#obi-wan kenobi gets therapy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thegreatwicked · 11 months ago

Text

Unbreakable Bonds: Chapter Nine

Unbreakable Bonds

A Novella in the ‘How It Should Have Ended’ Universe.

Summary:

In a galaxy where Anakin Skywalker has resisted the dark side and fulfilled his destiny as the Chosen One, the Jedi Order faces a new dawn. With Palpatine's arrest reshaping the galaxy, Anakin steps into the role of a Jedi Master, guiding the Order into a transformative era where the nature of attachments is under scrutiny.

During an urgent council meeting, Master Obi-Wan Kenobi encounters an unexpected and enigmatic young boy waiting outside the chambers. This chance meeting stirs something deep within Obi-Wan, pulling him toward a revelation that threatens to upend the fragile peace the Jedi have fought to rebuild.

As the Jedi Council grapples with the implications of their evolving philosophies and the resurgence of past secrets, the balance of the Force teeters on the edge. The galaxy stands on the brink of profound change, and the shadows of Obi-Wan's concealed past loom large, with the potential to reshape the future of the Jedi and the Force itself.

Pairing: Obi-wan/OFC (Cressida Vox)

Rating: Explicit, depictions of violence and sexual encounters between consenting adults.

Chapter Nine

The previous day's training still lingered in Obi-Wan's thoughts, leaving him somewhat uncertain about the day ahead. The decision he made to be involved in Solan’s training wans’t one he made lightly and he had considered not being involved at all, if it was the best thing for everyone. If he was going ot be in he had to be in more than one hundred percent, it was a slow start and sure enough he had stumbled a bit but he was finding his footing. Deciding that an extra effort was needed to set a positive tone, he rose earlier than usual and made his way toward the private quarters shared by Solan and Cressida. Rather than opting for the agreed upon meeting spot in the training room, Obi-Wan chose to join them for breakfast, hoping to create a more relaxed atmosphere.

As he approached the polished doors, preparing to press the call panel, the door unexpectedly slid open, revealing Solan standing there with a cheerful smile adorning his face. He couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of the smudge black polish on Solan's cheek, evidence of the young Padawan's meticulous attention to his appearance. Observing the impeccable shine on Solan's boots, Obi-Wan mused about how long the enthusiasm for boot polishing would last before it transformed into a chore disliked by most younglings.

"Morning, Master Kenobi!" The combination of the black polish on his cheek and the formal use of Obi-Wan's title, despite previous permissions to call Obi-Wan by his given name, brought a warm smile to his face. The genuine enthusiasm in Solan's demeanor was a refreshing reminder of the unbridled passion that often accompanied the early stages of a Jedi's training.

At Solan’s insistence, Obi-Wan stepped into the quarters, the atmosphere welcoming and modest. The lack of clutter spoke of a simple existence, but the warmth suggested this was a place filled with shared joy and laughter. With a hurried explanation that he simply needed to grab something, Obi-Wan watched as Solan scurried off through an open door. Opposite the door that led to Solan’s room was another door, presumably Cressia’s, and Obi-Wan couldn't help but wonder about the secrets behind those doors.

His curiosity, however, was interrupted by the notable absence of Cressida. "Where’s your mother?" he inquired as Solan returned.

Solan’s response was carefree and casual, "She had to leave early this morning. I’m not sure where she went, but she said I was supposed to meet you for training. And if you had to leave, then I was supposed to go to the archives and find Master Jocosta Nu or Jinnara Estaru. And that they would give me some materials to read and study from, and then I would wait for mom back here."

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, surprised at the responsibility placed on Solan's young shoulders. "Is that right?"

Solan, seemingly unbothered by the whole arrangement, responded with a carefree "Yup!" as he double-checked his robes.

"Ok, I’m ready!" Solan announced, appearing in front of Obi-Wan with an energetic hop and a satchel slung over his shoulder, and Obi-Wan couldn't help but smile, Solan looked as ready for adventure as any padawan.

Obi-Wan tilted his head, a sideways grin playing on his lips. Solan looked impeccable, except for the smudge on his cheek. "Are you quite certain? You’re not forgetting anything?"

Solan's face dropped, and his expression shifted to alarm. He frantically checked himself over, confusion and uncertainty clouding his features. Obi-Wan tapped the side of his bearded cheek, and Solan's hand immediately flew up to his own face. "Be right back!" he exclaimed and darted off to the refresher, leaving Obi-Wan chuckling.

When Solan returned a few moments later, his cheek slightly reddened from the quick fix, Obi-Wan dropped to one knee to inspect him with a playfully scrutinous look. "Well, now, let's have a look. Boots are polished, robes are straight and tied neatly. I’d say we’re ready for some breakfast. How do waffles sound?" Solan's eyes lit up, and he nodded vigorously, still holding onto his satchel as if it contained the secrets of the universe.

"A Jedi with an empty stomach is like a starship without hyperdrive – going nowhere fast."

Together, they departed for the refectory, anticipating at least two plates of waffles and a hot cup of caf to fuel their day of exploration in the archives.

Three plates of waffles later and two cups of caf saw Obi-Wan and Solan strolling toward the archives. As Obi-Wan and Solan departed from the bustling refectory, the transition from the nourishing glow of communal dining to the Jedi archives was marked by a subtle shift in architecture. The wide, luminous corridors of the refectory gradually gave way to austere, dimly lit passages. The hushed whispers of fellow Jedi echoed through the arched corridors, their silhouettes passing like fleeting shadows. Passing Jedi moved with focused intent, their steps purposeful amid the hallowed silence. The air resonated with the distant hum of Holocrons and the gentle rustle of robes, creating an ambiance of quiet reverence.

As Obi-Wan continued walking, he couldn't help but be pleasantly surprised when he noticed, in his peripheral vision, Solan adopting the same posture – hands behind his back and even matching the rhythm of his steps, despite his shorter legs. It was a delightful mimicry that brought a quiet chuckle to Obi-Wan's thoughts, appreciating the young boy's earnest effort to replicate his movements.

"Well, since your mother instructed you to learn from the archives today, let’s start there.” Solan responded with a chipper ‘ok!’ and there was a little bounce in his step. “Tell me, Solan, is there any topic you’d like to learn more about specifically?"

Solan, matching his father’s steps, looked up and replied without hesitation, “Can we look at holocrons about the Great Jedi Schism, and the Hundred Year Darkness?”

Obi-Wan was genuinely surprised; such historical inquiries were not typical for someone Solan's age. Most younglings were drawn to tales of legendary battles, lightsabers, and renowned Jedi masters. The Great Jedi Schism and the Hundred Year Darkness were complex chapters in Jedi history, particularly involving discussions about the Sith, which required careful consideration.

"Is that okay?" Solan asked hesitantly, slowing his steps, as he took note of his father’s contemplative silence, perhaps concerned he was questing after forbidden knowledge.

"Of course," Obi-Wan reassured him, not wanting to dampen his son's enthusiasm. "Those are very ambitious choices, Solan. I didn’t realize you were so interested in such a complex facet of our history, but of course, it's a pivotal part of our history. There's nothing wrong with your choice of subject. I admit I'm a bit surprised. I didn't realize you enjoyed history so much," Obi-Wan remarked with a raised eyebrow.

