, with one leg out of commission, it didn’t take long for your wearied body and continuously fogging gaze to make another mistake.

Even if it was only for a split second.

While desperately side-crawling toward the landing pad, in an effort to impede an enemy group from its newly-angled, swift approach, you missed an arbitrary bolt that collided with the hilt of your saber. Snapping it out of your hand as its protective covering took the brunt of the blast, but still flung it a few meters out from your grip all the same.

Your head spun back toward the main invading Force, only to be met with an inky black blaster whose cold body was levied mere centimeters from your forehead.

Dark spots crept into your peripheral like a predator surveying its prey as your palms dug into the disturbed dirt below.

“Wow, look guys!” The titillated battle droid exclaimed. “I got a Jedi!”

Shades of flaming red exploded before your very eyes.

But not for the reason you thought.

No, whatever that was, it wasn’t blood.

It was much more…

Much too…

Fuzzy?

Scrapping at whatever strength you had left, you focused your shaky stare above. Only to be met with the strikingly pigmented fox of before, wrapped around the battle droid’s torso like a constricting tendril as it gnawed with growling rage at the mechanical thing’s armed skeletal limb.

“Ah! What is this?” The off-yellow machine bellowed. “Get it off me! Get it off me!”

He spun in unsteady circles, flinging his targeted arm as if fire consumed its nonexistent nerves, drilled feet stumbling over each other while the fox laid savagely into their assault.

Until the droid hoisted its other revolving hand, slamming it down once, and then twice, across the creature’s wet snout. A sickening crack, and its shiny, fur coat slung from the machine before landing as a mangled heap onto the ground.

You thrust a hand toward your saber, scratching at the Force to coax it to your fingers as it catapulted into your grasp.

A reflection of the blaster’s barrel stung your eye.

One squealing pop flung through the air.

And then another.

“Good riddance,” the droid mumbled while it drearily kicked the still warm, but entirely lifeless creature left at its feet.

You were too late.

You were always too late.

Qui-Gon’s paled skin. His glazed, breathless eyes.

And then you saw it.

You swore you saw it.

A flash of that horned, devil face harshly stomped across the fox’s barren throat.

And your blood ran cold.

So frigid, that an icy film must’ve shielded your eyes while they blurred in contest with an increasingly congested mind. The resonating cries of commanding clones, marching mechanical feet, and rushing metal clamoring against loose bolts all melded into a muddled echo of the past. Even Boil’s distended calls, which freely rang around inching droids as he laid down fire, melded into the rest of the world.

Instead, a high-pitched tone displaced their existence, slackening your jaw and dangerously slowing your breath while a weight unlike any other yanked down at your sternum.

And amidst all that drowning havoc, you barely noticed the large, gray shuttle with faint red accents descend before you.

Almost immediately, and with growing intensity, its engines were able to sweep away any nearby battle droids as they flung and tumbled across the grass like loose scraps. Even the Rollies found their maneuverability stifled as they transformed back into a legged form before being tossed away like loose credits via their curvature alone.

Yet, even though the vehicle landed between you and the incoming fire, its rear door descending as a fluttering ivory robe and flashes of white armor darted down its ramp, it was still not enough to rip you out from yourself.

It was only partially, that your awareness sparked, and for a moment oh so brief, as a flash of auburn tufts poked a hole in that stunned cataract.

“Silvey!”

A distant echo among muffled blaster fire, but the ringing tone did seem to partially subside.

“Silvey! Can you hear me?!”

You swallowed, vision clearing just enough to recognize a familiar pair of widened, bright blue eyes.

Though you had no idea how he got here.

“Obi-Wan?” You questioned hazily with scrunched brows.

“Let’s get you to the ship!” He declared firmly, eyes drifting toward your mangled leg as a hint of displeasure creased his eyes.

But he hesitated for only a second before quickly wrapping his fingers around your free arm to tug you that away.

And, truth be told, it was that moment, that single moment, the warm feeling of his grip as plasmic fumes assaulted your senses, that became the last instant of Lanos you truly remembered.

You recalled the gentle pressure of Kenobi’s fingers releasing your arm into the shuttle just before it lifted from the ground while he sprinted off, pearly armor catching the sun’s smoke-scattered glare as he joined the fight. And you could remember the stinging weight that dragged at your muscles as you stood for the first time after the hull abruptly docked at The Negotiator.

A feeling that haunted you with each step you traversed from the shuttle bay to your temporary quarters.

You could even recall the taste of the stale ship air that reigned menial against Lanos’s essence of fresh vegetation and untouched atmosphere. Though that particular memory was hard to forget, considering those same elements pervaded your quarters.

What you couldn’t remember, however, was what anyone had said to you. If anyone had said anything at all. You couldn’t remember when your injured leg was wrapped, or who did it. You couldn’t remember whether the battle was won. You couldn’t remember entering the lift to the residential section of the ship. And you couldn’t remember the familiar whooshing creak of your quarter’s automatic door.

Oh Maker, no.

You couldn’t recall whether that faulty sound tolled when the aperture opened.

You could only trust that the door had, in fact, shut behind you as you ambled into your quarters, deactivated lightsaber falling from your bruised fingers before rudely clacking across the carpeted floor. You could only hope that the walls, too, were thick enough to deafen the sound of your falling knees as they collided with the itchy carpet’s prickling texture.

And you could pray that the falling tears wetting your cheeks and soaking your tunic, and the hiccuping breaths stopping your heart, would somehow ease the agonizing burden that crushed your chest with the bodies of all you had lost.

—

“And the facility was secured?” Master Kenobi inquired once Commander Cody concluded his cursory report on the impromptu attack.

Both general and soldier ambled down the curved, tubular hallway of one of the ship’s upper decks, lined with identically placed doors and overhead lights that perfectly reflected the Republic’s preference for uniformed architecture. Still though, Obi-Wan’s wandering eyes would soak up their every detail, down to the personalized wear of certain entry panels or noticeable scuffs decorating the steel floor whenever he participated in such debriefs.