Solan nodded, "Mom told me lots of stories when she couldn't train me at all. Sometimes she was too tired or hurt to even meditate, so we'd just lay on the floor, and she'd tell me stories about the Jedi. But she couldn't remember all the details, so she said one day when we came back to the Jedi Temple and I learned to become a Jedi, I could learn all about it." Obi-Wan tried not to react to Solan's admission of his mother's occasional physical struggles. It was hard to picture Cressida in such a weak state, yet yesterday's vision had shown him a different side of her. "Mom's good at telling stories, and that's all history is, just stories."

"That's true, but history can be a tricky prospect, depending on who is doing the storytelling."

"Mom says history is written in the blood of the fallen by the survivors."

Such a grim notion, but it wasn't incorrect. Obi-Wan chose to ignore it and steer the conversation forward as they arrived at the archives.

"Well, there certainly is a lot to remember when it comes to those particular conflicts. I'm not even sure I remember all the intricacies, but we can certainly delve into some of it."

"Only some?"

"I'm afraid a complete understanding of the Great Schism and the Hundred Year Darkness can't be conquered within the span of a single day." Solans enthusiasm didn’t diminish in the slightest, “Anything else?”

“Nope! Not today!”

In the hallowed halls of the Jedi Archives, they were greeted by two distinct presences that seemed to permeate the very essence of the space. The seasoned figure of Jocasta Nu met Obi-Wan and Solan with a nod that carried both familiarity and warmth. Her wise eyes, framed by strands of graying hair, held a depth of knowledge that transcended time. A serene smile played on her lips as she acknowledged their presence, and her voice, a comforting melody, resonated through the quiet chamber.

"Master Kenobi, so the rumors are true…" She began looking down at Solan who looked back at her, the timbre of her words like a gentle breeze. "Welcome to the heart of our history and wisdom. I am Jacosta Nu, and this must be young Solan Cael." Solan nodded excitedly and reached out to shake her hand, she smiled and returned the gesture, seemingly charmed by the son of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

On the other side of the spectrum was the equally wise but markedly stern presence of Jinnara Estaru, Jocasta's apprentice and the one who would someday inherit the role of the Archives Chief Guardian.

Jinnara's demeanor, in stark contrast to her master's, carried an air of seriousness and strict discipline, akin to an unwavering guardian, her sharp gaze scrutinizing each visitor as they entered, leaving no room for distraction or idle chatter within the sacred repository of Jedi knowledge. It was as if they were opposite sides of the same coin, forming a harmonious balance within the sanctum of knowledge.

Her tattooed lekku draped over the shoulder of her robes seemed almost ceremonial, a manifestation of both elegance and authority. While the allure of Twi'lek beauty was not lost on those who encountered her, Jinnara's striking appearance was secondary to the palpable aura of wisdom and intensity that surrounded her.

Obi-Wan couldn't help but recall the unusual circumstances of Jinnara's own journey as a Jedi. As an initiate, she had flatly refused the common fate of being sent to the service corps, a fate that nearly befell Obi-Wan had it not been for Master Quigon’s intervention. In a bold assertion of her own destiny, she had informed the Jedi Council that she wouldn't be going anywhere until a master recognized her potential. Her steadfast resolve had paid off, eventually leading to her training and ascension to the esteemed position of Master of the Archives. The more Obi-Wan pondered it, the more her unyielding determination seemed almost enigmatic, an intriguing puzzle within the intricate tapestry of the Jedi Order.

Many Jedi would hesitate or approach with caution, but Solan who held no such reservations, strode boldly toward the formidable master. Oblivious to the usual uneasiness others might harbor, he extended his hand in a confident gesture, introducing himself with innocence and candor.

And he wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, but Obi-Wan watched in astonishment as the stern countenance of Jinnara underwent an unexpected transformation. The corners of her mouth, previously etched with severity, softened into the slightest smile of approval. Solan's audacity seemed to amuse rather than offend her, and she reciprocated by reaching out to shake his hand.

"The son of Cressida Vox... We meet at last," she remarked, acknowledging the young visitor with a certain curiosity.

Solan, still holding onto his self-assurance, explained that he was accompanied by his father, Obi-Wan, and that they wouldn't require her direct assistance. However, he expressed his eagerness to accept any Holocrons she might recommend for study. At the mention of Obi-Wan's name, Master Jinnara's gaze shifted sharply toward the Jedi Master. In a tone that brooked no defiance, she reminded him that, despite his esteemed position on the High Council, he was not exempt from the rules. Her warning about pranks and cheeky wit left no room for misunderstanding – even a master such as Obi-Wan Kenobi had to tread carefully within the sanctum of the Jedi Archives.

"I assure you, Master Jinnara, your rules will be adhered to and held in the highest regard,"

Despite the assurance, the sharp gaze of the Twi'lek Jedi Master made Obi-Wan feel a hint of unease. She seemed to cast a shadow that diminished his towering stature, and he couldn't help but sense the weight of her expectations.

As Master Jinnara turned her attention to Solan, her words held an air of cryptic forewarning. "Mind this one, young Solan, you have to watch him every moment."

With that enigmatic message, she strode away, leaving behind an air of mystery that piqued Solan's curiosity. The young boy looked at his father, wearing an expression of pure intrigue. In a manner that only a ten-year-old could master, he blurted out:

"What did you do?"

Obi-Wan, grateful for the concealment of his beard, felt a flush of embarrassment. Muttering to himself, he tried to downplay the situation, "It only happened once..." Solan, his curiosity further ignited, leaned in, his eyes wide with anticipation.

"What only happened once?" Obi-Wan brushed off Solan’s inquiries and guided him toward a quiet corner, ready to share a tale that seemed to be shrouded in the secrecy of Jedi lore.

Despite Solan's persistent attempts to unravel the mystery of what his father had done to incur the disapproval of Jinnara, Obi-Wan maintained the stoic discipline of a sentinel when it came to guarding that particular secret. However, in a moment of parental amusement, he did yield to the temptation of sharing a classic paternal response: "Ask your mother." The phrase hung in the air, leaving Solan with a mix of curiosity and the realization that some stories were meant to remain shrouded in mystery, at least for the time being.

They settled into a quiet corner of the archives and with the retrieval of several Holocrons Solan’s attention was ensanred and he practically vibrated in his seat, as though waiting for a show to start.

“Solan, have you ever used a Holocron before?”

“Nope.”

“Do you understand how they work?”

He nodded, "They're like secret books, and only people who can feel the Force, like Jedi, can open them. Sometimes, only certain Jedi can open specific ones, so it's like a special lock to keep the important stuff safe from everyone else."

Obi-Wan nodded in approval. "That's essentially accurate, Solan. Yes, the mechanism you're referring to is known as a Gatekeeper. They're holographic entities designed to function as guides or guardians for the knowledge stored within. In certain cases, the Gatekeeper might pose specific questions or present challenges to determine if an individual is deemed worthy of accessing the information."

He lifted a petite holocron, not much bigger than his fist, its crystalline structure catching the light in a mesmerizing dance. "Take this one, for instance. It houses knowledge about the Hundred Year Darkness," bringing it within Solan's view yet maintaining a slight distance, emphasizing that it wasn't intended for tactile exploration.

"It’s so small," Solan remarked.

"Indeed, Holocrons may appear diminutive, but they hold expansive realms of information. Each one is dedicated to specific subjects like history, lightsaber techniques, lightsaber construction, and closely guarded wisdom."

“How do you open it?”

"A Holocron necessitates a certain level of meditation and concentration for effective use. An individual without a connection to the Force might perceive it merely as an aesthetically pleasing crystalline cube. Surprisingly, some even seek them out as decorative items. To unlock the extensive information stored within, one must attune themselves to the crystal's energies and channel their thoughts with focused intent."

Solan's expression transformed with realization, his lips silently forming an 'Oh,' as the wisdom imparted by his father the day before regarding the significance of meditation suddenly crystallized in his understanding.

"Oh, that’s why you said meditation techniques were so important! If you can’t meditate then you can’t study?”

"Yes, exactly. Thought it was only about sitting quietly, pretending to relax, did you?" Obi-Wan's eyes crinkled with amusement, pleased to see his son recognizing the significance of this practice and its broader impact on Jedi life. "Certain alignments can access Holocrons, whether Jedi or Sith. Sith Holocrons are particularly perilous and should only be handled by masters or Jedi sentinels or shadows. Clear on that?"

Solan nodded in agreement, "Don't touch, got it!" Obi-Wan was pleased to see Solan taking the matter seriously. "Is that what Mom does?"

Obi-Wan found himself a bit surprised. He had anticipated that Solan might have a better understanding of his mother's work. However, upon further reflection, it made sense for Cressida to keep Solan unaware of the true nature of her responsibilities. Obi-Wan set the Holocron down and nodded in acknowledgment.

"Yes, Solan, that encapsulates a facet of the Sentinels' role. You see, in contrast to Consulars or Guardians, Sentinels are frequently bound to specific planets or sectors for extended periods, functioning as vigilant Watchmen. These Jedi possess a diverse array of talents and skills, acting as investigators, infiltrators, spies, and sometimes even taking on the role of assassins. Their duties range from safeguarding temples to pursuing our adversaries and recovering perilous artifacts for either destruction or study. Sentinels stand as formidable assets, often shouldering responsibilities that set them apart from other Jedi." Unintentionally delving into a level of admiration for the Sentinels, Obi-Wan found himself speaking with a smile, contemplating the distinctive Jedi path to which the mother of his son belonged.

After a brief pause, he collected his thoughts and circled back to the initial subject. "As I was mentioning, Holocrons can pose significant dangers, and it's crucial never to pursue one unless you've received proper training on handling and operating it." Solan flashed a mischievous grin at his father but wisely opted for a nod instead of a witty retort, much to Obi-Wan's appreciation.

"So, shall we activate this one?"

His eyes focused on the crystalline object before him. He took a moment to center himself, drawing on the Force to establish a connection with the ancient repository of knowledge. Solan watched with wide eyes.

As Obi-Wan extended his hand toward the holocron, a subtle shimmering glow enveloped the cube. The air seemed to ripple with the energy of the Force. Obi-Wan's fingertips gently brushed the surface of the holocron, his touch deliberate yet reverent.

"Now, watch closely," he continued, his eyes narrowing in concentration, with a gentle push of the Force, Obi-Wan guided the Holocron to respond. The cube stirred, and intricate patterns illuminated its surface. Solan observed the display with a mix of fascination and awe.

"There's a certain harmony you must establish with the holocron," Obi-Wan explained, his voice carrying the weight of years of Jedi training. "It's a conversation of sorts, an exchange of energy. The Holocron recognizes the touch of a Force-sensitive being, and in return, it reveals its secrets."

The holocron's interface shimmered to life, projecting a holographic display of intricate galactic maps, ancient writings, and luminous images. Floating in mid-air, the holographic glyphs glow softly, each representing a different era, event, or aspect of the Hundred-Year Darkness. A central, radiant orb pulses with the energy of knowledge, beckoning the user to interact. Wisps of light connect the orb to various sections of the holographic display, inviting exploration.

As the Holocron fully activated, a holographic interface emerged, displaying the visage of a Jedi gatekeeper.

"And there you have it, Solan," he concluded, a faint smile playing on his lips. "The Force guides us in our quest for knowledge. Now, let us delve into the history of the Jedi, for there is much to learn."

Hours passed in the quiet corner of the archives, Obi-Wan retrieved multiple Holocrons, each containing a piece of the intricate puzzle that was the Great Jedi Schism. One by one, he activated the holographic displays, and father and son delved into the philosophical and geopolitical complexities that defined this turbulent period in Jedi history.

The ambient hum of the archives was the backdrop to their exploration of the past. Solan, seated across Obi-Wan, remained completely engrossed, his young eyes wide with fascination soaking it all up like a sponge. The holographic projections illuminated the room, bringing to life the stories and struggles of the Jedi during the era. Solan's rapt attention was occasionally punctuated by thoughtful questions directed at his father, seeking to understand particular nuances of the conflict and the intricate dynamics within the Jedi Order.

Obi-Wan found profound satisfaction in this shared exploration with his son. Unlike the more formal training sessions he had conducted with Anakin years ago, this experience felt intimate and relaxed. The wisdom in Solan's questions showcased a depth of understanding that surpassed his young age.

The afternoon unfolded smoothly, and Obi-Wan found himself immersed in the present, temporarily setting aside the concerns that had troubled him the day before. Solan's distressing memories had faded into the background, and Obi-Wan was relishing the pleasant moments. To his surprise, Solan posed thoughtful questions that stumped even him at times and challenged established notions. Solan shared that his mother had instilled in him the value of questioning everything to attain a deeper understanding. This, in turn, encouraged the reevaluation of codes, ethics, rules, and long-held traditions that might hinder societal progress. Obi-Wan wasn't taken aback by this perspective; it resonated as something characteristic of Cressida, and he couldn't deny the wisdom in her approach. Blindly acceptance of all things, he acknowledged, could indeed pose dangers.

During their engaging conversation, Obi-Wan found himself immersed in answering Solan's curious questions, momentarily losing sight of the physical cues around him. Unbeknownst to him, a subtle shift was occurring in his son. Solan's eyes, usually focused and attentive, glazed over as if tuning into an invisible frequency. His hand, seemingly guided by an unseen force, gravitated toward the Holocron resting on the table between them.

As Solan's fingertips made contact with the crystalline surface of the holocron, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. An unforeseen force gripped him, wrenching the air from his lungs and yanking his head back with an almost violent force. His small frame locked up, caught in the throes of a powerful vision that transcended the boundaries of ordinary perception. The room, once a space for discussion, became a backdrop to Solan's internal journey through time and space.

Obi-Wan, initially frozen in bewilderment, slowly comprehended the extraordinary event unfolding before him. It wasn't until he noticed the connection between Solan's finger and the Holocron that he recognized the nature of the experience. Solan was undergoing a psychometric vision, delving into the historical records imprinted on the holocron's crystalline matrix. The focus of this vivid journey was none other than the infamous Battle of Corbos, a dark and grim chapter in the Jedi history that Obi-Wan knew all too well.