It allowed his mind to focus on the task at hand. No matter the aeonian tumult that bled into their essence or bordered his thoughts.

“Yes, General,” Cody assured evenly as his long-barreled, black phaser, still warm from battle, patiently hung from a confident grip; swaying with each step that fell in line with his superior’s steady stride.

“And we incurred far less casualties than anticipated,” he continued, with a hint of optimism so subtle that even Kenobi struggled to detect it. “My men report that the General is to thank for that.”

An unconscious hand hovered toward Obi-Wan’s chin, gently stroking his beard’s loose tufts while the Jedi Master continued to absorb his officer’s words like a Bluebell squish would sunlight.

Though his gaze still dallied across the ephemeral doors.

“Had they not stood their ground in the valley’s trench…” Cody liberated. “I doubt much of the platoon would be left standing.”

Kenobi’s chest rose and fell with a gradualness that seemed to suspend time itself. Still, his legs carried him onwards, as a shuttle set on autopilot would transport its passengers by endless star systems, and the beauties in between.

You certainly took a huge risk, he noted. Pushing yourself to the very brink to protect the lives of his own battalion.

But did you know just how close you came to the point of no return?

The Master Jedi considered that even Anakin would’ve deemed the act of entering and remaining in the trenches terribly reckless.

And that was saying something.

But you were Qui-Gon’s Padawan, after all. And Obi-Wan knew better than anyone that drilled into your being was the desire to avoid violence at all costs. To preserve the manifestations of the Force by protecting any and all beings who necessitated aid.

Though you were never prepared for a war that coerced Jedi to conform to a changed Galaxy.

And it coerced him to consider…

Should he say something?

“Sir.”

The General need not rely on Force-attuned senses to notice the Commander slowed his gate into a standstill from the corner of an observant eye. Leashing Kenobi to do the same as he angled to face the solider whose mollified shoulders stimulated satiny brown orbs to soften.

“Some of the boys and I would like to thank the General in person for what they did today,” he expressed somewhat awkwardly, hand jolting up to scratch the back of his head as his eyes dipped off to the side. “Any chance you could share a heads up when they may be up for it, Sir?”

An involuntary twitch tugged at the corner of the General’s tensed lips. Though his revelation after the fact choked the sensation before it had any chance of crawling up to ensnare his bright, cerulean orbs.

No. Not yet, the bearded man concluded.

He couldn’t share his worries.

Because Kenobi dreaded that doing so would risk metamorphosis.

It would be, conceivably, like asking you to transform into a different breed of Jedi. One who’d fail to touch the hearts of men with such infectious reverence and unity.

You were a being who would, no matter what, sacrifice each and every far-off particle of themselves if it meant preserving just one more life, or to cease the wands of conflict indefinitely.

The Way of Qui-Gon’s age, that felt so long ago.

Before its prime was sullied by war…

Suppressing his former Master’s Renaissance teachings in favor of this changed Galaxy, like so many Jedi of late, like Mace Windu, would fundamentally alter you.

And it was that very concept that sucked away the energy of his mind, like a siphon draining liquid gold down through his stiffened spine, and out through his toes.

“Of course, Commander,” Kenobi expelled fluidly. “I’m certain they would valu—“

A gust of pressurized mass flung by the duo with the brawn of a rushing wave, consuming Obi-Wan’s senses and depressing the hairs along his arms like a sudden shift in gravity as his once drained neck flicked toward the impression’s oozing source, located somewhere farther down the hallway.

But while the piqued Jedi Master’s piercing eyes initially saw nothing of concern, it was only a mere second later when the feeling quickly morphed into a troubling array as a pointed hole the size of a marble appeared to form in his ribcage, deliberately expanding into a bleak vacuum that nearly caught his breath.

Then came the pain.

An intense jab whose sharp instrument seemed to pierce the air with progressively afflicting shocks that were surely impossible for any Force-Sensative being to ignore.

At least, for him.

And while this sensation’s source appeared to stray from his inner being, Kenobi could still perceive its utter potency, shattering his thoughts with one, unavoidable clarity:

That, no matter the impenetrability of mental blocks or molecular hints of presence within the Force, the only other being in this sector at all capable of emitting this kind of energy, was you.

And that could only mean one thing.

Something was very very wrong.

Given that you’d nearly escaped with your life not even an hour prior, Kenobi could only fear the worst as he mentally recounted your previously noted injuries.

Unless…

That earlier hesitation…

“General!” Cody alertedly yet curiously called after his superior officer as the auburn-haired man’s once composed posture devolved into a notably rushed jog, his white shoulder and shin guards doing little in the ways of stifling the whipping surge of his ivory robe as it caught the ship’s manufactured atmosphere’s resistance. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m not certain,” he replied with a leveled tone, though never assuaging his gate or turning his chin away from the path ahead as he rushed by door upon equivalent door. “I will comm you if not.”

It was quite fortunate, Obi-Wan realized, that he’d already been returning to his own quarters when he sensed the shift in the Force as they were situated a mere few doors down from your own. Otherwise, given your mind’s weak presence in its endless flow, he may not have caught onto the displacement until long after the fact. Still, he couldn’t help but assign himself preliminary blame for whatever it was he began inwardly preparing to walk into.

He was too distracted to check in with you until now. Too preoccupied with leading reinforcements to turn the tide of that bloody sea of an ambush. And too absorbed in the logistics of determining just exactly how that Separatist attack force landed on Lanos without a lick of intelligence soaring his way. All while the General simultaneously ensured an on-track fleet rendezvous in the background.

But now, stood before your door amidst the heavy rise and fall of a stunted chest in which breath clutched its heels, the Jedi Master gravelly understood once again, fist hovering before its grayed coating in fleeting hesitation, that he had no choice but to rectify another mistake made in his task of certifying The Guardian’s safety.

His knuckles resonantly rapped the cold metal sheen separating you both.

“Silvey?”

But that empty, weighted crevice slithering within his deepest senses persisted, its stinging ambiance threatening to crack open his skin. Quite enough to convince the Jedi Master, as he reached a few fingers toward the door’s panel to levy a couple overriding taps, that your current well-being transcended any and all swirling discomforts rooted in invading your personal space.