Countless lives were tragically extinguished, and the holocron, crafted by a resilient Jedi who survived the ordeal, contained the harrowing account. A profound sense of horror gripped him. Hastily, he reached for Solan's hand, attempting to sever the connection. Yet, Solan's small hand felt unusually weighty, resisting Obi-Wan's efforts to detach it from the holocron. It seemed as though the hand had become inseparably bound to the object, its weight surpassing that of any lightsaber. Obi-Wan strained with all his might to move Solan's hand away from the artifact.

However, Obi-Wan's hand making contact with Solan's only exacerbated things. Suddenly, Obi-Wan found himself fully immersed in a vision of the chaotic battleground, as if physically present. Radiant lightsabers cut through the darkness, eerie cries of menacing creatures reverberated through the night, and waves of darkness surged through the air like explosive shockwaves, rattling Obi-Wan to his core. Frantically scanning the vision for Solan, he couldn't shake the fear for his son's well-being. Although it was just a vision and they faced no real physical threat, the monstrous scenes of the Battle of Corbos unfolded before them, and Solan experienced it all as if he were on the front lines.

Within the vision there was little Obi-Wan could do, he had to separate himself from the thing she was seeing to help Solan. Drawing upon the Force, Obi-Wan attuned himself to its light, letting it swell within him, pushing back against the encroaching darkness that threatened to engulf him. Despite the difficulty and his desperate urge to reach out to Solan, he could do nothing from within the vision. The radiant light within empowered him to wrench free from the illusion, snapping back to the reality of the archives. However, Solan remained ensnared, eyes seeing profound horror. Channeling the Force, Obi-Wan grasped his son's hand once more and he pushed back as though holding back a raging river that was the vision threatening to engulf him once more. Solan’s hand in his own, he pulled against the unnatural bond, an effort akin to lifting a pillar. After a moment, Solan's connection to the Holocron shattered, and he tumbled back to the floor in a state of terror, limbs flailing as if drowning.

As Obi-Wan knelt by Solan's side, he tried to anchor him to the present moment. The turmoil in Solan's eyes reflected the intensity of the distressing vision that had seized him. "Solan! Solna, look at me!" Obi-Wan's voice was firm, a lifeline attempting to pull his son from the turbulent waters of his own mind. Solan's gaze, though stormy, flickered with a hint of recognition, a small breakthrough amid the tempest within.

The commotion and ripples in the force had Jacosta Nu and Jinnara swiftly joining them, their experienced hands resting on Solan's shoulders, offering a steadying touch. Together, they guided him back to the present, creating a collective force of reassurance. Solan's eyes gradually returned to their normal state, but the echo of the vision lingered in their depths. A thousand-yard stare hinted at the weight of what he had witnessed, an indelible mark on his young consciousness. The gravity of the unseen events left an imprint on Solan, a reminder that some visions, once seen, become an indelible part of one's understanding of the Force.

Solan broke free from Jacosta and Jinnara's grip, desperation etched across his young face. Without hesitation, he flung himself against Obi-Wan, seeking comfort and safety. His grip was tight, as if holding onto his father could anchor him in the explosive storm of emotions. Gasping for breath, Solan's whole body convulsed, his trembling form almost violent in its intensity. His skin, usually warm with youthful vitality, was now pale, clammy, and cold, a stark contrast to the vibrant energy he usually exuded.

Normally composed and articulate, now seemed on the verge of sickness. The ordeal had left him physically and emotionally drained. Silent sobs wracked his body, each shudder carrying the weight of the distressing vision he had just experienced. Though he didn't shed tears, his anguish was conveyed through the deep, uneven breaths and the string of apologies that tumbled from his lips. The three Jedi masters, surrounded him, a united front trying to comprehend the depth of what Solan had just endured.

Solan's body shook as fear tightened its grip on him, rendering even the simplest command a monumental task. Obi-Wan, sensing the urgency, gently but firmly implored, "Solan, look at me. Let me see your eyes." It was a request, a lifeline tossed into the rough sea of Solan's distress. Struggling against the currents of anxiety, Solan managed to lift his gaze to meet Obi-Wan's steady eyes.

"There, you're alright, do you hear me?" The words hung in the air like a fragile promise, attempting to cut through the thick fog of Solan's anxiety.

Though Solan nodded, it was a slow, hesitant motion, an admission that his belief in Obi-Wan's assurance wavered. The vision, vivid and haunting, had left an indelible mark on the young Jedi. All the horrors witnessed within the confines of the Holocron's projection surged inside him like a reactor reaching its critical point. The overwhelming weight of the experience bore down on him, and in an involuntary response, Solan keeled over onto his hands and knees, his body betraying the distress within. The sudden retching was both a physical and emotional purge, a release of the overwhelming intensity that had seized him.

As Obi-Wan paced the Halls of Healing, the weight of worry pressed down on him with each step. The sterile scent of bacta lingered in the air, a scent he wasn’t overly fond of due to multiple stays, it served as a constant reminder of the injuries and trials that unfolded within these walls. His troubled thoughts were interrupted by the swift arrival of Anakin arriving at a brisk jog, his dark robes flowing behind him like a shadow in motion. In that moment, what had once been a subject of contention in the Jedi Council became a welcome presence for Obi-Wan. Anakin's hand on his shoulder offered a semblance of reassurance in the face of uncertainty.

“Obi-wan!” Anakin inquired, his breath slightly hurried but his demeanor surprisingly calm, providing a stark contrast to Obi-Wan's restless state. There was some relief at Anakin’s presence but only slightly, “What’s happened?”

“Indeed, a powerful disturbance we have all felt. How is young Solan?” Yoda's small form emerged alongside Mace Windu and Shaak Ti, a trio of experienced Jedi Masters seeking an explanation for the disturbance that had resonated through the Temple.

Obi-Wan released a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the revelation. “Solan encountered a psychometric vision when he touched a Holocron we were studying in the archives.”

In the hushed stillness outside the Jedi healing chambers, a profound revelation hung in the air, shrouded in the silence that followed. Anakin, seeking clarity, broke the quietude with a simple yet pointed question,

“Which holocron?”

Obi-Wan's response carried a weight that darkened the atmosphere further, "The personal account of Jedi Master Kael Torran, during the Battle of Corbos." His words echoed with the gravity of the harrowing experiences documented within the holocron.

A somber silence settled over the assembly of Jedi Masters. Yoda, the venerable sage, offered a slow and solemn headshake, conveying a shared acknowledgment of the gravity of the situation. Mace Windu, the imposing figure he was displayed an unusual gentleness as he delicately sought more information.

"Is he alright?"

Obi-Wan's response was filled with uncertainty, "I’m still waiting for news. He saw the thick of it, Jedi and Sith, brother versus brother, the creatures, all of it, and when I touched his hand I saw what he saw and it was like we were there. Every grim detail recorded by Master Torran. By the time I was able to separate him from the Holocron he was pale, shaking, and became physically sick."

Yoda, always perceptive, interjected with a reminder, "Warn us of his visions, his mother did." Obi-Wan, still grappling with the unsettling experience, admitted, “It seems, prepared for them, we were not.”