Yet, even with such logic secured as firmly on his belt as his lightsaber, nothing could’ve truly prepared Obi-Wan Kenobi for the sight that patiently awaited the mechanical entryway’s opening swish, as his subsequent few steps into your thinly carpeted and modestly furnished quarters delivered an image not easily unseen.

Kneeled just a few meters before the stilled, auburn-haired man was your sternly bent-over figure, back hunched as strikingly as a shadow in a room simply lit by the vast array of stars that glimmered unbothered beyond the far wall’s viewport. Your wears were the same, with the various splotched, grimy stains and ripped, sagging ends of disturbed cloth still hugging your body like fearful younglings. Just as they had during the battle’s peak when Kenobi’s shuttle first landed.

Their drying crackles. Their stretching tears. They caught his gaze as fiercely as a spark of fire with each subtle quiver of your spine, an action which took his mind a moment to register as the trembling quake bedeviling enervated lungs.

From your blood-soiled calf bandage, ruggedly stuck, tussled hair, and sweat-adhered, dirt-crusted arms, Obi-Wan could only assume that you’d remained like this since your arrival. Submitting to your dark surroundings while lacking the inspiration to flip on a light.

And, most eerily, in a muteness that heightened the slightest creaks and far-off humming engines of a periodically groaning ship.

A recognition that deepened the already cavernous void threatening to swallow whole every vein branching from Kenobi’s chest into the muscle of each motionless shoulder.

This was nothing like the incident of days prior, which meant that the General was uncertain of what would help. How to fix this. Or even, what was wrong.

But he veritably knew that dropping a pin in the uncanny silence engulfing you both like a gaseous cloud would shatter his eardrums just as savagely as he assumed it would spiral whatever affliction you were enduring into a perilous state.

And that meant that, for the life of him. The Master Jedi had no idea how to proceed.

He could not breathe for apprehension that it would burst like a spark within an invisible hypermatter leak. Let alone speak a few words, nor your name, unless he knew that, without harm, he could.

So, Master Kenobi did the only thing he dreamed acceptable.

After idling by the entryway in perpetual uncertainty, the cautious Jedi adopted a lissome tread, leading his troubled brows and downturned cerulean eyes to finally seize a glimpse of your collapsed head as he rounded your form.

Your blotched countenance of stained tears and drained listlessness. Loose strands of hair soaked from sweat or anguish he did not know. Still, even your radiantly silver eyes seemed to gray in their moribund stare straight ahead, as if to watch a tiresome scene a thousand parsecs away run its course.

And it was that utter and complete stillness, a feeling invoking time to recede into long-forgotten history, that remained for a tense, immeasurable while.

Unsteady breaths continued to shudder your torso while eyes strung wide enough to perceive the whole Galaxy struggled to maintain their shape following the long sered, torrential flood. The cogs of overflowing thoughts crowding their rusting gears before the speechless man’s very eyes.

It felt near an eternity into the future or past had elapsed for Obi-Wan since he met your distant orbs. Yet their departed state, it seemed, never reflected your true awareness.

You were not trapped within your mind again.

“I spent my entire life on that barren planet,” you suddenly relayed hoarsely.

Or, maybe, in some ways, you were, Kenobi amended, as the sound of your strained voice heightened the General’s alertness all the way up to his hassled brows.

“And a decade of it in complete isolation.”

Laggardly, your jaded orbs lifted toward his own, neck barely shifting while you held his pursed lips and tensed jaw in a vice grip by the anticipation of your slowly spilling words alone.

“And yet—“

A single tear seeped through the dam, etching another stain into your storied cheeks as your chest quickened its heaves.

It was more than enough to have impelled Kenobi toward you. With a hand outstretched and a pulsing drive to somehow bring you any sliver of relief.

But Obi-Wan refrained from all that.

He knew he needed to listen. To understand first. So to learn how best to fix this.

He just wanted to fix this.

“—I’ve never felt… quite… so alone.”

But with those six words, the Master Jedi’s temperance seemed to wash away with the second droplet that traced a serene path down to your chin, proving another chink in the levee.

Promptly, but still with great care, Obi-Wan neared your body, both sets of eyes never severing while he lowered to his knees. Mirroring your form in complete and utter stillness as he encouraged you to continue with a reinforced, steadfast expression.

A tremulous exhale escaped your lungs, silver gaze breaking the connection before sinking to the wayside.

“Not as I do now,” you breathed. “Not when Qui-Gon is gone.”

Those two syllables, Kenobi registered. Two knocks that brought that dam to ruins.

“He’s gone!” You croakily sobbed, a glare that could only reflect betrayal by the Galaxy itself rushing to perceive Kenobi’s affected countenance with an intensity that matched the gushing rain.

You raised a fist, tightening it in the air through a paled potency so sheer that Obi-Wan worried with stitched brows about the sharp damage your fingertips could be afflicting upon the contorted palm. All while silver eyes squeezed shut as if disgusted by the waves of pure agony that surmounted your figure.

“He’s gone for good,” you gnawed breathily. “And nothing will ever bring him back.”

While heaving gasps brimmed the once noiseless, dulled gray walls, amplifying the hollowed suffering emanating through the Force, Kenobi felt his tensed spine and rigid limbs ease with the surge of conviction that steadily overcame him.

Doubtlessness that, like a good Jedi, he felt the need to ease your misery.

More than that. Your pain happened to affect him in such a way, that it felt distressing to do anything but lift his wrist to reach out a bracing palm.

For someone he appreciated as an admirable individual.

And for a being he was beginning to consider a good friend.

Gently, his palm graced the side of yours, signaling him to carefully wrap warm fingers around your strikingly frigid, raised fist. A gesture which relaxed open your tear-brimmed orbs while Obi-Wan cautiously lowered your languishingly trembling clutch. So gradually, that as both your and Obi-Wan’s arms reached each respective knee, the clasped hand was spurred to wholly unfurl, giving Kenobi room to relax his thumb against your flushed palm while he eyed you meaningfully.