"I didn’t anticipate such a strong visceral reaction, and I certainly didn’t think he would receive one from the holocron, it’s not even restricted material.” He stopped realizing it sounded like he was making excuses, “It, it was deeply unsettling. I could feel his fear as sure as I feel the light." The shared concern among the Jedi Masters hinted at the magnitude of the disturbance caused by the vivid visions of a battle long past.

"Master Kenobi," A healer in pristine white robes emerged, standing before the Jedi masters, with an expression that defied interpretation.

"How is Solan? Is he all right?" He didn't attempt to conceal the tremor in his voice, the healer held out a calming hand.

"Physically, he's fine. Apart from elevated levels of epinephrine and serotonin, he's in good health. He's quite fatigued, and we've administered a mild sedative to help him relax. He’ll likely experience panic attacks and nightmares, so I would recommend meditation to aid in coping. You can either let him rest here or take him to his quarters."

"I'll bring him to his quarters. I want him to be as comfortable as possible." The healer nodded and stepped aside.

In an uncharacteristic deviation from the composed demeanor typically expected of a Jedi Master, Obi-Wan strode past his fellow council members and into Solan's room without uttering another word. The room was filled with tension as he beheld Solan, who lay on his side on the bed with a monitor attached to his finger, its even-paced beeping providing the only background noise. Obi-Wan's hand gently alighted on Solan's head, his fingers sweeping away the strands of sandy reddish hair that had fallen over his eyes. As Solan's eyes fluttered open, weariness seemed to dwell within their depths, a weariness that transcended the mere effects of the administered sedative.

An aura of remorse enveloped Solan as if he bore the weight of the recent events solely upon his young shoulders. In a voice heavy with both sleepiness and exhaustion, Solan spoke, his words a delicate reflection of the emotional burden he carried.

Solan's voice was a fragile whisper in the quiet room. "I'm sorry, Master Kenobi."

Obi-Wan, still grappling with the aftermath of the vision, responded with a mix of confusion and concern. "What in the blazes are you sorry for, Solan?"

"I touched it. You said not to, and I did." Solan sniffled, his small frame shivering. "I didn't mean to."

Obi-Wan furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"It was calling to me," Solan replied, his eyes filled with innocence and a hint of fear. Obi-Wan, unaware of the ethereal calling Solan had experienced, tried to comprehend the situation. "Their voices, calling to me from the inside, crying out."

"From the inside?" Solan nodded, his eyes still glistening with unshed tears. "I told you to never touch a Sith Holocron and that was not a Sith holocorn. Was it?” Solan shook his head weakly. “What happened today is not your fault. It is a lesson for both of us and we will be warry going ofrward." Obi-Wan tried to offer reassurance, yet the weight of responsibility settled heavily on his shoulders. He knew about Solan's psychometric abilities, but the implications had never fully registered until now. "What happened today lies within the scope of my fault. Do you understand?"

Solan hesitated, uncertainty flickering in his gaze, but he eventually nodded. It was evident that he didn't entirely believe Obi-Wan's words. The room held the pain and vulnerability of a young boy and the weighty burden of responsibility that Obi-Wan was only beginning to fathom. The challenges of training Solan, coupled with the mysteries surrounding his abilities, loomed larger than ever. The events of the past days had underscored the complexities of their journey, leaving Obi-Wan with a sense of foreboding.

Obi-Wan could feel the surge of frustration building within him, an impatient torrent fueled by the mystery of Cressida's sudden absence. Where was she when Solan needed her the most? The raw distress emanating from their son should have been a beacon, yet Cressida seemed to have vanished into the shadows of the Jedi Temple. Logic tried to assert itself, reminding him of the demanding nature of her duties, and the covert missions she undertook as a Jedi Sentinel. However, the rationality offered little solace in the face of the current ordeal.

The frustration was more than a mere emotion; it was a tempest, a swirling maelstrom of uncertainty and fear. His thoughts clawed at him, questioning her actions, or rather, her inaction. He grappled with the echoes of cold panic that still lingered in his heart, a sensation more chilling than the aftermath of any battle. Every beat seemed to resonate with a silent question—how could she simply leave them in the abyss of the unknown? The storm within him was on the verge of eruption, frustration and anxiety ready to unleash its fury upon Cressida. She had told him nothing, and in that void of information, his frustration festered like a storm about to break loose.

He couldn't fathom how Cressida had seemingly overlooked or intentionally avoided addressing such a crucial aspect of Solan's well-being. It was as if she had set them up for failure, allowing them to plunge into the deep waters of Solan's unresolved emotions without a lifebuoy. At that moment, the trust Obi-Wan had placed in Cressida wavered, replaced by a storm of outrage at the perceived negligence.

As Obi-Wan's mind swirled with indignation, the gentle touch of Solan's fingertips on his arm acted as a lifeline, pulling him back from the brink of rage. It was a silent plea from Solan, he needed to focus on what truly mattered – the well-being of the young boy who carried the weight of unseen scars and tremendous power.

Suppressing the anger that simmered beneath the surface, Obi-Wan turned his attention to Solan, his voice softening. "Come, let's get you to bed." The immediate concern became Solan's comfort and security, leaving the confrontation with Cressida for a later, more composed discussion.

Obi-Wan emerged from the room, carrying Solan in his arms, the boy’s thin arms warped around his father’s shoulders. The corridor was lined with Jedi Masters, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity. News of Solan's distress had spread quickly through the Temple, and the Masters awaited updates on his condition. However, as Obi-Wan walked past with Solan nestled against him, no questions were posed. The somber atmosphere seemed to stifle any inquiries.

Solan, with his head buried in his father's shoulder, avoided eye contact with the Masters. His gaze was fixed on the ground, his demeanor carrying a subtle air of shame. It was as if he felt he had fallen short of the expectations set for Jedi, that his vulnerability in that moment exposed a weakness others would frown upon. The weight of judgmental gazes, whether real or perceived, bore down on him, and he clung to his father with a desperate, silent plea for reassurance and protection.

Obi-Wan, understanding his son's turmoil, tightened his embrace in response. The Masters, recognizing the delicate nature of the situation, remained silent, allowing father and son to pass without intrusion, each step echoing the complexities of their shared journey.

As Obi-Wan departed the halls of healing with Solan in tow, a heavy cloud veiled his Jedi composure. He wrestled with the internal uproar of emotions, an unseen storm that threatened to breach the calm exterior he had cultivated through years of Jedi discipline. The desire to scream, to vent the boiling frustration, clawed at the edges of his consciousness. However, he knew all too well that such emotional outbursts were antithetical to the Jedi way, offering no solace and no aid to Solan's predicament.

The departing master cast a long shadow, his turbulent emotions creating an invisible rift in the Force. The air, thick with concern, hung like a shroud around him. It wasn't just a personal struggle; it was a Jedi grappling with the harsh realities of the Force and the challenges it presented. The pervasive cloud extended to his surroundings, creating an atmosphere of unease. It was as if the very walls of the temple absorbed and reflected the emotional turbulence.