“You are not alone,” Obi-Wan firmly assured, his own voice eliciting a momentary shock as he heard its baritone timbre crush the presence of such prolonged and confounding silence.

“He’s gone,” you repeated mindlessly with an empty gaze barely supporting your head.

Yet Obi-Wan’s persistence was as boundlessly unyielding as the grip he maintained on you.

“But, you’re not alone.”

“Obi-Wan,” you wept, nostrils flaring as you shook your head with thinned eyes; swallowing harshly. “Pleas—“

Rapidly, with any fret of heedfulness tossed out the airlock, the Master Jedi brought his unchained hand toward your tottering jaw. Resting a loose knuckle under your chin to lift your searching gaze toward his.

You needed this, he excused. You needed to hear this.

And as your damp, sparkling eyes absently met his, he knew:

Distance be damned.

“You are The Guardian. Anakin is forever tied to you. And you will always, always have the Order. Thousands of Jedi ready to stand by your side because of who you are,” he declared with unshakable conviction.

Until his orbs softened below shattered lips.

“Silvey,” he whispered pregnantly. “Drink in my words.” His fingers tightened around your own. “You are not alone.”

And for a moment, Kenobi could note a subtle lift in your features. A slight lightening of your irises that indicated at least some partial unshackling of an invisible burden. A development that began to stitch closed the gaping crevice nestled within his sternum as it was reflected through the Force, stabilizing against your releasing shoulders and loosening throat.

Though your mind appeared to travel elsewhere.

Still, they were all gradual indications of your calming thoughts. Hints that whatever he was doing was mending something. And signs that first appeared when he touched your hand.

Another theory that added substance to the sealing emptiness Kenobi first experienced through the hall in what felt like eons ago.

So, he leaned into it, gracing his once stilled thumb across your palm’s supple skin as he, bit by bit, traced a messy oval to soothe your thoughts.

And it didn’t take long for your continually calming presence to uncontrollably elicit the soft smile that gradually adorned his lips.

But, as soon as his gentle finger uncovered the aplomb to supply a deeper, more sustained motion of solidarity, it seemed, instantaneously, that this very transference snapped you out of whatever distance your mind had traveled with an unforeseen start.

Your suddenly surprised gape jumped out at Kenobi while a once relaxed hand instantly recoiled out of his own. Chiseling an equally confused expression across Obi-Wan’s face as his brows furrowed at you uneasily.

Still, that did little in forestalling your hurried launch to stand, all done in an effort to put a few strides between you and the bearded Jedi before crossing deeper into the dark shadows enveloping your quarters, a back of tattered robes separating you from Obi-Wan’s probing stare.

The older Jedi felt that hallowed void dilate within himself once more as he observed your sheltering arms fold into themselves, a familiar, throbbing pain emanating into the surrounding Force while he too promptly rose to his feet.

Especially as there was no denying that it was a feeling, Obi-Wan gathered, he’d somehow caused.

A myriad of thoughts swirled his mind as your quarters adopted that familiar aura of soundless reticence. One that rivaled the emptiness of its dimmed lightning that somehow felt far more barren with the presence of two beings blending into its grayed walls.

And the silence was deafening. Thunderous enough to fester a chest-displacing emotion Kenobi sometimes experienced, but knew no Jedi should long entertain.

Guilt.

“Silvey?” He questioned with indecisively parted lips, phonating barely above a whisper.

But you never spoke.

Instead, the Jedi Master received his answer from the tautening cross of your arms and intensifying dip of your head.

The clatter of heavy footsteps and low conversation echoed from the hall, cutting the still air like an endless barrage of saber swipes. Their passing din muffled by your quarter’s steel separation as Obi-Wan partially sensed the handful of clones retreat down the passageway’s other end until their overlapping noise whispered into a distant memory.

And it was following that minor rattle, the long, interspaced stretches of pure stillness, and a timeless affair of observing your statued figure for any hint of an imparting thought, that the General reluctantly accepted the inevitable as pivoted on his heel toward the long gone entourage.

Although he now ambled toward the metal door, he only moved with stalling muscles, still in anticipation that he’d sense some shift, some indication of lightening impressions through the Force. At least, any idea that maybe, maybe you’d say something to him.

But once Obi-Wan’s fingers reached for the green-rimmed panel, releasing open the aperture with a whoosh, he began to come to grips with the fact that his presence would facilitate no locution, and, instead, only make things worse.

Stepping beyond the threshold, Kenobi’s eyes drifted to the side, as if to glance at your enigmatic figure staring out the viewport from far behind.

Though, despite the effort, he never dared to fully turn. Instead, Obi-Wan simply allowed his reluctant features to subdue against the throbbing remorse that struck through his mind like an unruly blaster spear as he murmured through uncertain lips one last time.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

A soft exhale, and the door hissed closed.

Taglist

@js-favnanadoongi

@panandinpain0

@randomwriter435

@soleywoley

@burnthecheshirewitch

@lemonherb

@imherefordeanandbones

[edupunkn00b]

Decoherence, Ch. 4: Rapture of the Nerd

Creative Commons 1.0 Public Domain

Prev - Rapture of the Nerd - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ] - Playlist

“Huw makes sure to wake up in his own bed the next morning. It’s ancient and creaky, the springs bowed to conform to his anatomy, and he wove the blankets himself on the treadle-powered loom in the back parlor that Mum and Dad left him when they ascended, several decades before.” -The Rapture of the Nerds by Cory Doctorow

WC: 4595 - Rated: T - CW: swearing, suggesting, alcohol -

2026, June 12, London, England

Remus grunted when his forehead thudded against the edge of his desk.

“Tea?” Lo asked and swapped out his empty coffee cup for a steaming cup of chai. The spicy, milky sweet scent filled the air and Remus smiled despite himself.

“I dunno, I thought it might help find the bug if I kept banging my head against the desk.”