While all eyes following Obi-wan’s exodus from the Halls of Healing, one set, did not, it was only the wise Master Yoda who turned back, his diminutive frame belied by the profound awareness of the Force. His ancient eyes, sharp and all-seeing, glanced to a darkened corner. There, hidden in the shadows, he discerned a well-concealed force signature, an unseen witness to the heartache unfolding. A pair of grey eyes, reflecting the pain and turmoil, followed Obi-Wan and Solan as they ventured forth from the halls of healing. Master Yoda, with his penetrating gaze, sensed the silent distress within those eyes, and while he understood what was happening, for reasons he couldn’t explain, it left him disappointed.

Ten

Oh lord, the things I do to fictional characters... Am I a bad person or am I just making these poor unfortunate souls work for it? Who knows? This was a bit of a dark one to write but as there is no major arching conflict in this story it seems an appropriate amount of drama. So, things are being shaken up a bit between Obi-wan and Cressida, what do you guys think? Will they handle this like mature adults and talk? Yeah, me neither. And what about SOlan, what do you guys think about his visions and his memories? Any ideas on a master for this poor kid??? Your tags, reblogs, likes and comments mean so much to me! I was in a bit of a writing rut trying to figure out what to do next as my original idea was not going to work, which is sad because I think it was a cool arch, but alas! I hope you all have a lovely safe and happy holiday and thanks so much for your continued support and encouragement! If you're still following let me know what your favorite characters or part of the story is!

A big thanks to my cheerleaders @heyhawtdawgs @pickleprickleand@burnthecheshirewitch (Welcome to the taglist!)

12 notes · View notes

astheforcewillsit · 2 months ago

Text

(anyway wrote my post-war codywan fic where gets to find himself and be debrainwashed while coming to terms with the role Obi-Wan/Jedi-Order played in the enslavement of his brothers with a happy ending)

Working Pains Summary: It has been two years since the Clone Wars ended. Two years since Cody has had a proper conversation with his General. But in between extensive therapy, deconditioning, and learning to be an actual person, Cody doesn't know where Obi-Wan Kenobi fits in that.

(Un)fortunately, when a Jedi led peace treaty with former Separatist territories fails spectacularly, Cody gets the opportunity to close up loose ends.

Obi-Wan almost dies, and predictably Cody finds himself by his side.

----

Fox is waiting for him when he gets to the hospital. And Force is the place a mess.

To put it mildly, the hospital waiting room is a complete shit show. To put it accurately, Cody hasn’t seen chaos like this since he was in a medical wing during the clone wars. Behind the reception, doctors run like fire licks their feet through the halls, rubber soles squeaking against polished floors. Nurses call out orders like commanders on the battlefield, shouts slicing through the disorder in the waiting room. Droids console families who sit helplessly to hear the news of their loved ones.

(Cody fights the innate urge to help. But he’s not that man anymore.)

The Clone Wars may be over, but Cody hasn't moved on enough to let droids hold his hand while he cries. Not just any droid, after least.

Instead Fox sits beside him, briefing–telling him what news he's heard.

A surprise attack in hyperspace. Over a thousand dead, more injured. A Jedi led peace attempt in former Separatist territory that turned bad real quick. Tale as Old as fucking Time, and if Cody’s heart wasn't beating in his throat, he would have chuckled.

And the icing on the cake–the failure was led by none other than Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.

(He remembers where he was and who was with when Fox had commed him just that name three hours ago. Laying in bed against Rex as they watched a holo about loth cats, Boil asleep on the opposite chair. Jesse the most awake of them all, texting back and forth with someone on his datapad.

He remembers how the mention of his former General had been enough to take him from the Company of his brothers, brothers who had held his hand through hours of therapy, through the realization that he had been brainwashed and used.

That he had fought for a Republic who used him and abused him, and that the Jedi had led them still. That Obi-Wan had done little to save him. They had been there as he came to that ugly, painful revelation. They had been there with him as he put space between himself and the Master.

And yet, the last he saw of them was the disappointment when he threw caution to the wind to come to said Jedi’s side. Force, he hoped they didn’t hate him after this.)

Who is supposedly amongst the injured.

This is supposedly one of the better hospitals, though. In a higher, more affluent level of Coruscant. Fox has assured him of this. Still it begs the question-

“Why not the temple? Wouldn’t they know how to help him?” It’s been an hour and Cody is tired of sitting.

He stands, arms crossed as he begins to pace. Across the room a woman screams, her shrills erupting into inconsolable sobs. Both Fox and Cody wince. It hurts them all particularly more than a human woman would. Kel Dor have a knack for doing that.

Clearly the medical droid is not doing its job.

“Overwhelmed,” Fox supplies, chipped, “Kenobi was awake enough to request that the more injured be taken to the Temple–Jedi and non-Jedi alike. The Temple obliged”.

Cody wants to scream. It was clearly a ruse. The man was certainly the most injured of them all. How could they not see it? Two years apart from Obi-Wan and Cody could pick out his General’s tricks blindfolded. Did they know how many times he insisted his men be treated before him? How many times he’d lie to the 212th medics about his injuries just so the clones were being treated first?

Obi-Wan would give his blood to an orphanage if he was bleeding out.

“He'll be okay, Cody.” Fox is meticulously calm, as if sensing Cody’s distress. It's been practiced. Fox two years ago would have lost his absolute shit. Quinlan Vos was on the mission too.

“If I were with him, he'd…” he breathes in deeply and pinches the bridge of his nose. Old habits die hard. Conditioning even harder.

He is not the Jedi’s or the Republic. He made that clear when he left GAR. When he distanced himself Obi-Wan.

That chapter has been long closed. And therapy made him realize just how fucked up his head was. Marshall Commander Cody, the most fucked up of them all. The most loyal.

Finding himself after that involved time with his brothers. And consequently, his relationship with Obi-Wan had suffered.

And Obi-Wan had been very sparse in reaching out to his men after. At least Cody. He'd put up his walls, fallen into the mold of the perfect “Jedi Master”, lack of attachments and all.

(If the clones felt the Jedi used them, maybe the Jedi felt the clones tainted them. Weapons that drew them to the Dark Side. Maybe the feelings was mutual. Or maybe that’s how Kenobi was before the war).

“The desk is clear,” Fox indicates to the clerk, who runs a hand through her tight curls, “Let’s go.”

Cody wastes no time in crossing the distance between the vast space of the desk and the clerk.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he manages before she can even collect herself, “we’re here for him. He’s the General–The Master–”

“The Jedi? Yes, he's recently gotten out of surgery. No visitors yet, name?”

At a time, he had been on Obi-Wan’s list of emergency contacts. Especially as the war waned. He hopes their time apart hasn't ruined that. If so, he has Fox. And all his ties to the government.

“Cody, CC-2224” he provides, urgently, “I'm–was his Commander–during the–” The underpaid clerk raises her hand, and directs them behind the rooms.

“You're on the list. I think we called you like five times, but you didn't answer." He swallows thickly. He had seen the number on his comm. He had an inkling about who it was for. But he just didn't pick up. He couldn't bring himself to. And then Fox called.

"Here's the room number.” She gives a breakdown of the directions and the maps that makeup the hospital. Visiting hours are defined, but Cody thinks that with the chaos, they’ll be extended. She ushers another family to the desk as she finishes with him.

Fox is able to walk him through the hospital layout sans the map. His time in the Corries saw him through these walls one too many times, as both an escort and patient.