Chuckling, Lo wheeled over his own chair to sit next to him. “It might,” he murmured. He held his cup with one hand and the other played at the edges of Remus’ hair. 

“Hmph.” Remus tried to sound disgruntled but Lo’s gentle fingers at the back of his neck melted his foul mood. “I’m attempting a pout,” he said, not really able to hide the smile in his voice. Not that he tried very hard.

Lo took a slow sip of his tea and the delicate tickling at the base of Remus’ skull turned into a steady massage. “I can see that. Pout with your tea,” Lo murmured, moving his hand with him as he sat up.

“Thank you,” Remus said with a genuine smile, stiff fingers curled around the cup. Lo shifted down and worked the knot at the top of his spine. “For the tea, too,” he said between sips. He let his eyes fall shut and his shoulders dropped, cup resting on the desk where he’d just knocked his head. “I’m close, maybe too close to figuring it out—”

Remus sat up straight and let go of the cup, hands flying across the keyboard in front of him. Lo barely caught the tea before it fell in his lap. He didn’t bother asking if Remus had an idea and just scootched in closer to read over his shoulder. 

“Oh!” Lo breathed, reading the new parameters Remus entered. “You don’t think the qubits are too close?”

“Uh-huh,” he shook his head then typed the compile command with a flourish. The screen filled with row after row of green text announcing positive health checks of the new, larger quantum array. “They weren’t close enough.”

~

“Look, they have the tiny tomatoes Virgil likes!” Lo slipped into line as Remus loaded up the conveyor belt at Aldi’s. His ‘one more thing’ had turned into an armful of bananas and tomatoes, a mesh bag of oranges, two pints of sugar snap sweetpeas and a bottle of oat milk.

He plopped the produce down and flashed a nervous grin at the customer behind them in line. “Our nephew really likes his fruits and veggies,” Remus shrugged in a half-serious apology, grinning when their annoyance melted away. “Gotta say ‘yes’ to something for the little guy.”

“As though you let that child lack for anything, ‘Uncka Re,’” Lo murmured near Remus’ ear as he threaded an arm through his.

So Remus liked spoiling him. The kid had spent his first year and a half with his mom only to be literally left bawling on Pattycake’s doorstep with eyes that matched his and a note.

“His name is Virgil and he’s yours. TPR’s already filed. Good luck and don’t call me. - K.”

The whole family was determined to make up for it.

Remus reached over the belt to ‘sneak’ a pack of cinnamon Altoids in with the actual food and looked up just in time to spot a cashier clocking in at the other end of the store. He stared. “Holy fuck, Lo…” He looked between him and Lo. “That guy looks just like you,” he muttered. Different glasses, frown lines… and he held himself completely differently, shoulders hunched, with hands that shook like he was under—or over—medicated. Reminded him of guys he knew in college.

But the rest of him? Same raven hair, maybe with a sprinkling of grey, and same brilliant blue eyes Remus could see from across the way. Same cupid’s bow in his smile. “Hey, I thought I was the one with a twin,” he joked, but Lo was staring just as hard as Remus was.

“‘Scuse me,” he whispered and sidled past Remus and the lady in front of them, eyes fixed on the guy as he buttoned up his deep blue and gold Aldi’s vest. Lo stood frozen for a minute, just watching the guy hyperfocus on each button. His hands definitely shook and it only took Remus a moment to recognize the DTs.

Lo approached slowly, like he was trying to snatch up a stray cat. The guy stepped behind the customer service counter, grabbed a bottle of Windex and towels and started wiping the fingerprints off the cigarette case.

Remus finished checking out, and Lo was still just… watching him. “Lo Lo? You alright?” he whispered.

Lo nodded, glancing back at him. His face was pale and there were tears in his eyes. “I—I just need to…” He squeezed Remus’ hand and approached the counter.

“L—Lucas?” he asked, hands hovering over the glass countertop.

“My name is Luke, welcome to Aldi’s, how can I help you today?” the guy said in a sing-song patter without looking up. Rote, automatic. Without sentiment. Like Virgil when he was sounding out words from a book.

“Lucas, it’s me,” Lo said, louder as he reached over the counter. “It’s Logan.”

“Lo…” Luke looked up, unfocused eyes washing over Lo’s features. He shook his head, scowling. “Logan,” he said clearly, but stepped back.

Lo stretched over the countertop between them and brushed his hand over Luke’s arm. The guy swallowed back a hiss and yanked his arm bac.. “Is there something I can help you with?” Luke backed against the shelves of vapes and nicotine patches behind him. “Sir?” he added as an afterthought.

“Lucas,” Lo shook his head, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. “Lucas, it’s me,” he said again, touching his chest. “I… I can’t believe it….” The guy just stared at him and Lo’s mouth began to tremble.

Remus moved to his side. He parked their cart of groceries at the end of an empty checker line, then took his hand. “Lo, do you—”

“Yes, of course, I do,” he whispered. “Lucas, why do you—”

“Sir, if you need to purchase something, I can help you. If not—” he looked pointedly behind Lo where a small line was forming. “I have actual customers to attend to.”

“Lucas, no, I…” Lo stepped closer, reaching over the counter like he was trying to grab the guy. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks as he begged… for… Remus didn’t know for what. “Please, Lucas!”

The guy crossed his arms over his chest, a mannerism ripped from Lo’s personal body language dictionary. “Look, I don’t know who you think I am, but I don’t know who the fuck you are.”

The guy turned away, jaw clenched and eyes on the floor. He looked like he was waiting to be reprimanded for swearing in front of a customer.

“Sir!” A manager appeared out of fucking nowhere and stood way to close. Weird, almost military piping trimmed the shoulders and pockets of her uniform vest, and she put herself between Lo and the guy. She nodded to somebody behind them and 

Remus tore his eyes from the scene just long enough to peek over his shoulder. A hulk of a security guard was headed for them, pushing through the crowd that had gathered.

“Lo, c’mon,” he murmured, tugging at his sleeve. “Let’s give him his space.” He’d never seen Lo like this. Lo didn’t cry in public. He didn’t approach, let alone touch strangers. This… this was—

“I must ask you to leave, Sir.” The manager repeated the honorific like a slur. “I can’t let you upset my staff.”

“But he’s my—” Lo’s voice had raised into a broken plea, panic widening his eyes. He jerked toward the counter again, drawn closer, his feet stuttering like it was against his own better judgment.

“Can I show you gentlemen the door.” The guard wasn’t asking. Lo squeezed Remus’ hand, staring at the guy. When they didn’t move, the guard tapped an angry-looking taser hooked on his belt. The logo on the handle was worn and faded, like it had had a lot of use. “Time to go,” he muttered.

“I’ll—” Lo called back to Luke, but the guy addressed the little old lady standing behind them.

“Yes, ma’am, how can I help you?”

“Time to go now.” The guard didn’t shout. Nobody had to shout with a fucking taser like that.

“Lo, c’mon,” Remus urged Lo toward the door. “We’re not gonna win this today,” he whispered. “We’ll come back tomorrow.”

“But we can’t—” Shoulders slumped, he cast one more look at the guy. He acted like Lo didn’t even exist, his full attention on the old betty comparing prices on lottery tickets. A spiked band tightened around Remus’ heart. The guy looked so much like Lo. Remus wanted to rush over there, too, demanding he… What? The guy said he didn’t know him.

“C’mon, Lo,” he whispered one more time, reaching for the cart with one hand and tugging gently on Lo’s hand with the other. “Let’s go home.”

Lo’s shaking fingers threaded with his. Everything just felt wrong. Lo didn’t act like this. “We’ll figure this out, Love,” he whispered, unsure if Lo even heard him. “I promise.” 

The guard backed off a bit when Lo nodded and followed them toward the door. He pushed the cart closer and Remus grabbed one end with a little nod.  “Let’s get you home, Lo Lo.”

Lo was quiet the whole ride home. Head leaning against the passenger window, he watched the shops and passing cars, the little knots of families out enjoying the warm evening air. Remus stomped down his own questions, didn’t push him to talk, just reached over and held his hand at every stop light. Lo squeezed back, then let go each time the light turned green.

Gradually, he sat up, and by the time they’d pulled into the driveway, he turned to face Remus, eyes clear and more focused than they’d been since he’d first pointed out his doppelganger. “Thank you, Meus,” he murmured.

“Wanna talk about it?” Remus asked, instead of asking who Lucas was. Occam’s Razor and all made it hard not to assume, but… Lo was an only child.

“Later,” Lo promised. “I… I think I just confused him for somebody I knew back in school.” He didn’t sound convinced, but he had his ‘processing’ face on, so Remus nodded.

“Okay, Love,” he whispered, snagging his hand before he opened the door and pressing a kiss against his knuckles. “I’m here, Lo,” he nodded. “Always.”

For just a second, Lo looked like he might cry again, but his face shifted into a little smile. “I know, Meus,” he nodded. “Let’s get the groceries in. Your brother will be here before we know it.”

“We can cancel—” Remus reached for his hand again. When Lo turned, he stroked his face. Lo’s hand came up, pressing against Remus’ to curl over his cheekbone, his jaw. Lo looked like he was afraid he might slip away if he didn’t. “We’ll have them over tomorrow night,” Remus murmured. “We can have a quiet night together.”

“No—” Lo shook his head, a sudden fire in his eyes. “No, it’s been a while,” he smiled. “Who knows how big Virgil’s gotten already.”

Remus laughed. “You know I had a dream about them last night.”

An ocean of thoughts surged through Lo’s eyes, a thousand ideas crashing and colliding behind those bits of blue that always seemed to match the sky. Finally, he smiled. “Why don’t you tell me all about it while we start dinner?”

~

Cooking seemed to help give Lo something else to think about and by the time the doorbell rang, he was smiling and teasing Remus to not let the alfredo scorch. 

The door opened and Virgil’s voice echoed down the hall. “Uncka Woe!” he cried. Lo’s exaggerated ‘oof’ sound told Remus he’d gotten tackled by the energetic preschooler. Good. That kid could dissolve the worst bad mood. “Look what Poppy got me!”

“Pattycake? Are you spoiling that boy?” he called from the kitchen, laughing. Uncka Re and Uncka Woe certainly weren’t the only ones determined to give that kid the world.

“Yes,” Janus answered, already rolling up his sleeves as he stepped into the kitchen. “Strainer?” he asked, tilting his head toward the steam billowing out of the pot of clams.

“Already in the sink,” he nodded. “Thanks.”

“I’m not nearly as bad as Ro,” Patton laughed, ruffling the little boy’s hair as he wormed his way between the adults, likely hunting for treats left out on the counter. Laughing, he swiped a banana from the fruit stand and slipped back out to the hall.

“Ah! I don’t spoil Virgil!” Ro’s ‘outrage’ was two octaves too high and his laughter carried over the sound of the clamshells rattling against steel as Janus drained off the boiling water. “Right, Virge?”

“Right, Daddy,” he agreed.

“Okay, good.” Virgil was now on Ro’s hip, munching his stolen banana as they all tromped into the kitchen. The little boy was swimming in a bright purple hoodie two sizes too big. “Now, how about you help me set the table?”

“Can I carry the p’ates?” Janus looked over his shoulder as he dumped the clams onto a serving tray, eyes wide. He’d had a limp for a week when little Virgil’s last attempt at setting the table had left the floor covered in shards of glass.   

“One at a time, Kiddo,” Patton answered before Remus handed off a stack of heavy dishes. 

Ro set Virgil on his feet and handed him a plate with both hands. “I guess Poppy’s got a point,” he said with a little smile.

Nodding, Virgil looked down at Janus’ feet. “Don’t wanna hurt Papa again,” he said in a tiny voice.

“Oh, buddy,” Janus crouched down and ruffled his hair. “We don’t want you to get hurt, right?”

Lo stood in the corner, quietly watching as Virgil’s sad little face bloomed under the care and attention from his dads. Lo was smiling, but… fuck if his eyes didn’t look like they had back at Aldi’s.