Cody doesn’t think he could focus on the map if he tries. His hands are shaking, his breathing is uncharacteristically unsteady. Shaking like he’s stepping back onto the battlefield for the first time.

–

There’s less chaos on Obi-Wan’s floor. But still, it has been touched by the disarray from the waiting room. His room isn’t even private, most likely due to the lack of beds. And as far as Cody can tell, there’s at least one other patient in there, separated by a curtain.

Within the first few seconds of finding the room, Cody looks everywhere but where he should. He takes note of the window. The curtains are open, and the vibrant lights of Coruscant’s nightlife infiltrate the hospital room. He pays attention to the ambiance, the cycling of the machines, the steady rise and fall of his chest, a forced atmosphere of peace clashing against this war that still drags the Jedi into it.

Against whatever the hell is going on in Cody’s heart.

Fox says something behind him, gently coaxing him into the room. Automatically the soft lights illuminate the space. Cody had hoped they wouldn’t do that. It was easy to make out the outline of Obi-Wan’s body in the dark, helped by the lights from the window.

Now he has to look at him.

He remembers the last conversions had with Obi-Wan. Bits and pieces, his mind clinging onto them like oxygen. Stretching them out until this very moment.

“I’m sorry, Gen—Obi-Wan I haven’t been in touch, things have just been happening.”

How does one explain that ‘things’ are extensive therapy, working through years of brainwashing and mind control? Realizing that the man you loved the most and his entire Order sat near the pinnacle of that.

“I understand. These things take time. Please Cody, let me know if you need anything.”

Though despite the anxiety, despite the confusion. He still loves this man, he still wants him safe. And he knows danger follows Obi-Wan Kenobi wherever he goes.

“Be safe, General.”“It’s just Obi-Wan, Cody. I am not, and never should your General. And if that’s too familiar, Master Kenobi will suffice for me.”

How long was that? 6 months ago? 12 months ago? Two years ago? What had he lost in the time he tried to reclaim himself? Tried to find himself.

Who had he cut loose when he shed the skin of Commander Cody of the 212?

Obi-wan had answered then with some sort of sad resignation that Cody couldn’t pinpoint. Like they wouldn’t see each other again. He wonders now if Obi-Wan had sensed his inner turmoil. Kriff, of course he did. He was a Jedi.

That’s why he never reached out. Why he stopped when Cody stopped.

Suddenly he’s crying like a child when this starts to hit him.

The confusion of it all. The suddenness. He could have lost Obi-Wan, and he doesn’t know if that would make him feel better. It might make him feel worse.

Sobs and sobs rock his body. He didn't feel sad when he came in. He was anxious, yes. But sad? No, not at all. He hoped they could talk.

He acknowledges that this is a lot from him too. He hasn’t been on a battlefield for two years. He hasn’t seen an injured man like this since the clone wars ended.

Fox leads him to a comfortable chair, and places a gentle hand on his back. He’s glad he doesn’t ask questions. Fox isn’t like the others who lose their mind at the sound of Cody crying. He’s the eldest, supposed to keep them together. But Fox lets him be the baby.

As he revels in Fox’s comfort, he’s shocked to realize the absence of company.

It occurs to him then that Obi-Wan doesn’t really have many people to visit him. His relationship with Anakin Skywalker was infamously laughable. Ahsoka Tano had remained a distance from the Temple even after everything. The Council was spread across the galaxy, keeping peace without an army.

The Order was busy. Fighting wars the Jedi should have left ages ago. Cody thinks sadly to himself that they should have taken their Jedi with them. They could have sorted out the logistics later on.

Oh Force, he thinks, did I…did I leave him alone? Mustering all the strength in the world, he forces himself to look at Obi-Wan.

He doesn’t like what he sees.

Obi-wan looks pale. Almost as pale as a Kaminoan. According to the briefing from Fox, it wasn’t the burns that landed him on a stretcher. Though his body is covered in enough bacta to challenge that. It was the smoke inhalation and the blunt force trauma to his head apparently.

Cody remembers their many conversations with Obi-Wan about complex relationship with armor, and his fear when his General had stopped using it. The boys of the 212 had made bets about when Obi-Wan would end up in a body cast.

And while he’s in no body cast now, It looks like life has finally collected that toll.

Cody is almost terrified by how well he’s able to fall into the role of a vigilant commander. After the tears have dried, and the fog has cleared, he pulls the chair closer to the bed and breathes.

—

Fox disappears when the sun rises, excuses himself behind the curtain. He tells Cody that despite the curtain being closed, there's no one behind it and that he needs some space to work. Cody assumes he's left to do some Senate work on his datapad, or whatever Fox does to keep himself busy nowadays. He leaves with a gentle press against Cody's forehead, promising him he'll return.

At some point the doctor comes in to check Obi-Wan's vitals, and explains to Cody what procedures were done. He lets him know the Jedi will be there to collect their councilmen within the next few hours where he will likely undergo extensive Force healing for the mental strain he apparently suffered.

He shoots a quick message to Rex, who he left alone when Fox came to collect him. He thinks Rex may understand what he’s going through, though he’ll never say it aloud. They all know that Rex spends enough time loitering around the secured cells in the upper levels Coruscant to visit his old General.

(Rex doesn’t know Cody knows this though. That just like everyone who’s had the displeasure of meeting Anakin Skywalker, they still see some good in him.)

He groans after Rex shoots back a thousand question marks, even tries to comm him. He rushes to silence his comm, not wanting to wake the patient whose eyes have already started fluttering behind closed lids.

Its a futile attempt, because before he knows it, the bed’s occupant is stirring faster than he would have liked him to.

“Cody?”

It’s been two years, and yet a million years would not have prepared him for their eventual meeting.

What does one say?

“Sorry Sir–Obi-Wan, I didn’t mean to wake you.” He settles for an apology. Force, they could have been in their tents again. Commander and General. It’s so natural to fall back into old habits. Comforting and terrifying all at once.

For his part, Obi-Wan pushes himself up with his elbows, rising slightly so he can look Cody in the eyes. His blue eyes are wide, confusion radiating throughout his expression. And then, his gaze softens, and his brows furrow in guilt.

“Oh you’re not supposed to be here.” He says the first part gently, more to himself than to Cody, “ I apologize, I meant to remove you from my emergency contacts.” For some reason, that hurts. Cody swallows, feeling a familiar thickness in his throat.

“Life must be getting difficult for you, Master Kenobi, if you’re starting to fall behind on administrative tasks. You used to be on-top of that during the war.” He returns the comment with a formality of his own, though he means for it to soften the blow as well. If this is hard for him, it must be hard for Obi-Wan too.

In response the Jedi chuckles, coughing as he does so. Cody fights the urge to lean over and caress him. You are not his Commander, anymore. You are not his. He is not yours.

“Well, the adjustment from General to Jedi Master has had its ups and downs. Sometimes the details get lost in the translation,” he offers with a smile, his blue eyes scanning the clone. Cody can feel the full extent of the Force upon him, probing him unprompted. He’d learned early on in his service that this was normal for the Jedi. Just as easily as they used their eyes to see, and their voices to speak, they used the Force to scan everything and everyone.

It is their way of communication.