“Hey there, handsome.” Remus sidled up to him and murmured near his ear as the more chaotic four were fire-bucket passing plates from the kitchen to the table.

“Hey there, yourself,” he whispered, pulling his arms around him. Lo drew close but he was stiff, the incident at the store clearly still weighing on him. But he chuckled when Janus pretended not to see Virgil hiding behind Patton’s legs, the little boy’s giggle contagious. “I’m alright, I promise,” he murmured, turning in Remus’ arms and laying his head against his shoulder.

“There you are!” Janus cried out, lifting the little boy up in the air, delighted squeals of laughter bubbling out of him.  “Whew, what a relief! I thought you’d left for work without dinner!”

“I don’ work, Papa!” Virgil laughed. “I’m four!” he explained once Janus had set him down.

With a laugh, Patton called from the table, “I thought your birthday wasn’t until next week, Mister.” The little boy’s mission to lay out the dishes abandoned, Patton watched the chaos as he laid out the last of the utensils.

“‘Most four,” he corrected himself, dashing to the table when Ro set down the pasta. “I can serve! Uncka Woe ‘ooks hungry.”

“Thank you for not insisting we reschedule,” Lo said quietly, pushing up on his tiptoes and stealing a little kiss, slipping away before Remus could steal it back. “I wouldn’t want to miss this for anything.” His hand lingered, giving him a gentle squeeze, more like he was comforting Remus than seeking his own comfort. 

He had that million-thoughts-a-minute look in his eyes again and Remus reached for him, fingers grazing over his cheek. “After they go home, we can talk about today,” he whispered.

“Mm-hm,” Lo hummed and opened the fridge. “Why don’t you help serve and I’ll be right there with some drinks.”

“Careful there, buddy, both hands on the ladle… That’s it…” Janus’ voice pulled Remus’ attention back to mild cacophony in the dining room and he stepped forward, pressing a small kiss just above Lo’s ear.

“I’ll keep the Lost Boys entertained, Captain.”

Lo laughed, quiet, but genuine. Good. “That’ll do, bosun, or it’ll be off the plank fer ye!” He turned and half-seriously, lunged for him like he meant to grab him back.

“Oh, Captain,” Remus admonished, one hand over his heart. “Why I never—”

“If you’re done flirting, you should come in here before it gets cold!” Ro called from the other room, accompanied by Virgil’s little giggle.

“Oh, you are one to talk, dear brother,” Remus shot back, grinning. Still, he moved to the dining room and gave the table one last check before he sat down, looking away as he ruffled Virgil’s hair.

Virgil just ruffled his hair back, going up on his knees in his chair, laughing as he raked his hand down through Remus’ hair and covering his eyes. Peeking through a veil of curls, he posed. “Love it! I’m keeping this style!”

Virgil spotted something over Remus’ shoulder and he wiggled in his seat. “Oh, Uncka Wogan, can I have a strawberry one?” 

Remus laughed and turned, ready to ask if Lo liked the new hairdo, but his throat went dry when he saw the bottle of Jack tucked under Lo’s arm. He pushed back his hair and tried to meet his eyes but Lo was busy wrangling the drink tray.

“Of course, Virgil,” Lo smiled and passed Virgil a bottle of fizzy pink drink they’d bought for some cartoon promotion. Eco-Guardians or She-Ra or something. He set down the tray, then slid into the seat next to Remus and cracked the seal on the cap.

“I thought tonight might be a good one to unwind a bit,” Lo explained, bottle held up in offering to the rest of the table.

Janus smiled, glass extended. “Why thank you, Logan,” he murmured with a little nod.

“Oh, none for me, but thanks,” Patton grinned and scooped an extra pile of broccolini onto Virgil’s plate.

Roman caught Remus’ gaze, eyes wide. The brothers didn’t need words to know each was just as confused as the other.

Lo didn’t drink. Some people didn’t care for the taste, some people had that one drunken party with friends that turned them off of it forever. Some people, people like Remus, quit when the problems it caused grew worse than the problems the booze seemed to solve. The ten-year AA chip in his pocket was proof of it.

But Lo? Lo had never even tasted alcohol. What the fuck was he doing with a bottle of Jack Daniels?

After he served Janus, Lo served himself three inches of the amber liquid, the scent hitting Remus’ nose and churning through his head. Next to him, Virgil pinched his nose. “What’s that?”

“It’s a grown-up drink, Kiddo,” Patton leaned over and kissed the top of his head. “And it’s okay you don’t like how it smells.”

Lo stared into his glass for a long moment, then raised it. “To family,” he murmured and they all followed suit, even if Remus’ hand shook so much his water threatened to spill over the lip of his cup. Lo drained half the glass in one wincing gulp, then set it down next to his plate and took Remus’ hand.

He squeezed it and looked from Lo’s eyes to the hall, his silent question probably clear to everyone including the kid.

“I am fine, Meus,” he murmured. “It is… actually quite good.” Lo pondered the liquid swirling in his glass before finishing the last of it. He immediately poured another.

“Lo, take it easy,” he whispered. “That’s… that’s… you gotta…”

“Are you sure you don’t want some,” he asked, pushing the filled tumbler his way.

“What?” He’d’ve sworn he was losing it if Ro hadn’t shifted on the other side of the table and cleared his throat.

“Re doesn’t drink, Logan,” he said quietly. “You know that.” 

“Lo?” He shook his head and tried to capture Lo’s eyes. 

Finally, Lo looked up at him. His cajoling words didn’t match the sadness in his eyes. “Just a little won’t hurt, Meus.”

“Yes, it will, I can’t—” he pulled away, the tremor in his hand spreading up his arm. “Lo?”

“Perhaps we should be going?”

Janus’ voice cut through the buzzing in his ears and Remus turned to his brother. Ro was frozen in his seat, one had stretched out to stop Janus from moving. “Why don’t we all just let people decide for themselves what to drink, Logan?” he said carefully. Peacekeeper, as always. Even as his own voice trembled.

That, and Remus’ shaking, seemed to have snapped Lo out of whatever the fuck this was and he let the glass clunk back down on the table. “Meus,” he whispered, then hung his head. “Of course,” he said a little louder before looking up at the others. “My apologies. It has been… an eventful evening.”

He took Remus’ hand and brought it up to his chest. “I’m so sorry, Meus,” he whispered, almost too quietly to hear. 

Remus breathed, the iron chains around his neck and chest finally loosening, and he reached out to stroke Lo’s cheek with his other hand. “Love you, Lo,” he whispered back. “We’re good.”

Lo melted against his side and Remus released his hand long enough to curl his arm around his back. “Please forgive my… behavior,” Lo murmured. His eyes lingered on Ro’s and he nodded.

“I’m good whenever Re is,” he smiled and nodded to Lo. It was like the whole room took a deep breath and exhaled.

Virgil’s little hand stretched across Remus’ chest and patted Lo’s arm. “Poppy says acc’ints happen,” he nodded, squeaky voice solemn. “And it feews better to say sorry.”

A little huff of a laugh spilled out of Lo’s lips and he reached out to hug both of us. “Thank you, Virgil,” he said, just as seriously. The kid’s bright little face turned up at him like a flower and Lo ruffled his hair. “You’re quite right, it does.”

“Hey, Kiddo, how about you finish your dinner before it gets cold?” Patton said after a moment, and the other three adults exchanged small glances, having a whole fucking coversation with a few expressions.

They seemed to conclude whatever the hell that had been had passed and Janus picked up his fork. Nodding, he savored a bite of his food. “Mm… You’ve outdone yourself tonight, Remus.” He chuckled when Virgil took a big bite and imitated his yummy noises. 

Lo’s head was still resting on Remus’ shoulder and he’d picked up his glass again, slowly nursing it. He watched Remus watching his slow sips and finally shrugged. “I’ll have some pasta in a bit,” he murmured with a little smile. “I promise, Meus.”

“You’d better,” he chuckled, hiding the worry still churning in his guts. “That whiskey’ll really get you if you don’t have something in your stomach.” To be honest, he didn’t have much of an appetite, either. He could feel Ro’s ‘casual’ glances their way and knew his brother was minding him as much as he was looking after Lo. 

Lo just hummed and finished the glass before taking a bite and pouring himself another drink.

~

“Oh, somebody’s just all tuckered out,” Patton chuckled, lifting Virgil out of his chair.

“Not sweepy, Poppy,” he mumbled, eyes falling shut as soon as his head touched Patton’s shoulder. “Jus’ wistening.”

“Mm-hm, I know,” he smiled and jerked his chin at Lo. “I wasn’t talking about you, Kiddo. Look,” Patton said quietly, rubbing Virgil’s back and grinning up at Ro and Janus as they returned from the kitchen. The quiet chug-chugga-hum of the dishwasher matched the rhythm of their footsteps. “Papa and Daddy are all done with the dishes.”

“You really didn’t have to,” Remus said quietly. Again, Lo’s head rested on his shoulder, heavy and, after the weirdness of their night, reassuring.

“Wanted to,” was all Ro said, squeezing his other shoulder. He cooed a bit at Virgil, already asleep in Patton’s arms, then gave them a little wave.

Janus gathered their jackets and gave him one last look. “Do you need a hand with anything?”

“Nah,” he said. “We’re fine. The door’ll—”

“Ro’s got his key,” Janus said with a little smile. “Dinner at our house on Friday?”

“We wouldn’t miss it,” he nodded, stroking Lo’s hair.

Lo lifted his head as they moved to the hallway. “Goodnight,” he said in a rush, and a little louder than his usual voice, like he thought they’d already left. 

They waved back with a little chorus of goodbyes and, in a few moments, the house was quiet again. “What do you think, Love?” Remus asked after a moment. “Are you ready for bed?”

He straightened, leaning heavily against the seat back, then nodded. “It would be wise.”

“Can you walk or would you like me to carry you?”

Lo reached out and touched his cheek, just staring at him with fuzzy eyes. Remus was about to give up and just scoop him up into his arms when he rose, a little shakily, and held his hand. “Let’s walk together.”

Once in their room, Remus helped him into pajamas and got the both of them settled under covers. Lo clung to him, one arm wrapped over his belly with a hand tucked under his ribs like he feared otherwise he’d just float away. Remus stretched to turn out the bedside lamp and Lo settled closer. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, words slurred. “I didn’t… I…”

His voice grew thick with tears and he sniffled quietly. “No, no, no, Lo,” Remus whispered, drawing one hand through his hair. “We’re okay, no need for more sorries.” He sort of melted against him, some of the tension in his back softening. The iron grip around his waist didn’t let up, though. “We’ll talk more in the morning, okay?”

Titling up his chin, Remus peered into his eyes in the mostly dark room. A bit of light spilling in from the streetlights outside revealed the doubt creasing his forehead. “Okay,” he said anyway. “Will—” Lo’s voice cracked. “Will you hold me as I fall asleep?”

“As though there’s any other way I’d want to drift off,” he chuckled, hoping to pull a laugh or at least a smile from him. His eyes shone in the darkness, wet and glassy with unshed tears.

“And will you hold me in your dreams, too?” he asked.

“Always, Lo.”

Nodding, he laid his head back down against his chest and, after a few moments, whispered again, words slurring and voice thick with tears. “I’m so sorry, Meus. So, so sorry… no other way.”

“Shh, we’re okay, Lo,” he murmured back, brushing his hair from his face. “I promise. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

He tightened his arms around Remus’ belly even as his breathing grew slower and steadier. “Love you, Meus,” he whispered just before his arms relaxed and he drifted off to sleep. 

“I love you, too.” Remus listened to him breathe for a long time, but finally his own eyelids started to droop and he pressed a little kiss into his hair. It was warm and soft, and the spicy scent of his shampoo fought valiantly against the sour smell of the whiskey. The gentle spice was winning.

“Goodnight, Lo. See you in the morning.”