Cody may have put up some boundaries when he left the army, but this is not one of them. He lets Obi-wan in easily. The Jedi feels him out, his Force touch light and airy. Ticklish almost. “You really don’t have to be here Cody.” Obi-Wan says, more seriously now, letting his body fall back onto the bed, “ You can go, I will be alright. I’ll have your contact information removed after this.”

The warmth of his touch is gone. It sends Cody into a momentary spiral. He didn’t expect this coldness, this lack of familiarity. The sudden end to their very impromptu beginning. There is so much he still wants to do. To say.

He can’t stop the words that escape his lips next.

“That no-attachment clause sure has come in handy now, hasn’t it.”

It’s a vile kick in the gut, to throw something as sacred as the Code in the Jedi’s face. Obi-Wan jerks himself up, eyes wide. His machine beeps loudly. He looks dumbstruck, as if Cody has just slapped him across the face. Hard.

Cody knows in that moment his General recalls the late evenings they sat alone together, talking for hours about the Force, about the Order. About what it meant to Obi-Wan, about how the galaxy wide bastardization of his Order, his family, had hurt him more than he let off.

How the Force--The Order--had been there for Obi-Wan at his lowest. That this "emotionless order of monks" had saved him from himself time and time again.

How many times had Obi-Wan dragged a broken, shell shocked Cody into his quarters, forcing him onto his bed to meditate. How many times had Cody spoken the words 'I am one with the Force and the Force is with me' as Obi-wan calmed him after a gruesome battle, shielded him from the sharp pain of immeasurable loss. How many times had the Force been there for Cody, orchestrated through Obi-Wan?

Cody knows Obi-Wan recalls these moments because the clone does as well. And now, his guilt strengthens.

“Excuse me?” He grits out, wincing, “You’re the one who wanted nothing to do with us.”

Cody recoils.

“Its…not that simple.” He manages, barely above a whisper.

In these past few months, he’s found himself saying this a lot. To his brothers, when they ask if he still cares about Obi-Wan. To his therapist, asking what he needs to move forward from what happened to him. To himself, when he looks at his reflection and wonders how he got to where he is now.

The Force is back, cautiously ebbing around Cody’s field. Hesitant as the former commander lets him in.

Gently, Obi-Wan speaks, “You were resistant to me in the Force, and cold whenever I was around you. I know what The Republic–what we did to you–I’m not an idiot Cody. I knew you wanted your space away from me.”

Cody cannot meet his eyes. He feels ashamed. And confused. As if the consequences of his actions are now coming to tear him into pieces. But he shouldn’t feel this way, right? He wanted this, right?

“I don’t…” Cody deflates and throws his head into his hands. This is what he was dreading. His mind is still a mess of commands, of order, of questions, of anxiety. This is like exposure therapy, his trigger and his love all bound in one.

Through the gaps in his fingers, he looks at Obi-Wan lying in a hospital bed, bandages on his arms and head.

Made to protect a galaxy that would have had his kind murdered if it hadn’t been for the discovery of the chips (and even that happened too late. Both have the saber and blaster scars to prove it). He thinks of Obi-Wan who threw himself into battle to save his men, who placed himself between Cody and a bullet to make sure his Commander made it out alive.

Who approached him after Order 66 to make sure he was okay.

Cody is flooded with thundering guilt. Was all this worth then? If he feels this way about Obi-Wan? What will he tell Rex? What will he tell Boil? He’s supposed to set an example. He’s supposed to be the one who breaks free. What will he be telling his brothers if he goes back? “Cody–Cody, breath!” How Obi-Wan found the time to leave his bed and pull up a chair that had been on the other side of the room in the span of two seconds, Cody does not know. All he knows is that he’s enveloped in Obi-Wan’s physical and not so physical embrace, breathing deeply as tears cascaded down his face.

“I thought I wanted that, Sir. And part of me is still finding out what all I want, but I know that I haven’t felt the way I just did when you touched me with the Force in a very long time. And I think that no matter how I feel about you, if you died today, I would have lost my kriffing mind.” He admits through tears, “so that counts for something, I guess. But I don’t know what that means for me.”

“Healing is not linear, Cody. I,” Obi-Wan falters, “I still have not spoken to Anakin. I still have not forgiven Qui-Gon, but I would never regret my time with them. And when I am ready, I hope to embrace my padawan again. I say this to let you know that should you never want to see me after this, I will accept that. But I will always be here, waiting for you to return Cody. Be it in this life, or when we are both one with the Force.”

Cody balls, sobbing loudly as he clings onto Obi-Wan. He nods, the coil in his stomach unfurling. He wonders if it is Obi-Wan’s doing.

“I’m sorry for what I said about the Code. I'm sorry for everything,” he breathes, pulling himself together, “I am usually not like this.” “None of that Cody, you have nothing to apologize for. The fault is ours. The Order should have done more for you and your siblings,” he states, fingers running through Cody’s hair, “I had hoped that by staying away we were doing that, but I suppose we should let you choose how we interfere.”

(He wants to tell him that this isn’t the case for all Jedi. Plo Koon tried the silent treatment, and Wolffe, Boost and Sinker apparently cornered him outside of his suite in the Jedi temple.)

“Clones getting a choice,” Cody chuckles through his tears, “what an amazing concept.”

Obi-Wan hums, fingers still twisting in Cody’s curls. Cody is more comfortable than he thought he’d be. He welcomes Obi-Wan’s touch just as he did the Force. “Obi-wan, I want to be with you. It won’t be easy, but neither was the war. And we both survived, somewhat.” The tears have stopped now, and he finds both his footing and his voice. Gently, he untangles himself from Obi-Wan’s arms and adjust himself so that he captures those blue eyes with his own.

“I think we can win this too. If you’ll be patient with me. I am still…healing, as you put it. They did a lot to us in Kamino, and to put it frankly my brain is fucked. And a lot of that was before the war. I will not be easy to be with.” “My padawan is Anakin Skywalker who nearly turned Sith during the war, I don’t think the Force wants me to be with easy people. And I don’t want to either. Besides, I was willing to not speak to you for two years. I will be as patient as you need me to be, Cody.”

“If you’re comparing me to the two second Sith, then we’re off to a bad start.” Obi-Wan erupts into laughter. Genuine laughter. Laughter so hard, he begins to tear up. Though Cody is somewhat hesitant to credit the humor alone for the tears. Maybe Obi-Wan needs an excuse of his own.

“Who’s idea was that nickname?” “It was Jesse’s, but now most of the 501st has adopted it. While half of the galaxy calls him Vader, the 501st calls him the two second Sith. I think it’s how they cope.” Cody joins in, reveling in the ridiculousness of it.

Leave it to the 501st and their General to be the much needed comic relief.

In between their laughter, and their tears, they lean forward, foreheads brushing against the other.

------------------

(Sometime later, when Obi-Wan has fallen back to sleep, and the Jedi have come to collect their council member, Cody stands to collect Fox from behind the screen. It’s time they both go home.

He nearly screams when he pulls back the fabric and sees Fox sheepishly bury his head into the mass of hair that is Jedi Master Quinlan Vos.

He doesn’t even want to ask how much the latter heard. )

#codywan #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #the clone wars #the prequel trilogy #quinlan x fox

58 notes · View notes